V'Naric turned complacent black eyes upon him. "No, Commander, I did not say that. Because I know you did not steal it."
"Then why are you holding up?"
"You will see soon."
Ketrik, remembering that blow on the head, was regarding V'Naric balefully. And V'Naric was standing fairly close to him. Now Ketrik didn't move, merely turned his head and spat contemptuously in the Proktol's face.
V'Naric's hand leaped to his belt, like a whip lash, and snatched out the flame-pistol. He pressed it hard against Ketrik's body before any of the men could move. The swift flood of the angry orange filled his eyes.
But he didn't press the button. The orange slowly faded and gave way to a deep purple, as though he were remembering something, then it too faded. He jammed the pistol back in his belt, brought up his hand and slapped Ketrik sharply across the mouth. Those fingers were long and wiry and shell-like; they left four furrows in Ketrik's cheek from which blood oozed. But he stood there stolidly, regarding V'Naric with contempt. V'Naric turned abruptly and left the room.
"You damned fool!" Devries snapped. "Why did you do that?"
"I don't like him," was all Ketrik said, as he slowly raised his hand to his cheek.
"Oh, you don't! Well, he's not exactly in love with you now! He would have blasted you then, but he's got something else up his sleeve. I'd hate to be in your shoes."
Janus said: "We'd all hate to be in our shoes, but it looks like we are. I don't like this Shining Stone business. Must be a pretty important fetish on their world, eh?"