As the hours crept by he noticed that the temperature in the room was rising. Once more, for the last time, he called Operations.
"It's no use, Wyman. Let the Piles alone. It's only a matter of hours now—or perhaps minutes."
"Shall I cast loose the other Piles, sir?"
"No, no use in that, since you can't jettison Piles One, Two and Three. When they go, we all go. It's impossible, now, that any rescue ship could get to us in time. You've done a good job, Wyman. You are now released from duty."
His hands were sweating, his whole body was wet from the high summer torridness of the room. Captain Evans wiped his sticky hands on his handkerchief and picked up the little red book, Ley's Space Ships. Opening the book, he read for the last time the well-loved page. Then he took up his pen and made a new notation in the margin.
"Star Lord: Lost, May 26, 2421, on the Thakura Ripples."
He paused a moment, and then with firm, steady strokes he wrote the final entry: "Destroyed by the arrogance of her owners, and the criminal pride and weakness of her Captain."
He put down the pen, and laid his head on his desk.
Hour after hour Boat A circled the dying Star Lord, its weary passengers tense with hope for the all but impossible rescue. Alan sat next to Tanya, guarding the sleeping children.