Paresi shook his head. "Johnny was afraid, and fled. Ives was afraid, and fought. There's only one fear that's a real fear, and that's the one that brings you to your breaking point. Any other fear is small potatoes compared with a terror like that. Small enough so no one but me has to worry about it." "Why you, then?" Paresi swatted the first-aid kit as he carried it back to its clamp. "I'm the M. O., remember? Symptoms are my business. Let me watch 'em, Captain. Give me orders, but don't crowd me in my specialty." "You're insubordinate, Paresi," said Anderson, "and you're a great comfort." His slight smile faded, and horizontal furrows appeared over his eyes. "Tell me why I had that nasty little phase of doubt about myself." "You think I can?" "Yes." He was certain. "That's half the reason. The other half is Hoskins." "What are you talking about?" "Johnny broke. Ives broke. Your question was, 'who's next?' You doubt that it will be me, because I'm _de facto_ the boy with all the answers. You doubt it will be Hoskins, because you can't extrapolate how he might break--or even if he would. So that leaves you." "I hadn't exactly reasoned it out like that--" "Oh yes you had," said Paresi, and thumped the Captain's shoulder. "Now forget it. Confucius say he who turn gaze inward wind up crosseyed. Can't afford to have a crosseyed Captain. Our friends out there are due to make another move." "No they're not." The doctor and the Captain whirled at the quiet voice. "What does that mean, Hoskins?" The engineer came into the cabin, crossed over to his station, and began opening and closing drawers. "They've moved." From the bottom drawer he pulled out a folded chessboard and a rectangular box. Only then did he look directly at them. "The food's gone." "Food?... gone where?" Hoskins smiled tiredly. "Where's the port? Where's the outboard bulkhead? That black stuff has covered it up--heating units, foodlockers, disposal unit, everything." He pulled a couple of chairs from their clips on the bulkhead and carried them across the cabin to the sheet of blackness. "There's water," he said as he unfolded the chairs. On the seat of one he placed the chessboard. He sat on the other and pushed the board close to the darkness. "The scuttlebutt's inboard, and still available." His voice seemed to get fainter and fainter as he talked, as if he were going slowly away from them. "But there's no food. No food." He began to set up the pieces, his face to the black wall. IV