Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley,Juanita Coulson
Another Rib (2 page)
"Put the question to your men!" For the first time, Fanu's tones were tense
with the beginnings of anger. "You have a second chance, John! They have the
right to choose for themselves if they want to die! You can't decide for
them all! Put it to you men, or -- " he swung around, to see that the little
alien was actually trembling, "or I shall do so on my own initiative."
Everett felt a sour taste in his mouth. "All right," he shouted, "I'll put
it to them -- but don't blame me if they tear you to pieces afterward!"
The looks on their faces had been enough. The men knew Fanu, certainly.
He was one of them now. They knew the tragic history of his people,
respected his knowledge, even loved him. But he was an outsider, and he'd
proved it. He didn't understand mankind.
The knock on the doorframe went through him like a shock.
It was Chord, and another man. Everett blinked in the half light, trying
to pick him out. Young Latimer -- the apprentice, the one they called
Tip -- just a kid -- my God! Under his nose, right under his nose!
"Cap'n -- " Chord began, then trailed off. The big man looked sick,
stricken, and Everett became aware that his own expression must be one
of outright condemnation. He -- the mighty tolerant, benevolent skipper.
We're all together now, eh?
In a pig's eye!
Did he think he was
God? Everett suddenly hated his own guts, and struggled to bring his face
to order. With a new humility, he said, "Come in, Chord. You too, Lat- --
Tip. What can I do for you?"
"About -- about what you said, a couple of days ago. You know, about . . .
the . . . about what Dr. Fanu said. Did he mean it?"
"Really mean it?" Tip added. Everett shifted his glance. Young, yes;
but there was nothing simpering about him. Clear eyes, unashamed, he met
the Captain's eyes; a good-looking kid, the athletic, All-Academy type,
but not
too
good-looking. Calloused hands. A faint residue of old
acne scars along his jawline.
"Well," Everett said slowly, trying to keep his voice impersonal, "he says
he means it."
"Dr. Fanu doesn't strike me as a joker," the boy continued. The alien had
become "Doctor" to them after repairing several broken ribs and a fractured
knee or ankle in the last few months.
"No, I don't think he was joking."
"How does he -- I mean -- "
"I didn't get the details," Everett cut in quickly. "But if he says he can
-- his race is advanced enough, biologically -- he may be able to do what
he says. Let us reproduce."
"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!"
with the beginnings of anger. "You have a second chance, John! They have the
right to choose for themselves if they want to die! You can't decide for
them all! Put it to you men, or -- " he swung around, to see that the little
alien was actually trembling, "or I shall do so on my own initiative."
Everett felt a sour taste in his mouth. "All right," he shouted, "I'll put
it to them -- but don't blame me if they tear you to pieces afterward!"
The looks on their faces had been enough. The men knew Fanu, certainly.
He was one of them now. They knew the tragic history of his people,
respected his knowledge, even loved him. But he was an outsider, and he'd
proved it. He didn't understand mankind.
The knock on the doorframe went through him like a shock.
It was Chord, and another man. Everett blinked in the half light, trying
to pick him out. Young Latimer -- the apprentice, the one they called
Tip -- just a kid -- my God! Under his nose, right under his nose!
"Cap'n -- " Chord began, then trailed off. The big man looked sick,
stricken, and Everett became aware that his own expression must be one
of outright condemnation. He -- the mighty tolerant, benevolent skipper.
We're all together now, eh?
In a pig's eye!
Did he think he was
God? Everett suddenly hated his own guts, and struggled to bring his face
to order. With a new humility, he said, "Come in, Chord. You too, Lat- --
Tip. What can I do for you?"
"About -- about what you said, a couple of days ago. You know, about . . .
the . . . about what Dr. Fanu said. Did he mean it?"
"Really mean it?" Tip added. Everett shifted his glance. Young, yes;
but there was nothing simpering about him. Clear eyes, unashamed, he met
the Captain's eyes; a good-looking kid, the athletic, All-Academy type,
but not
too
good-looking. Calloused hands. A faint residue of old
acne scars along his jawline.
"Well," Everett said slowly, trying to keep his voice impersonal, "he says
he means it."
"Dr. Fanu doesn't strike me as a joker," the boy continued. The alien had
become "Doctor" to them after repairing several broken ribs and a fractured
knee or ankle in the last few months.
"No, I don't think he was joking."
"How does he -- I mean -- "
"I didn't get the details," Everett cut in quickly. "But if he says he can
-- his race is advanced enough, biologically -- he may be able to do what
he says. Let us reproduce."
"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!"
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