“True,” mused Nela. “When a man like that expresses no grief over a lost love, no sorrow over a failed one, it would give one pause.”
“Perhaps he is simply chivalrous and chooses not to speak of women,” Bertran offered.
“If he chooses not, it’s because they were so few they are sacred to him or so many he’s forgotten most of them,” Fringe flared up.
Bertran laughed. “You choose neither to blaspheme his relics nor be added to his trivialities, is that it?”
Yes. That was it. She thought that was it. “An Enforcer can’t afford that kind of distraction,” she said soberly, believing it quite sincerely.
The twins had no idea what an Enforcer could afford. Since members of the Craft were habitually either reticent or euphemistic about most aspects of their work, the twins had come to picture Enforcers as made up of equal parts public health inspectors and accountants. Though they asked endless questions about other things, somehow they never thought to find out about Enforcers.
“I want to know about these Arbai creatures,” demanded Bertran late one afternoon, when they had all wearied of other diversions and were lying about, half insensible from the sun. “And also about these Hobbs Land Gods. The religion in which I was reared would say they cannot exist, but you all seem to accept their existence.”
Danivon exchanged looks with Curvis. Fringe continued her exploration of her toes, which had lately acquired a pesty itch.
“Well?” demanded Bertran.
“What can we tell you,” droned Fringe.
“Just tell me all about them, or it.”
Fringe took a deep breath. “Well, as to the Arbai, I can’t tell you much. They made the Doors and scattered them around, and they went extinct from a plague. That’s all anyone knows about them.”
“Not quite,” said Curvis.
“That’s all I know,” she said.
Curvis shook his head. “They wrote books, which have been translated and can be found in the Files, though they don’t make much sense to humans. And they built cities. Actually, there’s quite a bit about them in the Files, if you’re interested. It’s true, though, that they’re extinct.”
“Well, tell about the Hobbs Land Gods, then,” asked Nela.
Fringe said, “Some time ago, quite a number of generations, the human settlers on a farm world called Hobbs Land discovered …”
“Were discovered by,” amended Curvis.
“… a kind of parasitic growth that propagates through soil and rock and into trees and buildings and flesh….”
“A kind of net,” said Curvis.
“A root system,” corrected Danivon. “That grew in people.”
“And animals,” said Fringe. “That is, intelligent animals. And other races.”
“How dreadful!” cried Nela. “Couldn’t they kill it?” “They didn’t try,” said Danivon.
“They liked it,” said Fringe with disgust. “And I would appreciate being allowed to tell this story without interruption. After all, it was my ancestors who fled from the Hobbs Land system, not yours!” She glared at Curvis and Danivon.
“I didn’t know that,” said Danivon. “Enarae was settled by people from the Hobbs Land system?”
“I’ll tell it my way, all right?”
The others subsided.
“From your tone, I assume this thing, this fungus or whatever, did not kill the people or animals involved,” said Bertran, with such distaste as to imply it had been far better had the stuff killed them instantly.
“It did not kill them, no,” said Fringe. “It mushed them up with animals and other races until they could all sort of read one another’s minds and it made them into something they called Fauna Sapiens.” She shuddered dramatically. “The point is, of course, that they were all enslaved by this thing, humans and other races both. Once enslaved, some of them sneaked into the galaxy spreading the stuff around!”
“Saint Sam,” said Curvis, interrupting once more. “Wasn’t it Saint Sam?”
“Saint Sam was the one who went through the Arbai Door in search of the Thyker prophetess. However, before all that, people went from Hobbs Land to the other planets in the system, to Thyker and Phansure and Ahabar. My forefathers were weapons engineers who lived in one of the northern provinces of Phansure. Our people would not be enslaved! Before the Gods got to their province, they fled all the way across the galaxy to Enarae the First. Even that turned out not to be safe, because the Gods kept spreading.”
“And no one could kill them, it?”
“Once it had hold of you …”
“It must be like a drug,” said Nela firmly. “Something addictive. We had that, in our time. Drugs that could be absolutely lethal, you could know they were going to kill you, but you used them anyhow.”
“But this wasn’t a drug and it didn’t kill you,” corrected Fringe. “That was it, you see. It didn’t. But it did make people not people anymore. Not human. That’s why my ancestors ran away!”
“How, not human!” demanded Bertran. The three Enforcers looked at one another and shrugged. “Not human,” muttered Fringe. “That’s all. Enslaved, like I said!”
“Why did people like it so much if it wasn’t like a drug?” asked Nela in an obstinate voice. “I mean….”
“Because,” said Fringe, “it sort of … got rid of a lot of their problems, I guess.”
“Well, drugs do that. Or seem to.”
“No, this really did. That’s what made it so insidious.”
“What kind of problems?” asked Bertran.
Fringe shrugged. “Problems between people. Environmental problems. You know, problems. The kinds people have.”
“That would be insidious,” he murmured. “You’re saying it was benign, then. Beneficial.”
“If something makes you a slave, how can it be beneficial,” cried Danivon, shivering angrily. He found the discussion intensely disturbing. “Even if you’re … superficially more … peaceable, if you don’t do it yourself, if it’s imposed on you …”
Bertran felt argumentative. “Well, in our time, in our religion, for example, we might say a man incapable of solving his problems by himself could do so by God’s grace. Would that have made him a slave to grace?”
“It’s not the same thing,” Danivon said furiously.
