“The Salariki are, in a manner of speaking, felines—­” Van Rycke mused.

Tau straightened.  “The Salariki have discovered catnip, I take it?”

Van Rycke nodded at Dane and for the second time the Cargo-master apprentice made his report.  When he was done Van Rycke asked a direct question of the medical officer: 

“What effect would catnip have on a Salarik?”

It was only then that Dane grasped the enormity of what he had done.  They had no way of gauging the influence of an off-world plant on alien metabolism.  What if he had introduced to the natives of Sargol a dangerous drug—­started that cub on some path of addiction.  He was cold inside.  Why, he might even have poisoned the child!

Tau picked up his cap, and after a second’s hesitation, his emergency medical kit.  He had only one question for Dane.

“Any idea of who the cub is—­what clan he belongs to?”

And Dane, chill with real fear, was forced to answer in the negative.  What had he done!

“Can you find him?” Van Rycke, ignoring Dane, spoke to Tau.

The Medic shrugged.  “I can try.  I was out scouting this morning—­met one of the storm priests who handles their medical work.  But I wasn’t welcomed.  However, under the circumstances, we have to try something—­”

In the corridor Van Rycke had an order for Dane.  “I suggest that you keep to quarters, Thorson, until we know how matters stand.”

Dane saluted.  That note in his superior’s voice was like a whip lash—­much worse to take than the abuse of a lesser man.  He swallowed as he shut himself into his own cramped cubby.  This might be the end of their venture.  And they would be lucky if their charter was not withdrawn.  Let I-S get an inkling of his rash action and the Company would have them up before the Board to be stripped of all their rights in the Service.  Just because of his own stupidity—­his pride in being able to break through where Van Rycke and the Captain had faced a stone wall.  And, worse than the future which could face the Queen, was the thought that he might have introduced some dangerous drug into Sargol with his gift of those few leaves.  When would he learn?  He threw himself face down on his bunk and despondently pictured the string of calamities which could and maybe would stem from his thoughtless and hasty action.

Within the Queen night and day were mechanical—­the lighting in the cabins did not vary much.  Dane did not know how long he lay there forcing his mind to consider his stupid action, making himself face that in the Service there were no short cuts which endangered others—­not unless those taking the risks were Terrans.

“Dane—!” Rip Shannon’s voice cut through his self-imposed nightmare.  But he refused to answer.  “Dane—­Van wants you on the double!”

Why?  To bring him up before Jellico probably.  Dane schooled his expression, got up, pulling his tunic straight, still unable to meet Rip’s eyes.  Shannon was just one of those he had let down so badly.  But the other did not notice his mood.  “Wait ’til you see them—!  Half Sargol must be here yelling for trade!”