Ride, thought Rigo. To ride something like that! They will not think me a man unless I do, and their tribal egotism will try to keep me out. How? We are being treated as mere tourists, not as residents. I won’t have it! Damn Sanctity. Damn Uncle Carlos. Damn Sender O’Neil. Damn him and damn him.”
“The whole of Grass is horse-mad,” Sender O’Neil had said. “Horse-mad and class-conscious. The Hierarch, your uncle, suggested you for the mission. You and your family are the best candidates we have.”
“The best candidates you have for what?” Rigo had asked. “And why the devil should we care?” The invocation of old Uncle Carlos was doing nothing to make him more polite, though it had made him slightly curious.
“The best candidate to be accepted by the aristocrats on Grass. As for why …” The man had licked his lips again, this time nervously. He had been about to say words which were not said, not by anyone in Sanctity. So far as Sanctity was concerned, the words were impossible to say. “The plague,” he had whispered.
Roderigo had been silent. The acolyte had prepared him for this, at least. He was angry but not surprised.
Sender had shaken his head, waved his hands, palms out, warding away the anger he felt coming from Rigo “All right. Sanctity doesn’t admit the plague exists, but we have reason to keep silent. Even the Hierarch, your uncle, he agreed. Every society mankind has built will fall apart the minute we admit it and start talking about it.”
“You can’t be certain of that!”
“The machines say so. Every computer model they try says so. Because there’s no hope. No cure. No hope for a cure. No means of prevention. We have the virus, but we haven’t found any way to make our immune systems manufacture antibodies. We don’t even know where it’s coming from. We have nothing. The machines advise us that if we tell people … well, it will be the end.”
“The end of Sanctity? Why should I care about that?”
“Not Sanctity, man! The end of civilization. The end of mankind. The mortality rate is one hundred percent! Your family will die. Mine. All of us. It isn’t just Sanctity. It’s the end of the human race. It’s you as much as me!”
Rigo, shocked into awareness by the man’s vehemence, asked, “What makes you think there’s an answer on Grass?”
“Something. Maybe only rumor, only fairy tales. Maybe only wishful thinking. Maybe like the fabled cities of gold or the unicorn or the philosopher’s stone …”
“But maybe?”
“Maybe something real. According to our temple on Semling, there is no plague at all on Grass.”
“There’s none here on Terra!”
“Oh, Lord, man if that were only true! There’s none here that anyone is allowed to see. But I’ve seen it.” The man wiped his face again, eyes brimming with sudden tears, and his jaw clenched as though he were holding down bile that threatened to flood his throat. “I’ve seen it. Men. Animals. It’s everywhere. I’ll show it to you, if you like.”
Roderigo had already seen plague. He hadn’t known it was on Terra or that it afflicted animals, but he, too, had seen it. He waved the offer aside, concentrating. “But there’s none on Grass? Perhaps it’s only hidden, as you do here.”
“Our people don’t think they could be hiding it. The Grassians seem to have no structure to hide it. Funny kind of place. But if there’s none there …”
“What you’re implying is that it’s theonlyplace where there is none. Are you saying there is plague everywhere else?”
Sender, pallid and sweating, nodded and then whispered, “We have at least one temple on virtually every occupied world. In the few places where there’s no temple, there’s at least a mission. We are responsible for hiding what’s happening, so yes, we know where plague is. It is everywhere,”
Rigo flushed with sudden fury. “Well then, for the sake of heaven, why aren’t the scientists and researchers on the way there! Why come to me?”
“The aristocrats who run the place won’t give permission for scientists and researchers to visit the planet. Oh, we could send our people into the port town, yes. Place is called Commoner Town. It’s open to visitors. But there’s no such thing as immigration. They’d get a visitor’s permit, good until the next ship came through headed in the right direction. We’ve already done that a few times. Our people can’t find out anything. Not there in the port. And do you think they can get anywhere else on Grass? Not on your life. Not on anyone’s. Sanctity has no power on the planet.”