"How can we know the verdict before the trial takes place?"
"Let that pass," Devall said, seeing he would get no concrete reply.
"Where would you try him?"
"Not far from here."
"Could I be present at the trial?"
"No."
Devall had learned enough of Markin grammar by now to realize that
the form of the negative the priest had employed meant literally,
I-say-_no_-and-mean-what-I-say. Moistening his lips, he said, "Suppose
I should refuse to turn Lieutenant Leonards over to you for trial? How
could I expect you people to react?"
There was a long silence. Finally the old priest said, "Would you do
such a thing?"
"I'm speaking hypothetically." (Literally, the form was
I-speak-on-a-cloud.)
"It would be very bad. We would be unable to purify the sacred garden
for many months. Also--" he added a sentence of unfamiliar words.
Devall puzzled unsuccessfully over their meaning for nearly a minute.
"What does that mean?" he asked at length. "Phrase it in different
words."
"It is the name of a ritual. _I_ would have to stand trial in the
Earthman's place--and I would die," the priest said simply. "Then my
successor would ask you all to go away."
The office seemed very quiet; the only sounds Devall heard were the
harsh breathing of the old priest and the off-key chirruping of the
cricketlike insects that infested the grass-plot outside the window.
_Appeasement_, he wondered? _Or the overlord's thumb?_
Suddenly there seemed no doubt at all in his mind of what he should do,
and he wondered how he could have hesitated.
"I hear and respect your wishes, old one," he said, in a ritual formula
of renunciation Steber had taught him. "The boy is yours. But can I ask
a favor?"
"Ask."
"He didn't know he was offending your laws. He meant well; he's
sincerely sorry for what he did. He's in your hands, now--but I want
to ask mercy on his behalf. He had no way of knowing he was offending."
"This will be seen at the trial," the old priest said coldly. "If there
is to be mercy, mercy will be shown him. I make no promises."
"Very well," Devall said. He reached for a pad and scrawled an order
remanding Lieutenant Paul Leonards to the aliens for trial, and signed
it with his full name and title. "Here. Give this to the Earthman who
let you in. He'll see to it that the boy is turned over to you."
"You are wise," the priest said. He bowed elaborately and made for the
door.
"Just one moment," Devall said desperately, as the alien opened the
door. "Another question."
"Ask," the priest said.
"You told me you'd take his place if I refused to let you have him.
Well, how about another substitute? Suppose--"
"_You_ are not acceptable to us," the priest said as if reading
Devall's mind, and left.
Five minutes later the colonel glanced out his window and saw the
solemn procession of aliens passing through the exit-posts and out of
the compound. In their midst, unprotesting, was Leonards. He didn't
look back, and Devall was glad of it.
* * * * *
The colonel stared at the row of books a long time, the frayed spools
that had followed him around from world to world, from gray Danelon to
stormy Lurrin to bone-dry Korvel, and on to Hegath and M'Qualt and the
others, and now to warm blue-skied Markin. Shaking his head, he turned
away and dropped heavily into the foam cradle behind his desk.
He snapped on the autotype with a savage gesture and dictated a full
account of his actions, from the very start until his climactic
decision, and smiled bitterly. There would be a certain time-lag, but
before long the autotype facsimile machine in the E-T Department's
basement would start clacking, there in Rio, and Thornton would know
what Devall had done.
And Thornton would be stuck with it as Department policy henceforth.
Devall switched on the intercom and said, "I'm not to be disturbed
under any circumstances. If there's anything urgent, have it sent to
Major Grey; he's acting head of the base until I countermand. And if
any messages come from Earth let Grey have them too."
He wondered if they'd relieve him of his command immediately, or wait
until he got back to Earth. The latter, more likely; Thornton had some
subtlety, if not much. But there was certain to be an inquiry, and a
head would roll.
Devall shrugged and stretched back. _I did what was right_, he told
himself firmly. _That's the one thing I can be sure of._
_But I hope I don't ever have to face my sister again._
He dozed, after a while, eyes half-open and slipping rapidly closed.
Sleep came to him, and he welcomed it, for he was terribly tired.
He was awakened suddenly, by a loud outcry. A jubilant shout from a
dozen throats at once, splitting the afternoon calm. Devall felt a
moment's disorientation; then, awakening rapidly, he sprang to the
window and peered out.
A figure--alone and on foot--was coming through the open gateway. He
wore regulation uniform, but it was dripping wet, and torn in several
places. His blond hair was plastered to his scalp as if he had been
swimming; he looked fatigued.
Leonards.
The colonel was nearly halfway out the front door before he realized
that his uniform was in improper order. He forced himself back, tidied
his clothing, and with steely dignity strode out the door a second time.
Leonards stood surrounded by a smiling knot of men, enlisted men and
officers alike. The boy was grinning wearily.
"Attention!" Devall barked, and immediately the area fell silent. He
stepped forward.
Leonards raised one arm in an exhausted salute. There were some ugly
bruises on him.
"I'm back, Colonel."
"I'm aware of that. You understand that I'll have to return you to the
Marks for trial anyway, despite your no doubt daring escape?"
The boy smiled and shook his head. "No, sir. You don't follow, sir. The
trial's over. I've been tried and acquitted."
"What's that?"
"It was trial by ordeal, Colonel. They prayed for half an hour or so,
and then they dumped me in the lake down the road. The dead man's two
brothers came after me and tried to drown me, but I outswam them and
came up safely on the other side."
He shook his hair like a drenched cat, scattering a spray of water
several feet in the air. "They nearly had me, once. But as soon as I
got across the lake alive and undrowned, it proved to them I couldn't
have meant any harm. So they declared me innocent, apologized, and
turned me loose. They were still praying when I left them."
There seemed to be no bitterness in Leonards' attitude; apparently,
Devall thought, he had understood the reason for the decision to hand
him over, and would not hold it against him now. That was gratifying.
"You'd better get to your quarters and dry off, Lieutenant. And then
come to my office. I'd like to talk to you there."
"Yes, sir."
Devall spun sharply and headed back across the clearing to his office.
He slammed the door behind him and switched on the autotype. The report
to Earth would have to be amended now.
A moment or two after he had finished, the intercom glowed. He turned
it on and heard Steber's voice saying, "Sir, the old priest is here.
He wants to apologize to you for everything. He's wearing clothing of
celebration, and he brought a peace-offering for us."
"Tell him I'll be right out," Devall said. "And call all the men
together. Including Dudley. _Especially_ Dudley. I want him to see
this."
He slipped off his sweat-stained jacket and took a new one out.
Surveying himself in the mirror, he nodded approvingly.
_Well, well_, he thought. _So the boy came through it safely. That's
good._
But he knew that the fate of Paul Leonards had been irrelevant all
along, except on the sheerly personal level. It was the larger issue
that counted.
For the first time, Earth had made a concrete demonstration of the
equality-of-intelligent-life doctrine it had been preaching so long.
He had shown that he respected the Markin laws in terms of what they
were _to the Marks_, and he had won the affection of a race as a
result. Having the boy return unharmed was a bonus.
But the precedent had been set. And the next time, perhaps, on some
other world, the outcome might not be so pleasant. Some cultures had
pretty nasty ways of putting criminals to death.
He realized that the burden the Earth exploration teams carried now had
become many times heavier--that now, Earthmen would be subject to the
laws of the planets who hosted them, and no more unwitting botanical
excursions into sacred gardens could be tolerated. But it was for the
ultimate good, he thought. We've shown them that we're not overlords,
and that most of us don't want to be overlords. And now the thumb comes
down on _us_.
He opened the door and stepped out. The men had gathered, and the old
priest knelt abjectly at the foot of the steps, bearing some sort of
enamelled box as his offering. Devall smiled and returned the bow, and
lifted the old alien gently to his feet.
_We'll have to be on our best behavior from now on_, he thought. _We'll
really have to watch our steps. But it'll be worth it._