Naran turned back. Rosel had been resentful ever since the caravan had formed. He had expected to be lead driver on this trip and he’d made no effort to hide his fury and disappointment at being displaced in favor of a newcomer.
For an instant, Naran considered. There was no point in continuing his masquerade any further. Dar Girdek was gone and he’d have to take the caravan back anyway—if he could work his way out of here, past Barra.
If he couldn’t get out—if he joined his brother and Dar Girdek—it would make no difference what the caravan drivers thought.
He could put this man in his place right now. Then, he could give him the job of lead driver.
But there was something else to think of. If he got the train out of here, he would have to work with this guy. And there would always be
an even greater resentment added to the normal fear and hatred of the psionic. That could demoralize the whole train. Naran sighed.
Rosel had put his feelings in the open now and Naran would have to play out the role he had assumed.
He crossed the room to confront Rosel. Abruptly, he thrust a hand out. The other made a grab for it and Naran moved smoothly forward, locking the grasping hand.
Quickly he extended a leg and threw Rosel over it. As the man hit the floor, Naran retained his grip and brought his other hand over, twisting the man’s arm. His foot went out, to smack into the man’s face, pinning him to the floor. Slowly, he put pressure on the prisoned hand.
“Once more,” he said coldly, “I’m going to have everyone out on the herd right after breakfast. Now, do you want to go out and work with ’em, or do I keep winding up on this thing and then have ’em load you up with the rest of the spare gear?”