"No. You're the first, Trav."
Dahlinger whooped. Travis relaxed slightly and even the glacial Trippe could not control a silly grin.
Horton caught a whiff of air from the open lock.
"Burned generators? You must've come like hell." His face showed his respect. Between burning a generator and blowing one entirely there is only a microscopic distance, and it takes a very steady pilot indeed to get the absolute most out of his generators without also spreading himself and his ship over several cubic miles of exploded space.
"Like a striped-tailed ape," Dahlinger chortled. "Man, you should see the boss handle a ship. I thought every second we were going to explode in technicolor."
"Well," Horton said feebly. "Burned generators. Shame."
He lowered his eyes and began toeing the ground. Travis felt suddenly ill.
"What's the matter, Hort?"
Horton shrugged. "I hate like heck to be the one to tell you, Trav, but seein' as I know you, they sent me—"
"Tell me what?" Now Dahlinger and Trippe both realized it and were suddenly silent.