Carl said, "The explosion will rip that planet crossways and endways. It'll turn it inside out. It'll tear it up into little pin-size lumps, roast and boil the lumps, and dissipate the lumps into gases made of dancing free electrons. That big gob of gas will puff itself out over a few light-years of space, and that will be the end of Worta. Maybe you didn't think of that. Or maybe you convinced yourself it wouldn't happen."
A trapped expression grew on Rex's face. "It won't happen!" he shouted. He screamed, "Let me alone! Stop badgering me! You can't change anything. I didn't know if it'd hurt Worta or not. I didn't care any more. I came back to Worta to get you, just in case something happened I didn't figure on. All I cared about was getting home. I want to go home!"
He dropped his head, drawing in great tearing sobs, his broad shoulders quaking.
Carl said calmly, "Well, we're going back to Worta to get the Wortans."
Rex raised his head, his face violent with protest. "We haven't got time."
"We'll take time."
Rex cursed him viciously.
"In the meantime," Carl continued without change of tone, "sit there. Start thinking. Think about M'hort and the other Wortans. Think of how they saved our lives and accepted us as if we're part of them. Think of all the hospitality you accepted at their yee."
Carl's voice was rising. "Think of their dead cities. Think of all the dead men who built those cities and the artists who made those cities beautiful with their statues and paints. Then think how you will have destroyed all that."
Rex said nothing. Color was flooding from his face, his lips thinning until they formed one pale slash across his face. Carl looked at him with wordless contempt, then swung about to maneuver the ship for the final thousand miles to a landing.