"No, I was just wrong about the Sirians, Garcia. They're good people,
just like the lieutenant said. They like us. They want to help our
people--and they're going to take the _Star Queen_ back to Earth."
* * * * *
"That's impossible," spat Lieutenant Washington. "They're simple
natives. They're ignorant. They couldn't astrogate that ship."
_Of course not_, thought the captain. _No more than we could sprout
wings and fly back to Earth._
He fought to keep his tone calm, convincing. "Why can't they? They're
telepaths. They've gotten all our knowledge from our minds. They can
be just as good in space as we are--maybe better. And they'll save
humanity. Right. Taaleeb?"
"Right," said Taaleeb, smiling.
"Wonderful!" said Fox, clapping his hands. "Let's go to the village."
"But they haven't the intelligence," protested Lieutenant Washington.
"Captain, I think you're--"
"Look at the way they've learned to talk our language. Doesn't that
indicate an extremely high intelligence?"
"That's right," agreed Fox. "It does, Lieutenant. Let's go, Captain.
Ready?"
Garcia edged forward, blinking the drowsiness from his eyes. "How about
Van Gundy, Captain? Who killed Van Gundy?"
Captain Torkel started to speak. The lie stuck in his throat. He
telepathed, _You tell him, Taaleeb. You tell him the lie._
Taaleeb said, "You killed him, friend Garcia. We have looked into your
mind. We see what happened. You began to break the portholes. Friend
Van Gundy tried to stop you. He had knife, you took knife. You killed
him. You took the flame-weapon because you were afraid of what friend
captain might do."
Garcia groaned. "God. Is that right, Captain? Is that what happened?
I--I can't remember."
"I'm afraid so," sighed the captain. To himself, he said, _And I pray
you never remember._
Then he saw Taaleeb glancing anxiously toward the forest. How strong
was the Sirian telepathic sense? Strong enough to send to the village
for help?
His fingers were hot and moist on the pistol in his pocket. He
struggled to put down the rising anxiety that threatened to overwhelm
him.
"Taaleeb," he said, "better have your men take the vines aboard."
"Yes," said Taaleeb, smiling. The Sirians carried the vines to the
airlock, laid them within.
"What's the idea of that?" asked Lieutenant Washington.
"It was their idea," the captain lied. "Those vines will grow rapidly
in our hydroponics tanks. They'll produce something like a bottle of
wine for each of them once a month. That'll be something to make their
trip a little more pleasant. And _that_ shows they're intelligent,
doesn't it?"
He motioned toward the rocket. "The Sirians want to leave for Earth
now, men. Get whatever gear you want out of the ship."
"They're leaving _now_?" asked Fox.
"Of course. Tell them why, Taaleeb."
The Sirian said, "Because, as your friend captain says, we must allow a
margin for error. Your sun may explode a day or two or three before the
predicted time. Even if it does not, we wish to see your world as much
as possible before its death."
* * * * *
Fox and Garcia started to enter the airlock.
"Wait," said Lieutenant Washington. "I don't think I like this."
Captain Torkel's heart pounded. _This may be it_, he thought. "What do
you mean?" he asked.
"I mean, these Sirians will be heroes to humanity, won't they?"
"I suppose so."
"And they'll return here with our race, or what's left of it, in twelve
years?"
"Yes, God willing."
"Then what will our people think of _us_? What will they _do_ to us?"
_This is it_, the captain told himself. He could feel blood pulsing
through his temples like drumbeats. "They won't like us for what we're
doing. That's a cinch. But there's no other solution. You wouldn't want
the Sirians _not_ to go, would you?"