As the hours crawled by, Jasperson sat in the vast emptiness of the boat and stared out at the alien stars. He could not bear to look at the long rows of empty seats, seats that might have been occupied by living men, two hundred and forty-seven silent, omnipresent accusers. His eyes were glowing coals, his skin sagged in wrinkles over his haggard face, and his voice was a mere croak.
"Are you sure there's no water?" he asked again. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, I'm certain, as I've told you a thousand times," said Steward Davis. "Don't you suppose I'm thirsty too? If you hadn't been in such a hurry to sneak away we'd have been all right. That man you shot was probably getting ready to load the water tanks."
"But you told me the boat was all provisioned!"
"I thought it was, when I saw the tail-end of that truck! But you didn't give me time to check. Why did you have to be in such a hurry?"
Groaning, Jasperson turned again to peer at the unfamiliar suns.
"How long will it take us to reach an inhabited planet, do you think?"
"I don't know, because I don't know just where we are. With luck, maybe a week, maybe two."
"How long can we live without water?"
"Longer than you'd think. Twelve to fifteen days if we don't move around. We may be able to land somewhere before then. If not—" His voice rose to a sudden shriek. "What good are those twenty-five thousand credits going to do me now?"