rivate, quite obviously trying to gain some
kind of rapport with us. It didn't work. Even if it hadn't been so
obviously what it was, it wouldn't have worked. The men couldn't stand
simply having him around, and their conviction that he was a Psi Corps
officer merely grew stronger.

When he left for the day, it was a relief. You couldn't like the guy,
but you couldn't help but feel sorry for him--at least, I couldn't.

* * * * *

That evening, since we were still docked on Mars, I went to the Base
service club for dinner. Sitting in a booth there I found the three of
them--Harding, Spender and Korsakov. For the first time, they actually
seemed happy to see me, and the usual animosity I had experienced from
them had almost vanished. Of course, I knew what the reason was. They
could now hate somebody else, and since I was in the same dismal
situation that they were in, they generously permitted me to share their
gloom.

I ordered some good Earthside bourbon, and sat down with them. Harding
had apparently been making a little speech, which I had interrupted, and
which he now concluded to me.

"So what do you think we can do?"

"About what?" I said.

"You know about what."

I shrugged and reached for my drink off the servidore.

"I know you don't like to talk about it, Maise," Harding said, "but we
have to. Something has to be done."

I started to say something, but he raised a hand and hurried on. "I
know, I know," he growled, "command authority, dignity of rank and all
that sort of nonsense and tradition. Sure, I'd like to see some of it,
too. But this is a hopeless case, Maise. Frendon is a sickman. Or a Psi
Corps man if you prefer. Undoubtedly they have some awfully clever
fellows back on Earth to do our thinking for us, but as far as I am
concerned, they might as well have sent us an idiot child to run the
ship in combat. Don't you understand?"

He was looking at me earnestly, the deep concern he felt plain on his
face. I already knew that Harding could be depended upon to reflect the
sentiments of the group, and to say exactly what he felt. It was a
useful bit of knowledge.

"I know what you mean, Harding," I said, "but--"

"Well, think about it then, man," he interrupted sharply. "You're in the
same ship, you know. When we blow up, you do, too. And it isn't just
that we'll all be killed with this incompetent guess-kid in command--we
probably would anyway, sooner or late