Sideshow, стр. 87

The directors looked at one another. Fringe tried to read their expressions. Annoyance? Grief? Frustration?

“Surely, that is the responsibility of the Fisher Folk,” said one at last.

“Have the children no parents here in Choire to care what happens to them?”

“We have no families in Choire. We have only music.”

Fringe threw herself into her role, sighing dramatically and casting her eyes upward. “And lovely music it is. A pity it will be lost to Elsewhere. It will no doubt take many years after the plague for enough voices to be found to sing anything at all.”

“We are a healthy folk,” said the oldest director in a stubborn tone.

Fringe yawned and juggled the dagger, its spinning blade spitting reflected light into their eyes. “The people in my home province said so too, and they were healthy enough. Then. Those few who are left no longer brag of their health.”

“You wouldn’t really …” said a plump young director apprehensively.

“We would have no choice,” said Fringe, slamming the dagger into a carved tabletop with purposeful barbarism and considerable gusto. “You have changed your ways; you are not maintaining the status quo. You were not a numerous people when you arrived on Elsewhere. Thus, your allocated province is not large. Your hemi-province of Salt Maresh can accept about a hundred children a year, not twice that number! Any over that number, you must rear in Choire.”

“But, but,” the directors babbled.

“We suggest you return to whatever custom you followed when you arrived,” said Curvis mildly.

“That would require interference with personal choice,” cried the plump director. “Since we have listened to the words and music of Siminone Drad, such interference is anathema to us.” He gestured appealingly to the tallest of the directors, a youngish one who stood silently behind the others, chewing upon his knuckle. This was Siminone, who flushed and bowed when his name was mentioned, then went back to worrying his knuckle, like a dog a bone. “Anathema,” repeated the director, as though repetition would do what reason would not.

“Having too many children foisted on them is anathema to the Fisher Folk, your kindred,” said Danivon firmly. “And it is certainly deadly for the children themselves. You must return to whatever you were doing before.”

“But we used to be very strict,” cried the young director. “Particularly in expressions of sensuality. It was Siminone who showed us that such strictness also constricts the music, leading to disharmony.”

Danivon shook his fist at them threateningly. “You’d best become strict again, or use some other type of limitation.”

“To do so would destroy spontaneity,” cried Siminone, breaking his silence in exasperation.

Danivon snorted. “There are a number of spontaneous children outside whom you must now make provision for. Though they are fewer than they were, though they are no longer capable of reproduction, every one of them can at least carry a tune….”

“Carry a tune!” exclaimed Siminone. “You think a tune is all that’s needed….”

Danivon interrupted him. “We’ll leave you to it. When we return, we’ll stop here at Choire again to be sure you’ve understood what we’ve said. Plague now or plague then, but in any case plague, unless you have accommodated your policies to the status quo.”

They returned to the ship, where Jory begged the Enforcers to tell them all about it while the twins, pretending disdain, listened avidly.

“And you would really have spread plague?” Nela demanded angrily.

Danivon smiled at her and reached out to stroke her cheek. “It is almost never necessary actually to do it, Nela. We’re not the ogres you think we are. The threat is enough. I’ve never used plague myself, and from what I was taught at the Academy, it’s probably been used only half a dozen times in the last several hundred years, in all cases against badly overpopulated and totally intransigent provinces.”

“But how would you keep it from infecting the neighboring lands,” Bertran asked. “How do you keep it from wiping people out.”

“We use diseases that are spread through close contact, sometimes through sexual contact,” said Curvis. “And we use self-limiting strains that never kill the entire population.”

“We had a disease like that on old Earth,” said Nela. “An immune deficiency disease. It was killing lots of people when we … when we came here.”

“Such plagues are known to arise spontaneously on overcrowded planets,” Jory commented. “When any environment exceeds its carrying capacity, plagues begin to manifest themselves, though humans are always surprised when it happens.”

“We have an evil history of destroying the homes in which we live,” said Asner. “‘That’s all right,’ people say to one another. ‘Burn down the house. We can always go live with Grandpa God!’” He snorted and threw up his hands. “Enough of this depressing stuff.” He winked ostentatiously and patted a pocket. “Let us leave these Enforcers to their business while we go have something to drink.”

Bertran tightened his arm about Nela’s shoulders as she wiped her eyes, and they both went away after the old ones, somewhat cheered at the prospect of something a bit stronger than tea.

“What Asner said reminded me of Siminone Drad,” said Fringe. “Siminone thinks he can burn down his house and still go on making music. Doesn’t he see….”

“They don’t see,” said Danivon. “They never see, or we would not need Enforcers.”

“Danivon and I agree that Siminone Drad is the problem,” Curvis said firmly. “Now we must do something about him.”

Fringe felt very much the junior member, with too little experience to disagree, and after they had settled upon a method and cast lots for the duty, it was Fringe herself who went back to Choire in the late evening to Attend the Situation.

She went up the trail toward the music in a state of controlled unthink. All day she’d been telling herself she need merely do what had been decided was necessary, without thinking about it. Danivon and Curvis were agreed this was necessary, they had more experience than she did, therefore she’d do whatever they