He went on slowed by vague reluctance. He didn't like this forest. The trees dwarfed and oppressed him. Old fears began to stir and gnaw, but at new places.
Perhaps the two men he guided would stand together against him. If so, revenge on one would cut him off from both as sharply as the forest cut him off from the ship....
Well, it was worth it! They hadn't put him on duty, hadn't accepted him as one of themselves.... He couldn't be cut off much more than he was already!
And Seymour might listen to reason. After all, he was a practical man, a leader. And Pine was yellow!
"What's Pine after, sir?" Chet asked over his shoulder. "Why take these risks you've mentioned?"
"Well, partly for safety: if we kill any Agvars, we're likely to have to kill them all, or have the survivors to contend with indefinitely. That might cost us some casualties.... And of course there's the research angle, but that's out of my line."
"What's the matter with punishment, sir—discipline? You use discipline on your crew—why not on their enemies?"
"Because the men understand the rules and the penalties. The Agvars don't."
"Kill them, sir! That they'll understand!"
"No!" Commander Seymour spoke sharply. "If they don't fight back, that's cold-blooded slaughter. If they do, it's war. I don't hold with butchery, Barfield, and I certainly won't risk casualties just to give you a cheap feeling of satisfaction!"