Tanar descended the companionway to the lower deck and approached the forward hatch. A single glance below revealed only what he could have anticipated—floating corpses rolling with the roll of the derelict. All below were dead. With a sigh he turned away and returned to the upper deck.
The girl did not even question him for she could read in his demeanor the story of what his eyes had beheld.
“You and I are the only living creatures that remain aboard,” he said.
She waved a hand in a broad gesture that took in the sea about them. “Doubtless we alone of the entire ship’s company have survived,” she said. “I see no other ship nor any of the small boats.”
Tanar strained his eyes in all directions. “Nor I,” said he; “but perhaps some of them have escaped.”
She shook her head. “I doubt it.”
“Yours has been a heavy loss,” sympathized the Sarian. “Besides so many of your people, you have lost your father and your mother.”
Stellara looked up quickly into his eyes. “They were not my people,” she said.
“What?” exclaimed Tanar. “They were not your people? But your father, The Cid, was Chief of the Korsars.”
“He was not my father,” replied the girl.