“You will recall that there had been some accusations concerning the Departed,” Dern insisted. “Did you find any evidence of malfeasance, misfeasance, naughty doings?”
“As to the matter you raised originally with the Advisory?” asked Volsa. “We found no evidence that there has been anything done which would be of concern to the Advisory. I believe Zilia Makepeace was misled …”
“Though perhaps not totally in error,” interrupted Shan, who was standing close beside his sister.
Dern Blass’s eyebrows went up into his hair and stayed there while he regarded the two young Baidee with astonishment. “You disagree? Perhaps and perhaps not?”
Shan said, “There is no evidence that any settler has ever committed an untoward act toward any of the Departed. There is no evidence that any remnant of the Departed still exist, and we have covered the escarpment thoroughly. However, I agree with the Makepeace woman that some influence of the Departed remains upon Hobbs Land. I can identify it no more clearly than she did. Nonetheless …” His words trailed away as he gave Spiggy a long, weighing look.
Spiggy, correctly interpreting Shan’s stare, returned it with calm indifference. Shan had never approved of Volsa’s liaison with Spiggy. He had obviously considered Spiggy to be a self-indulgent backslider who was, when all was said and done, little better than a Low Baidee. Relationships between them, up on the escarpment, had been strained at best, which did not matter now. Spiggy had come to the departure area this morning for only one reason, to be sure that all of the Baidee went away.
A soft horn sounded, signifying that a scheduled departure was imminent. The board above the gate flashed: Chowdari upon Thyker. No one moved. Anticipation of that wrenching, turned-inside-out feeling made it usual for passengers to linger at the gate, shifting from foot to foot, dallying.
Chowdari upon Thyker, flashed the sign above the gate repeatedly, then Final call.
Dern bowed, spreading his arms wide, smiling, as though to say, “Well, we can not postpone this occasion further, or you will miss your destination. Farewell.”
The Damzels bowed in return. Bombi pushed the gate open, and the group straggled across the gravel toward the curtain of fire at the center of the walled circle. Once they had gone through, there would be a brief wait while the next desired destination was programmed, checked, and confirmed.
“So Shan thinks there’s an influence of the Departed,” mused Dern. “Who would have thought it?”
No one in the area made any comment at all. No comment was necessary. All of them were from Hobbs Land. All of them knew, just as Dern did, that despite all the casual indirection the settlers had managed, Shan Damzel had still come up with a fairly accurate assessment of the situation. There was, indeed, an influence of the Departed upon Hobbs Land. Or an influence of the influence which had been upon the Departed. So to speak.
“And now, you people,” said Spiggy, suddenly very interested in what was going on. “What is this business, Maire Girat? I’ve looked you up in the Archives, you know. You were a kind of talisman for Voorstod at one time.” He took her by the arms and smiled at her, urging her to tell him everything.
“At one time I was,” she admitted, responding to his warmth. “At one time I let myself not think about what Voorstod really was. I saw the loveliness of the mists and the aching beauty of the sea and the highlands, and ignored other things …”
Sam moved away to speak to Dern, and Maire followed him with her eyes. “I dreamed of lovers and sang about them. I saw children laughing and sang of them. I didn’t see the Gharm. No one in Voorstod looks at the Gharm, so why should I have done.”
“I’ve been told of the Voorstod Doctrine of Freedom,” said Spiggy, holding her eyes with his own. “Almighty God gave the Gharm to Voorstod, so says doctrine, for freedom’s sake.” He shook himself, as though to shake off some vile residue. “But what of the Gharm themselves?”
“The doctrine of Voorstod says they are nothing. Less than nothing. Consumables. To be bred and used up.”
“It seems to me,” said Spiggy softly, “that when a race of man becomes so anthropocentric it regards other living beings as lesser consumables, it could get to be a habit. It might become easy to include other living creatures with the Gharm. Animals. Children. Women. Entire planets. Perhaps they, too, become consumables, to be used up and thrown away.”
Maire nodded at him. “So they will not teach the girl child anything important, but they will call her stupid when she is grown. So they will force a Gharm to live where there is no water and call him dirty. So they will demand their children seek their permission for any act but then turn upon them as lazy and unenterprising. Such are the imprecations of Voorstod. Such are the words that lie upon Voorstod souls to hide the guilt inside.” She stood rigid, turning her back. “Ire, Iron, and Voorstod: the words I left behind.” Tears were running down her cheeks.
“And you will go back? To that?” asked Spiggy. He was the only one who would have asked. Despite his discovery of the God Horgy Endure, he was not yet accustomed to knowing things as others in Hobbs Land were coming to know them.
The horn sounded again. The lights flashed above the gate, spelling out “Fenice upon Ahabar.”
Maire wiped her eyes and stepped resolutely toward the gate, without hesitation. Sam’s face showed only interest and expectation. Saturday took a deep breath. The coming time would be hard. Things would not be clear and trustworthy. She would have to depend upon herself, her own memory of the way things should be. She would have to be strong, and careful. “I will,” she promised, promised herself, perhaps, or something larger than herself. “I will.”
Spiggy opened the gate. Outside, across the
