"It is physically impossible for me to carry out your orders," the lifeboat told them. "My prime directive is to protect my occupants from harm. That order is stamped on my every tape, giving priority over all others. I cannot let you go to your certain death."
The boat began to move away from the island.
"You'll be court-martialed for this!" Arnold screamed hysterically. "They'll decommission you."
"I must operate within my limitations," the boat said sadly. "If we find the fleet, I will transfer you to a killerboat. But in the meantime, I must take you to the safety of the south pole."
The lifeboat picked up speed, and the island receded behind them. Arnold rushed at the controls and was thrown flat. Gregor picked up the canteen and poised it, to hurl ineffectually at the sealed hatch. He stopped himself in mid-swing, struck by a sudden wild thought.
"Please don't attempt any more destruction," the lifeboat pleaded. "I know how you feel, but-"
It was damned risky, Gregor thought, but the south pole was certain death anyhow.
He uncapped the canteen. "Since we cannot accomplish our mission," he said, "we can never again face our comrades. Suicide is the only alternative."
He took a gulp of water and handed the canteen to Arnold.
"No! Don't!" the lifeboat shrieked. "That's water! It's a deadly poison—"
An electrical bolt leaped from the instrument panel, knocking the canteen from Arnold's hand.
Arnold grabbed the canteen. Before the boat could knock it again from his hand, he had taken a drink.
"We die for glorious Drome!" Gregor dropped to the floor. He motioned Arnold to lie still.
"There is no known antidote," the boat moaned. "If only I could contact a hospital ship…" Its engines idled indecisively. "Speak to me," the boat pleaded. "Are you still alive?"
Gregor and Arnold lay perfectly still, not breathing.
"Answer me!" the lifeboat begged. "Perhaps if you ate some geezel…" It thrust out two trays. The partners didn't stir.
"Dead," the lifeboat said. "Dead. I will read the burial service."
There was a pause. Then the lifeboat intoned, "Great Spirit of the Universe, take into your custody the souls of these, your servants. Although they died by their own hand, still it was in the service of their country, fighting for home and hearth. Judge them not harshly for their impious deed. Rather blame the spirit of war that inflames and destroys all Drome."
The hatch swung open. Gregor could feel a cool rush of morning air.
"And now, by the authority vested in me by the Drome Fleet, and with all reverence, I commend their bodies to the deep."
Gregor felt himself being lifted through the hatch to the deck. Then he was in the air, falling, and in another moment he was in the water, with Arnold beside him.
"Float quietly," he whispered.
The island was nearby. But the lifeboat was still hovering close to them, nervously roaring its engines.
"What do you think it's up to now?" Arnold whispered.
"I don't know," Gregor said, hoping that the Drome peoples didn't believe in converting their bodies to ashes.
The lifeboat came closer. Its bow was only a few feet away. They tensed. And then they heard it. The roaring screech of the Drome National Anthem.
In a moment it was finished. The lifeboat murmured, "Rest in peace," turned, and roared away.
As they swam slowly to the island, Gregor saw that the lifeboat was heading south, due south, to the pole, to wait for the Drome fleet.
1955