“I received this recently,” Boarmus says, removing the wrappings, though only enough for Zasper to see what’s inside.
On the table between them lies a plaque of metal (Zasper thinks gold, it looks like gold) with fancy work around the edges (Zasper thinks gems, they look like gems). The words graven on the plaque are in a language commonly spoken on Elsewhere.
THE PEOPLE OF ELSEWHERE
ARE RESPECTFULLY REQUESTED
TO RETHINK THEIR POSITION
WITH RESPECT TO THE REST
OF THE UNIVERSE
•
R.S.V.P. NOPLACE: Central Panubi
“Ugh,” says Zasper, completely taken by surprise.
“These are not predispersion times,” says Boarmus. “When precious metals and jewels had great intrinsic value. But even here and now a trifle like this is somewhat … extravagant.”
“Ah.”
“As much for the workmanship as for the materials,” says Boarmus. “My consultants tell me that though the gems are extremely rare, it is even rarer to have something like this handmade. The lettering is hand done, for example. By an actual person who spent a good part of a lifetime learning how.”
“What does it mean?” asks Zasper, cutting through the chatter.
“I don’t know. It’s the fourth such … petition we’ve received,” says Boarmus. “All of them different. According to my predecessor, Chadra Hume, the first one popped up in the Files about a century ago. For a full day, nothing but a message similar to this would appear in response to any request for information. Various languages, but the same message. The second message appeared during an orbiter surveillance of the highlands of Denial fifty years later, and that one was spelled out in letters a mile high, bright purple crass-brush against the tundra. My predecessor told me about that one too. Twenty-five years later, a third one. I saw it, also on orbiter: herds of grazing animals on the Bi-flom plains forming letters and words, a square mile or so, all with an ornamental border of migratory bat-swans. That was twelve years ago. Now this one.”
“How did you get it?”
“Found it on my Files access one morning.”
“Ah,” says Zasper again.
“How much did they teach you about the origins of Elsewhere?” Boarmus asks in a low voice, casting another quick glance around himself. “I don’t mean in Enforcer Academy, but when you were in school. As a boy.”
Zasper shrugs, furrows his brow, and tries to remember. “I learned what most kids learn, I suppose.”
Boarmus stares at him while trying to recall what children are taught about Brannigan Galaxity, the greatest institution of learning in the galaxy, and how it had established Elsewhere as a refuge from the Hobbs Land Gods. How much are children taught about the refugees being promised complete freedom to live as they liked? About Elsewhere being settled by a thousand different peoples, all of them with ancient gods to propitiate, ancient wrongs to settle, or ancient duties still to perform? Surely Zasper knows this much; surely everyone does!
Still, one has to be sure. “You learned about the Hobbs Land Gods?” Boarmus asks.
Zasper nods. “Of course. A kind of fungal plague.”
“Not one that killed, unfortunately. You learned about Brannigan Galaxity?”
Zasper leans back with an amused look on his face and nods again. “I learned that Brannigan had this committee to study the Great Question, and when the Hobbs Land Gods began enslaving humanity, the committee felt that threatened their work, so they set up Elsewhere as a refuge”—Zasper sniggers very slightly—“for humanity, including themselves.”
Boarmus adopts an offended expression. “I’ve never heard it alleged that Elsewhere was set up as a refuge for the members of the Great Question Committee particularly.”
Zasper’s mouth curls in amusement. “There’s a thing we kids used to sing when we chose up teams. ‘Breaze and Bland and Thob and Clore /ran till they could run no more /then Jordel of Hemerlane /chased them all right back again. One two three four /you’re it.’” He starts to laugh, then stops as he notices the color drain from the Provost’s face.
Boarmus reaches across the table and lays a slightly trembling hand across Zasper’s mouth, saying in a shaky voice, “Don’t! Remember where you are!”
“Sorry, Provost,” murmurs the Enforcer in confusion. “I wasn’t aware …”
“I don’t ask you to be aware,” growls the Provost. “I ask you to use courtesy and good sense. It is not … appropriate to mock the … founders of Elsewhere, certainly not here in Tolerance. It’s true there were Brannigan professors named … the names you mention. And it’s true that Jordel of Hemerlane was an engineer much involved in the Elsewhere project, but this makes neither them nor their many colleagues suitable subjects for ridicule.”
“Well, the way I was taught the story,” says Zasper irre-pressibly, “is that they set Elsewhere up in secret, kept it a secret, and were the first ones here!”
“That’s also true,” agrees Boarmus in a whisper. “They were almost the first ones on Elsewhere. It was a long time ago, however, a thousand years, give or take a few, and their names are … historic. To be used with gravity!”
“You asked me, Provost!”
“What I was trying to establish was whether you understand the historic connection between Elsewhere and the Great Question.”
Zasper snorts. “Every kid knows that connection. Grownups won’t give you candy on Great Question Day unless you can go through the question-and-answer routine. There was a verse about that too: ‘There once was a girl from K’van/who was asked the Great Question of Man….’” He catches Boarmus’s expression and goes on hastily, “though, quite frankly, Provost, I don’t see what this all has to do with this thing you’ve received.”
“Then you’re not using your imagination, Ertigon!” Boarmus flushes angrily, suspecting the man opposite him of willful ignorance or dumb insolence or both. Most likely both! “This petition, if that’s what it is, suggests we
