The office seemed very quiet; the only sounds Devall heard were the harsh breathing of the old priest and the off-key chirruping of the cricketlike insects that infested the grass-plot outside the window.
Appeasement, he wondered? Or the overlord's thumb?
Suddenly there seemed no doubt at all in his mind of what he should do, and he wondered how he could have hesitated.
"I hear and respect your wishes, old one," he said, in a ritual formula of renunciation Steber had taught him. "The boy is yours. But can I ask a favor?"
"Ask."
"He didn't know he was offending your laws. He meant well; he's sincerely sorry for what he did. He's in your hands, now—but I want to ask mercy on his behalf. He had no way of knowing he was offending."
"This will be seen at the trial," the old priest said coldly. "If there is to be mercy, mercy will be shown him. I make no promises."
"Very well," Devall said. He reached for a pad and scrawled an order remanding Lieutenant Paul Leonards to the aliens for trial, and signed it with his full name and title. "Here. Give this to the Earthman who let you in. He'll see to it that the boy is turned over to you."
"You are wise," the priest said. He bowed elaborately and made for the door.
"Just one moment," Devall said desperately, as the alien opened the door. "Another question."