ns that I would rather
explore first, before dragging in an alien life form. There may have
been a mutation or an inherited disease that has deformed or warped
their minds."

"Wouldn't that be sort of self-eliminating?" Brion asked.
"Anti-survival? People who die before puberty would find it a little
difficult to pass on a mutation to their children. But let's not
beat this one point to death--it's the totality of these people that
I find so hard to accept. Any one thing might be explained away, but
not the collection of them. What about their complete lack of
emotion? Or their manner of dress and their secrecy in general? The
ordinary Disan wears a cloth kilt, while the magter cover themselves
as completely as possible. They stay in their black towers and
never go out except in groups. Their dead are always removed so they
can't be examined. In every way they act like a race apart--and I
think they are."

"Granted for the moment that this outlandish idea might be true, how
did they get here? And why doesn't anyone know about it besides them?"

"Easily enough explained," Brion insisted. "There are no written
records on this planet. After the Breakdown, when the handful of
survivors were just trying to exist here, the aliens could have
landed and moved in. Any interference could have been wiped out.
Once the population began to grow, the invaders found they could
keep control by staying separate, so their alien difference wouldn't
be noticed."

"Why should that bother them?" Lea asked. "If they are so
indifferent to death, they can't have any strong thoughts on public
opinion or alien body odor. Why would they bother with such a
complex camouflage? And if they arrived from another planet, what
has happened to the scientific ability that brought them here?"

"Peace," Brion said. "I don't know enough to be able even to guess
at answers to half your questions. I'm just trying to fit a theory
to the facts. And the facts are clear. The magter are so inhuman
they would give me nightmares--if I were sleeping these days. What
we need is more evidence."

"Then get it," Lea said with finality. "I'm not telling you to turn
murderer--but you might try a bit of grave-digging. Give me a
scalpel and one of your friends stretched out on a slab and I'll
quickly tell you what he is or is not." She turned back to the
microscope and bent over the eyepiece.

That was really the only way to hack the Gordian knot. Dis had only
thirt