ithin an ace of being all out of family, and I'd come within an ace
of being all out, period. After we got through with the happy reunion,
I asked him what was the situation in Port Sandor. He shook his head.

"Not good, Walt. The word's gotten around that there was a bomb
planted aboard the _Javelin_, and everybody's taking just one guess
who did it. We haven't expressed any opinions one way or another,
yet. We've been waiting for confirmation."

"Set for recording," I said. "I'll give you the story as far as we
know it."

He nodded, reached one hand forward out of the picture, and then
nodded again. I began with our killing the monster and going down to
the bottom after the cutting-up, and the explosion. I told him what we
had seen after leaving the ship and circling around it in the boat.

"The condition of the hull looked very much like the effect of a
charge of high explosive exploding in the engine room," I finished.

"We got some views of it, transmitted in by Captain Spazoni, of the
_Bulldog_," he said. "Captain Courtland, of the Spaceport Police, has
expressed the opinion that it could hardly be anything but a small
demolition bomb. Would you say accident can be ruled out?"

"I would. There was nobody in the engine room at the time; we were
resting on the bottom, and all hands were in the wardroom."

"That's good enough," Dad said. "We'll run it as 'very convincing and
almost conclusive' evidence of sabotage." He'd shut off the recorder
for that. "Can I get the story of how you abandoned ship and landed,
now?"

His hand moved forward, and the recorder went on again. I gave a brief
account of our experiences in the boat, the landing and wreck, and our
camp, and the firewood cutting, and how we had repaired the radio. Joe
Kivelson talked for a while, and so did Tom and Glenn Murell. I was
going to say something when they finished, and I sat down on one of
the couches. I distinctly remember leaning back and relaxing.

The next thing I knew, Oscar Fujisawa's mate was shaking me awake.

"We're in sight of Port Sandor," he was telling me.

I mumbled something, and then sat up and found that I had been lying
down and that somebody had thrown a blanket over me. Tom Kivelson was
still asleep under a blanket on the other couch, across from me. The
clock over the instrument panel had moved eight G.S. hours. Joe
Kivelson wasn't in sight, but Glenn Murell and Oscar were drinking
coffee. I went to the front windo