you spend all your spare time
in your bunk growling at him. Is there anything the matter, feathertop?"

He sounded so concerned, so--the word struck Bart with hysterical
humor--so _fatherly_, that Bart wanted insanely to laugh and to cry.
Instead he muttered, "Ringg should mind his own business."

"But it's not like that," Vorongil said. "Look, the _Swiftwing_'s a
world, young fellow, and a small one. If one being in that world is
unhappy, it affects everyone."

Bart had an absurd, painful impulse--to blurt out the incredible truth
to Vorongil, and try to get the old Lhari to understand what he was
doing.

But fear held him silent. He was alone, one small human in a ship of
Lhari. Vorongil was frowning at him, and Bart mumbled, "It's nothing,
_rieko mori_."

"I suppose you're pining for home," Vorongil said kindly. "Well, it
won't be long now."

The glare of the captive sun grew and grew in the ports, and Bart's
dread mounted. He had, as yet, had no opportunity to put the radiation
counter out of order. It was behind a panel in the drive room, and try
as he might, he could think of no way to get to it unobserved.
Sometimes, in sleepless nights, it seemed that would be the best way.
Just let it go. But then the Lhari would detect Montano's ship, and kill
Montano and his men.

Did he believe that? He had to believe it. It was the only way he could
possibly justify what he was doing.

And then his chance came, as so many chances do when one no longer wants
them. The Second Officer met him at the beginning of one watch, saying
worriedly, "Bartol, old Rugel's sick--not fit to be on his feet. Do you
think you can hold down this shift alone, if I drop in and give you a
hand from time to time?"

"I think so," Bart said, carefully not overemphasizing it. The Second
Officer, by routine, spent half of his time in the drive room, and half
his time down below in Maintenance. When he left, Bart knew he would
have at least half an hour, uninterrupted, in the drive room. He ripped
open the panel, located the wires and hesitated; he didn't quite dare to
cut them outright.

He jerked one wire loose, frayed the other with a sharp claw until it
was almost in shreds and would break with the first surge of current,
pulled two more connections loose so that they were not making full
contact. He closed the panel and brushed dust over it, and when the
Second Officer came back, Bart was at his own station.

As Antares fell toward