sfits, most of them. I'm a misfit, or I was, back in our time. I
didn't belong, I didn't fit in. I wasn't a business man, I never would
have made a business man. I couldn't have been a lawyer or a clerk or a
white-collar worker. But here--well I seem to belong here. This is my
time, this is my place in the world." He broke off. "I don't know why I
am telling you all this," he said shortly.

She had listened quietly and sympathetically. "You can tell me," she
said. "Remember, back in the life-boat, when I told you we were two of a
kind? I didn't fit in, either, back home. I belong here too."

She had moved closer to him, in the soft darkness. He could sense her
nearness, sense her womanliness. He started to put his arms around her.

"Well," a voice said behind him.

Craig turned. Voronoff stood there. "What do you want?" Craig said.

"From you, I want nothing," Voronoff answered. "I was not speaking to
you. I, at least, have not forgotten about the water."

"The water?" Craig said puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"The water that wasn't in the cask we had in the life-boat," Voronoff
answered. "The water that you drank in the night when the rest of us
were asleep."

"Damn you--" Craig said.

Voronoff walked away. Craig made no attempt to follow him. He had
completely forgotten about the water. With an effort, he got his temper
under control and turned back to the girl.

She had turned away and was looking at the sea. When Craig spoke, she
did not answer. A moment before, a warm magic had been between them.
Voronoff's words had changed the warmth to coldness.

* * * * *

That night the lookouts on the Idaho were constantly reporting that the
ship was being shadowed. Overhead in the darkness were planes, silent
planes. The lookout occasionally spotted them against the moon.

The fact that the planes flew silently, like shadows in the night,
perturbed the lookouts and their uneasiness was communicated to the
crew. No one would have much minded planes that made the proper amount
of noise, but ghost planes that made no noise at all were dreadful
things. The silent planes scouted the ship, then seemed to disappear. At
least they were no longer visible, but whether or not they were still
hidden somewhere in the sky, no one knew. They made no attempt to bomb
the ship, or to attack it in any way. This seemed ominous.

The Idaho carried four planes of her own. One had been lost. B