“When do we leave?”
“Now,” I said. “She’s waiting for us now.”
We went down to the smaller landing lock. There were several Gentherans standing about, staring in astonishment at the great golden dragonfly piloted by a woman in red robes, apparently a human woman. For many reasons, mere humanity seemed increasingly unlikely to me.
In the ship, the Gardener spoke softly. “The Gentherans back there are a bit confused. They have seen the ship; they have seen me. Among the cognoscenti I am rumored to be a member of the Third Order of the Siblinghood, as I was of the First and Second Orders. They saw me come to transport the heiress of Bray and her companion. Now they are retelling old tales in which my arrival always presaged great events. They are saying my arrival today cannot be coincidental.”
I asked, “Are there to be great events, Gardener?”
She said, “It is time you knew: The Third Order of the Siblinghood, as did two Orders before them, has been trying to solve the ‘human problem’ for a very long time.”
“The human problem?” I asked, somewhat offended.
She put her arm around me. “Forgive me, Gretamara, but your race as a whole has the unfailing habit of fouling its nest, ruining its environment, killing its original planet, and doing its best to kill any others to which it is moved. Because we love and admire the human race for its many good qualities, we call this not ‘the human condition,’ meaning an irrevocable state, but ‘the human problem,’ one we wish to solve. The effort has gone on for some millennia, without result, and some of those involved in the effort are beginning to believe it is a waste of time and treasure.
“In searching for the solution, the Siblinghood has relied heavily upon on its Gentheran members. The Gentherans have traditionally been supportive. Now, however, many Gentherans are questioning whether a solution is possible. Also, they complain that the Third Order has kept the work so secret, even from most of the Siblinghood, that no one knows what’s going on.”
“I presume you kept it secret because some evil fate met the First and Second Orders,” I said.
“Evil fate, yes. To our surprise, our plans were betrayed to unexpected adversaries twenty thousand Earth-years ago, and again ten thousand years ago. After each of these failures, we waited until all memory of the events had been lost by the opposing races before we began again. This time we have worked in almost total secrecy, but secrecy loses friends. People are reluctant to trust that things known only to others are worth the effort, and also, they’ve begun wondering if the antihuman feeling on the part of other races may not be well deserved.”
“Weariness and lack of support I can understand,” I said. “But why do they care what others think or feel?”
Gardener shook her head. “If a widespread, mercantile race feels intense enmity toward another, both trade and travel are affected. Those friendly with the enemy are also considered enemies, sometimes to their loss. If humans were hated only by one or two races, as during the other episodes, it wouldn’t be so troublesome, but this time at least three or four other races are involved. The Quaatar. The K’Famir. The Frossian. And the Thongal.”
“Quaatar?” said Sophia. “From what you’ve taught me, they’re not even in contact with humans! They don’t buy bondspeople. Their territory is astronomically remote. How could they be bothered by humans?”
“The Quaatar bother easily. Some time in the remote past, they may have encountered humans under adverse circumstance. Perhaps a Quaatar tried to eat a human and got an upset stomach. That would have been enough. Every sentient race in our galaxy knows how easy it is to anger the Quaatar. We aren’t sure what happened; we only know something happened, for the Quaatar hate humanity with all the viciousness of hundreds of generations, one piled upon another, and they have recently influenced others in the Mercan Combine, notably their congeneric races—Frossians, K’Famir, and Thongal—to feel the same way. At a psychic level Quaatar, Frossian, and K’Famir interests and opinions have coalesced into a metaphysical force directed against mankind. If they are aware that the Third Order is trying to help humans, they will do whatever they can to thwart us, or kill us.”
I said, “But they don’t remember the last time.”
“No. We waited until they had forgotten, until the records had fallen to dust.”
“But you say ‘if they know.’ You aren’t sure that they know.”
Gardener almost whispered, “We are not sure if they know, or how much they may know. This time we have been diligent in spreading what is called ‘disinformation.’ If they are aware of false stories we have spread, they will intervene by destroying certain refuges and seeking for certain fictional agents. This will tell us that they suspect. If they are aware of the truth, they will pick a different set of targets. By their actions we will see what they know, but at what cost? Our plans will be in ruins. A dilemma, isn’t it?”
Sophia stared at her. “The real refuges and the real people must go unnoticed.”
“Exactly. If they are suspected, they may be harmed.”
“But,” I said, “if you seem to protect them, you draw notice to them.”
“Yes. And that is why we are taking great pains to protect surrogates for both. But, are the vile races fooled, or not?”
I thought on this for a time. “You have taught me, Gardener, that elevated and powerful creatures usually do not carry their own garbage. They tell others to do it, and the word is passed down the chain to underlings. As the command travels farther from those on high, the less secret it becomes. Do we have people who listen for such things?”
Gardener nodded. “Oh yes, we have listeners, Gretamara. Disaffection is not so far advanced among the Gentherans that they have abandoned us. They listen, a great many of them, in many,
