"Have babies," Tip amended. The bluntness shocked Everett. He'd never put it quite that way even to himself. "Will you -- let us talk to him, Captain?"
Chord broke in, shamble-speeched as always. "Tip and me, we talked this over a long while. Funny part, we always -- well -- thought about something like this, the Dr. Fanu came along and said -- thing is -- well, will you take us to talk with him?"
He got up slowly, nodding. "If that's what you want." They nodded silently and he started toward the door, then turned, still torn by doubt and incredulity.
"Would you answer -- one rather blunt question? Have you two -- is this something that developed between you here on Prox, or were you -- were you like this before touchdown?"
Both men suddenly looked dismayed, disgusted, their faith in an intelligent commander suddenly cracking across the top. Chord's lips curled in rage, but it was the boy who blurted out "For God's sake, sir, what do you think we are?"
"Sorry," he said quickly, "I -- sorry. It's good of you to volunteer." He turned and led them toward the hilltop laboratory, but in his thoughts the unspoken answer drummed, over and over. "God in Heaven, I don't know! I honestly don't know! And what's worse, I don't know what you're going to be, and neither will God!"
"It's really an elementary process from a surgical point of view," Fanu began academically.
Everett squirmed, his eyes straying toward the closed door of the hospital room, as Fanu went on. "Chemically, of course, we're on less sure ground. The hormones must be reproduced synthetically, pituitary stimulation, a great deal of chanciness. It's fortunate that your sexes produce enough of the hormones of each so that I could test them for synthesis. But there's no reason it shouldn't work."
He glared at the alien, taking out his emotion in fury at the scientific coldness of that voice. "In other words, they're just laboratory animals! Guinea pigs!"
"Not at all. It will work. It may take time for adjustment of the glandular system, and much will depend on physical adjustment. Now if I had been able to get him younger, before puberty -- "
"Why Tip?" he demanded, interrupting, wanting to shift the attention from disgusting medical matters, hand on to his sanity, "I'd think Chord was so much bigger, he'd be better able to -- "
"To carry a fetus? Not at all. Unfortunately it's a matter of pelvic development. Chord is much too masculine, his pelvis much too narrow to accommodate -- "
Everett exploded in hysterical laughter. "Too masculine! That's a jolt, isn't it? Too masculine!"
"I can give you a sedative," the alien said tonelessly, "You sound as if you needed one." But the hand on his shoulder was faintly comforting. Everett pulled himself together a little, and Fanu said, "John, it must be. If your race is to survive -- "
"Maybe we shouldn't survive!" he snarled. "Wouldn't it be more decent to die, die clean and human and what we were intended to be, than as some -- some obscene imitation of -- it's not natural!"
"Neither is the presence of your race on this planet."
"That's different," he countered weakly. "That's mechanics. This -- "
"You bred domestic animals into alternate phenotypes for your own use. You bred humans to some extent, with your limitations on marriage, compulsory sterilization for defective types -- "
"I opposed that!" Everett defended. "That was different -- "
"And so is your situation -- different from anything that ever happened to your race," the alien said. The Earthman stared bleakly, his prejudices and his intelligence warring. "I asked you to put it to your men, John. You did. You considered it only fair that they should make their own decision. They did. Now you oppose it."
"I brought them here, didn't I?"
"Yes, and I thank you for that. Some day you shall thank yourself."
"I doubt that. Oh, I know by your reasoning, I'm an anachronism, but I still can't -- " He trailed off, glancing back at the hospital door. "Why both of them, if you can only -- convert one?"
Fanu blinked in surprise. "For their physical pleasure, John. I understand that is quite important to your species, whether or not as a means of reproduction. Certain anatomical rearrangements -- "
"Spare me!" He saw the alien did not understand the phrase and made some elaboration.
"Oh," the alien murmured an apology. "I thought you would wish to know."
"I -- " Everett swallowed. "I'd rather know about the scientific part of it. I still don't understand. I mean, there are males and there are females, and that's that."
"Not at all, not in your species. There are members, like your crew, with predominantly male organs and vestigial female organs, and -- presumably, I've only seen films -- predominantly female organs and only rudimentary male organs." He paused. "Shall I go on?"
Th Captain found that he wanted a stiff drink, but he nodded for Fanu to continue.
"There are vestigial organs, as I say, and certain common elements. The DNA factor can be cross-stimulated by hormones, certain chemicals -- it was done long ago, to a limited extent, by your own scientists." Everett watched the alien doctor pick up a phial and hold the contents to the light. "It's most fortunate that your race comes equipped with pairs of everything, including the reproductive organs."
"It gives you a guinea pig expendable."
If Fanu had been capable of human expression, he would probably have looked hurt; Everett, increasingly sensitive to the alien gestures and intonations, knew he was wounded. He blinked solemnly. "It makes it possible for him, guinea pig if you prefer, to be both sexes. What must be done is to transfer one set of lobes, and the nature of these makes it possible to separate, and increase the chances of success. We can subject the interstitial tissue to massive doses of hormones, and DNA mutating materials." Everett evidently looked skeptical, for Fanu hurried to the laboratory animal cages and extracted a furry little native mammal, about the size of a squirrel. "It works, John. It works. This is proof. Not changed at infancy or at puberty, but as a full-grown male!"
Everett stroked the animal absently, glumly. "Yes, but it's not human. And -- will they be?"
Fanu didn't answer. Everett hadn't expected him to answer.
A few of the comments were lewd, as he'd expected, but most of the men were kind. He had gone down to the recreation hall, gotten a glass of their home-brewed ale and listened, fading into the background. No more than three or four of the men had made cracks, and they were the ones who'd make cracks about anything, simply for lack of anything better to do. Good workers, but dense in the empathy department.
"May I sit down, sir?"
It was Tsen. Everett gestured and watched the little navigator seat himself. Tsen made an expression of distaste toward the gossipers. "You do not approve, either, of what Chord and the youngster have done?"
"It's not a question of approval, Tsen. It's a question of survival. They feel, and Fanu feels, it's the only way." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "They're right, of course."
"But you do not approve."
He took a long pull at his glass and muttered, "I was taught it was a sin. The sin."
"It? Homosexuality?" Everett winced, saw Tsen's expression and tried to depersonalize himself. "But, Captain, wasn't the very base of that sinfulness, the fact that they could not reproduce?"
He stared. He knew his jaw was dropping, but he stared, anyway.
"Do you think Doctor Fanu would accept me as a second -- volunteer?"
"You!" He looked around quickly and lowered his voice. "Tsen, I never suspected that -- "
"That I am human, sir? We've been here nearly two years, and we are not monks, not ascetics. If anyone here has been reared in such a tradition of asceticism, it is myself. Yet affection, physical need -- they overwhelm some people. We are not all blessed with your control, sir. Some seek satisfaction from themselves. For some, it requires an attraction to others, and if the others happen to be of the same sex, that is unfortunate, but -- under these circumstances -- unavoidable, sir."
Everett flinched. That was getting it straight
between the eyes. "Who, if I might ask?"
"Would it make you feel better, sir, or only more bitter?" Everett, trapped in his own prejudice, could not look into the dark eyes. "Will Doctor Fanu accept me for consideration? Are things -- well with Chord and Tip?"
"Fanu seems satisfied, and if he isn't, no one will be." Everett tilted up his glass, drained the dregs and set it down hard. "Yes, I'm sure Fanu will consider you. You think alike, modern. You should get along very well."
He hadn't thought about the situation for weeks. Tsen was out of the hospital, and there were other things to consider. Supplies from the ship were running out. Everett applied all his skill and energy to working out substitute methods, converting some machinery, utilizing native products. The men continued to surprise him with jury riggings and inspired minor inventions. The planet offered a mild climate and two growing seasons a year. Still, as their equipment disintegrated, they were forced to resort to native beasts of burden, and to do more manual labor.
How long had Chen been doing the work of two men on the community farm? He confronted the giant late one afternoon as they straggled back to the mess hall.
"I can handle it, Cap'n. I grew up on a farm."
"That's not the point, Chord. Where's Tip?"
"At home." There was no apology and no anger, mere honest confusion.
"Chord, it's not fair for you to do his work. I don't care if you're the strongest man here. He's imposing on you."
"No sir. No, he's not. He's sick. Doctor Fanu -- "
But Everett was already striding purposefully toward the small hut shared by Chord and young Latimer. The big man loped behind him, protesting, but the Captain could think of nothing but the rotten laziness of the younger man, who would let his lover do his work, and idle here --
The hut was darkened, and for a moment he could not make out the shapes of things, Chord's words a muttered undercurrent in the background. He stepped over the high threshold, and looked around, finally making out the form on the bed in the corner.
"Latimer!"
The boy raised himself part way, pulling a blanket close around him. A blanket? Lord, it must be eighty-five or ninety in here! "What the hell is this -- letting Chord do your assigned work?"
"Sir, I didn't -- I can't get up!" The voice was pathetic, and Everett had to force himself to remember that the kid was malingering. "Has Garrett seen you yet?"
"N-no, sir. I -- I -- "
Everett pulled at the blanket, but the boy pulled it around himself with savage strength, shouting "Leave me alone!" then suddenly burst into tears and fell back on the bed. Chord grabbed Everett's arm. "Damn it, leave him alone!" Fury trembled the big man's voice. "Leave him alone -- sir."
Tip's sobs from beneath the blanket were high, muffled, hysterical. Everett pulled his bruised arm loose from Chord's great fingers, looking down at the form beneath the blanket; a form strangely, unbelievably, distorted --
"Oh, my God," he said, and left the hut almost running, heading for Fanu's hillside laboratory.
"But of course it worked, John. Didn't you believe me?"
Everett paced the floor, running his hands through his hair again and again. "My God, no, no, I -- I didn't. I thought it was some sort of cruel, monstrous joke, a -- a ghastly nightmare I couldn't wake up from."
"Do you want to?"
"Want to? Oh, Lord, Fanu, haven't you been listening? This is monstrous, it's -- unholy!"
"The word is without meaning to me, John. It is without meaning to the men who wished this done."
He stopped pacing and sat down. "If you can do this, why can't you -- test tubes -- anything but this!"
"It might be possible."
"It might -- then why in God's name this -- blasphemy?"
"John, the word does not exist for me. I could create a fertilized ovum in that manner, but gestation would be tremendously difficult outside its natural element. It would require every moment of two or three men's time for the entire gestation period. And even if we had so many men at our disposal -- "
"But -- "
"Hear me out, John. Tip was a poor choice for the -- first. I would not have consented. I warned them of the dangers, but Tip insisted. Chord had many reservations, but the younger man won out. He will have difficulty. But even so, incubating a fetus in his body is much safer and surer than any amount of laboratory work."
"Safer for the fetus."
"That's true."
He lunged to his feet, confronting the alien, furious. "You're gambling with that boy's life!"
"Yes, and he knows it. He said -- he said that he wanted Chord's inheritance combined with his."
Everett turned away, hands to his face. "Oh, God, what am I trapped in? Why didn't the ship crash coming in?"
"Ask your God, John."
He jerked around, stunned.
"If you accept your deity's omnipotence, mustn't you accept the fact that he has permitted this development?"
"If that boy dies -- Fanu, if you'd seen him -- "
The alien blinked, solemnly. "Hysteria is perhaps natural," he confirmed. "Even though he has been prepared for this, there is some amount of emotional shock remaining. You must remember, there is a certain chemical imbalance. Tsen will have an easier time."
John sat down again. The nightmare was rising above his ears, drowning him in its terrifying black waters. He didn't hear the alien go out.
The jokes ceased. They concerned too many men now. The men who were concerned and still able did not look too kindly on lewd comments about their partners. Emotional patterns were developing, friendships becoming deeper, the new way of life more and more ingrained. Everett sometimes thought that he sounded like a reactionary preacher, mumbling to himself. They were all against him now. They knew how he felt, and they had stopped discussing it in his hearing. They made their reports when they must, and that was all, a habit not yet broken.
He kept his log. Some day he would either run out of paper or learn to make a substitute. That was something to consider. The one grain they'd been able to grow -- he'd have to consult the record tapes; how did you make rice paper? Maybe among his study materials, Tsen had something that would tell him -- the hell with Tsen! Why bother? He'd be dead, they'd all be dead before they ran out of paper. Then what use would the log be to any of them?
The rainy season between the two growing seasons was well under way when someone beat on his door, one night. He mumbled admission, not turning.
"Sir!"
"What? Chord, what is it?" The giant looked wild, his hair tousled, his eyes wide. "What is it, man?"
"It's Tip, sir. He's awful sick!"
"Hasn't he been, all along?"
"This is -- no, sir, this is different. He . . . he hurts. He's in awful pain."
Everett gasped and had to suppress a hysterical laugh. "Oh. Well, isn't that just what you've been waiting for? He ought to have thought of that before he took Fanu's offer." He wondered insanely if he ought to offer congratulations.
The big man dug his thumbs into Everett's shoulders with painful force, his face livid with anger and fear. "Look, sir, I've had about enough of your -- " he stopped and gulped and said, quite meekly for him, "Look, sir, I'm scared. It -- its not time yet. Not for about six weeks. And I'm -- I'm scared, sir," he finished pitifully.
The two men hurried to Chord's hut through the blowing rain, and Everett suppressed another burst of crazy hysteria. Those corny old videocasts on a vanished world! Rainstorms, the black of night, a hurried summons -- he found himself dismissing irrelevant, ribald thoughts of a midnight delivery of a . . . child . . . by two men.
But when he stepped into the hut the thoughts fled, beaten away by the pain of the youth on the bed. He was incredibly pale, sweating badly, trying desperately to muffle his outcries and not succeeding very well. His lips were white and blood-specked where he'd chewed on them. Everett found himself concerned, involved; whatever the cause, he could not ignore the agony in the young face. Tip gave the Captain
one look, turned his face away and shut his eyes. "Couldn't you get -- Garrett," he said weakly, and gasped.
"When did this start?" Everett asked, running over his memory quickly for things that would help, and for the first time wishing he'd listened more closely to Fanu's explanations.
"While ago." Tip made a smothered sound.
"How long ago?" he snapped, trying to be sympathetic in spite of his worry.
"Couple . . . couple hours." The boy suddenly threw his head back, muffling a groan, trembling violently. Everett glanced at his chronometer. The spasm lasted nearly two minutes. He kept his eyes averted from the swollen body, its distortion no longer concealable by the blanket. Tip, breathing hoarsely, murmured, "How did our women ever -- " then his eyes widened in surprise and he slumped back on the bed, unconscious.
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