Jarl winced and clenched his teeth.
"Up, now," the ktar commanded. "Let me at your face."
Stiffly, Jarl twisted. Keeping the precious knife covered with his buttocks, he swung his legs to the floor and sat up.
The ktar worked on in silence for a time. Then, at last, he straightened. "That does it." He laughed—wry, almost bitter. "By the time you get to Venus, you'll be in the best shape to die."
Picking up the globe, he pivoted and, with the peculiar floating motion of his kind, moved towards the door.
Jarl gripped the haft of the telonium skrii. Tension came alive in him, hot and quivering. Rising from the bunk, he followed the kroy, holding the knife out of sight behind him. "I thank you, ktar...." He dared say no more for fear his voice might betray him.
The Ganymedan muttered something incoherent and passed out into the hall. The fala guard, in turn, planted a many-jointed arm appendage hard against Jarl's chest and roughly shoved him back. His mottled throat-sac quivered. "No farther, chitza!"
Wordless, Jarl swayed. He made a show of cringing.
The fala laughed harshly. His bulging eyes flicked to the hall outside. Turning, he gripped the door-handle and started to pull the portal shut.
Jarl leaped at him like a pouncing zanth, stabbing for the throat-sac with the keen-edged skrii blade.