vars' observation. That should show off our weapon-superiority--and
pave the way for a feast."

"No medical stuff?" Chet asked sarcastically. "I thought Dr. Pine was
supposed to cure all their ills, not give them indigestion."

"He has to get their confidence before he can treat them," Commander
Seymour explained seriously. "And on a strange planet like this, he's
taking quite a chance to try treatment at any time: if it fails, they're
apt to accuse him of murder!"

Chet said nothing. But he felt as if he'd drawn a wild card in a poker
game.

* * * * *

They'd entered the woods. Even before that, Dr. Pine had lagged because
his slippers kept falling off, and now he brought up the rear. Chet, in
the lead, took a last long look at the ship before the trees and mosses
cut off his view.

He went on slowed by vague reluctance. He didn't like this forest. The
trees dwarfed and oppressed him. Old fears began to stir and gnaw, but
at new places.

Perhaps the two men he guided would stand together against him. If so,
revenge on one would cut him off from both as sharply as the forest cut
him off from the ship....

Well, it was worth it! They hadn't put him on duty, hadn't accepted him
as one of themselves.... He couldn't be cut off much more than he was
already!

And Seymour might listen to reason. After all, he was a practical man, a
leader. And Pine was yellow!

"What's Pine after, sir?" Chet asked over his shoulder. "Why take these
risks you've mentioned?"

"Well, partly for safety: if we kill any Agvars, we're likely to have to
kill them all, or have the survivors to contend with indefinitely. That
might cost us some casualties.... And of course there's the research
angle, but that's out of my line."

"What's the matter with punishment, sir--discipline? You use discipline
on your crew--why not on their enemies?"

"Because the men understand the rules and the penalties. The Agvars
don't."

"Kill them, sir! That they'll understand!"

"No!" Commander Seymour spoke sharply. "If they don't fight back, that's
cold-blooded slaughter. If they do, it's war. I don't hold with
butchery, Barfield, and I certainly won't risk casualties just to give
you a cheap feeling of satisfaction!"

He couldn't escape. Commander Seymour, looking from over Chet's shoulder
like a walking sneer, stuck close. But he gave the impression of
following a man who smelled bad.

_Was he?_ Chet wondered.