"Ship takes off in twelve hours," Abel said, shaking his pack into greater comfort. "If we move right along, we can make it in six hours. Can't be more than twenty miles."
"Going to make a full report, Don?" Tinnerman was uneasy, without being certain why.
"Fritz was killed," Abel said simply.
Tinnerman put out a hand and brought him to a stop. "We can't do it, Don."
Abel studied him with concern. "I'll give you a hand, if you got clipped. I thought you were O.K."
"I'm all right. Don, we killed that thing's baby. It did what any parent would do. If we report it, the captain will lift ship and fry it with the main jet."
"Code of space, Tinny. Anything that attacks a man—"
"It didn't attack. It came to the defense of its child. We don't have the right to sentence it."
Abel's eyes grew cold. "Fritz was my friend. I thought he was yours too. If I could have killed that monster myself, I'd have done it. You coming along?"
"Sorry, Don. I have no quarrel with you. But I can't let you report Quink to the captain."