But although he thought he had settled all the conflict, he found that
it returned when he was lying in his bunk, or when he stood in the dome
and watched the stars, while they moved through the Antares system
toward the captive sun and the tiny planet Lharillis.

It's in my power to give this to all men....

Should a few Lhari stand in his way?

He lay in his bunk brooding, thinking of death, staring at the yellow
radiation badge. If you fail, it won't be in our lifetime. He'd have
to go back to little things, to the little ships that hauled piddling
cargo between little planets, while all the grandeur of the stars
belonged to the Lhari. And if he succeeded, Vega Interplanet could
spread from star to star, a mighty memorial to Rupert Steele.

One day Vorongil sent for him. "Bartol," he said, and his voice was not
unkind, "you and Ringg have always been good friends, so don't be angry
about this. He's worried about you--says you spend all your spare time
in your bunk growling at him. Is there anything the matter, feathertop?"

He sounded so concerned, so--the word struck Bart with hysterical
humor--so fatherly, that Bart wanted insanely to laugh and to cry.
Instead he muttered, "Ringg should mind his own business."

"But it's not like that," Vorongil said. "Look, the Swiftwing's a
world, young fellow, and a small one. If one being in that world is
unhappy, it affects everyone."