“Go with our blessings,” murmured Dern, patting Maire upon the arm.
Saturday and Maire bowed him farewell and went. Sam had already gone.
• Shanrandinore Damzel, despite the fact that his siblings saw things quite otherwise, insisted upon making a minority report to the Circle of Scrutators.
“Do you really think it necessary?” Holorabdabag Reticingh asked. “You won’t do your career any good by poking spears into grinding devices.”
“Spears into what, Uncle Holo?”
Reticingh shook his head. “An old saying. I’m not sure what it means, literally, though the sense is that one ought not to waste energy on imaginary enemies.”
Shan bridled. “Who claims that I merely imagine?”
Reticingh flushed. Such a claim would be blasphemous, and Shan knew it. No Baidee would accuse another of merely imagining, or of being insane, or of not understanding. “Each mind sees reality in its own way,” said the catechism.
“No one makes any such claim,” said Reticingh. “Calm down, Shan. It’s just that no one sees any reason for concern but you. Dr. Feriganeh doesn’t. Merthal doesn’t. Bombi and Volsa don’t. We can’t tell you you’re wrong, any more than we can tell you they’re right. We can say that the weight of opinion …”
“I believe I am more sensitive than any of them,” Shan interrupted. “I believe I was sensitized by my time among the Porsa. I believe Zilia Makepeace sensed the same thing I did.”
“Now she says not, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s revised her report to the Advisory. I got a message from Chairman Rasiel Plum, saying the Makepeace woman had thought it over and decided she was imagining it all. She ascribes it to experiences she had as a child in the Celphian Rings. She was badly treated, and it made her suspicious of everyone.”
Shan scowled hideously. “If she says that, then I believe the danger to be even greater than I had thought previously.”
Reticingh threw up his hands. “What danger, Shan?”
“Something is controlling the minds of those upon Hobbs Land. All of them. Without exception. Including Zilia Makepeace.”
Reticingh sat down carefully, slowly formulating what he would do and say next. There was a convention for times like these. Not, thank the Overmind, one he had often had to use.
“Very well, Shan, let us examine the evidence in the conventional manner.”
Shan settled himself into a chair opposite and relaxed. If Reticingh was content to examine the evidence, so was he.
“One sign of mental interference of the type you suspect would be total agreement on everything by the people on Hobbs Land. Absolute single-mindedness. Was this the case?”
Shan was about to give a qualified yes when he remembered the last conversation he had had with people from the settlement. He recalled Sam Girat’s mother, who had said she and her son disagreed about many things. “No,” he said honestly, flushing. “As a matter of fact, when we were leaving, the mother of one of the Topmen told us she and her son were often in disagreement. I think the people do disagree, quite a lot.” He thought a moment more, still being honest with himself, as Baidee were expected to be. “I heard children fighting among themselves when we visited Settlement One. And people arguing. Though there was what I regard as an unlikely degree of cooperation, I cannot honestly say there was total agreement.”
“Was it considered inappropriate or unacceptable to argue or disagree?”
Shan shook his head, a little angrily. He was as familiar with these questions as Reticingh was, and he knew where they were heading.
Reticingh thought a moment. “Another sign of mental interference might be ardent fanaticism of some kind. Extreme dedication to some system of thought or to some deity. Mind-numbing ritual, for example. Lengthy periods of rote prayer. Did you notice anything of the kind?”
“They built these temple structures,” said Shan. “They built them in all of the settlements, I think.”
“What reason did they give for doing so?”
Shan recalled Sam Girat’s reasoning and quoted it fully.
“Do you find this unbelievable?” asked Reticingh. “On Phansure, virtually every village has a monument to those who died in the great Phansurian brother-war during colonial times. Here on Thyker, we have cenotaphs for those killed by the Blight. Do the settlement people spend inordinate time with this temple construction? Do they spend a lot of time in the temples?”
Shan shook his head again. “Not that I could see.”
“Are there great crowds of worshippers being harangued? People spending hours in prayer? Anything like that?”
“Not that I could see. But they sing, Uncle Holo.”
Reticingh paused again. “Though vocal music is not an overwhelming interest here on Thyker, at least not among most Baidee, you have to admit that a great many people sing. Your brother sings! We cannot ascribe mind-control to all who sing. On Phansure and Ahabar, they have large orchestras and pay much attention to music, and even though the conductors seem to have absolute control over the musicians during a performance, we don’t consider that the musicians have had their heads fooled with.” He paused to let that sink in. “They choose to take part in an orchestra, and that implies submitting to the director.” He let Shan chew on that for a moment before continuing.
“A third sign of mental enslavement would be a continued attempt on the part of the controlled ones to convert others. Did anyone attempt to convert you to any point of view?”
Shan laughed shortly, without amusement. “No, Uncle. No and no. We’re not going to find what concerns me through applying the conventional questions! No, and no, and no. They did nothing, said nothing, indicated nothing. They look normal, act normal, except that they’re far more contented than people should be …”
“Contented?” Reticingh interrupted. “What do you mean by that?”
“They give the impression of being … satisfied. No. Not satisfied. Pleased
