He sobered at her expression and went on, “Also, joined human beings are occasionally born in primitive societies, even here on Elsewhere. Files has found references to that, as well.”
“I know all that,” said the Supervisor fretfully. “But I have never heard it theorized that the Arbai Doors could be used for time travel. In fact, I’ve always been assured that time travel is impossible!” She whined, perhaps a little hysterically.
Why should the subject of time travel be so upsetting? Particularly when there was quite enough here in Tolerance to be upset about without borrowing trouble?
“Well, of course, the technicians have talked that to shreds. The current theory seems to be that when these persons demanifested the Arbai Door on Earth all those millennia ago, they caused some kind of malfunction that prohibited their going anywhere at all. They were simply sidetracked into nothingness for some thousands of years … on their way here.”
She turned and stared at him. “There was no time travel?”
“No. No time travel. Merely an extremely lengthy hiatus in their awareness.” He smiled, noting the tension going out of her shoulders, her neck. Interesting. “Files tells us there have been other strange incidents with Arbai Doors. For example: A woman went into one on a planet called Grass millennia ago and turned up a thousand years or so later (absolute time) on a planet called Thyker. She had aged a great deal but was not, you know, mummified or anything. The only way she could have lived all that time was through some such lapse or series of lapses. The Door engineers and technicians are greatly agitated and interested. I am told they have not been so wrought up since the machines in City Fifteen came up with a cure for our newest plague before we’d even used it.”
Syrilla stiffened. It was considered not nice to mention such matters except during official sessions. Plagues and assassinations and small, limited wars were necessary in maintaining diversity, but casual talk about them could make one seem coarse and unfeeling. She made a moue at the boy, shaking her head very slightly.
“Sorry, Aunt Syrilla,” he murmured, flushing, aware he’d breached convention again. There were so damned many things one didn’t say! Or do! At least, not in social contexts. Sometimes he doubted he would ever learn to behave properly. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly resentful about this place, he doubted he wanted to! There was something very wrong here at Tolerance, something that none of the old folks would identify or admit to, but something that made them jumpy and peevish nonetheless. Jacent kept his facial expression pleasant, giving Aunt Syrilla no hint of what he was thinking.
She waved away his apology and turned to the forest once more.
“Something about this troubles you?” he said in his prettiest voice, hoping the tone would excuse the presumption and make her forget he had been gauche. He very much wanted to know why she cared.
“Yes,” she cried. “Yes, Jacent. No one seems to have thought what time travel would mean. It would mean that the Hobbs Land Gods could go back in time and get here before our people came, and then … It could mean they are here now. On Panubi. That possibility has been mentioned, but I didn’t take it, well, you know, seriously. But now, well … we don’t know what’s on Panubi, so they could be there. Boarmus is concerned about Panubi. He has sent Danivon Luze to find out about … all this business of dragons. It could be enslaved ones, you know. Not dragons at all. We don’t really know what enslaved ones might look like.” She shuddered, her face becoming momentarily skull-like and horrid with fear.
He gasped silently, terrified by her terror, then waited, holding his breath.
At last she spoke again. “It’s disturbing, Jacent. The idea that the Hobbs Land Gods might actually be here, now. Just waiting to leap out at us, take us over, enslave us as well….” She sighed, patted her forehead, and then whispered, “I have dreams about it sometimes. Like smothering. Like not being able to breathe. Like being stuffed into some impossibly small space until I’m all … smashed.” She swallowed, painfully, tried to smile.
“Of course, if there is no time travel, my concerns are … without foundation. The people from the past are merely … as you say … harmless.” She laughed, lightly, while fear danced madly behind her eyes.
Jacent was more than merely interested. He was intrigued! He did not think he had ever been as afraid as she obviously was. And though he’d learned in school to dread the Hobbs Land Gods, he’d never really thought about them. Oh, he’d seen the docudramas, all about how Elsewhere was set up as a refuge from the Gods, about Lady Professor Mintier Thob and Madame Therabas Bland, about Subble Clore and Orimar Breaze and the rest of the committee members, how they’d come here all that long time ago. None of it had ever frightened him.
It obviously frightened Aunt Syrilla. He felt it best not to pursue the matter. So, he said nothing, and the silence extended.
“What is to be done with the strange twins?” she asked at last. “I haven’t heard what has been decided. Are they to be sent to Heaven?” Though the subtropical island of Heaven was reserved as a homeland for Supervisors and their Frickian servants, a few members of other races were allowed to live there also, if they were harmless or interesting
