"What are you? Some kind of Federation plant?"
Abruptly, his right hand flashed out, to crash against Stan's cheek. A heavy finger trailed across one eye, bringing a sudden spurt of tears. The hand moved back, poised for a more solid blow.
Stan's head bounced back against the chair, then forward again.
And the diffuse fury in him coalesced and burst into novalike flame. It had a single target. It focused. He glared at the big man.
"Those hands," he snapped. "Get them to your side!
"Now, get over into that corner. Move when I tell you!"
For an instant, Wizow stood immobile. The frown faded, leaving the heavy face empty.
He tried to raise his hand again, then gave a little sob of hopeless rage and moved back, one slow, reluctant step at a time, until he was wedged into a corner of the room.
"That's good," Stan told him. "Now stay there. And keep quiet."