"You think that there is no chance of his recovering?"
"No. The crash pushed him over the edge. The orders he's given during the past hour or so — I tell you — he's finished!"
"All right." Rolth's low voice cut through the thick air. "Then what do we do — or rather, what do you want us to do, Smitt?"
The com-techneer's hands spread out in a gesture of hopelessness.
"I don't really know. Only we're down — permanently — on an unknown world. Exploration — that's your department. And somebody's got to take the lead in getting us out of here. Jaksan — well, he might follow the Commander even if Vibor says blast us and the ship. They went through the battle of the Five Suns together and Jaksan — " His voice trailed off.
"What about Mirion?"
"He isn't conscious. I don't think he's going to pull through. We can't even tell how badly he's injured. He can be counted out."
Counted out of what, wondered Kartr, and his green eyes narrowed. Smitt was hinting now of some kind of conflict to come.
"Dalgre and Snyn?" asked Zinga.
"They're both Jaksan's squadmen. Who knows how they'll stand if he starts giving orders?" returned the com-techneer.
"There is one thing I find puzzling." Fylh broke in for the first time. "Why do you come to us, Smitt? We're not crew — "
There was the question which had been in all their minds — at last brought into the open. Kartr waited for the answer to it.
"Why — well, because I think that you're the best equipped for the future. It's your job. I'm dead weight now anyway — the crash did for the coms. The crew's dead weight without a ship to raise. So, all right — we should be ready to learn what it takes to keep on living — "
"A recruit, is it?" Zinga's chuckle was more hiss. "But a very green one. Well, Kartr, do you sign him?" The Zacathan's grotesque head turned to the sergeant.
"He's speaking the truth," Kartr returned very soberly. "I call council!" He gave the order which alerted them all. "Rolth?"
That white-skinned face, more than half masked by the dark goggles, was hard to read.
"The land is good?"
"Very promising," Zinga replied promptly.
"It's plain we can't keep on squatting here forever," mused the ranger from dusky Falthar. I'd vote to strip the ship, take everything we can possibly use, and establish a base. Then look around a bit — "
"Fylh?"
The Trystian's claws beat a tattoo on his broad belt. "I agree with that wholly. But it's probably too sensible." His half-sneered ending appeared to be directed at Smitt. Fylh was not going to forget in a hurry the old division between ranger and Patrol crewman.
"Zinga?"
"Establish a base, yes. I would say close to that river which houses those delectable creatures. A fine mess of them right now — " His eyelids dropped in mock ecstasy.
Kartr looked at Smitt. "My vote goes with theirs. We have one usable sled left. On it we could ferry the Commander, Mirion and the supplies. If we plunder the main drive we should be able to fuel it for a number of trips. The rest of us can walk out, and pack stuff on our backs besides. The land is good, there's food and water to be found — and it seems to be deserted — no evidence of anything like the Greenies to fight us for it. If I were the Commander — "
"But you aren't — you Bemmy ranger — you aren't!"
Kartr's hand had fallen to the grip of his hand blaster even before he saw the man who was edging through the door. The wave of menace which he emitted was like a physical blow to the ranger's sensitive perception.
Knowing that any answer he might make verbally would only feed the other's rage, Kartr hesitated, and in the moment of silence Smitt took up the challenge.
"Shut up, Snyn!"
Light glinted from the small weapon almost completely concealed in the armsman's hand as he turned it toward the com-techneer. The waves of fear-based hatred were so thick that Kartr marveled that the others could not feel them too. Without attempting to gain his feet the sergeant hurled himself sideways, his shoulder catching Snyn at knee height. A bolt of searing green flame cut high through the air as the armsman's trigger finger tightened convulsively. He staggered forward as Kartr tried in vain to use his one good hand to pull him off balance.
A second or two later and it was over. Snyn still rolled and screamed muffled curses under Zinga but Fylh was methodically forcing his arms behind him so that a "safe" bar might be locked across his wrists. That done he was pushed over on his back and settled into position for questioning, with jerks which were anything but gentle.
"He's crazy!" Smitt stated with honest conviction. "Using a hand blaster like that. What in Black Heaven — !"
"I should have burned you all — " mouthed the captive. "Always knew you ranger devils couldn't be trusted. Bemmys — all of you!"
But his stark hatred was more than three-quarters fear. Kartr sank down on the bedroll and regarded the twisting man with startled concern. He had known that the rangers were not accepted as full members of the Patrol, he also knew that there was a growing prejudice against nonhuman races — the "Bemmys" — but this raw and frightening rage directed by a crewman against his own shipmates was worse than anything he had ever dreamed possible.
"We've done nothing against you, Snyn — "
The armsman spat. And Kartr guessed that he could not reach him with any reasoning. There was only one thing left to do. But it was something he had sworn to himself long ago never to try — not against any of his own kind. And would the others allow him if he wished to? He stared across the writhing body of the armsman at Smitt.
"He's dangerous — "
Smitt glanced up at the ragged tear in the wall, still glowing cherry red.
"You don't have to underline that!" Then the com-techneer shifted his feet uneasily. "What are you going to do with him?"
Long afterward Kartr realized that that had been the turning point. For, instead of appealing to Smitt or to his own men for backing, he made his own decision. Lightning swift and compelling he launched his will against the guard of the man before him. Snyn's contorted face was a dusky red, his twisted mouth flecked with foam. But he had no control, no mind barrier which could hold against the sergeant's trained power. His eyes glazed, fixed. He ceased to struggle, his mouth fell slackly open.
Smitt half drew his own blaster.
"What are you doing to him?"
Snyn was relaxed and very still now, his eyes on the metal above him.
Smitt reached out to clutch at Kartr's shoulder. "What did you do to him?"
"Quieted him down. He'll sleep it off."
But Smitt was edging toward the door, backing out. "Let me alone!" His voice rose shakily. "Let me alone — you — you blasted Bemmy!" He scrambled for the opening in panicky haste but Rolth reached it before him to block his exit. Smitt turned and faced them, breathing hard — a hunted animal.
"We're not going to touch you." Kartr did not move from his seat or raise his voice. Rolth caught the hand signal he made. The Faltharian hesitated a second and then he obeyed, stepping out of the doorway. But even seeing a clear exit now Smitt did not move. Instead he continued to watch Kartr and asked shakily:
"Can you do — do that to any of us?"
"Probably. You've never cultivated a high mind block — any of you."
Smitt's blaster went back into its holster. He rubbed his sweating face with trembling hands.
"Then why didn't you — just now — ?"
"Why didn't I use the mind power on you? Why should I? You weren't planning to burn us — you were entirely sane — "
Smitt was steadying. The panic which had ridden him was almost gone. Reason controlled emotion. He came forward and peered down at the sleeping armsman.
"How long will he be like this?"
"I have no way of knowing. I have never used this on a human being before."