The Lani People Part 33

"Very," he said. "You fooled me completely."

"The important thing was that I fooled Douglas."

"You did that all right. Now let's get him out of that pit."

"Why?"

"The jet blast will fry him when we take off."

"What difference would that make?"

"I told you," Kennon said, "that I never destroy things unnecessarily--not even things like Douglas."

"But he would have destroyed you."

"That's no excuse for murder. Now go back to the jeep and fetch a rope.

I'll go down and get him out."

"Do we have to bother with him?" Copper asked, and then shrugged. It was an eloquent gesture expressing disgust, resignation, and unwilling compliance in one lift of smoothly muscled shoulders.

"There's no question about it," Kennon said. "You're becoming more human every day."

He chuckled as he slid over the edge of the pit following the path Douglas had taken a moment before. He found him sitting on a pile of ashes, shaking his head.

"What happened?" Douglas asked querulously. There was fear in his voice.

"Copper hit you on the head with a rock," Kennon said as he bent over and retrieved the torch, still burning near Douglas' feet.

"The Lani?" Douglas' voice was incredulous.

"Not a Lani," Kennon corrected. "She's as human as you or I."

"That's a lie," Douglas said.

"Maybe this s.p.a.cer's a lie too. Her ancestors came in it--a pair of humans named Alfred and Melissa Weygand. They were Christian missionaries from a planet called Heaven out in Ophiuchus Sector. Went out to convert aliens and landed here when their fuel ran out."

Kennon paused. "That was about four millennia ago. Their descendants, naturally, reverted to barbarism in a few generations, but there's enough evidence in the ship to prove that the Lani were their children."

"But the tails--the differences--the failure of the test," Douglas said.

"Mutation," Kennon replied. "Those old spindizzy converters weren't too choosy about how they scattered radiation. And they had come a long way." He paused, looking down at Douglas, feeling a twinge of pity for the man. His world was crumbling. "And there was no other human blood available to filter out their peculiarities. It might have been done during the first couple of generations, but constant inbreeding fixed the genetic pattern."

"How did you discover this?" Douglas asked.

"Accident," Kennon said briefly.

"You'll never be able to prove they're human!" Douglas said.

"The ship's log will do that."

"Not without a humanity test--they can't pa.s.s that."

"Sorry to disappoint you. Your grandfather used the wrong sort of sperm.

Now if there had been a Betan in the crew--"

"You mean she's pregnant!"

Kennon nodded. "There's been mutation on Beta," he said. "And it's apparently a similar one to hers. Betan-Lani matings are fertile."

Douglas's shoulders sagged, and then straightened. "I don't believe it,"

he said. "You're just a d.a.m.ned sneaking spy. Somehow or other you got a s.p.a.cer in here after you wormed your way into Cousin Alex's confidence--and now you're going to s.p.a.ce out with the nucleus of a new farm. Just wait. When Alex learns of this the galaxy'll be too small to hold you."

"Don't babble like a fool!" Kennon said with disgust. "How could I land a s.p.a.cer here without being spotted? You sound like a two-credit novel.

And even if I did--would it be a can like this?" Kennon played the torch over the blue-black durilium protruding from the ashes.

Douglas' eyes widened as he took in the details of construction. "What an antique!" he blurted. "Where did you get this can?"

"I found it here."

"Tell me another one."

"You won't believe," Kennon said flatly, "because you don't dare believe. You have a mental block. You've killed, maimed, tortured-- treated them like animals--and now your mind shrinks from admitting they're human. You know what will happen if the old court decision is reversed. It will wreck your little empire, dry up your money, break you--and you can't stand the thought of that. You don't dare let us leave, yet you can't stop us because I have your blaster and I'd just as soon shoot you as look at your rotten face. Now get on your feet and start climbing if you want to stay alive. We're getting out of here, and you'll fry inside this pit."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Back to your airboat. I'm going to tie you up and set you off on autopilot. You'll be able to get loose quickly enough but it'll be too late to stop us. We'll be gone, and you can think of how you'll manage to face the human race."

"I hope you blow yourself and that antique clear out of s.p.a.ce."

"We might. But you'll never know for sure. But mark this--if I live I'll be back with the Brotherhood. You can count on it."

They struggled up the side of the pit and halted, panting, on the rim.

"How much radiation was down there?" Douglas asked worriedly.

"Not enough to hurt you."

"That's good." Douglas accepted the statement at face value, a fact which failed to surprise Kennon. "You know," he said, "I've been around Lani all my life. And I know that they're not human. No self-respecting human would take a tenth of what they put up with."

"Their ancestors didn't," Kennon said. "They fought to the end. But your Grandfather was a smart man even though he was a Degrader."

"He wasn't!" Douglas exploded. "No Alexander is a Degrader."

"He realized," Kennon went on, "that he'd never succeed in enslaving the Lani unless he separated the s.e.xes. And since women are more subjective in their outlook--and more pliable--he picked them for his slaves. The males he retired to stud. Probably the fact that there were more women than men helped him make up his mind.

"In every society," Kennon went on inexorably, "there are potential freeman and potential slaves. The latter invariably outnumber the former. They're cowards: the timid, the unsacrificing--the ones that want peace at any price--the ones who will trade freedom for security.

Those were the ones who hid rather than risk their lives fighting the aggressor. Those were the ones who survived. Old Alexander had a ready-made slave cadre when he finished off the last of the warriors.

For four centuries the survivors have been bred and selected to perpetuate slave traits. And the system works. The men don't want freedom--they want liberty to kill each other. The women don't want freedom--they want males. And they'd serve them precisely as the Sarkian women serve their menfolk. You've killed any chance they had to become a civilization. It's going to take generations perhaps before they're reoriented. There's plenty you Alexanders should answer for."

"If there's any fault, it's yours," Douglas snarled. "We were doing all right until you came here. We'd still be doing all right if I had shot you both." His shoulders sagged. "I should have killed you when I had the chance," he said bitterly.