Dr. Anjers said politely, "It is always a pleasure to meet friends of my friends. But hasn't Dr. Lane made a small mistake? If my poor eyesight does not deceive me, your markings are not those of a space lieutenant—"
Warren grinned. "That's right. S'prise, folks! The Council up and made me a Captain, on account of me and my boys were lucky enough to salvage a smashed liner out of the Bog.[4] That's why I'm here in Geneva. Waiting to take command of my new ship, the sweetest, smoothest, little whipper-dipper of a cruiser you ever laid eyes on. Boy, is it ever a honey! All the latest equipment—"
"Cruiser!" said Lane bitterly. "They've got lots of cruisers for routine work, but they won't even spare one old broken down jalopy for—"
Hugh Warren looked puzzled. "For what? What's the gripe, chum? You look like you'd just found a bug in a raspberry."
"It's worse than that," said Gary. And he told Warren the whole story briefly, beginning with the lunar expedition and ending with the recital of his recent interview.
As Lane spoke, the young spaceman's smile faded slowly, the laughter-born crinkles in the corners of his eyes disappeared. And Nora Powell, watching this transition, realized that beneath the surface vivacity of this newcomer there lay a core of steel, flame-hardened in the crucible of action.
When Gary finished Warren did not speak. Instead, he jammed hamlike hands deep into his trousers pockets, stalked to the far end of the balcony, and there with head lowered, shoulders hunched, his back to the others of the group, stared for long minutes unseeingly out over the distant panorama. At length he turned, his eyes gravely querulous.
"Gary ... you're sure of what you've been telling me?"
"I only wish," said Gary bitterly, "there were some possibility of error."