Who could have thought that a single lightning stroke through one of the
tremendous, twelve-hundred-foot trees that surrounded the compound could
have felled it? Who could have predicted that it would topple toward the
compound itself?

That it would have been burning--that was something that could have been
guaranteed, had the idea of the original toppling been considered.
Especially after the gigantic wooden life-thing had smashed across the
double-ply fence, thereby adding man-made energy to its already
powerful bulk and blazing surface.

But--that it would have fallen across Storage Shed Number One? Was
_that_ predictable?

Fennister shook his head slowly. No. It wasn't. The accident was simply
that--an accident. No one was to blame; no one was responsible.

Except Fennister. _He_ was responsible. Not for the accident, but for
the personnel of the expedition. He was the Military Officer; he was the
Man In Charge of Fending Off Attack.

And he had failed.

Because that huge, blazing, stricken tree had toppled majestically down
from the sky, crashing through its smaller brethren, to come to rest on
Storage Shed Number One, thereby totally destroying the majority of the
food supply.

There were eighty-five men on Alphegar IV, and they would have to wait
another six months before the relief ship came.

And they didn't have food enough to make it, now that their reserve had
been destroyed.

Fennister growled something under his breath.

"What?" asked Major Grodski, rather surprised at his superior's tone.

"I said: 'Water, water, everywhere--', that's what I said."

Major Grodski looked around him at the lush forest which surrounded the
double-ply fence of the compound.

"Yeah," he said. "'Nor any drop to drink.' But I wish one of those
boards had shrunk--say, maybe, a couple hundred feet."

"I'm going back to my quarters," Fennister said. "I'll be checking with
the civilian personnel. Let me know the total damage, will you?"

The major nodded. "I'll let you know, sir. Don't expect good news."

"I won't," said Colonel Fennister, as he turned.

* * * * *

The colonel let his plump bulk sag forward in his chair, and he covered
his hands with his eyes. "I can imagine all kinds of catastrophes," he
said, with a kind of hysterical glumness, "but this has them all beat."

Dr. Pilar stroked his, short, gray, carefully cultivated beard. "I'm
afraid I don't understand. We cou