"He was the last one," Logan choked. "He was my brother—" Something caught his arm in a vice from behind. A stab of pain shot from his wrist to his neck.
"Sorry, Lieutenant, but I got to keep 'im alive," the voice of the prison guard broke in his ear. He felt the gun drop from his fingers and tried to break free. Through the bars he could dimly see Snyder's mocking smile. Then something struck him on the head and he slid a long ways down.
An hour later he stood at attention before the command desk of the Patrol's Jupiter division. His knees were weak, chills of exhaustion tracing his back muscles. He was washed up and he knew it.
"I used to think I could count on you," Commander Bates stormed. "Well, I was wrong. You're nothing but a damned gutless jellyfish. If it weren't for your record I'd have you cashiered here and now."
Logan flinched and tightened his lips.
"There's no room in the Patrol for a man who cracks," Bates raged on. "I'm sorry about Johnny. He had an easy way of getting under the skin and belonging to all of us. Even the natives liked him. You're different, Logan. You live for yourself."
Sand had crawled up under Logan's eyelids. He listened, too tired to be angered by the truth.
The Commander's eyes shifted to a sheaf of papers. "General Winkham sent me your requests for Transportation and Exploration licenses. I'm supposed to endorse them." He swept the papers away and glared. "Snyder dies on an Earth rope in three days and no self-appointed god has the right to make it a minute sooner."
"If you want my resignation—" Those papers had been his future. His and Johnny's ... tattered remnants of a star dream.