Grass by Sheri S. Tepper

“All right,” she agreed. “But I’m concerned that it might not get out at all if we wait. Who knows what those—“

“Devils,” he offered. “Sanctified devils. The Hierarch and his reti­nue.”

“It’s your faith. I didn’t want to….”

“It’s what I was born to,” he admitted. “What I was given to. That’s not the same thing. No. This was written by someone unworthy of any faith, Marjorie.”

She threw up her hands. “You know what I’m saying, Brother. What’s-his-name, Zoe, may miss this letter at any time. May come looking for it. May take steps to stop its getting out.”

“We’ll make copies,” Brother Mainoa offered. “Merely sending the text off-planet wouldn’t do. The Hierarch could disclaim any such. Copies in his own hand, that’s what’s needed. And since this says the Hierarch is on his way here, we should get someone to take copies off-planet. There’s a Semling freighter in port, ready to leave. TheStar-Lily.”

“How long to the nearest … how long to Semling?”

“Two weeks, Grassian time.”

“Thirty days,” she murmured. “How wonderful if we could have a cure by then.”

“We who?”

“The doctor here. She’s remarkable, Brother Mainoa. She studied on Semling. She studied on Repentance. She’s got some young help­ers just back from school. She got interested in immunology, because of something she found here on Grass when she was a girl.”

“Something?”

“A— I’m no scientist. She wrote a book about the stuff. It has a long name I’ve forgotten. It’s a nutrient. Something our cells have to have in order to grow and reproduce. And here on Grass it exists in two forms, the usual one and one that’s inverted. Nowhere else. Only here.”

“When did she tell you this?”

“When I was visiting Stella. She was only talking to distract me, but she sounded so competent it gave me hope, some hope.” She took the letter from him, stared at it, still finding it hard to believe. “I suppose you’re right about this. If we don’t find a cure, what difference does it make whether people know? But if we do? Then people need to know about this letter. People are entitled to know what Sanctity intended to do!”

“All right, Marjorie. We’ll send copies off-planet, just in case. The Star-Lily still plans to leave tomorrow. Now that the tunnel is blown up, we’ll ask Alverd Bee to get the crew and the warehousemen back over to the port to get it ready to lift.”

“Tony,” she said. “We’ll send Tony.” It would be a good idea to send Tony. He was too vulnerable to the Hippae. She had to get him away before he was tainted by them, as Stella was. Except … there might be plague on Semling. Which risk was greater? All risks were equal. All were life or death. “Tell the crew to be careful. There must be another tunnel. Why else that great Hippae trail leading here!”

He nodded, patting her hand. “If the men keep someone on watch and an aircar or two standing by, they should be safe enough. And, just in case the Hierarch starts looking for me—which he may do, if Zoe tells him about me—I’ll hide myself away somewhere. I’ll go back to the forest, that’s what. Rillibee will come along to take care of me. If they come looking for me, tell them I went back into the forest. If they come looking for the letter, you never saw it. Rigo never saw it. When a cure is found, Tony will see that the letter is widely disseminated, just as the cure is.”

Rillibee was beside them. “I’ll go,” he said. “I’ll get Brother Mainoa up in a tree somewhere, and we’ll wait until one of the foxen comes to get us.”

She found herself trying to think of an excuse why she should go herself. She wanted to go herself. She wanted to be there, among the trees, not here with all these people. She looked around, seeking some reason, and turned back to find Rillibee already gone.

Damn. She felt unutterably sad but forbade herself to cry. “Does everyone accept that there’s probably another tunnel?” she asked Roald Few, trying to distract herself.

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