"You look ill, Captain. How would you expect to command a battle fleet if you can't stand to see one man die?"
Brinna's body was absolutely rigid. She said, "Are you accusing me of plotting with the Second Party to take command? If so, I request a formal—"
Varsek shook his head. "No accusation, Brinna. Merely a statement. I know how it eats on your soul that you probably never will command a fleet just on account of your sex." He grinned at her. "Sex isn't the whole story, Brinna. I'm merely pointing that out to you. Ability and toughness have something to do with it too. Isn't that so, Makvern?"
"I suppose so, sir."
The man in the pit howled like a tortured animal. Varsek pushed a button impatiently and the rods stopped flickering and the howling ceased.
"Very well," said Varsek, turning away, "take your delicate stomach away from here. And maybe you can put your sex to some use with the prisoner. Try it, anyway. The rest of you stay here."
Brinna saluted, turned smartly on her heel, snapped, "Follow me," at Wyatt, and marched toward the door. Wyatt glanced at Makvern, who refused to look at him, and went after Brinna.
He was thankful to get out of the room. Sick and raging himself, he did not feel like talking and Brinna's face discouraged him anyway. The way her bootheels rang on the iron floor he thought that she was wishing Varsek's head under every one. Finally, when they had left even the level of the pit-room behind and were walking together along an upper corridor with nobody else in sight, he did speak.
"Are you plotting with the Second Party, Brinna?" he asked.
"No," she said savagely. "I am not. I hate everything they stand for."