"A man of Ir," said Vannevan. "My man. The man you trailed and killed. We found the blaster-scar in the ground."
Birrel began to understand a little. He shrugged. "If you know, why ask me?"
Vannevan came closer and his eyes had a yellow glow in their dark depths.
"You wouldn't just blast him outright. You'd shock him and search him first. Just as we're doing to you. Where are the"—(he used another unfamiliar word)—"you found on him?"
Birrel said, "I found nothing. I just blasted."
Something exploded in his face. He reeled in the chair, putting up his hands blindly, half-stunned. Then he saw Vannevan's clenched fist drawing back. Vannevan, keeping carefully to one side, let the fist go again in Birrel's face.
"You're lying," he said. "You wouldn't come all the way here from Ruun, spying on us, and trail Jull all that way, and then just blast him. Did you pass them on to Holmer before the Earthmen caught you?"
Birrel felt blood running down his face, and he felt a hate and rage that he had never suspected he could experience. He started to get up, and the Irrians with the weapons across the room pointed their cylinders at him. He didn't want to die, any sooner than he had to. He sat down again.
"The men of Ruun are brave," said Vannevan, mockingly. "Now will you tell me—"
He stopped suddenly. An expression of interest and amazement crossed his face. He reached out his hand, toward Birrel's eyes.