And he could expect no forgiveness. If it was difficult for these men now with him to understand his weakness, it would be impossible for his father. Why couldn't Ken have lived, he wondered. He was the son the Commandant wanted. He had the dash and the spirit. He was never troubled by consequences. He acted on impulse ... bravely, daringly. The trio was donning space suits, preparing to venture out onto Caliban. He half-raised himself. "Going with us, lieutenant?" Allen asked the question for the others. Dirk hesitated and Kennedy interposed: "Maybe you'd rather have us send a Med over to take care of you." The lieutenant shook his head tiredly. "I'll be all right. Thanks." They turned away in relief and zipped on the space uniforms. Just as they were preparing to enter the compression chamber, the audio-visor hummed. They paused and looked back expectantly. The sleek face of the commandant's orderly blurred into focus. "Lieutenant Jemson will report to the commandant aboard the flagship." That was all. The picture faded. Instinctively, the trio in the doorway looked toward Dirk. He managed a smile and waved them on. After a moment's hesitation, they stepped into the compression chamber and out of sight. With fumbling hands, he put on his own space suit. What would his father say? What could he say? Words would only make it worse. And Commandant Jemson was not a man to seek out the kind word, the gentle phrase. His speech resembled his tactics--raw, direct, uncompromising. Slowly, Dirk moved into the compression chamber and from it into the murk of the world known as Caliban. Even protected as he was by his space suit, Dirk could sense the slimy chill in the atmosphere. It was as if wet, fibrous hands pushed at his suit; as if oozing tendrils slithered across his visor plate. The footing was insecure as well, and he had the unpleasant sensation that he was walking on raw eggs. Dark Caliban, he thought, pushing his way through the grey-brown fog. Dark Caliban--scene of Dirk Jemson's final shame and disgrace. Poor dad. This was to have been his crowning achievement and all it had been was a blow to his pride. Impatiently, Dirk swiped at his glass visor plate with his swathed hands. Some substance--gelatinous and moist--seemed to have formed there. The guard at the flagship was expecting him, and he quickly entered the compression chamber and doffed the uniform. As he put it on a hook to await his return, he noticed with a little shudder of revulsion that the jelly-like things he had noticed on his visor were also clustered here and there in the folds of his space suit. This was probably the life to which Tabor had referred. The orderly outside his father's office saluted, but Dirk thought he sensed in the click of the heels, the tilt of the chin just a nuance of disrespect--as an executioner might salute the criminal just before the disintegrating switch were thrown. * * * * *