Joris had become very thoughtful. "You know," he said to Kerrel,
"whether she does or not, there's a great deal of truth in what the
Earthman says. Far too much, I'm afraid, to be overlooked."
"Bluff," said Kerrel. "Look here, Joris, if you turn this man loose,
I'll have to report...."
"Oh, report and be damned! The law says I have to shut him up, and shut
him up I will, and there my duty ends. And I don't need you to tell me
my business." He went to the recorder, took out the spool, dropped it
on the floor and crushed it under his boot. "Now clear out, all of you.
Dismissed. And I'd advise you all to keep your mouths shut. Especially
_you_," he said to the two very young men. "You have enough work to
keep you busy. Go and do it. You stay here, Trehearne."
Trehearne stayed, and there was a bitter thought in him that he had
failed. The faces of the others, as they left, were full of doubt.
Presently he was alone with Joris in the sweep of golden light from the
windows. From the eastern quadrant of the port Trehearne saw a great
ship rise and clear away for distant suns.
Joris walked the floor, and said nothing. The silence was heavy, an
oppressive thing. It was not touched by the sounds of the port, so
far below. They were outside it, and the face of Joris was a heavy,
sombre mask. Trehearne looked out at the alien sky, where the clouds
burned like little nebulae, and then down again at the ships. From this
vantage he could see the sector where the planetary craft came in, the
slow freighters from the non-Vardda worlds of Aldebaran, and it came to
him suddenly how the poor bastards that flew them must feel, watching
the starships come and go and knowing they could never follow. Beyond
the port the towers of the city rose, and Trehearne wondered if he
would ever see it.