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Tallis looked at him for a long moment. Then, "All right, Sepastian. I'm no psych man, but I know you're not well. I'll listen to whatever you have to say. But first, untie my hands and feet." "I can't do that, Tallis. Sorry. But if our positions were reversed, I know what I would do to you when I heard the story. And I can't let you kill me, because there's something more that has to be done."
They could understand one side of Tallis. His motet in forty parts, for instance: they knew the difficulties of writing such a thing, and they could see the ingenuity he showed in his various ways of getting round the difficulties.
He simple told them what they had already known that he was a Headquarters Staff officer. "We haven't heard from Headquarters in weeks," he said at last. "The Earth fleet may already be well inside our periphery. We'll have to go home." He produced a document which he had obviously been holding in reserve for another purpose and handed it to Tallis. "Headquarters Staff Orders, Tallis.
His remarks on the United States are in a more discriminating tone than is often attained by English tourists, but the whole tone of the volume is, for the most part, so prosy and commonplace as to make its perusal an intolerable bore. Tallis, Willoughby, and Company are publishing a beautifully embellished edition of The Life of Christ, by the Rev.
He paused and appeared to listen to the silence in the room before going on. "Stand at ease until the High Commander looks at you again," Tallis said in a low aside. This was definitely the pause for adjusting to surprise. It seemed interminable, though it couldn't have been longer than a minute later that the High Commander dropped his gaze from the ceiling to MacMaine.
"I bring him as a candidate for admission to our Ingroup," Tallis replied formally, "and ask the indulgence of Your Superiorities therefor." "And who are you who ask our indulgence?" Tallis identified himself at length name, rank, serial number, military record, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. By the time he had finished, MacMaine was beginning to think that the recitation would go on forever.
The anthems of Palestrina, Anerio, Viadana, Vittoria among the Italians; of Bach, Haydn, Handel, Mozart among the Germans; and of Tallis, Gibbons and Purcell among the English, are all of the truly devout order. Yet how seldom are the works of such men heard in our churches, even where they employ professional singers at substantial salaries.
"There's one more thing, Tallis," he said thoughtfully. "What's that?" "This hair. I think you'd better arrange to have it permanently removed, according to your custom. I can't do anything about the color of my skin, but there's no point in my looking like one of your wild hillmen." "You're very gracious," Tallis said. "And very wise.
"I can't help but feel that this is some sort of trick, but if it is, I can't see through it. Why are you doing this, Sepastian?" "You may not understand this, Tallis," MacMaine said evenly, "but I am fighting for freedom. The freedom to think." The Traitor Convincing the Kerothi that he was in earnest was more difficult than MacMaine had at first supposed.
"Well," MacMaine said with a slight grin, "at least you've been able to capture enough Earth food to keep me eating well all this time." Tallis' grin was broad. "You're right. We're not doing too badly at that. Now, let's go; the High Commander is waiting."
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