Afterwards there was silence in the room, save for the distant sound of the wind against the building outside.  Horng stood looking down at the broken body at his feet, his expression as unfathomable as it had ever been.  Mara stared in shocked silence at the alien.

Rynason walked slowly to the mike lying beside the interpreter.  He raised it.

“You can move quickly, old leather, when there’s a reason for it,” he said.

Horng turned his head to him and silently dipped it to one side.

* * * * *

Rynason lifted the broken form of Manning’s body and carried it out to the top of the steps leading down from the temple.  Mara went with him, carrying the handlight; it fell harshly on Manning’s crushed features as Rynason waited atop the huge, steep stairway.  The wind tore at his hair, whipping it wildly around his head ... but Manning’s head was caked with blood.  In a moment, the men from the town came out from cover; they stood at the base of the steps, indecisive.

They too were waiting for something.

Rynason hefted the body up over one shoulder and drew a disintegrator with the hand he had freed.  Slowly, then, he descended the steps.

When he had neared the bottom the circle of men fell back.  They were uneasy and sullen ... but they had seen the power of the disintegrator, and now they saw Manning’s crushed body.

Rynason bent and dropped the body to the ground.  He looked up coldly at the ring of faces and said, “One of the Hirlaji did that with his hands.  That’s all—­just his hands.”

For a moment everyone was still ... and then one of the men broke from the crowd, snarling, with a heavy knife in his hand.  He stopped just outside the white circle of the handlight, the knife extended before him.  Rynason raised the disintegrator and trained it on him, his face frozen into a cold mask.

The man stood in indecision.

And from the crowd behind him another figure stepped forward.  It was Malhomme, and his lips were drawn back in disgust.  He struck with an open hand, the side of his palm catching the man’s neck beneath his ear.  The man fell sprawling to the ground, and lay still.

Malhomme looked at him for a moment, then he turned to the men behind him.  “That’s enough!” he shouted. “Enough!” Angrily, he looked down at the crumpled form of Manning’s body.  “Bury him!” he said.

There was still no movement from the men; Malhomme grabbed two of them roughly and shoved them out of the crowd.  They hesitated, looking quickly from Malhomme to the disintegrator in Rynason’s hand, then bent to pick up the body.

“It’s a measure of man’s eternal mercy,” said Malhomme acidly, “that at least we bury each other.”  He stared at the men in the mob, and the fury in his eyes broke them at last.  Muttering, shrugging, shaking their heads, they dispersed, going off in two and threes to take cover from the wind-driven sand.