Free Haladras by Michael M. Farnsworth

dismissed Kindor.
    “They’ll call you next,” Kindor whispered as he sat down
again. “Don’t let them intimidate you—stand your ground.”
    Though nervous, Skylar’s anger was already mounting. He had
begun to sense that the inquisitors had already chosen Kindor as primary
culprit in the matter. They would question Skylar, find him inadequate, and
thus prove Kindor’s judgment lacking. He felt determined to prove them wrong.
    “Skylar Lancewright,” called the head inquisitor. Skylar
inhaled sharply and rose to his feet. As he approached the interrogation spot,
he found his legs wobbled as he walked. Just stay calm , he told himself.
Closer up, the six inquisitors looked even more menacing. They stared at him
with their cold eyes, their brows frozen in perpetual scowls.
    “You are the apprentice that has been mentioned today, are
you not?” questioned the old inquisitor.
    “I am, my lord,” replied Skylar.
    “You concur with the events thus far presented?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Now I want you to provide us with a detailed account
of all that proceeded from the time the docking procedure commenced until the
accident occurred.”
    Skylar swallowed, then began to recount the events, which
lived so vividly within his memory that he had no difficulty whatever
remembering even the minutest detail. The six inquisitors did not interrupt him
as he spoke, but studied him with their stone faces, one or more of them
occasionally jotting down a note. When he had finished his account, the head
inquisitor nodded and opened his mouth to speak.
    “You claim, Skylar Lancewright,” he began, “that you did all
that you could do to activate your winch’s emergency release, but the release
failed. You also claim that a full-throttle reverse likewise failed. We have
therefore only to substantiate or nullify these claims. Will the chief engineer
please come forward?”
    Skylar heard the steady sound of heavy footsteps on the hard
floor, then a figure appeared at Skylar’s side. He dared not turn to look for
fear of breaking protocol.
    “Engineer,” continued the inquisitor, “after the incident in
question occurred, did you inspect this young apprentice’s winch for defect?
From the report, it appears that it was the winch station 47.”
    “Yes I did. Standard procedure,” replied the engineer as
though he were offended by the question.
    “And did you find anything amiss?”
    “No.”
    “You tested the emergency release?”
    “Of course. It worked perfectly. The throttle functioned
perfectly, as well.”
“Very good. You may be seated.”
    The chief engineer turned and walked back to his seat.
Skylar felt his face growing hotter with every step he heard. He knew the winch
had malfunctioned. He had tried everything. But how could he prove it?
    The head investigator returned his gaze to Skylar, all the
while stroking his gray beard.
    “It would appear,” he said after several moments, “that you
did not know how to properly operate the winch. Otherwise, as your chief
engineer has testified, it would have worked perfectly.”
    “It wasn’t working perfectly!” Skylar blurted out angrily.
“I know how to operate that winch. It stopped working. There wasn’t anything
else to be done but what I did.”
    The old inquisitor’s eyes narrowed.
    “You speak boldly—or perhaps foolishly—for a young
apprentice. We shall forgive your insolence, for I see that you truly believe
what you say. But see that you learn to tame your tongue. As regarding your
claim that the winch malfunctioned, you can provide us no proof but your word
alone. You mistakenly believed the winch malfunctioned.”
    “It did malfunction,” cried Skylar. “I know it did.
If you would just listen—”
    “Silence!” shouted the old inquisitor, rising to his feet,
his gravelly voice echoing through the room. “You will hold your tongue, unless
we permit you to speak.”
    Skylar glared back at the old man, his chest heaving from
emotion, his