"No," came flat answer. "We were all taking the same chance then—it was the luck of the draw. This is different."
"How different?"
"I've got better equipment than they have. I'd be a murderer, cold."
"Not at all, no more than then. You had better equipment then, too, you know, although not as much of it. Every commander of men has that same feeling when he sends men to death. But put yourself in my place. Would you send one of your best men, or let him go alone on a highly dangerous mission when more men or ships would improve his chances? Answer that, honestly."
"Probably I wouldn't," Kinnison admitted, reluctantly.
"QX. Take all the precautions you can—but I don't have to tell you that. I know you will."
Therefore it was the Dauntless in which Kinnison set out a day or two later. With him were Worsel and Van Buskirk, as well as the vessel's full operating crew of Tellurians. As they approached the region of space in which Xylpic's vessel had been attacked every man in the crew got his armor in readiness for instant use, checked his side arms, and took his emergency battle station. Kinnison turned then to Worsel.
"How d'you feel, fellow old snake?" he asked.
"Scared," the Velantian replied, sending a rippling surge of power the full length of the thirty-foot-long cable of supple, although almost steel-hard flesh that was his body. "Scared to the tip of my tail. Not that they can treat me as they did before—we three, at least, are safe from their minds—but at what they will do. Whatever it is to be, it will not be what we expect. They certainly will not do the obvious."