"Much more deadly. I call them that, but Lang says I'm being
semantically unsound. War, for example. Racial inferiority. To date we
haven't found a cure." She broke off, and her eyes were shining wet.
"But you don't have wars," Saxon said.
"No."
"Then?"
"We have a--ghetto," the girl said slowly. "I can't tell you about it.
Perhaps soon--"
Abruptly she changed the subject.
Slowly, Saxon's defenses began to crumble.
To all intents he was now a member of Lang's household, Veena's adopted
big brother.
Big brother--or pet?
It did not really matter.
* * * * *
On the fourth day he went back to the lifeboat. He remembered his
graduation day, the crash of the Corps anthem, and the pledge. _I do
faithfully swear to uphold the ideals of Man, to use this vested power
for the absolute good of Earth. I will not shrink from any cup of duty,
regardless of how bitter. I will guard stasis with my life, and the
lives of innocent people if need be, people whose only crime may be
that they are potential threats to stasis--_
He tinkered with the ship's reactor for an hour. Then he ran.
Behind him the lifeboat dissolved in a white blossom of flame.
Farewell the cold stars and the ache and the loneliness. Farewell the
destruction of newborn colonies to secure the rotting stagnancy of
Earth.
He would have a great many bad nights, but he was used to bad nights.
He thought of Veena and his stride quickened. She would be a beautiful
woman.
They were waiting for him back at the farmhouse, Lang, Veena and Merl.
They were staring at the dark pyre of smoke in the forest. Saxon took a
deep breath and squared his shoulders. "I've got a confession to make--"
They weren't listening. Lang said quietly, "You were right, Veena. He
may qualify."
"Come." Merl took her husband's arm. "Let's call the Council."
They went inside. Saxon looked at Veena. He moistened his lips. "You
knew," he said.
She nodded. There was a queer adult maturity about her as she said,
"Wait. They're calling an emergency Council meeting to decide if you're
fit."
"Fit," Saxon said. Coldly, it seeped in. To survive? To be a playmate,
a slave? "It's been a game," he said, grasping her shoulders. "You've
known all along."
"They're taking the transmitter to the Landing Site now," she said.
"Would you like to watch?"
Watch judgment of the outcasts on one of those who had marooned them?
Why not?
Lang and Merl were no longer in the house. Veena touched a silver stud
in one corner, and one side of the room dissolved from a vista of
golden wheat to a grassy amphitheatre. There were people assembled in
the clearing. Lang and Merl stood on a mossy dais, making a speech.
He saw the ship.
It was a giant silver ovoid, fretted with strange vanes, pockmarked by
the red cancer of rust. Towering forest patriarchs guarded that ship
like a woodland shrine. A ship that had never been born on Earth. An
alien ship.
Understanding came, and a quiet horror.
He lurched away from the screen, away from Veena. He was outside now,
and running. He was a good Inhibition agent, he had been conditioned
to the shock of alien concepts for half his lifetime, but the ground
reeled beneath him as he ran and he could feel the hot trickle of blood
where he had bitten through his lip to keep from screaming.
Aliens.
From _outside_.
Homo Superior, treating his ape-brother with an hospitable contempt.
Playing their inscrutable game.
The lifeboat came down almost in front of him.
It came down with a whining snarl and settled into the plowed field.
The airlock opened. Primus Gant stepped out. His blue eyes were very
cold and he was smiling.
"Report, Commander."
Years of conditioned reflex brought him erect, made him whisper,
"Mission unsuccessful." He swayed, almost fell. Gant held him.
"Easy, lad. We got the blowup a few minutes ago. It took us awhile to
home in on the distress transmitter in your utility kit." He chuckled
at Saxon's blank stare. "Whenever an agent's ship is destroyed his
utility belt automatically functions as a distress signal."