"Ramming?" Marnay said. "Yes, I know. His ship is supposed to be built of some tough new metal he found on Mercury. I've heard that even his tubes are made of it, and are slightly expansive under pressure, giving him greater speed than any tubes yet known."
"That's probably true," Kennett said. "But the important thing is, he can ram completely through any ordinary spacer. And usually does."
Marnay nodded. "I've heard such stories."
"You've heard such stories," Kennett repeated with a startling bitterness. "But I saw one—just one. Three years ago when I was a rookie on the Earth Patrol. We received a flash that Prather had rammed and looted a passenger liner enroute from Mars to Earth. The Salvage men were sent out to rescue any possible survivors. What headquarters really meant was that they were to do the mopping up—they knew there wouldn't be any survivors. I wasn't on Salvage duty then, but I grabbed a swift Patrol boat and got out there first, anyway...."
Kennett paused, and for a moment Marnay saw horror in the other's eyes. Then Kennett continued:
"You know, Marnay, when a Patrol man applies for leave after a job like that, and stays drunk for a week, nothing is thought of it. I didn't even apply for leave. I simply left duty, and I stayed drunk for a month, not a week. After which, headquarters told me I was relieved from duty permanently. I didn't care. Not any more."
Marnay waited. He knew Kennett hadn't finished. For a single instant, the space of a memory, Kennett caught his breath in his throat; then:
"You see," he said, turning away, "the girl I loved was on that liner; and I found her. She was returning to Earth and we were to be married. Her name was Vera, too."
The Vera lumbered along at about half speed. The fourth day they passed beyond the asteroid belt.