"You think you're a man, do you? We'll have to find a fitting end for a hairy piece of dung like you."
Jon felt another blow, and the voice faded away.
— XXVI-
…pain in his hands and in his feet…can't move them… the cool night air on his face…opening his eyes and looking down on a cheering, jostling crowd of troopers…and beyond them, others…all watching him…a loud gong echoing through the darkness…
…wood against his spine and against the backs of his outstretched arms…he looks right and left and sees spikes through his palms, nailing him to the wood…the same with his feet…and there's rope around each of his arms to keep his considerable weight from sagging too much and ripping free of the spikes…
…he hangs outside the fortress on a cross of wood…
…a voice below, taunting him…Captain Ghentren…the man he had spared stands safe now below…
"Are you awake, tery? Good. I don't want you to sleep through this. We're honoring you, in a way. You think you're a man, so we've raised you up like one. Feel the spikes in your hands and feet? That's the way a human heretic dies. Pretending to be human makes you a heretic. But since you're really a tery, we can't just leave you hanging there."
…there's kindling below, around the foot of the cross… Captain Ghentren puts a torch to it and steps back…
"See this? Fire. That's the way we rid ourselves of filthy teries."
…no hope of escape…no one to save him…he sees that now…and resigns himself to what must be…
…light flickers off the faces of the men circled below…Ghentren the parent-slayer grins up at him…his features joyous and hate filled as he cheers the flames upward along with the others…
…men…humans…he had so wanted to be accepted as one of them…
…one of them?…why?
…look at them…look at their glee in the face of another's agony…why had he wanted to be a man at all?…better to have stayed a tery forever…
…and then he remembers Tlad and Komak and Rab…and Adriel, of course…it was their acceptance he had craved…they were the humanity he had sought…
"I AM A MAN!" he shouts to those below as the heat builds…
Suddenly there is silence…awed…shaken.
"I AM ONE OF YOU!"
…someone laughs, nervously…then another…a stone flies out of the darkness and lands on his right shoulder…then laughter and jeering all around…and more stones…
…he has to close his eyes now…the heat is too much…the fur on his legs is burning, but the pain seems far away…the Talents…he failed them…now Mekk will get the weapons and exterminate them once and for all…they counted on him and he failed them…what can they do now?
…the pain comes nearer…each breath seems to contain flame…thoughts run together…
Am I dying as a man or as a beast?…does it matter?…does anyone in the laughing darkness out there know that a man is dying up here?…does anyone care?…will anyone remember me?…does anyone who knows me know that I am dying?…will the Talents curse me and hate me for failing them?…not Adriel…please don't let her hate me…please let someone remember me fondly after I'm gone…
Please let someone say, just once, that here was a good man…
All became pain and confusion, and soon the pain passed beyond all comprehension…
…leaving only confusion.
— XXVII-
Jon was late.
The ominous sound of the gong made Dalt uneasy. Jon could have been back and forth to Ghentren's quarters three times by now. Faintly heard laughter drifted in from the far end of the alley as Dalt waited under the grate. A passing voice shouted something about "a special burning."
That did it. He was frightened now. Jon was in trouble — he was sure of it.
He pressed up against the grate but still could not budge it. Leaving the latching lever in the open position, Dalt descended as rapidly as he knew how and hit the floor running. If he was wrong, Jon would be able to lift the grate and get down the airshaft on his own when he returned. If his suspicions were correct and Jon was in trouble…
There had to be something he could do.
The ceaseless struggle for existence in the Hole went barely noticed through the viewing wall to his right as he ran down the corridor. He came to the opening where the rocks had been pulled away and climbed out into the fresh night air.
Rab was gone. He was supposed to be waiting here but Dalt could find no trace of him. He couldn’t waste time looking for him. Dalt ran the two kilometers along a ravine that led up a hill to the fortress.
He saw the flames as soon as he topped the bank, but wouldn't allow himself to think that Jon might be in any way involved. They leaped high, those flames — six or seven meters into the air. The conflagration stood to the right of the gate, a short distance from the outer wall, and was surrounded by a knot of people.
Why the fire? That was the crucifixion spot. They burned teries and Talents in the pit on the far side of the fortress. What was going on?
A trooper shouted to him as he ran up.
"Where have you been? All villagers are to report to the gate when they hear the gong. You should know that by now. Get up there and learn a lesson!"
Dalt made no reply as he hurried on. He noted that the civilians were keeping to the rear of the circle of spectators, most with averted eyes. The front ranks were taken up by troopers, cheering, laughing, and drinking as they watched the burning body affixed to the cross.
He suspended all emotion as he pushed his way to the front to confirm his worst fears. No facial features remained on that charred corpse. But none was needed. The barrel chest, the shape of the head and legs…unmistakable.
Jon, the tery, the man, was dead.
Dalt heard the soldiers’ voices around him as if from a great distance.
"— hear he could have killed the captain but didn't —"
"— and she says he had Ghentren up in the air by the throat and just let him go —"
"— like they say, teries are stupid. Could have killed him clean and got out the same’s he came in but didn't. Deserve to burn, all of ’em —"
"— oughtta crucify them more often —"
"— Yeah. Better'n just running ’em through and then burning ’em —"
Dalt felt his control begin to slip. He feared he might fly into an uncontrollable rage, might grab his blaster and start burning holes in these savages. But he did not touch his blaster. He left it hidden in his belt as an icy calm slipped over him.
He quietly turned away and strode toward the forest.
He felt dead inside. Everything had gone wrong on this accursed planet and this was the final blow. He had grown to love Jon and now he was dead, horribly dead. If only…
If only! There was a long string of if-onlies trailing through his mind, starting with the Teratols and their perversity, on through the CSS’s refusal to authorize a protectorate, up to and including his own attempts to discourage Jon from trying to settle his score with Ghentren.
If only he had tried a little harder, maybe he could have convinced him not to go…if only he hadn't tried so hard, maybe Jon wouldn't have hesitated at the crucial moment, maybe he'd have dispatched that captain and been back in a few minutes’ time. Or perhaps he would have hesitated anyway because of the innate nobility that made him Jon. Dalt didn't know.