Grey was the ship’s astrogator; on land his functions were to supervise stockade-construction and mapmaking. He was a wiry, unsmiling little man with razor-like cheekbones and ruddy skin. “I feel we have to be cautious, sir. Handing Leonards over would result in a tremendous loss of Terran prestige.”
“Loss?” Dudley burst in. “It would cripple us! We’d never be able to hold our heads up honestly in the galaxy again if—”
Calmly Devall said, “Major Dudley, you’ve been ruled out of order. Leave this meeting, Major. I’ll discuss a downward revision of your status with you later.” Turning back to Grey without a further glance at Dudley, he said, “You don’t believe, Major, that such an action would have a corresponding favorable effect on our prestige in the eyes of thc*e worlds inclined to regard Earth uneasily?”
“That’s an extremely difficult thing to determine, sir.”
“Very well, then.” Devall rose. “Pursuant to regulations, I’ve brought this matter to the attention of authorities on Earth, and have also offered it for open discussion among my officers. Thanks for your time, gentlemen.”
Captain Marechal said uncertainly, “Sir, won’t there be any vote on our intended course of action?”
Devall grinned coldly. “As commanding officer of this base, I’ll take the sole responsibility upon myself for the decision in this particular matter. It may make things easier for all of us in the consequent event of a court-martial inquiry.”
It was the only way, he thought, as he waited tensely in his office for the high priest to arrive. The officers seemed firmly set against any conciliatory action, in the name of Terra’s prestige. It was hardly fair for him to make them take responsibility for a decision that might be repugnant to them.
Too bad about Dudley, Devall mused. But insubordination of that sort was insufferable; Dudley would have to be dropped from the unit on their next trip out. If there is any next trip out for me, he added.
The intercom glowed gently. “Yes?”
“Alien delegation is here, sir,” said the orderly.
“Don’t send them in until I signal.”
He strode to the window and looked out. The compound, at first glance, seemed full of aliens. Actually there were only a dozen, he realized, but they were clad in full panoply, bright red and harsh green robes, carrying spears and ornamental swords. Half a dozen enlisted men were watching them nervously from a distance, their hands ready to fly to blasters instantly if necessary.
He weighed the choices one last time.
If he handed Leonards over, the temporary anger of the aliens would be appeased—but perhaps at a long-range cost to Earth’s prestige. Devall had long regarded himself as an essentially weak man with a superb instinct for camouflage—but would his yielding to the aliens imply to the universe that all Earth was weak?
On the other hand, he thought, suppose he refused to release Leonards to the aliens. Then he would be, in essence, bringing down the overlord’s thumb, letting the universe know that Earthmen were responsible only to themselves and not to the peoples of of the worlds they visited.
Either way, he realized, the standing of Earth in the galaxy’s estimation would suffer. One way, they would look like appeasing weaklings; the other, like tyrants. He remembered a definition he had once read: melodrama is the conflict of right and wrong, tragedy the conflict of right and right. Both sides were right here. Whichever way he turned, there would be difficulties.
And there was an additional factor: the boy. What if they executed him? Family considerations seemed absurdly picayune at this moment, but still, to hand his own nephew over for possible execution by an alien people—
He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, sharpened the hard gaze of his eyes. A glance at the mirror over the bookcase told him he looked every inch the commanding officer; not a hint of the inner conflict showed through.
He depressed the intercom stud. “Send in the high priest. Let the rest of them wait outside.”
The priest looked impossibly tiny and wrinkled, a gnome of a man whose skin was fantastically gullied and mazed by extreme age. He wore a green turban over his hairless head—a mark of deep mourning, Devall knew.
The little alien bowed low, extending his pipestem arms behind his bade at a sharp angle, indicating respect. When he straightened, his head craned back sharply, his small round eyes peering directly into Devall’s.
“The jury has been selected; the trial is ready to begin. Where is the boy?”
Devall wished fleetingly he could have had the services of an interpreter for this last interview. But that was impossible; this was something he had to face alone, without help.
“The accused man is in his quarters,” Devall said slowly. “First I want to ask some questions, old one.”
“Ask.”
“If I give you the boy to try, will there be any chance of his receiving the death penalty?”
“It is conceivable.”
Devall scowled. “Can’t you be a little more definite than that?”
“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 cricket like 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. Hell 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.