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Authors: J. T. McIntosh
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cowardice would have held him steady and straight. A neat square of skin was bared, unbroken by the point. Phyllis saw with disgust that though Worsley was standing steadily enough, he couldn't prevent the flesh of his stomach from shivering convulsively.
Mathers made a quick thrust, and it was over. Or rather, it was begun. Writhing on the ground Worsley was still some hours from death, but short of medical attention which he wouldn't get, death was certain. Bets had been made on how long he would last, at odds which took into consideration Worsley's constitution and Mathers' probable skill with the sword.
Still no one moved. Phyllis didn't like this part much, yet it was undeniably exciting.
They were waiting now for Worsley to scream. If he died without a sound, even the worst of traitors was accorded a decent burial. It seldom happened, however. For seconds, minutes, a man might writhe silently, determined not to make a sound. But sooner or later, knowing there were hundreds of eyes on him, hundreds of Clades waiting for him to voice his agony, he would make the slightest of sounds and then, the dam burst, scream until his lungs were raw. Then he would be left alone.
One could feel Worsley's resistance being drawn tighter and tighter. Still there was no sound. Murmuring wouldn't start again until he broke, or until it was obviously near the end and he sank visibly. Many Clades were sorry for a man beaten by unconsciousness, a man who made no sound until he didn't really know what was going on; and then moaned.
Seven and a half minutes after the stroke Worsley screamed once, sharply. There were five seconds filled with the murmured satisfaction of men who had won bets and grunts of men who had lost. Then Worsley was moaning steadily, horribly.
The Clades streamed back into the ship.
Fear struck Phyllis's heart at the realization of the step up Mathers would take. Suppose he did really want her, as she had sometimes suspected. He had only to break her as an officer, and her day of privilege would be over -- she would return to the child-bearing cattle from among whom she had emerged before she was old enough to have children. Then, of course, she would be his, as, when, and how he liked.
It was supposed not to happen, but it did. Marge Henley had been senior to Phyllis six years since. Sloan had caught her out in minor faults once, twice, three times, and she became just a creature again, and Sloan's whenever he wished.
None of that was admitted, but that didn't prevent the threat to Phyllis from being real. It was tooth-and-claw survival. She had to break Mathers before he broke her.
If only, she thought, if only Corey would decide that it was time to go to Mundis. There would be action then, and as long as anything was happening something might be made of it. It was in inaction that Phyllis was helpless, hated and distrusted by her colleagues because she was a fellow officer and therefore a rival, young and successfu] and therefore dangerous, and perhaps worst of all, a woman who could not be treated like a woman, like a superior sort of animal.
III
1
Dick, said Bentley, "go and see if you can find Rog Foley."
Dick looked puzzled. "You want him here?"
"Yes."
"How about June?"
"Not unless Foley wants her. Or -- wait."
He hadn't considered June. Nevertheless, she was a factor. It was said that Rog was acting as if she really mattered in his life. Bob Foley growled about it and said Rog must have some scheme in which she figured -- Rog couldn't love anybody but himself.
"Yes," said Bentley. "Get her too."
He waited outside the laboratory. He sat on a wooden seat placed in the sun, but he didn't get chairs for the others, knowing they would prefer to sit on the grass.
Dick was back in a few minutes with the Foleys. Bentley looked keenly at them. Rog was unhurried, casual; June rather excited. She knew something was happening, and she was included because she was Rog's wife. She was very neat and clean, and
Mathers made a quick thrust, and it was over. Or rather, it was begun. Writhing on the ground Worsley was still some hours from death, but short of medical attention which he wouldn't get, death was certain. Bets had been made on how long he would last, at odds which took into consideration Worsley's constitution and Mathers' probable skill with the sword.
Still no one moved. Phyllis didn't like this part much, yet it was undeniably exciting.
They were waiting now for Worsley to scream. If he died without a sound, even the worst of traitors was accorded a decent burial. It seldom happened, however. For seconds, minutes, a man might writhe silently, determined not to make a sound. But sooner or later, knowing there were hundreds of eyes on him, hundreds of Clades waiting for him to voice his agony, he would make the slightest of sounds and then, the dam burst, scream until his lungs were raw. Then he would be left alone.
One could feel Worsley's resistance being drawn tighter and tighter. Still there was no sound. Murmuring wouldn't start again until he broke, or until it was obviously near the end and he sank visibly. Many Clades were sorry for a man beaten by unconsciousness, a man who made no sound until he didn't really know what was going on; and then moaned.
Seven and a half minutes after the stroke Worsley screamed once, sharply. There were five seconds filled with the murmured satisfaction of men who had won bets and grunts of men who had lost. Then Worsley was moaning steadily, horribly.
The Clades streamed back into the ship.
Fear struck Phyllis's heart at the realization of the step up Mathers would take. Suppose he did really want her, as she had sometimes suspected. He had only to break her as an officer, and her day of privilege would be over -- she would return to the child-bearing cattle from among whom she had emerged before she was old enough to have children. Then, of course, she would be his, as, when, and how he liked.
It was supposed not to happen, but it did. Marge Henley had been senior to Phyllis six years since. Sloan had caught her out in minor faults once, twice, three times, and she became just a creature again, and Sloan's whenever he wished.
None of that was admitted, but that didn't prevent the threat to Phyllis from being real. It was tooth-and-claw survival. She had to break Mathers before he broke her.
If only, she thought, if only Corey would decide that it was time to go to Mundis. There would be action then, and as long as anything was happening something might be made of it. It was in inaction that Phyllis was helpless, hated and distrusted by her colleagues because she was a fellow officer and therefore a rival, young and successfu] and therefore dangerous, and perhaps worst of all, a woman who could not be treated like a woman, like a superior sort of animal.
III
1
Dick, said Bentley, "go and see if you can find Rog Foley."
Dick looked puzzled. "You want him here?"
"Yes."
"How about June?"
"Not unless Foley wants her. Or -- wait."
He hadn't considered June. Nevertheless, she was a factor. It was said that Rog was acting as if she really mattered in his life. Bob Foley growled about it and said Rog must have some scheme in which she figured -- Rog couldn't love anybody but himself.
"Yes," said Bentley. "Get her too."
He waited outside the laboratory. He sat on a wooden seat placed in the sun, but he didn't get chairs for the others, knowing they would prefer to sit on the grass.
Dick was back in a few minutes with the Foleys. Bentley looked keenly at them. Rog was unhurried, casual; June rather excited. She knew something was happening, and she was included because she was Rog's wife. She was very neat and clean, and
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