Kent stood up. "You offered me a drink a couple of days ago, Sammy. I'll take that drink now." Sammy parted with the bottle, almost reluctantly.
Knight strode to the porthole and looked out at the star-studded panorama. We're near Earth, so very, very near. We're carrying her doom.
He turned his back on the porthole, hoisted the bottle.
"A toast, Sammy," he said. "To might-have been. To Earth—which, but for this ship, might have reached the stars."
Knight put the mouth of the bottle to his lips and tilted it. The fiery liquor burned in his mouth, seared at his throat, sent warm fingers reaching through his belly.
He hurled the bottle to the floor. It smashed against the duralloy and the brown liquid spread. Smashed! Like Earth as the Thought Conquerors' conquests spread.
"Are you batty, Kent?"
Knight strode from the cubicle without answering.
Bob Mallory jerked his red head around when Knight came striding into the pilot room.