Warrior Race

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They never did discover whose fault it was. Fannia pointed out that if Donnaught had had the brains of an ox, as well as the build, he would have remembered to check the tanks. Donnaught, although twice as big as him, wasn’t quite as fast with an insult. He intimated, after a little thought, that Fannia’s nose might have obstructed his reading of the fuel guage.

This still left them twenty light-years from Thetis, with a cupful of transformer fuel in the emergency tank.

“All right,” Fannia said presitly. “What’s done is done. We can squeeze about three light years out of the fuel before we’re back on atomics. Hand me The Galactic Pilot—unless you forgot that, too.”

Donnaught dragged the bulky microfilm volume out of its locker, and they explored its pages.

The Galactic Pilot told them they were in a sparse, seldom-visited section of space, which they already knew. The nearest planetary system was Hatterfield; no intelligent life there. Sersus had a native population, but no refueling facilities. The same with Illed, Hung and Porderai.

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