Kort watched the work somberly, feeling himself responsible for the tender's death. Even Pratt would have ordered the man back. The men were right; he was a gold brick, not worth his salt aboard the _Mermaid_. He'd have to get off. Not that there could be any going back to the passenger runs for him, after the tragedy of the _Corinthia_. They allowed a man only one mistake there. He had made his by failing to report a brother officer unfit for duty. A steward brought his lunch--fried _gwai_, native tapioca, and strong synthetic coffee. While he was eating Hodge entered. The first mate poured himself a cup of the brew and dismissed the idle helmsman with a nod. The _Mermaid_ lay becalmed in the downpour. Kort felt the mate's eyes upon him. Hodge was a grizzled giant of a man, at least thirty years older than he. "Taking it a bit hard, aren't you, son?" "I should have ordered him back," said Kort tightly. "Maybe," retorted Hodge, stuffing a biscuit between his teeth. "And maybe he shouldn't have played the fool. Never give the sea bigger odds than you can help. They do say the critter was all tangled up with the net to the last second--and then it wasn't." "That's true." "Reminds me of them native magicians you can see in Dana T'resa. But the sea's full of surprises. We'll never outguess her--well, D'loo?" The pilot house door had been flung open as by a tempest. One of the stokers, a squat green-skinned Venusian, stood breathless and wild eyed before the two officers. "Steady, boy," rumbled Hodge. "What's up?" The native's broad ears twitched. "_Twahna ekeh-il!_ Twahna is dead!" He lapsed into chattering dialect, his eyes almost idiotic with fright. "He says Twahna was killed by the ghost-snake," muttered Hodge. "Sounds like a lie to cover up some liquor stealing, but we'd better go see. Have Pratt take over; it's almost his watch anyway." The third officer, flushed of face and glaring resentfully, answered Kort's telephoned summons by appearing on the bridge. He slouched on the leather bench behind the wheel, pulled a bottle from his hip even before the others left. The chattering Venusian led them to the second forecastle reserved for native seamen. Half a dozen other natives, all off duty for the present, were huddled in the passageway outside. The low room was deserted. A single fluorescent bulb glowed bluishly between the tiers of bunks. Almost directly beneath sprawled Twahna. His face was cupped in both hands as though to shut out the sight of death. Kort rolled him over and got the shock of his life. The Venusian was dead white, his flesh drained of color. His hands stayed up before his face and Kort tried to put them down. "He's frozen!" Kort marveled. "Frozen stiff. Feel him."