ou. He seems to take a special interest in
you---believes you have some potential or understanding the rest of us
lack."

"Yes. It seems my curse to have lonely old men confide in me."

"Listen to me Brunner," said the captain sternly. "Don't be that way.
We need him. We need his firepower. Whether you like it or not, we
need you to listen to his every word, and learn what you can from him.
Account yourself as befits the situation! We are in enemy Space now,
and the Soviet detection screens won't hide us forever."

"Captain. They are not going to turn and leave us now."

"You must not count on that! And I am still your commanding officer,
however vague the current status. Remember that."

"Yes, sir."

He performed officiously the duties of a long day, with growing
impatience, but simultaneously fearing for the time to pass. For at
least now he still had hope. He could still imagine the happy reunion
with Ara, still picture the moment of finding her: the tearful embrace
and releasing of pent-up, brutalized emotions---the lonely hours of
anguish, always fearing the worst, listening to the battle rage inside
him.

And yet in the end came the thought, the realization, that he NEEDED TO
KNOW. Sixty odd hours, then the battle. Then the landing on Dracus.

When his shift was over he went to the officer's mess and partook, what
little he ate of it, of the evening meal. He sat alone at an empty
table and spoke to no one, but the others were used to this. With
different words they all realized that he had sunk very deep into
himself, and did not wish to be disturbed in his reverie. And they
were right. Almost he feared to take comfort in the company of other
men, as if this might somehow lessen the prayerful necessity of finding
his wife.

He returned again to his room. Taking out a pen and pad of paper he
made some notes for the following day, then picked up his copy of A
PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN, and began to read. Dragged down
after a time by its minute detail and understated hopelessness, he
placed a marker in the book and set it down, scrawling idly some verses
that came to him then. Weary and lethargic he lay back on the bed,
though he did not yet wish to sleep.

Nevertheless he felt his eyelids drooping heavily. To block it out. .
.to shut off the day..... Even for a little while. But he could not
sleep now, or he would be unable later.

He tried thinking of his mother and