The possibility that it might be done by a crewman was staggeringly humiliating. He would salvage his honor from that final indignity at all costs. Of course, if he were captured by an officer, it would be a different matter entirely; he would surrender and submit like the gentleman he was. But a crewman.... He took the sword out of the scabbard and rubbed his thumb along the side of it. He swung it, and it whistled in the air crisply, pleasingly. He grasped it firmly in his right hand and walked to the door. He threw open the door and jumped back and away. But it was safe; there was no one outside. He stepped into the corridor. Empty. He looked both ways. He listened. Then he began to run, swiftly, silently, on his toes. At the first intersection, he stopped and surveyed the crossing corridor. To his left, almost at the far bend, he saw a crewman; however, the man was not looking in his direction, and the captain felt that he could be reasonably safe from detection if he crossed quickly enough. He sprinted across the open space. On the other side, he stopped and waited. After several minutes of silence, he knew that he could safely continue. He ran for a long distance. Finally, safely down in the second level, he slowed to a walk. He was breathing heavily; it was very loud, and his footsteps echoed hollowly. He was alone down there. He could tell that. At the Jonson bend, he breathed a sigh of relief. Ahead was the empty corridor that led to the dead end, Forward. He could see down it, clear to the bulkhead. And as he knew it would be, it was devoid of life and movement. He sat down to wait out the long day. He scratched his chin. He would have nothing to do until the closing bell. At which time he would be forced to go to the assembly area. As would anyone else, according to the rules of the Festival as laid down by Nestir, who had not yet been sent to his Reward. That would be a dangerous time. For then there would be no esthetic consideration. It would be a fight amongst all assembling for the final honor of Sole Survivor. One could expect no mercy: clean, quick sword stroke, no more. No suffering at all. It was not a pleasant prospect. But to be the coveted Sole Survivor compensated for the risk. The captain laid the sword across his lap and petted it. He would fight. And no crew member need expect to be the man Cast Off by the first mate; that was to be the captain's fate. The second bell called to the ship shrilly. The hunt was on! * * * * * Martha and the first mate assembled the children in the large, comfortable hospital. The steward's department had fixed them all a lunch. The children were silent, for the angry brow of the first mate was a complete damper on their usual animal spirits. There was no holiday happiness.