the little
girl. She couldn't have been over six years old, but she was already
a Disan in every way. She neither returned his smile nor changed her
expression, unchildlike in its stolidity. Her hands and jaw never
stopped as she worked on the lengths of fibrous plant her mother had
placed before her. The child split them with a small tool and
removed a pod of some kind. This was peeled--partially by scraping
with a different tool, and partially by working between her teeth.
It took long minutes to remove the tough rind; the results seemed
scarcely worth it. A tiny wriggling object was finally disclosed
which the girl instantly swallowed. She then began working on the
next pod.

Ulv put down his clay bowl and belched. "I brought you to the city
as I told you I would," he said. "Have you done as you said you
would?"

"What did he promise?" Gebk asked.

"That he would stop the war. Have you stopped it?"

"I am trying to stop it," Brion said. "But it is not that easy.
I'll need some help. It is your life that needs saving--yours and
your families'. If you would help me--"

"What is the truth?" Ulv broke in savagely. "All I hear is
difference, and there is no longer any way to tell truth. For as
long as always we have done as the magter say. We bring them food
and they give us the metal and sometimes water when we need it. As
long as we do as they ask they do not kill us. They live the wrong
way, but I have had bronze from them for my tools. They have told us
that they are getting a world for us from the sky people, and that
is good."

"It has always been known that the sky people are evil in every way,
and only good can come from killing them," Gebk said.

Brion stared back at the two Disans and their obvious hatred. "Then
why didn't you kill me, Ulv?" he asked. "That first time in the
desert, or tonight when you stopped Gebk?"

"I could have. But there was something more important. What is the truth?
Can we believe as we have always done? Or should we listen to this?"

He threw a small sheet of plastic to Brion, no bigger than the palm
of his hand. A metal button was fastened to one corner of the wafer,
and a simple drawing was imbedded in the wafer. Brion held it to the
light and saw a picture of a man's hand squeezing the button between
thumb and forefinger. It was a subminiaturized playback; mechanical
pressure on the case provided enough current to play the recorded
message. The plastic sheet vibrated, a