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  That task required a while. Evalyth came back toward sunset the next day. She felt a little more tired than usual, a little more peaceful. The raw edge of what had happened was healing over. The thought crossed her mind, abstract but not shocking, not disloyal: I’m young. One year another man will come. I won’t love you the less, darling.

  Dust scuffed under her boots. The compound was half stripped already, a corresponding number of personnel berthed in the ship. The evening reached quiet beneath a yellowing sky. Only a few of the expedition stirred among the machines and remaining cabins. Lokon lay as hushed as it had lately become. She welcomed the thud of her footfalls on the steps into Jonafer’s office.

  He sat waiting for her, big and unmoving behind his desk. “Assignment completed without incident,” she reported.

  “Sit down,” he said.

  She obeyed. The silence grew. At last he said, out of a stiff face: “The clinical team has finished with the prisoners.”

  Somehow it was a shock. Evalyth groped for words: “Isn’t that too soon? I mean, well, we don’t have a lot of equipment, and just a couple of men who can use the advanced stuff, and then without Donli for an expert on Earth biology—Wouldn’t a good study, down to the chromosomal level if not further—something that the physical anthropologists could use—wouldn’t it take longer?”

  “That’s correct,” Jonafer said. “Nothing of major importance was found. Perhaps something would have been, if Uden’s team had any inkling of what to look for. Given that, they could have made hypotheses, and tested them in a whole-organism context, and come to some understanding of their subjects as functioning beings. You’re right, Donli Saim had the kind of professional intuition that might have guided them. Lacking that, and with no particular clues, and no cooperation from those ignorant, terrified savages, they had to grope and probe almost at random. They did establish a few digestive peculiarities—nothing that couldn’t have been predicted on the basis of ambient ecology.”

  “Then why have they stopped? We won’t be leaving for another week at the earliest.”

  “They did so on my orders, after Uden had shown me what was going on and said he’d quit regardless of what I wanted.”

  “What—? Oh.” Scorn lifted Evalyth’s head. “You mean the psychological torture.”

  “Yes. I saw that scrawny woman secured to a table. Her head, her body were covered with leads to the meters that clustered around her and clicked and hummed and flickered. She didn’t see me; her eyes were blind with fear. I suppose she imagined her soul was being pumped out. Or maybe the process was worse for being something she couldn’t put a name to. I saw her kids in a cell, holding hands. Nothing else left for them to hold onto, in their total universe. They’re just at puberty; what’ll this do to their psychosexual development? I saw their father lying drugged beside them, after he’d tried to batter his way straight through the wall. Uden and his helpers told me how they’d tried to make friends and failed. Because naturally the prisoners know they’re in the power of those who hate them with a hate that goes beyond the grave.”

  Jonafer paused. “There are decent limits to everything, Lieutenant,” he ended, “including science and punishment. Especially when, after all, the chance of discovering anything else unusual is slight. I ordered the investigation terminated. The boys and their mother will be flown to their home area and released tomorrow.”

  “Why not today?” Evalyth asked, foreseeing his reply.

  “I hoped,” Jonafer said, “that you’d agree to let the man go with them.”

  “No.”

  “In the name of God—”

  “Your God.” Evalyth looked away from him. “I won’t enjoy it, Captain. I’m beginning to wish I didn’t have to. But it’s not as if Donli’d been killed in an honest war or feud or—He was slaughtered like a pig. That’s the evil in cannibalism; it makes a man nothing but another meat animal. I won’t bring him back, but I will somehow even things, by making the cannibal nothing but a dangerous animal that needs shooting.”

  “I see.” Jonafer too stared long out of the window. In the sunset light his face became a mask of brass. “Well,” he said finally, coldly, “under the Charter of the Alliance and the articles of this expedition, you leave me no choice. But we will not have any ghoulish ceremonies, and you will not deputize what you want done. The prisoner will be brought to your place privately after dark. You will dispose of him at once and assist in cremating the remains.”

  Evalyth’s palms grew wet. I never killed a helpless man before!

  But he did, it answered. “Understood, Captain,” she said.

  “Very good, Lieutenant. You may go clean up and join the mess for dinner if you wish. No announcements to anyone. The business will be scheduled for—” Jonafer glanced at his watch, set to local rotation—“2600 hours.”

  Evalyth swallowed around a clump of dryness. “Isn’t that rather late?”

  “On purpose,” he told her. “I want the camp asleep.” His glance struck hers. “And want you to have time to reconsider.”

  “No!” She sprang erect and went for the door.

  His voice pursued her: “Donli would have asked you for that.”

  VIII

  Night came in and filled the room. Evalyth didn’t rise to turn on the light. It was as if this chair, which had been Donli’s favourite, wouldn’t let her go.

  Finally she remembered the psychodrugs. She had a few tablets left. One of them would make the execution easy to perform. No doubt Jonafer would direct that Moru be tranquilized—now, at last—before they brought him here. So why should she not give herself calmness?

  It wouldn’t be right.

  Why not?

  I don’t know. I don’t understand anything any longer.

  Who does? Moru alone. He knows why he murdered and butchered a man who trusted him. Evalyth found herself smiling wearily into the darkness. He has superstition for his sure guide. He’s actually seen his children display the first signs of maturity. That ought to console him a little.

  Odd, that the glandular upheaval of adolescence should have commenced under frightful stress. One would have expected a delay instead. True, the captives had been getting a balanced diet for a change, and medicine had probably eliminated various chronic low-level infections. Nonetheless the fact was odd. Besides, normal children under normal conditions would not develop the outward signs beyond mistaking in this short a time. Donli would have puzzled over the matter. She could almost see him, frowning, rubbing his forehead, grinning one-sidedly with the pleasure of a problem.

  “I’d like to have a go at this myself,” she heard him telling Uden over a beer and a smoke. “Might turn up an angle.”

  “How?” the medic would have replied. “You’re a general biologist. No reflection on you, but detailed human physiology is out of your line.”

  “Um-m-m . . . yes and no. My main job is studying species of terrestrial origin and how they’ve adapted to new planets. By a remarkable coincidence, man is included among them.”

  But Donli was gone, and no one else was competent to do his work—to be any part of him, but she fled from that thought and from the thought of what she must presently do. She held her mind tightly to the realization that none of Uden’s team had tried to apply Donli’s knowledge. As Jonafer remarked, a living Donli might well have suggested an idea, unorthodox and insightful, that would have led to the discovery of whatever was there to be discovered, if anything was. Uden and his assistants were routineers. They hadn’t even thought to make Donli’s computer ransack its data banks for possibly relevant information. Why should they, when they saw their problem as strictly medical? And, to be sure, they were not cruel. The anguish they were inflicting had made them avoid whatever might lead to ideas demanding further research. Donli would have approached the entire business differently from the outset.

  Suddenly the gloom thickened. Evalyth fought for breath. Too hot and silent here; too long a wait; she must do something or h
er will would desert her and she would be unable to squeeze the trigger.

  She stumbled to her feet and into the lab. The fluoro blinded her for a moment when she turned it on. She went to his computer and said: “Activate!”

  Nothing responded but the indicator light. The windows were totally black. Clouds outside shut off moon and stars.

  “What—” The sound was a curious croak. But that brought a releasing gall: Take hold of yourself, you blubbering idiot, or you’re not fit to mother the child you’re carrying. She could then ask her question. “What explanations in terms of biology can be devised for the behavior of the people on this planet?”

  “Matters of that nature are presumably best explained in terms of psychology and cultural anthropology,” said the voice.

  “M-m-maybe,” Evalyth said. “And maybe not.” She marshalled a few thoughts and stood them firm amidst the others roiling in her skull. “The inhabitants could be degenerate somehow, not really human.” I want Moru to be. “Scan every fact recorded about them, including the detailed clinical observations made on four of them in the past several days. Compare with basic terrestrial data. Give me whatever hypotheses look reasonable.” She hesitated. “Correction. I mean possible hypotheses—anything that doesn’t flatly contradict established facts. We’ve used up the reasonable ideas already.”

  The machine hummed. Evalyth closed her eyes and clung to the edge of the desk. Donli, please help me.

  At the other end of forever, the voice came to her:

  “The sole behavioral element which appears to be not easily explicable by postulates concerning environment and accidental historical developments, is the cannibalistic puberty rite. According to the anthropological computer, this might well have originated as a form of human sacrifice. But that computer notes certain illogicalities in the idea, as follows.

  “On Old Earth, sacrificial religion was normally associated with agricultural societies, which were more vitally dependent on continued fertility and good weather than hunters. Even for them, the offering of humans proved disadvantageous in the long run, as the Aztec example most clearly demonstrates. Lokon has rationalized the practice to a degree, making it part of the slavery system and thus minimizing its impact on the generality. But for the lowlanders it is a powerful evil, a source of perpetual danger, a diversion of effort and resources that are badly needed for survival. It is not plausible that the custom, if ever imitated from Lokon, should persist among every one of those tribes. Nevertheless it does. Therefore it must have some value and the problem is to find what.

  “The method of obtaining victims varies widely, but the requirement always appears to be the same. According to the Lokonese, one adult male body is necessary and sufficient for the maturation of four boys. The killer of Donli Saim was unable to carry off the entire corpse. What he did take of it is suggestive.

  “Hence a dipteroid phenomenon may have appeared in man on this planet. Such a thing is unknown among higher animals elsewhere, but is conceivable. A modification of the Y chromosome would produce it. The test for that modification, and thus the test of the hypothesis, is easily made.”

  The voice stopped. Evalyth heard the blood slugging in her veins. “What are you talking about?”

  “The phenomenon is found among lower animals on several worlds,” the computer told her. “It is uncommon and so is not widely known. The name derives from the Diptera, a type of dung fly on Old Earth.”

  Lightning flickered: “Dung fly—good, yes!”

  The machine went on to explain.

  IX

  Jonafer came alone with Morn. The savage’s hands were tied behind his back, and the spaceman loomed enormous over him. Despite that and the bruises he had inflicted on himself, he hobbled along steadily. The clouds were breaking and the moon shone ice-white. Where Evalyth waited, outside her door, she saw the compound reach bare to the saw-topped stockade and a crane stand above like a gibbet. The air was growing cold—the planet spinning toward an autumn—and a small wind had arisen to whimper behind the dust devils that stirred across the earth. Jonafer’s footfalls rang loud.

  He noticed her and stopped. Morn did likewise. “What did they learn?” she asked.

  The captain nodded. “Uden got right to work when you called,” he said. “The test is more complicated than your computer suggested—but then, it’s for Donli’s kind of skill, not Uden’s. He’d never have thought of it unassisted. Yes, the notion is true.”

  “How?”

  Moru stood waiting while the language he did not understand went to and fro around him.

  “I’m no medic.” Jonafer kept his tone altogether colorless. “But from what Uden told me, the chromosome defect means that the male gonads here can’t mature spontaneously. They need an extra supply of hormones—he mentioned testosterone and androsterone, I forget what else—to start off the series of changes which bring on puberty. Lacking that, you’ll get eunuchism. Uden thinks the surviving population was tiny after the colony was bombed out, and so poor that it resorted to cannibalism for bare survival, the first generation or two. Under those circumstances, a mutation that would otherwise have eliminated itself got established and spread to every descendant.”

  Evalyth nodded. “I see.”

  “You understand what this means, I suppose,” Jonafer said. “There’ll be no problem to ending the practice. We’ll simply tell them we have a new and better Holy Food, and prove it with a few pills. Terrestrial-type meat animals can be reintroduced later and supply what’s necessary. In the end, no doubt our geneticists can repair that faulty Y chromosome.”

  He could not stay contained any longer. His mouth opened, a gash across his half-seen face, and he rasped: “I should praise you for saving a whole people. I can’t. Get your business over with, will you?”

  Evalyth trod forward to stand before Morn. He shivered but met her eyes. Astonished, she said: “You haven’t drugged him.”

  “No,” Jonafer said. “I wouldn’t help you.” He spat.

  “Well, I’m glad.” She addressed Morn in his own language: “You killed my man. Is it right that I should kill you?”

  “It is right.” he answered, almost as levelly as she. “I thank you that my woman and my sons are to go free.” He was quiet for a second or two. “I have heard that your folk can preserve food for years without it rotting. I would be glad if you kept my body to give your sons.”

  “Mine will not need it,” Evalyth said. “Nor will the sons of your sons.”

  Anxiety tinged his words: “Do you know why I slew your man? He was kind to me, and like a god. But I am lame. I saw no other way to get what my sons must have; and they must have it soon, or it would be too late and they could never become men.”

  “He taught me,” Evalyth said, “how much it is to be a man.” She turned to Jonafer, who stood tense and puzzled. “I had my revenge,” she said in Donli’s tongue.

  “What?” His question was a reflexive noise.

  “After I learned about the dipteroid phenomenon,” she said. “All that was necessary was for me to keep silent. Morn, his children, his entire race would go on being prey for centuries, maybe forever. I sat for half an hour, I think, having my revenge.”

  “And then?” Jonafer asked.

  “I was satisfied, and could start thinking about justice,” Evalyth said.

  She drew a knife. Morn straightened his back. She stepped behind him and cut his bonds. “Go home,” she said. “Remember him.”

  The End

  *********************************

  The Queen of Air and Darkness,

  by Poul Anderson

  F&SF April 1971

  Novelette - 16782 words

  THE LAST GLOW OF THE LAST sunset would linger almost until midwinter. But there would be no more day, and the northlands rejoiced. Blossoms opened, flamboyance on firethorn trees, steel-flowers rising blue from the brok and rainplant that cloaked all hills, shy whiteness of kiss-me-never down in the dales. Flitteries dar
ted among them on iridescent wings; a crownbuck shook his horns and bugled. Between horizons the sky deepened from purple to sable. Both moons were aloft, nearly full, shining frosty on leaves and molten on waters. The shadows they made were blurred by an aurora, a great blowing curtain of light across half heaven. Behind it the earliest stars had come out.

  A boy and a girl sat on Wolund’s Barrow just under the dolmen it upbore. Their hair, which streamed halfway down their backs, showed startlingly forth, bleached as it was by summer. Their bodies, still dark from that season, merged with earth and bush and rock, for they wore only garlands. He played on a bone flute and she sang. They had lately become lovers. Their age was about sixteen, but they did not know this, considering themselves Outlings and thus indifferent to time, remembering little or nothing of how they had once dwelt in the lands of men.

  His notes piped cold around her voice:

  “Cast a spell,

  weave it well

  of dust and dew

  and night and you.”

  A brook by the grave mound, carrying moonlight down to a hill-hidden river, answered with its rapids. A flock of hell-bats passed black beneath the aurora.

  A shape came bounding over Cloudmoor. It had two arms and two legs, but the legs were long and claw-footed and feathers covered it to the end of a tail and broad wings. The face was half human, dominated by its eyes. Had Ayoch been able to stand wholly erect, he would have reached to the boy’s shoulder.