Kartr's fingers moved in the old warning signal. The Zacathan caught it and fell silent while the sergeant cut in quickly on the heels of the other's last word.
"He will undoubtedly wish to see the record tape before making any plans anyway."
"The Commander is blind!"
Kartr stopped short. "You are sure?"
"Smitt is. Tork might have been able to help him. We don't have the skill — the wounds go beyond the help of the medic-first-aid."
"Well, I'll report." Kartr started toward the ship, feeling as if he carried several pounds of lead in the sole of each boot and some vast and undefinable burden had settled down upon his shoulders.
Why, he asked himself dispiritedly as he climbed through the lock of the port, did he have this depression? Certainly leadership now in no way fell upon him. Both Jaksan and Smitt outranked a sergeant — as a warrant officer of rangers he was just barely within the borderline of the Service as it was. But even knowing that did nothing to free him from this unease.
"Kartr reporting, sir!" He came to attention before the masked man propped up against two bedrolls in the lounge.
"Your report — " The request was mechanical. Kartr began to wonder if the other really heard him, or, hearing, understood a word he said.
"We have crashed near the edge of a desert. By sled the scouting party traveled north along a river to a well-watered, forested tract. Because of the limited supply of fuel our cruising range was curtailed. But there is a section to the north which looks promising as a base for a camp — "
"Life indications?"
"Many animals of different types and breeds — on a low scale of intelligence. Only trace of civilization is a portion of roadway so covered as to argue long disuse. Animals have no memory of contact with superior life forms."
"Dismissed."
But Kartr did not go. "Pardon, sir, but have I your permission to break out what is left of the main drive energy supply to use when we arrange for transportation — "
"The ship's supply? Are you completely mad? Certainly not! Report to Jaksan for repair party duty — "
Repair party? Did Vibor honestly believe that there was the slightest chance of repairing the Starfire? Surely The ranger hesitated at the door of the lounge and half turned to go back. But, guessing the uselessness of any further appeal made to Vibor, he went on to the rangers' quarters where he found the others gathered. A smaller figure just within the doorway turned out to be Smitt, who got up to face Kartr as he came in.
"Any luck, Kartr?"
"He told me to report for repair party duty. Great Winds of Space, what does he mean?"
"You may not believe it," answered the com-techneer, "but he means just what he says. We are supposed to be repairing this hulk for a take-off — "
"But can't he see — ?" began Kartr and then bit his lip, remembering. That was just it — the Commander could not see the present condition of the wrecked ship. But that was no excuse for Jaksan or Smitt not making it plain to him —
As if he was able to pick that thought out of the air the com-techneer answered:
"He won't listen to us. I was ordered to my quarters when I tried to tell him. And Jaksan's only agreed with every order he's issued!"
"But why would he do that? Jaksan's no fool, he knows that we aren't going to lift again. The Starfire's done for."
Smitt leaned back against the wall. He was a small man, thin and tough and almost black with space tan. And now he appeared to share a portion of Fylh's almost malicious detachment. The only things he had ever really loved were his communicators. Kartr had seen him once furtively stroking the smooth plastic of their sides with a loving hand. Because of the old division of the ship's personnel — Patrol crew and rangers — Kartr did not know him very well.
"You can easily accept the idea that we're through," the com-techneer was saying now. "You've never been tied to this hunk of metal the way we are. Your duty is on planets — not in space. The Starfire is a part of Vibor — he can't just walk into the wide blue now and forget all about her Neither can Jaksan."
"All right. I can believe that the ship might mean more to you, her regular crew, than she does to us," agreed Kartr almost wearily. "But she's a dead ship now and nothing any of us or all of us can do will make her ready to lift again. We'd best leave her — try to establish a base somewhere near food and water — "
"Cut clean from the past and begin again? Maybe. I can agree with you — intellectually. Only in suggesting that you'll come up against emotions, too, my young friends. And you'll find that another matter altogether!"
"And why," asked Kartr slowly, "is it up to me to deal with anything?"
"Process of elimination elects you. If we're grounded past hope of escape, who is the best able to understand our problems — someone who has spent his life in space almost since childhood — or a ranger? What are you going to do?"
But Kartr refused to answer that. The longer Smitt needled him in that fashion the more uneasy he became. He had never been treated with such frankness by a crew officer.
"The Commander will decide," he began.
Then Smitt laughed, a short harsh sound which lacked any thread of mirth. "So you're afraid to face up to it, fly-boy? I thought you rangers could never be rattled — that the fearless, untamed explorers would — "
Kartr's good hand closed on the tunic folds just below Smitt's throat.
"What kind of trouble are you trying to start, Smitt?" he asked, omitting the respect due an officer.
But the com-techneer made no move to strike away the sergeant's hand or twist free from the hold. Instead his eyes lifted to meet Kartr's steadily, soberly. Kartr's fingers loosened and his hand dropped. Smitt believed in what he was trying to say, believed in it very much even though he had been jeering. Smitt had come to him for help. Now for the first time Kartr was glad he possessed that strange gift of his — to sense the emotions of his fellows.
"Let's have it," he said and sat down on a bedroll. He was aware that the tension which had held them all for a second or two was relaxing. And he knew that the rangers would follow his lead — they would wait for his decision.
"Vibor is no longer with us — he's — he's cracked." Smitt fumbled for words. And Kartr read in him a rising fear and desolation.
"Is it because of his loss of sight? If that is so, the condition may be only temporary. When he becomes resigned to that — "
"No. He has been heading for a breakdown for a long time. The responsibility of command under present conditions — that fight with the Greenies — he was good friends with Tork, remember? The ship falling to pieces bit by bit and no chance for repairs It's added up to drive him under. Now he's just refusing to accept a present he doesn't dare believe in. He's retired into a world of his own where things go right instead of wrong. And he wants us in there with him."
Kartr nodded. There was the ring of truth in every word Smitt said. Of course, he himself had never had much personal contact with Vibor. The rangers were not admitted to the inner circle of the Patrol — they were only tolerated. He was not a graduate of a sector academy, or even a product of the ranks. His father had not been Patrol before him. So he had always been aloof from the crew. The discipline of the Service, always strict, had been tightening more and more into a rigid caste system, even during the few years he had worn the Comet — perhaps because the Service itself had been cut off from the regular life of the average citizens. But Kartr could at this moment understand the odd incidents of the past months, certain inconsistencies in Vibor's orders — one or two remarks he had overheard.