IN THE SHIP, SPLINTER finished his wiring of the panel, wiped his tear-streaked face with the back of a dirty hand. He tested the installments, found they were satisfactory, turned the ship on its belly with a brief roar of an underjet. Then he peered from the vision port.
He swore briefly, harshly, when he saw that, except for the gargantuan monster, the beach was empty. His hands were clenched until the muscle-ache traveled into his shoulders.
“Damn, oh damn!” he sobbed in futile rage and regret.
He knew now how much he had revered the old man, how much faith and reliance the years had given him in the other’s judgment. He felt then that he had lost more than he could ever regain.
“That’s the trouble with the service now,” a voice said disagreeably. “Too damned many, wet-diapered squ
