The ship lay at a crazy angle on the stark whiteness of the pumice plain. The rocket nozzles were a fused lump of slag; the fire-darkened hull crumpled and warped by the impact of landing. And there was silence ... complete and utter silence.
There could be no return. Thurmon realized this. At first the thought had brought panic, but, as the scope of his achievement dawned on him, the fear retreated. Bruised, giddy, half-crazed ... the certainty of death held no terrors. Not yet. And it was worth it! Fame ... _immortality_! Glory ... in return for the last few years of a blighted, embittered, over-shadowed life. Yes, it was _well_ worth it. And, except for the crash-landing and the certainty of no return, it had all come to pass just as he had planned it for so long.