"That's O. K. I figured there would be more boats along. They're coming home now--those that have power enough in their engines to make the trip. My name's Duane, Jim Duane." "They call me Captain," said the little man. "I've got other names, but mostly I answer to Captain. I'm a professional soldier." He added with a trace of a cold smile, "Like you." "Yeah," Duane said wearily, "that's my work. Fightin' for the highest bidder. But when the war lords ran short of uranium they sent me home." He added with a malicious grin, "Like you." "And damned lucky to get home. Plenty of boys marooned up there." Captain jerked his chin upward toward the dark, mist-swept sky. "But they'll find more uranium. They'll call us back. Twenty years of fightin' can't end this way. The war lords aren't satisfied. There'll be more power for those crates, and guys like us will be gentlemen again, drawin' monthly wages in four figures." Duane shook his head. "It's gone. They've hunted everywhere. Oh, they found plenty--enough for centuries. But they burned it up in twenty years. They blasted the worlds apart. They fought like mad dogs. An' now it's gone. An' I'm damned glad." Captain's eyes narrowed. "You don't talk like a fightin' man." Duane's hand tightened upon his gun. "A man don't talk fight. Want to see how I fight?" The little man shrugged his broad shoulders. "I only fight for money. Perhaps we'll fight for different war lords some day." * * * * * The scuffling of boots through the undergrowth eased the tension between the two. Two figures stumbled toward the fire. Two men in tattered leather coats and ragged pants and worn boots stopped as one, and stood there with downcast eyes as though awaiting an invitation. "Space-nuts," said Captain none too softly. One of the men looked up and patted a bulge in his coat. "I got a can of tomatoes." He smiled timidly. He was a thin little man with a sunken chest and a long pointed nose. His sunken eyes were black and dull. Duane had seen hundreds like the two. There were men who cracked up out there in space, men who broke under the strain of the screaming, bellowing, fire-blasting wars. "Throw the tomatoes in the pot," he said carelessly. "Sit down and warm. My name's Duane. This is Captain--that's his name, he's not my captain." The man drew a can opener from his pocket and produced the tin of tomatoes. As he sawed at the lid he said listlessly, "I'm Ted Shafer. Used to have my own ship. But I lost it. 'Bout a year ago I was shippin' on a freighter an' they marooned me here. Said I was nuts. I'm not nuts. You can see that I ain't nuts. Well, I been livin' around here for about a year--livin' off what I could find. There's a ruined town over there. Then I run into this feller about a week ago. His name is ... say, what's your name? I keep forgettin'."