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the rest.”

“It’s going to be a long story,” Copper said. “Even though I have forgotten some of it, I can chant the redes for hours.”

Kennon braced his back against one of the fat tires of the jeep. “I’m a good listener,” he said.

She chuckled. “You asked for this,” she said—and took up the verses where she had left off. And Kennon learned the Lani version of creation, of the first man and woman, cast out of Heaven for loving each other despite the Master’s objection, of how they came to Flora and founded the race of the Lani. He learned how the Lani grew in numbers and power, how they split into two warring groups over the theological point of whether Ulf or Lyssa was the principal deity, how Roga the Foolish opened Lyssa’s tower to find out whether the Ulfians or Lyssans were right, and brought the Black Years to Flora.

He heard the trial of Roga and the details of his torture by the priests of Ulf and the priests of Lyssa—united by this greatest sacrilege. And he heard the Lani version of the landing of Alexander’s ship and man’s conquest of Flora.

It was a story of savagery and superstition, of blood and intolerance, of bravery and cowardice, of love and beauty. Yet through it all, even through the redes that described the Conquest, there was a curious remoteness, a lack of emotion that made the verses more terrible as they flowed in passionless rhythm from Copper’s lips.

“That’s enough!” Kennon said.

“I told you you wouldn’t like it.”

“It’s horrible. How can you remember such things?”

“We begin to learn them as soon as we can talk. We know the redes almost our entire lives.” Copper was silent for a moment. “There’s lots more,” she said, “but it’s all about our lives since the Man Alexander—the old one—took possession of us. And most of the newer redes are pretty dull. Our life hasn’t changed much since the men came. The Book of Man is boring.” Copper sighed. “I have dared a great deal by telling you these things. If the others knew, they would kill both of us.”

“Then why tell me?” he asked.

“I love you,” she said simply. “You wanted to know—and I can deny you nothing.”

A wave of tenderness swept over him. She would give her life for him—and what would he give? Nothing. Not even his prejudices. His face twisted. If she was only human, If she wasn’t just an animal. If he wasn’t a Betan. If, if, if. Resentment gorged his throat. It was unfair—so damned unfair. He had no business coming here. He should have stayed on Beta or at least on a human world where he would never have met Copper. He loved her, but he couldn’t have her. It was Tantalus and Sisyphus rolled into one unsightly package and fastened to his soul. With a muttered curse he rose to his feet, and as he did he stopped—frozen—staring at Copper as though he had never seen her before.

“How did you say that Roga was judged responsible for Alexander coming here?” he demanded.

“He went into Lyssa’s tower—where Ulf and Lyssa tried to call Heaven—and with his foolish meddling set the tower alight with a glow that all could see. Less than a week later the Man Alexander came.”

“Where was this tower?”

“Where Alexandria now stands. Man Alexander destroyed it and built his house upon its ruins.”

“And what was that place of the Pit?”

“The Shrine of Ulf—where the God-Egg struck Flora. It is buried in the pit, but the Silent Death has protected it from blasphemy—and besides Man Alexander never learned about it. We feared that he would destroy it as he did Lyssa’s tower.”

A wild hope stirred in Kennon. “We’re going home,” he announced.

“Good.”

“And we’re going to get a pair of radiation suits—and then we’re coming back. We’ll have a good look at that Pit, and if what’s in there is what I think it is”—his face was a mixture of grimness and eagerness—“we’ll blow this whole operation off this planet!”

Copper blanched. “It is death to meddle with the God-Egg,” she said.

“Superstition!” Kennon scoffed. “If that Egg is what I think, it was made by men, and you are their descendant.”

“Perhaps you’re right, but I can’t help thinking you are wrong,” she said soberly. “Look at the trouble that came with Roga’s meddling. Be careful that you do not bring us a worse fate.”

“I’ll be very careful. We’ll take every precaution.”

“We?”

“You’re coming, of course. I can’t imagine you staying away.”

Copper nodded.

“You shouldn’t worry so much,” Kennon teased. “You know we men live forever.”

“That is true.”

“And if I’m right you’re just as human as I. And you’re capable of living as long as I do.”

“Yes, sir,” Copper said. Her voice was unconvinced, her expression noncommittal.

“You females,” Kennon said in quick exasperation. “You drive a man crazy. Get an idea in your head and it takes triatomate to blast it out. Now let’s go.”

Two hours brought them back to the volcanic area, and knowing what to look for, Kennon located the pockmarked mountain valley. From the air it looked completely ordinary. Kennon was amazed at the perfection of the natural camouflage. The Pit was merely another crater in the pitted ground. He dropped to a lower altitude, barely a hundred feet above the sputter cones. “Look!” he said.

Below them was the crater of the Pit and in its center a smooth bluish-black hemisphere protruded from the crater floor. It would have passed unnoticed by the casual eye—nearly concealed by two gigantic blocks of pumice.

“The God-Egg!” Copper exclaimed.

“Egg—ha! that’s a spacer! I thought it would be. I’d recognize durilium anywhere. Let’s go down and look this over, but first we want a couple of pictures.” He pointed a camera at the crater and snapped the shutter. “There—now let’s have a closer look at our baby.”

“Do you expect me to get into that thing?” Copper said distastefully as she prodded the shapeless green coveralls with a bare toe. She eyed the helmet, gloves and boots with equal distaste. “I’d suffocate.”

“If you want to come with me, you’ll wear it,” Kennon said. “Otherwise you won’t come near that pit. Try it and I’ll chain you to the jeep.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Just try me.”

“Oh—all right. I’ll wear the thing—but I won’t be comfortable.”

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