Garcia didn't answer. His eyes were black pin-points in his hard, tight-lipped face. He raised the gun, leveled the barrel at the captain's chest.
"Give me the pistol. That's an order."
Garcia's face was a dark cloud of hatred and savagery.
"Garcia! I'm your captain! Give me the gun!"
The animal savagery faded from Garcia's face. He lowered the pistol and extended it by the barrel.
Captain Torkel moved forward and seized it. Then he puffed out his cheeks, blew breath from them, wiped sweat from his forehead.
Fox shouted, "The ports, Captain! Look at 'em! Look at the ports!"
The heavy, transparalite portholes of the Star Queen were ruthlessly pitted and chipped. Little pools of broken, shiny plastic lay on the grass beneath them. It was as if each port had been struck a hundred times with an axe.
Captain Torkel and Lieutenant Washington and Fox closed in on Garcia while Kelly stood smiling into the planet's sun.
"Did you do it, Garcia?" asked the captain. "Did you kill Van Gundy?"