West of Eden

greatest of penalties. You are ejected from this city, from the society of speakers, to rejoin the speechless. You will not live long, but every moment until you die you will remember that it was your charge, your responsibility, your mistake that brought on this sentence." Vaintè stepped forward and hooked her thumbs around the metal emblem of high office and pulled hard, tearing it free. The broken ends cutting the esekasak's neck. She hurled it into the surf as she chanted the litany of depersonalization.
    "I strip you of your charge. All of those present here strip you of your rank for your failure of responsibility. Every citizen of Inegban*, the city that is our home, every Yilanè alive joins us in stripping you of your citizenship. Now I take away your name and no one living will speak it aloud again but will speak instead of Lekmelik, darkness of evil. I return you to the nameless and speechless. Go."
    Vaintè pointed to the ocean, frightening in her wrath. The depersonalized esekasak fell to her knees, stretched full length in the sand at Vaintè's feet. Her words were barely understandable.
    "Not that, no, I beg. Not to blame, it was Deeste who ordered it, forced us. There should have been no births, she didn't enforce sexual discipline, I cannot be blamed for that, there should have been no births.
    What has happened is not my fault…"
    Her voice rumbled in her throat, then died away; the movement of her limbs slowed and stopped.
    "Turn the creature over," Vaintè ordered.
    Erafnais signaled two of her crew members who hauled at the limp body until it flopped on its back.
    Lekmelik's eyes were open and staring, her breathing already slowed. She would be dead soon. Justice had been done. Vaintè nodded approval, then dismissed the creature from her thoughts completely; there was too much to do.
    "Erafnais, you will stay here and see that the bodies are disposed of," she ordered. "Then bring the uruketo to the city. I will go now in this boat. I want to see this Eistaa Deeste who I was sent here to replace."
    As Vaintè stepped aboard the boat the guard there signaled humbly for permission to speak. She spoke slowly, with some effort. "It will not be possible for you to see Deeste. Deeste is dead. For many days now. It was the fever, she was one of the last to die."
    "Then my arrival has been delayed too long already." Vaintè seated herself as the guard spoke commandingly into the boat's ear. The creature's flesh pulsed as it started forward, moved by the jet of water it expelled.
    "Tell me about the city," Vaintè said. "But first, your name." She spoke quietly, warmly. This guard was not to blame for the killings, she had not been on duty. Now Vaintè must think of the city, find the allies West of Eden - Harry Harrison
    she would need if the work were to be done correctly.
    "I am Inlènat," she said, no longer as fearful as she had been. "It will be a good city, we all want it that way. We work hard, though there are many difficulties and problems."
    "Was Deeste one of the problems?"
    Inlènat turned her hands away to hide the color of her emotions. "It is not for me to say. I have only been a citizen for a very short time."
    "If you are in the city you are of the city. You may speak to me because I am Vaintè and I am Eistaa.
    Your loyalty is to me. Take your time and think of the significance of that. It is from me that authority flows. It is to me that all problems will be brought. It is from me that all decisions will radiate. So now you know your responsibilities. You will speak and answer my questions truthfully."
    "I will answer as you command, Eistaa," Inlènat said with assurance, already settling herself into the new order of things.
    Bit by bit, by careful and patient questioning, Vaintè began to build a picture of events in the city. The guard was of too low a station to have knowledge of what had happened in the higher reaches of command—but she was well aware of the results. They were not pleasing.
    Deeste had not been popular, that was obvious. She had apparently surrounded herself with a group of cronies who did little or no work. There was every chance that these were the ones who had forgotten their responsibilities, had not taken the other roads of satisfaction when egg-time came, who had instead used the males despite the fact the birth beach was not ready. If this were true, and the truth could be found out easily enough, there would be no waste of a public trial. The criminals