The Colors of Space

"Forget it," Bart said. "If Rugel isn't sore about it, and if we don't

need it for landing, why worry?" He felt like Judas.

"Just take a look at my daybook," Ringg insisted, "I checked and marked

it service fit! I tell you, somebody was blundering around, opening

panels where they had no business, tore it out by accident, then was too

much of a filthy sneak to report it and get it fixed!"

"Bartol was on watch alone one night," said the Second Officer, "but you

wouldn't meddle with panels, would you, Bartol?"

Bart set his teeth, steadying his breathing, as Ringg turned hopefully

to him. "Bartol, did you--by mistake, maybe? Because if you did, it

won't count against your rating, but it means a black mark against

mine!"

Bart hid his self-contempt in sudden, tense fury. "No, I didn't! You're

going to accuse everybody on the Swiftwing, all the way from me to

Vorongil, before you can admit a mistake, aren't you? If you want

somebody to blame, look in a mirror!"

"Listen, you!" Ringg's pent-up rage exploded. He seized Bart by the

shoulder and Bart moved to throw him off, so that Ringg's outthrust

claws raked only his forearm. In pure reflex he felt his own claws flick

out; they clinched, closed, scuffled, and he felt his claws rake flesh;

half incredulous, saw the thin red line of blood welling from Ringg's

cheek.

Then Rugel's arms were flung restrainingly around him, and the Second

Officer was wrestling with a furious, struggling Ringg. Bart looked at

his red-tipped claws in ill-concealed horror, but it was lost in a

general gasp of consternation, for Vorongil had flung the drive room

door open, taking in the scene in one blistering glance.

"What's going on down here?"

For the first time, Bart understood Vorongil's reputation as a tyrant.

One glance at Ringg's bleeding face and Bart's ripped forearm, and he

did not pause for breath for a good fifteen minutes. By the time he

finished, Bart felt he would rather Ringg's claws had laid him bleeding

to the bone than stand there in the naked contempt of the old Lhari's

freezing eyes.

"Half-fledged nestlings trying to do a man's work! So someone forgot the

panel, or damaged the panel by mistake--no, not another word," he

commanded, as Ringg's crest came proudly up. "I don't care who did what!

Any more of this, and the one who does it can try his claws on the

captain of the Swiftwing!" He looked ugly and dangerous. "I thought

better of you both. Get below, you squalling kittens! Let me not see

your faces again before we land!"