‘We can borrow mules at Northwest Citadel,’ Tasmin reminded them for the third time. ‘We don’t have to take our own.’
‘I like Jessica,’ said Clarin. ‘I like her a lot, and I’d just as soon not leave her here if you don’t mind.’
He didn’t argue. The trust between Tripsinger and mount had to be absolute. Gentle, unflappable, sensible – Tripsinger mules were all of these, as well as being sterile, which PEC rules demanded. The mares and jacks were kept at widely separated sites on the ’Soilcoast and breeding was by artificial insemination. Similar precautions were used in breeding foreign fish and fowl. Until there was a final declaration on the question of sentience, no imported creatures were allowed to breed freely on planets under PEC control.
Except people of course. The assumption had been that if it was necessary to evacuate the planet, every human would be deported. Most livestock, fowls, and fish would be slaughtered before the humans left. The mules would not be – it was generally accepted that the Tripsingers simply wouldn’t stand for that – but in one generation they would be dead. The imported trees and shrubs were sterile. The vegetable crops would be killed except for settler’s brush, which was a native species with only slight improvements. If the new commission they had been hearing about was to declare there was native sentience on Jubal and rule for disinvolvement, Jubal could be left as it had been before humans came.
Except that BDL wouldn’t let that happen.
‘Take Jessica,’ Tasmin said. ‘Take your own mule, Clarin. I confess to a fondness for Blondine, as well.’
‘Not mine,’ growled Jamieson, fondling his animal’s ears. ‘This old long-ear hasn’t got a drop of sense.’ The mule turned and gave him a severe and searching look, which the boy repaid with a palm full of chopped fruit. ‘I’ll see what I can round up in the way of transportation.’
‘Clarin and I will get the equipment packed,’ Tasmin said. They had already made arrangements for Vivian to travel to Deepsoil Five in a wagon train leaving almost at once. Tasmin had sent a message ahead to his mother, though he knew it might not reach her before Vivian did. Messages were sent by heliographic relay between widely separated parts of the planet, but the signal posts were only sporadically manned. Satellite relay worked if the transmitter was directly above the target receiver, but except on the coast or over water, both transmitters and receivers often burned out mysteriously. The Presences simply did not tolerate electromagnetic activity within a considerable distance, as a number of pilots had learned to their fatal dismay in the early years.
Clarin assisted Tasmin in repacking their equipment, checking each item as they went. ‘You didn’t leave this box like this, did you?’ she asked, pointing to Lim’s synthesizer, standing open on the table.
‘Servants,’ he mouthed softly. ‘They poke into everything. The story is that BDL pays for all kinds of information. Probably nine out of ten servants in the citadel are selling bits and pieces to BDL informers for drinking money.’
She flushed. ‘Someone told me that before. I’d forgotten. It seems so silly. We all work for the same people.’
‘Not really,’ he said, still softly. ‘If you ask me whom I work for, I’ll tell you I work for the Master General of my citadel, and ultimately for the Grand Master of the Order. Explorers work for their priories. I know BDL pays for all of it ultimately, but I don’t think of myself as working for BDL. Maybe that’s self-serving. There’s a lot about BDL I just can’t stomach.’
She seemed thoughtful, and he waited for the question he knew was coming, wondering what it would be this time. She had displayed a sustained though delicately phrased curiosity about Tasmin’s life, but they had pretty well covered his history by now.
‘Why do they call him Reb?’ she asked.
‘Who?’ He was surprised into blankness.
‘Jamieson. Why do they call him Reb?’
‘Because he is one. He was a rebel in choir school. He’s been a rebel in the citadel. He’s been in trouble more than he’s been out of it.’ Tasmin smiled at a few private memories.
She sat on the bed and fumbled in her pocket, taking out her green-gray crystal mouse, which sniffed at her fingers with a long, expressive nose as it inflated its song-sack to give a muffled chirp. ‘You know Jamieson wasn’t sent after you by the Master General.’
‘He wasn’t?’
‘He demanded to come. Because he thought you needed him.’
Tasmin was dumbfounded. ‘What was all that about the girl he left behind?’
‘So much smoke. We rehearsed it. So you wouldn’t think it was his idea. He thought you’d send us back if it was his idea.’
Tasmin dropped to a chair, astonished. ‘How did you get dragged in?’
‘That was the Master General. He said if Jamieson was right, if you needed someone, you needed someone besides Jamieson because a steady diet of Jamieson was too much for anyone.’ Her mouth quirked as she petted the mouse, curled now in one palm, cleaning itself.
Tasmin stared at her. That kid. That boy. That … his eyes filled.
Seeing this she turned, going back to the former subject. ‘Why did they let him stay in the Order if he was so much trouble?’
‘Because more often than not he’s been right. And because he’s a fine musician, of course.’ And because he loves Jubal, Tasmin thought. Maybe as much as I do.
‘Is he right about … about the Presences?’ This was obviously the question she had really wanted to ask in the first place.
‘What do you think?’
‘It isn’t what I think. I feel he’s right. I guess inside somewhere, I know he’s right. But if he’s right, that makes everything else….’
‘Hypocritical?’ he suggested. ‘You used that word before, I think.’ He sat down, looking at