THE COSMIC COMPUTER

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It had not only been used, it was in disorder. Ashtrays full, many of
the forty-year-old cigarette ends lipstick tinted. Chairs shoved around
at random. Three bottles on the desk, with Terran bourbon labels; two
empty and one with about an inch of whisky left in it. But no glasses.

That bothered Conn. Somehow, he couldn't quite picture the commander and
staff of the Third Fleet-Army Force passing[Pg 63] bottles around and
drinking from the neck. Then he noticed that the wall across the room
was strangely scarred and scratched. Dropping his eye to the floor under
it, he caught the twinkle of broken glass. They had gathered here, and
talked for a long time. Then they had risen, for a final toast, and when
it was drunk, they had hurled their glasses against the wall and smashed
them.

Then they had gone out, leaving the broken glass and the empty bottles;
knowing that they would never return.