Another Rib by Marion Zimmer Bradley, Juanita Coulson Page A

and we're all male. By your standards, we're -- here

today and gone tomorrow."

"Are you quite sure that need be, John?"

Everett turned to look into the alien's large green eyes, cursing the

inevitable semantic differences, the inability to get a point across in

a hurry. Suddenly the shock, the numbness broke into start horror. He

couldn't stand here painstakingly explaining the differences in the word men and the word male to a friendly alien, when he'd just

found out . . . found out . . . his voice strangled. "Just take my word

for it, Fanu," he said thickly, "in fifty years, homo sapiens will be a

lot more extinct than your people. Now I've got to go and -- and tell

them -- "

He stumbled blindly away and fumbled for the door, conscious of the big

green eyes still fixed compassionately on his back.

He had managed to calm himself and speak quietly, but the men were as
shocked as he had been, first numb in silent horror, then moving close
together as if to draw comfort from their group, their solidity.

"There's -- no mistake, Cap'n?" Chord asked timidly. He always spoke

timidly; incongruous for such a giant.

"I've seen the plates myself, and the co-ordinates, Chord. And I have no

reason to doubt Fanu's -- the alien's -- data. From what I've been able to

gather, it must have happened about six months after we left. His equipment's

superior to ours, but pretty soon we'll be able to see it for ourselves."

Somewhere in the back row of the group of men, there was a muffled sob.

He could see the anguish on the other faces, men struggling with the idea

of a future that was no future at all. Young Latimer from the drive room --

the one they all called Tip -- had bent over and buried his face in his

hands. It was Tsen, the young navigator, who finally managed the question

on all their minds.

"Then it's -- just us, sir?"

"Just us." Everett waited a moment, then turned away, dismissing them

with his back. It wasn't a thing you could make speeches about. One way

or another, they'd have to come to terms with it, every man for himself.

He heard the rustle of Fanu's garments, and turned to smile a greeting.

The two stood side by side on the hilltop, looking down at the men working

in the little valley. "What is it to be?" Fanu finally inquired.

"It's -- " Everett could not suppress an amused smile, "a hospital for

you -- and Garrett, the pharmacist's mate."

"Oh?" Fanu's features could not duplicate a smile, but his eyes blinked

rapidly with pleasure. "That is most kind. Most kind."

"Hardly. It just takes care of one problem. The two of you can keep us

in good health, I'm sure."

"Your race is so strong!" Fanu's toneless voice gave, nevertheless, an

impression of amazement and awe. "My own people, under such a sentence

as yours, gave themselves over to despair."

"You think we didn't?" Everett's jaw tightened, remembering the first few

weeks; the dazed men, Garrett stopped in the very act of slsahing his wrists.

Then he straightened his back. "We've found that hard work is a remedy for

despair, or at least -- a good defense against it."

"I see," remarked the alien. "Or at least -- I understand that it might

be so. But how long can you work? Will you fill the valley with your

superbly constructed buildings? For sixteen of your race?"

Everett shook his head, bitterly. "We'd all be dead before we can fill the

valley. But at least we'll make ourselves comfortable, before we -- go."

"There is no need to die."

He swung around to face the alien. "You've been hinting that and hinting

that for the last two months! If there's one thing worse than despair it's

false hope! Even if your people were immortal, and they're not -- "

"I did not mean to anger you, John." The strange little paw uplifted in

apology.

"Then quit hinting and say something."

"Mammals -- " Fanu began, then halted, obviously groping for the proper

teminology.

"Yes, we're mammals, technically," Everett snorted, "the