Renner had a purpose in life. And the Purpose in Life had Renner.
The star ship came out of space drive for the last time, and made its final landing on a scrubby little planet that circled a small and lonely sun. It came to ground gently, with the cushion of a retarder field, on the side of the world where it was night. In the room that would have been known as the bridge on ships of other days, instrument lights glowed softly on Captain Renner's cropped white hair, and upon the planes of his lean, strong face. Competent fingers touched controls here and there, seeking a response that he knew would not come. He had known this for long enough so that there was no longer any emotional impact in it for him. He shut off the control panel, and stood up.
''Well, gentlemen,'' he said, ''that's it. The fuel pack's gone!''
Beeson, the botanist, a rotund little man with a red, unsmiling face, squirmed in his chair.
''The engineers on Earth told us it would last a lifetime,'' he pointed out.
''If we were just back on Earth,'' Thorne, the ship's doctor, said drily, ''we could tell them that it doesn't. They could start calculating again.''
''But what does it mean?'' David asked. He was the youngest member of the crew, signed on as linguist, and librarian to the ship.

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