"Space-nuts," said Captain none too softly.
One of the men looked up and patted a bulge in his coat. "I got a can of tomatoes." He smiled timidly. He was a thin little man with a sunken chest and a long pointed nose. His sunken eyes were black and dull.
Duane had seen hundreds like the two. There were men who cracked up out there in space, men who broke under the strain of the screaming, bellowing, fire-blasting wars.
"Throw the tomatoes in the pot," he said carelessly. "Sit down and warm. My name's Duane. This is Captain—that's his name, he's not my captain."
The man drew a can opener from his pocket and produced the tin of tomatoes. As he sawed at the lid he said listlessly, "I'm Ted Shafer. Used to have my own ship. But I lost it. 'Bout a year ago I was shippin' on a freighter an' they marooned me here. Said I was nuts. I'm not nuts. You can see that I ain't nuts. Well, I been livin' around here for about a year—livin' off what I could find. There's a ruined town over there. Then I run into this feller about a week ago. His name is ... say, what's your name? I keep forgettin'."
The fourth man, a squat, paunched fellow with a red nose and a thick unkempt beard, snorted. "The name's Belton. Bill Belton. You're gettin' crazier and crazier. I been around here for about six months. Only I wasn't marooned. I jumped ship. You guys got anything to drink?"
Captain swore. "Just a couple of bums. I oughta give 'em the toe of my boot—"
Duane's eyes narrowed. "It's my fire," he said softly.
"O. K., O. K. But they're full of lice, I bet—"
Shafer and Belton sat by the fire, their shoulders slumped forward.