"Don't be an idiot, doctor! Don't you realize how much better you are? The mitosis was definitely decreasing the last time I checked you. This delay won't be fatal, I'm convinced."
Alan shook his head skeptically.
"Dr. Willoughby!" called Thayer. "Boat ready to launch!"
A grip of the hand, and he had gone. The port shut.
Boat E, jammed with three hundred and twenty-five persons, released itself and shot out into star-studded space.
Boat B was the second to be launched, and Boat D followed.
Keeping to the back of the crowds, Alan watched, admiring the efficiency with which Chief Thayer worked, shouting, wheedling, cursing, until three hundred and thirty people were squeezed in, like frightened cattle in a pen.
There remained only Boat A, and from the shadows he watched nearly five hundred tense faces, drawn with the anxiety of wondering who was to go, and who remain.
Good thing the women and children had all been taken off in the earlier boats, Alan reflected thankfully. It would be heartbreaking enough for Thayer to have to choose among the men, and say to some, Go, and to some, Stay.