"Just a moment, Captain," I insisted. "There's more to it."

"Eh? State it."

"Well, this next jump is about thirty years, isn't it? Greenwich I mean."

"Of that order. Somewhat less."

" 'Of that order.' There are three special communicators left, myself, Unc—I mean Mr. McNeil—and Mei-Ling Travers. I think you ought to count Unc out."

"Why?"

"Because he has his original telepartner and she is now as old as he is. Do you think Unc will live another thirty years?"

"But it won't be thirty years for him—oh, sorry! I see your point. She would be well past a hundred if she lived at all. Possibly senile."

"Probably, sir. Or more likely dead."

"Very well, we won t count McNeil. That leaves two of you. Plenty for essential communication.

"I doubt it, sir. Mei-Ling is a poor bet. She has only a secondary linkage and her partner is over thirty, with no children. Based on other telepairs, I would say that it is most unlikely that they will stay in rapport through another peak ... not a thirty-year one."

"That still leaves yourself."

I thought suddenly that if I had the guts to jump over the side, they could all go home. But it was just a thought; when I die, it won't be suicide. "My own case isn't much better, sir. My telepartner is about—" I had to stop and count up, then the answer did not seem right. "—is about nineteen, sir. No kids. No chance of kids before we peak... and I couldn't link in with a brand-new baby anyhow. She'll be fiftyish when we come out. So far as I know, there hasn't been a case in the whole fleet of bridging that long a period out of rapport."

He waited several moments before be answered. "Have you any reason to believe that it is impossible?"

"Well... no, sir. But it is extremely unlikely."

"Hmm... do you consider yourself an authority in theory of telepathy?"

"Huh? No, sir. I am just a telepath, that's all."

"I think he is probably right," put in Dr. Pandit, "are you an authority, Doctor?"

"Me, sir? As you know, my specialty is exotic pathology. But—"

"In that case, we will consult authorities Earthside. Perhaps they can suggest some way to improve our chances. Very probably, under the circumstances, the Foundation will again authorize use of drugs to reduce the possibility that our special communicators might fall out of touch during peak. Or something."

I thought of telling him that Vicky wasn't going to risk dangerous habit-forming drags. Then I thought better of it. Pat bad-and Vicky might.

"That :is all, gentlemen. We will boost at noon tomorrow. Uh, one more thing... One of you implied that morale is not too high in the ship. That is correct and I am perhaps more aware of it than you are. But morale will shake down to normal and we will best be able to forget the losses we have suffered if we all get quickly back to work. I want only to add that you all, as senior officers of this ship, have most to do with morale by setting an example. I am sure that you will." He stood up.

I don't know how news travels in a ship but by the time I got down to the mess room everybody knew that we were boosting tomorrow... and not for home. It was buzz-buzz and yammer all over. I ducked out because I didn't want to discuss it; my thoughts were mixed. I thought the Captain was insisting on one more jump from which he couldn't possibly report his results, if any—and with a nice fat chance that none of us would ever get home. On the other hand I admired the firm way he faced us up to our obligations and brushed aside panic. He had guts.

So did the Flying Dutchman have guts—but at last report he was still trying to round the Cape and not succeeding.

The Captain-Captain Swenson, I corrected-would not have been that bullheaded.

Or would he? According to Urqhardt, the last thing the Captain had said had been to remind Urqhardt that it was up to him to carry out the mission. All of us had been very carefully chosen (except us freaks) and probably the skipper and the relief skipper of each ship were picked primarily for bulldog stubbornness, the very quality that had kept Columbus going on and on when he was running out of water and his crew was muttering mutiny. I remembered Uncle Steve had once suggested as much.

I decided to go talk to Uncle Steve... then I remembered I couldn't and I really felt bad. When my parents had died, two peaks back, I had felt bad because I didn't feel as bad as I knew I should have felt. When it happened—or rather, by the time I knew about it-they were long dead, people I had not seen in a long time and just faces in a photograph. But Uncle Steve I had seen every day—I had seen today.

And I had been in the habit of kicking my troubles around with him whenever they were too much for me.

I felt his loss then, the delayed shock you get when you are hit hard. The hurt doesn't come until you pull yourself together and realize you're hit.

It was just as well that somebody tapped on my door then, or I would have bawled.

It was Mei-Ling and her husband, Chet. I invited them in and they sat down on the bed. Chat got to the point.

"Tom, where do you stand on this?"

"On what?"

"This silly business of trying to go on with a skeleton crew."

"It doesn't matter where I stand," I said slowly. "I'm not running the ship."

"Ah, but you are!"

"Huh?"

"I don't mean quite that, but I do mean you can put a stop to the nonsense. Now, look, Tom, everybody knows what you told the Captain and—"

"Who's been talking?"

"Huh? Never mind. If it didn't leak from you, it probably did from everybody else present; it's common knowledge. What you told him made sense. What it comes down to is that Urqhardt is depending on you and you alone to keep him in touch with the home office. So you're the man with the stick. You can stop him."

"Huh? Now wait. I'm not the only one. Granted that he isn't counting on Unc—how about Mei-Ling?"

Chat shook his head. "Mei-Ling isn't going to 'think-talk' for him."

His wife said, "Now, Chet; I haven't said so."

He looked at her fondly. "Don't be super-stupid, my lovely darling. You know that there is no chance at all that you will be any use to him after peak. If our brave Captain Urqhardt hasn't got that through his head now, he will... even if I have to explain to him in words of one syllable."

"But I might stay linked."

"Oh, no, you won't... or I'll bash your pretty head in. Our kids are going to grow up on Earth."

She looked soberly at him and patted his hand. The Travers's were not expecting again, but everybody knew they were hoping; I began to see why Chet was adamant... and I became quite sure that Mei-Ling would not link again after peak—not after her husband had argued with her for a while. What Chet wanted was more important to her than what the Captain wanted, or any abstract duty to a Foundation back on Earth.

Chet went on, "Think it over, Tom, and you will see that you can't let your shipmates down. To go on is suicidal and everybody knows it but the Captain. It's up to you."

"Uh, I'll think it over."

"Do that. But don't take too long." They left.

I went to bed but didn't sleep. The deuce of it was that Chet was almost certainly right... including the certainty that Mei-Ling would never patch in with her telepair after another peak, for she was beginning to slip even now. I had been transmitting mathematical or technical matter which would have fallen to her ever since last peak, because her linking was becoming erratic. Chet wouldn't have to bash her admittedly-pretty head in; she was falling out of touch.

On the other hand...

When I had reached "On the other hand" about eighteen times, I got up and dressed and went looking for Harry Gates; it occurred to me that since he was a head of department and present at the meeting, it was proper to talk to him about it.