In the privacy of his cabin he buzzed operations.
"What news, Wyman?"
"Slow, steady climb, sir. All piles have passed critical stage."
Slowly he replaced the phone, and covered his eyes.
Huddled against the wall of boat F, Burl Jasperson stared out of the observation port, his cold eyes intent on the distant, fast receding lights of the Star Lord. Now that he felt himself to be safe, he was weak and exhausted. Beside him sat his secretary, a wizened little man who stared numbly at his clasped hands.
Jasperson coughed.
"Yes, Mr. Jasperson?"
"Get me a panedol tablet and a glass of water. I don't suppose there's any ice, but if there is, put in some ice. I'm thirsty."
Meekly the secretary shuffled down the long length of the boat, solitary as a ghost, to the cubicle labelled Rations. He was gone a long time, thought Burl, and when at last he returned his feet were dragging more than ever.