Another Rib Read Free

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!