and we're all male. By your standards, we're -- here
today and gone tomorrow."
"Are you quite sure that need be, John?"
Everett turned to look into the alien's large green eyes, cursing the
inevitable semantic differences, the inability to get a point across in
a hurry. Suddenly the shock, the numbness broke into start horror. He
couldn't stand here painstakingly explaining the differences in the word men and the word male to a friendly alien, when he'd just
found out . . . found out . . . his voice strangled. "Just take my word
for it, Fanu," he said thickly, "in fifty years, homo sapiens will be a
lot more extinct than your people. Now I've got to go and -- and tell
them -- "
He stumbled blindly away and fumbled for the door, conscious of the big
green eyes still fixed compassionately on his back.
He had managed to calm himself and speak quietly, but the men were as
shocked as he had been, first numb in silent horror, then moving close
together as if to draw comfort from their group, their solidity.
"There's -- no mistake, Cap'n?" Chord asked timidly. He always spoke
timidly; incongruous for such a giant.
"I've seen the plates myself, and the co-ordinates, Chord. And I have no
reason to doubt Fanu's -- the alien's -- data. From what I've been able to
gather, it must have happened about six months after we left. His equipment's
superior to ours, but pretty soon we'll be able to see it for ourselves."
Somewhere in the back row of the group of men, there was a muffled sob.
He could see the anguish on the other faces, men struggling with the idea
of a future that was no future at all. Young Latimer from the drive room --
the one they all called Tip -- had bent over and buried his face in his
hands. It was Tsen, the young navigator, who finally managed the question
on all their minds.
"Then it's -- just us, sir?"
"Just us." Everett waited a moment, then turned away, dismissing them
with his back. It wasn't a thing you could make speeches about. One way
or another, they'd have to come to terms with it, every man for himself.
He heard the rustle of Fanu's garments, and turned to smile a greeting.
The two stood side by side on the hilltop, looking down at the men working
in the little valley. "What is it to be?" Fanu finally inquired.
"It's -- " Everett could not suppress an amused smile, "a hospital for
you -- and Garrett, the pharmacist's mate."
"Oh?" Fanu's features could not duplicate a smile, but his eyes blinked
rapidly with pleasure. "That is most kind. Most kind."
"Hardly. It just takes care of one problem. The two of you can keep us
in good health, I'm sure."
"Your race is so strong!" Fanu's toneless voice gave, nevertheless, an
impression of amazement and awe. "My own people, under such a sentence
as yours, gave themselves over to despair."
"You think we didn't?" Everett's jaw tightened, remembering the first few
weeks; the dazed men, Garrett stopped in the very act of slsahing his wrists.
Then he straightened his back. "We've found that hard work is a remedy for
despair, or at least -- a good defense against it."
"I see," remarked the alien. "Or at least -- I understand that it might
be so. But how long can you work? Will you fill the valley with your
superbly constructed buildings? For sixteen of your race?"
Everett shook his head, bitterly. "We'd all be dead before we can fill the
valley. But at least we'll make ourselves comfortable, before we -- go."
"There is no need to die."
He swung around to face the alien. "You've been hinting that and hinting
that for the last two months! If there's one thing worse than despair it's
false hope! Even if your people were immortal, and they're not -- "
"I did not mean to anger you, John." The strange little paw uplifted in
apology.
"Then quit hinting and say something."
"Mammals -- " Fanu began, then halted, obviously groping for the proper
teminology.
"Yes, we're mammals, technically," Everett snorted, "the
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