Lieutenant Washington cleared his throat. "There's just one thing wrong with your ideas. You say the Sirians are trying to bribe us into staying here, trying to win us over by kindness. Now you say they tried to smash the ports. If the Sirians are hostile in any way, they wouldn't combine those two conflicting methods."
Captain Torkel was silent for a moment. "The Sirians are an alien race. Leadership seems to be an unknown concept to them, even though Taaleeb unconsciously assumed a kind of leadership this afternoon. The point is that the race isn't used to carrying out unified plans of procedure. Taaleeb might have used his method in the village, and another group might have hit upon the plan of destroying the rocket."
Lieutenant Washington shook his head. "You're wrong, Captain. The Sirians are good, innocent, child-like. Here's what happened: Garcia liked to break things. He went wild and started to break the ports. Van Gundy tried to stop him and got himself killed. The shock gave Garcia amnesia."
Fox tugged at his beard. "I bet you're right, Lieutenant, I bet that's it." Eagerness rose in his tone. "How about tonight? Are we still going to see our companions?"
Captain Torkel spat. "You'd go to the village with Van Gundy's grave-dirt still on your hands?"
"We've been in a grave for six years. Is there any difference?"
Captain Torkel ignored the question. "We can't forget the people of Earth!" he said suddenly. "We've got to start home now. Can't you see what the Sirians are trying to do? They'll get us to stay here tonight, then—"
Lieutenant Washington snapped, "I told you I made up my mind, Captain. You want to give us six—no, twelve more years of darkness and loneliness and frustration. We won't take it. We'd be as mad as Kelly."
"Right!" Fox slapped his fist into his open palm. "We've got no other choice. We got to stay here!"