“Thyker,” corrected Saturday. “Quarshes were originally from Phansure. I do not like quarsh eggs. Binny eggs are very good, which is a pity, because the Thykerians don’t eat them at all, do they?”
“Only the High Baidee reject them,” offered Ornice, Lord Multron. “The other people on Thyker eat them.”
Jep sighed. “I guess we didn’t know there were any other people on Thyker but High Baidee. I saw some High Baidee once. They came to the settlement, but they didn’t stay long.”
“They were doing an Ancient Monuments survey,” Saturday informed the Queen. “They were sent by the Native Matters Advisory.”
“Advisories!” snorted the Queen. “Unethical. Unlawful. Bribe-taking advisories. A plague on them.”
“The Religion Advisory has presumed to question our blockade of Voorstod,” explained Ornice. “They wish us to remove it while they consider whether the assassination of Stenta Thilion can be considered a religious matter.”
“Well, of course it can,” said Jep, hotly. “I’ve met the prophet Awateh, and he’s very religious, but he’s also completely off his head. It seems to me religious toleration stops when they intend to kill you or hurt you with it. Africa, that’s my aunt, she always said noninterference was a two-way street.”
“See there!” crowed the Queen. “Isn’t that exactly what I said, Ornice? Exactly!”
“Furthermore,” said Jep, “it seems to me we’ve got a duty to convert the people away from such a religion as quickly as possible. Before they kill anybody else.”
“Ah,” said the Queen. “And is that what you’ve been doing, by any chance.”
Jep looked at his feet, flushing.
“Your Sub … Ma’am,” said Saturday, “would you think it dreadfully impolite of us if we didn’t tell you what we’ve been doing. Shouldn’t, I mean. We can tell you what to expect, if that would be all right.”
“By all means,” said Wilhulmia, intrigued. “What shall we expect.”
Saturday cleared her throat. “Some time fairly soon you should expect some of the people in Voorstod to come to the border and say they want to leave. Jep and I are pretty sure about that. If peace comes to Voorstod, there will be some people who just won’t be able to stand it.”
The Queen looked at her counselor, who returned the look. “People so dedicated to violence that they will not accept any other lifestyle?” she asked.
“Can not,” said Saturday, definitely. “Right, Jep? Can not. It tears something apart inside them.”
“One way of saying it might be that certain people are hardwired,” said Jep. “In our equipment maintenance classes, we have to learn a lot about agricultural machines. Some of our machines can be programmed to do different things. But some others, harvesting machines mostly, are hardwired for plucking or mowing or whatever. Saturday and I think that some people are hardwired a certain way, and they invent religions to go along with the way they are. Like they’re hardwired for bigotry or violence or being ignorant—or maybe ignorance is just a kind of bigotry. People say they don’t want to know a complicated truth, you know, because they already believe something simple, something that’s easier on their minds. Well, then those people convince others, followers, who maybe aren’t hardwired, but who are …”
“Impressionable?” offered the Queen.
Jep nodded. “Born followers, maybe. The followers might be able to change their minds, but the leaders, the hardwired ones, they can’t.”
“And Voorstoders can’t?”
“Some Voorstoders can’t. Probably most of the prophets can’t. That’s why they become prophets. Why would you want to be one, otherwise? Why would you want to scream your head off and threaten people with death and torture and Hell and make women cover themselves up unless you were hardwired for being crazy? The point is, if somebody’s hardwired and you’re not, the only thing he’ll let you be is a follower. If an ordinary person tries to talk to a hardwired person and be nice to him, it doesn’t do any good. It’s like being nice to a fruit-plucking machine. It’ll pluck out your eyes if you get in the way, no matter how fast you talk or how nice you are. Punishment doesn’t work, and talking to them won’t work, and arguing with them won’t work, any more than arguing with a plucking machine would work.”
The Queen cast another significant glance at her counselor. “So, some of these hardwired people will come to the border and ask to leave.”
“Probably,” said Saturday, agreeing to another helping of eggs offered by a liveried serving man. “If it happens, you should send them as far away as you can. If you can’t send them out of the System, then try to send them where there aren’t any people they can hurt. They’ll make slaves out of people if they can. It’s just wired into them, and by now their religion is all set up to make it even worse. It’s never going to come out right unless there’s some race of beings somewhere who like to be made slaves of. Then I suppose it might come out even.”
“I see,” said Wilhulmia, after a considerable pause. “And when will these men come out?”
“Not for a while yet,” said Jep. “How long is the year on Ahabar?”
“Four hundred and three days.”
“Well, probably less than a quarter year from now.”
“And then what?”
“Well, after the men leave, you can remove the blockade. That’s all.”
“And then the Voorstoders will come out and start setting off bombs once more?”
“No. They won’t. Everything will be fine. You’ll build a tomb to Stenta Thilion, maybe in Green Hurrah, a beautiful big one, in her memory. And maybe the people will build a little temple nearby. And that’s all. You might even start talking to the Voorstod people about their becoming part of Ahabar.”
“How do I know this is true?”
“You don’t. We don’t either, really. But from what we know about things … well, it’s what probably will happen. All we can do is wait, and watch. Meantime, you don’t want anybody killed who doesn’t have to be, so don’t kill
