Bertran struggled with this concept and decided to let it pass for the moment. “What is this Boon?” he asked.
“I will utter in greater detail.” Celery scrunched slightly, achieving a more recurved configuration. “We are a people who have only recently been granted the great concession by the powers.”
“Great concession?” asked Nela.
“Permission to leave our galaxy. Permission to … expand.”
“You need permission?” she said disbelievingly. “From whom?”
Celery gestured vaguely. “You … you lack the concept. I search your language in vain. I find words: ‘quarantine,’ ‘border guards,’ ‘Ellis Island,’ ‘immigration,’ ‘quota’ … None of them are right. You must simply accept what I say. We have only recently received permission to travel. Now we are on our way. You would call us, perhaps, pilgrims. Pilgrims to the holy land.”
“I see,” said Nela, who did not see.
“When in the course of our journey a comrade dies—as is inevitable, for all life hath an end—when our comrade dies, it is our custom to memorialize by providing a Boon to the nearest inhabited place. One Boon. One thing that, in our judgment, will be of greatest value to the inhabitants.”
“You can do this? Provide this … this Boon? Something of value?”
“We have done so from time to time.”
“World peace? Immortality?”
“We have done peace, yes. World peace is simple. We identify all inhabitants whose racial or tribal loyalties take precedence over their planetary ones and eliminate them. Peace inevitably results. Immortality, however, is one of the exceptions.”
Bertran and Nela shared a glance. “Exceptions?” Bertran asked.
“We do not regard immortality as a Boon. Theoretically, it is possible. Philosophically, we consider it an abomination. Also, in multiracial worlds we do not regard extermination of any intelligent race as a Boon, though other races might consider it so. We would not eradicate all your aboriginal humans or all your cetaceans, for example, not that you do not seem to be doing that very well on your own. And we do not regard sharing our knowledge as a Boon, except in limited fashion. If we were, for example, to decide upon the cure of some disease as the Boon for your planet, we would share enough of our methods to provide the cure, but only that. We ourselves have no disease. Unlike your race, which would perish utterly without disease to control its prolificacy, we no longer have use for it.”
Nela said, “Nobody is going to believe this.”
Bertran nodded. “She’s right. Nobody is. I can see it now. ‘Freaks Claim Contact by UFO!’ ‘Aliens Invade Big Top.’”
“Oh, we know you’d be disbelieved,” said Celery. “We have relied upon that and upon your pragmatic realization of that fact. We do not want to be known. Searched for. Noticed. We are pilgrims, not visitors. Our destination is far from here. Only the necessity of memorializing our dead comrades brings us into contact with other races at all.”
Bertran shook his head. “Then why come to us? Why involve any of the inhabitants?”
Celery looked embarrassed. Afterward, Nela tried to decide what about the creature had made her think of embarrassment. Perhaps the slight flush of green about the features. Perhaps the slight jerkiness of motion in the limbs.
“We have already decided upon the Boon for your planet. However, we are going … a long way. We hope to be on time for a particular event that, our great prognosticators tell us, will occur in foreseeable time. If we stay to accomplish the Boon, we may get sadly out of phase. It has been suggested that you might accomplish the thing for us, without compromising our journey, for a suitable reward.”
“Accomplish what?” Nela’s mouth fell open. She found herself unable to imagine anything she might do that would benefit the world.
Celery scrunched itself once again. “Shortly, within the year, on your planet will manifest a thing originating from a great distance. Let me see. How shall I make it clear to you? Another race of creatures—a race your people will know, in the future, as the Arbai—have adjacently established a transportation and communication network that is spreading automatically throughout the galaxy even though the Arbai, so we believe, either already are or are about to be extinct. The Arbai envisioned a universe unified by their network. One of the, ah, way stations? Nodes? Gateways? Doors? One of whatever you choose to call them will manifest itself on this planet shortly.”
Nela caught her breath. “How marvelous!”
Celery nodded, then shook itself, saying yes, no. “Indeed. The Arbai, though a people of inflexible philosophy, have subtle and wonderful intelligences regarding the natural universe. They are capable of marvelous things. But, no, this gateway will not be marvelous for you Earthians, for if it is left here, it will first contribute to great unrest among all the people of Earth, after which it will allow a plague to enter that will exterminate the human race.”
They stared for some moments, trying to absorb this. “How do you know?”
“Prognostication is our science. We are very good at it. Not perfect. Nothing is ever perfect. But we know of the Arbai and of their network. And we have seen with our science certain consequences that have happened or will happen. We speak a close approximation of truth when we say the way station, the gate, the door, must be closed if your race is to continue. A close approximation to truth is the best that can be achieved. To anticipate the opening of the door, to close it before mankind ever becomes aware of it, this is the Boon we provide.”
“And you want us to close it?”
“We will give you the means. A simple matter. The door will open near where you will be at the time. It will not inconvenience you. And we
