The voice of the officer, rising on a note of anger, demanded, "Kerrel, what the hell—Have you gone clean crazy?"
"Is justice a crazy thing?" There was something strange about Kerrel's voice. It was flat and toneless and devoid of passion, the voice of a man with too much inside himself to bear, too much to find escape through any normal channels. "They may have succeeded. Do you understand that? They may, just possibly, have done what they set out to do. Do you know what that would mean?"
"As well as you do. And don't worry about justice, they'll get it. But they'll get it from the Council on Llyrdis, according to law."
"Law," said Kerrel softly. "Once Trehearne received the benefit of our law. I told them then that they were wrong to give it to him. The law is good, I've served it all my life. But there are times when one has to go beyond the law if one is to go on serving it. Leave them here."
Trehearne spoke, for the first time. "It wouldn't do for me to go back to Llyrdis, would it, Kerrel? Not to stand up in open Council and tell exactly how and why Yann died."
Kerrel's voice answered him, and he could not tell which of the helmeted shapes was speaking, the shapes with the shadowed faces. It was maddening not to know.
"And was I wrong, Trehearne? Could you stand up in open Council and say that I was wrong to try it?"
"Listen," said the officer. "I'm not judge and I'm not jury. I was sent out by the Council to bring these men in, and I'm going to do it. For God's sake, Kerrel, stop trying to carry the weight of the universe on your shoulders. No man is that big. Come on, you three—into the ship."
"No."
One figure detached itself. One figure drew away from the rest of the group and stood between them and the ship, with a shock-rifle in its hands.