There remained now only to go to GHQ at BeTaba, give his report and hand over his message-cylinder. And when the tube was opened, he would be through on Venus. Dismissed from the Service for insubordination. Wherever he went, that report would follow him.
His lips compressed. There was a girl waiting for him back on Earth—waiting until he had completed his hitch in the Service and could graduate to the spaceways.
Abruptly his hand, reaching to his belt, stopped, and an electric shock ran through him.
His message cylinder was gone! He must have lost it when he rested at the little island.
For a moment he sat motionless, a cold numbness sweeping over him. He must have that cylinder when he reported at BeTaba. That part of the message pertaining to reenforcements for the garrison would be given orally, of course. But the section regarding himself was different. If he failed to deliver that letter, sooner or later he would be accused of throwing it away. It would mean another case of—insubordination.
Suddenly he threw over the wheel and sent the hydrocar racing back in the direction from which it had just come.
The Great Swamp faded out of his vision now. He drove with his thoughts. And then as familiar landmarks began to rise up before him, he realized what he was doing.
It was selfishness that had driven him along the back trail. He was returning for a kind of personal satisfaction. Deliberately taking chances when the stakes were higher than himself or his own feelings.
But the island lay just ahead. It would be mad to turn back now that he had come this far. He ran the hydrocar into a little inlet, switched off the motor and climbed out.
The coals of his campfire were still glowing. Carefully he began to search the trampled grass. A fern writhed in the sodden wind, and a glint of metal caught his eye. The official tube lay where it had fallen, close to the shore.