The Margarets by Sheri S. Tepper
But they had to leave. Just for a time, they said. They planned to return. Perhaps they were caught, killed…
Patience. Patience. I say the word over and over, accompanying each thud of my forehead against the steel. And how long will patience alone keep me relatively sane? Is it even important to be relatively sane? I wait, and weep, as I watch the little creatures outside begin the destruction of their world yet again.
I Am Gretamara/on Mars
Under the dome of Dominion Central Authority on Mars, Sophia and I sat among a scattering of people, Human and Gentheran, most of them chatting quietly among themselves. Later in the day most of them would attend a meeting of Dominion Central Authority. This earlier gathering was by invitation, in order to hear a report on the effect of the general sterilant, and on Earth’s rehabilitation since its application. Sophia had come to Dominion headquarters to conduct certain business before she descended upon Bray, and the Gardener had thought I would be an inconspicuous companion.
“Sophia,” I murmured. “Your business here on Mars is completed, and strictly speaking, we are not invited to this gathering.”
“Let us stay until they throw us out,” she said, her eyes bright. This was her first trip away from the Gardener, away from Chottem, and she was excited by everything. “Tell them that as the heiress of Bray, I am interested in the work of the Dominion.”
“Actually, only a few members of Dominion were invited to be here,” I whispered. “However, if we are very quiet, and if you keep your cloak around you and your hood shadowing your face, they may not notice us.”
She giggled. If she removed the cloak, both of us knew very well they would notice her, whether they noticed me or not.
The Gentheran laboratory representative was as Gentherans always are, fully suited and helmed. He spoke Earthian, as any Gentheran did who had anything to do with humans. “Out of respect,” the Gardener had said, though she had not explained respect for what.
He introduced himself as Prrr (rolled r’s) Tgrr (a great many more rolled r’s.) “Our cooperating contractors and researchers have asked us for an update on the Earth rehabilitation situation. You will recall that during the first Earth-year after the sterilant was applied, the population, exclusive of those outshipped, dropped by slightly over one-point-one-nine percent. It was predicted that between point-nine and one-point-two percent of the population would die naturally in that time, so we are well within the estimates.
“The task of consolidating the population into smaller areas met resistance only during the fifth and sixth year, when the first consolidations took place. There is still some complaint, but it is generally pro forma griping that precedes orderly acquiescence. We make no attempt to remove outlying population centers until the nearest city has lost at least five percent of its population. Only then are outlying populations moved into the vacated housing and the empty nonurban communities razed. Though the process is slow, it is happening everywhere, which makes it an enormous undertaking. We have enlisted all human construction industries to help us in rehabilitation, and all children over the age of ten are required to assist in restoration of grasslands and forests.
“We have replanted five percent of the Brazilian desert where at one time jungles grew in leaf mold containing thousands of microorganisms atop hard, infertile soil. When the trees were burned, so was the leaf mold, along with the microorganisms. The stony, sterile ground was barren. On these barrens we have planted hardy ‘starvation’-type coverage: many thorns, few leaves. When these have had a few decades to accumulate organic detritus, we will plant slightly less hardy things at their roots. After another few decades, we can plant the next generation, and so on. It will take over two hundred years for each acre to achieve fifteen percent of the organic mass it once held. It will take a millennium or more for each acre to achieve anything approaching the fertile growth that was its glory as one of Earth’s chief oxygenators.”
The listeners murmured at this.
“I have said nothing about fauna. Earth fauna was almost totally destroyed long before the sterilant was applied. We have genetic materials from the creatures that were typed before the forests were destroyed, but the typed ones were mostly larger animals that made up only a tiny percentage of the total life-forms. Many bacteria, for example, were never collected, never known to exist. The people of Earth did not understand that humans were part of a worldwide organism, that something as tiny as a cluster of bacteria could mean the difference between life and death for every living thing, the difference between a functioning, flourishing planet and a desolation. We Gentherans believe, as did the Pthas, that this is also true on a galactic scale: Very small things make very large differences, and we must be careful about destruction, even of things that seem useless or evil. We are experimenting with biotic clusters that are functionally parallel to the lost ones, but we cannot expect to achieve a total replication unless we find a pocket, somewhere, of the original forest. Such miraculous finds have happened during reconstructions of other planets, in the mouths of caves or in narrow canyons. We might be lucky enough to find one.
“It is too early to discuss any rehabilitation of the oceans. Perhaps in three or four hundred years, that process may be begun. Are there any questions?”
We listened to the ensuing discussion, some of which reminded me quite a bit of conversations I’d heard on Phobos, as a child. It was concerned with rehabilitation contracts and with the imposition of sustainable economic models. Earth had always operated on a continuous-growth model that requires a poverty class. Sustainable models require productive work by all members and are quite different.
When all the talk was over, the Gentheran thanked them for their attention and the audience, chattering, rose and dispersed. In the doorway, Sophia and I lingered.
Sophia said, “Why didn’t the Gardener tell us about planetary economics? I shall have to read up on it. To tell the truth, Gretamara, I’m a little frightened of going on to Bray.”
“I know, dear. The unknown is frightening, but you have always known it was what you had to do.”
“Yes, but it was always some time in the future. Now it’s immediate, isn’t it. If it were not to be today, surely I would not be here, arranging all the legalities.”
I grinned at her. “Oh, that’s true enough, Lady. If it were not today, you would not be here, nor would I. I hope you feel the Gardener has taught you well.”
“Both of you have taught me to hold my tongue,” said Sophia meaningfully. “I have given you my oath to do so.”
Most of those who had attended the brief meeting had gone even as other delegates to Dominion began to arrive. Two Gentherans came toward us and introduced themselves as Mwrrr Lrrrpa and Prrr Prrrpm. I identified them to myself as smaller one and larger one.
Smaller one of them said, “Von Goldereau d’Lornschilde has just arrived. He’s over there by the door. He’s been badgering us for years to find the heiress of Bray, and we’re told she is here.” She turned her mirrored helmet toward Sophia. “We are told you have grown up in a little town on Chottem, in the care of our friend, the Gardener. Would you mind dreadfully if we made the introduction?”
Sophia turned to me with a slight, wicked grin. We had planned for her to meet Von Goldereau, either here or in Bray, so I said, very seriously, that the Gardener and I would both be delighted. The two Gentherans turned and went toward d’Lornschilde purposefully, while Sophia and I walked a less direct route that brought us up behind him just in time to hear the Gentheran crow, “…but now we have great news to impart, Delegate Von Goldereau d’Lornschilde! You may rejoice, Delegate. The heiress of Bray has been found!”
We could only see the back of Von Goldereau’s neck, which turned a peculiar ashen shade. “Found?” he choked. “Where did you find her?”
“Precisely where she has been all along, in the little village of Swylet-Upon-Sea, on Chottem, in the care of the Gardener.”
We had edged around a little so we we
“Oh,” said the other Gentheran, the larger one, “we think that will be unnecessary, Delegate. She has been reared by a great friend of Genthera.”
The delegate’s skin fell back toward its former ashen shade. “Genthera? What had Gentherans to do with her?”
“Enough to assure she would be no bumpkin.”
“But she was left with some herb grower? Some vendor of vegetables?”
“Yes. With a great friend of our people.”
He could find nothing to say, not a word even when the smaller one nodded to us. Sophia threw back her cloak and hood and moved around in front of the man, so he could see the loveliest woman he had ever seen, the perfected image of Stentor d’Lorn’s daughter. She was dressed in the most recent style adopted by the wealthiest class in Bray, her hair tumbled about her head in a black cloud set with diamond stars, and when she offered her hand, the sparkle of stones from her fingers and wrists almost blinded him. Quite perfect! Just as the Gardener and I had planned it.
“Delegate,” she said in the cool, careless voice she had inherited from her mother and had long practiced to perfection, “I understand you have been looking for me.”
Von Goldereau found his voice, the upper register at any rate. “Only to offer any assistance I can.” He bowed low over her hand and would have kissed it had she not withdrawn it quickly. “May I offer to escort you to your home?”
“Thank you, no,” she replied. “Here at Dominion headquarters, I have been arranging for various things to be done in Bray. We have sent people there to attend to my business. They will see that the local legalities are taken care of, and they will offer proof of my identity. I will be returning there very shortly.”
“The Great House has been largely untenanted,” said Von Goldereau with a note of desperation. “Surely you will allow me to hire servants for you, to see to its being readied for your arrival.”
“Kind of you, but unnecessary, Delegate. Workers have already been dispatched, people I know and trust. Even as we speak, they are opening the house my grandfather built.”
He was at a loss, and I knew why. The Gentherans had been making unscheduled visits to Bray for some time, and it had become much harder for Von Goldereau d’Lornschilde to keep the family business operating in the way Von Goldereau, and Stentor d’Lorn before him, had preferred. There were things going on in Bray that he did not wish Dominion to learn of, that Dominion had not learned of, yet, however diligent its search. Certainly he didn’t want the heiress to know of them until he was sure where her allegiance lay. With Stentor d’Lorn, he would have been on solid ground, but with my friend, he was at sea.
I could read his thoughts on his face. He was thinking it might be best to miss the meeting of Dominion and hurry back to Bray. He was also thinking that, on the other hand, something might occur at the meeting that was important, and the other delegates from Chottem might take advantage of his absence. His eyes, his hands betrayed his thought. So caught between two fires, he saw Sophia’s amused expression, the look of one who read a clearly written book.
She said, “Von Goldereau, we are kinfolk. Please do not upset yourself over my return. Be assured that my friends throughout Dominion have the matter very well in hand. I am at the age of reason in Earth-years, the age we humans seem to feel appropriate for the acceptance of responsibility. At this age, we need no regents, no guardians, no overseers or protectors except those we have selected to oversee and to protect. Do not trouble yourself on my account.”
And with that she turned and swept away, glittering like a fountain, with people bowing as she went and me hurrying after her, trying not to laugh. It wasn’t funny. I knew that there was really nothing funny about it, and yet, for just a moment, I was delighted.
From behind me I heard the deeper-voiced Gentheran say: “Bumpkin, I think you said, Delegate d’Lornschilde. Or was it peasant?”
Von Goldereau did not reply. When we reached the door and looked back, we saw that he had gone. We both knew he was returning to Bray as quickly as possible.
Meantime, the heiress of Bray put her arm around me and said, “That was interesting, don’t you think, Gretamara? The man is up to something.”
“If what the Gardener has told us is correct, Lady, we know the man is usually up to something, and something well beyond a bit of thievery or corruption. We will need to watch him.”
“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.
“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?”