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“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.

Illustrated by Bill Bowman