"The truth?"
"Certainly. You admitted it to Fayette. That you'd figured out the orbit and present position of X. He got the course from Foshag and made us turn around toward Titan again. Then he took off for X. So we're whipped. But at least it kept us from being looted."
Unterzuyder ripped the wet cloth from his head and threw it somewhere. He laughed. He weaved about the room, holding his head and hooting, while Foshag and Beecher looked on with open mouths. Then Foshag forced him into a chair.
"Out of his head! Mr. Unterzuyder, please be quiet. That's better. There, there! Now we're going to leave you here for your own protection, Mr. Unterzuyder. The settlers are somewhat provoked. Do you agree?"
Unterzuyder grinned widely up at him.
"I'm sick," he groaned. "Tell Fayette I need her."
There's still X to find.
An idea had come to him.
He was in bed, the white cloth on his forehead, when Fayette walked in. She looked at him without sympathy. Tentatively, she sat on the edge of the bed, curling one knee under another.