“Not yours, is it?” asked Thomas, looking politely away from him.
“No, thank heaven, it’s not. But it’s my brother’s, and it would have been his first child. You can imagine how he feels.”
“Yes.”
“As for the woman…” St. Syrus spread his hands wide in a gesture of complete hopelessness and stared eloquently at the ceiling.
“The mother’s taken it badly, I suppose.”
“Oh, my God… You’ve never perceived anything quite like it. The lungs on that woman! I’m surprised you can’t hear her all the way here, frankly. When I left, they were sedating her so the rest of the family wouldn’t have to suffer with her caterwauling. And the other women are not a whole lot better, I’m sorry to say — especially since they are all fully aware of the Lines’ policy about ransoms.”
“It has to be that way,” said Thomas gently. “If there was the slightest chance that the linguists would pay ransoms, none of our children, or our women, would be safe. We don’t have any choice.”
“I know that. The women know that. But it doesn’t keep them from carrying on world without end about it.”
“In my experience, Andrew, you’ve got to give them something to keep them busy. Not makework, mind you, but something that will really occupy them.”
“For instance? There are nineteen adult women under my roof, and nearly that many adolescent females… and a miscellaneous assortment of girl children. It would take something like the excavation of a sewer system to use every spare moment of a gaggle that size.”
“What about their damnfool Encoding Project? What about their church duties? What about their ordinary obligations, for God’s sakes? How can they have spare time?”
“Thomas,” said Andrew wearily, “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I simply do not have the kind of control you have.”
“You haven’t been Head very long… it will come.”
“Perhaps. But at the moment, my women claim they can’t keep their mind on their hobby, and they’re so angry at the Almighty that they’re not speaking to Him. And so on. Drivel, endless drivel.”
“Double their schedules, Andrew. Give them some stuff to translate that there hasn’t been time for. Hell, make them clean the house. Buy them fruit to make jelly out of, if your orchards and storerooms are bare. There’s got to be something you can do with them, or they will literally drive you crazy. Women out of control are a curse — and if you don’t put a stop to it, you’ll regret it bitterly later on.”
“I regret it bitterly now. But this is not the moment for me to institute reforms, Thomas. Not in the middle of this mess.”
“It’s a hell of a thing,” said Thomas.
“Yes. And then some.” Andrew sank down in the chair, caught himself and straightened up again, and lit a cigarette.
“You didn’t have any warning, I don’t suppose. No threats. No stuff written on your walls. Obscene letters.”
“No. Nothing like that.”
They sat silently, and Thomas concentrated on looking suitably distressed. Not that anyone in the Lines, or anywhere else, was ever going to suspect him of collusion with the government. The idea was so unthinkable that he could be certain it would go unthought. But the popular platitudes about it being impossible to lie to a linguist were based on a solid foundation. Even if you were also a linguist. He couldn’t afford to be careless; St. Syrus was inexperienced, but he was capable and intelligent and nobody’s fool.
“Perceive this, Andrew,” he said finally. “I’m not going to just let this pass.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that we aren’t going to sit like sticks and let it go on without taking some action of our own. I’m going to put private investigators on it, St. Syrus. Today.”
“Surely that’s not necessary!”
“I think it is.”
“But, Thomas — ”
“Andrew, this is a matter of principle. And of honor. The honor of the Lines. I want whoever is behind this to be shown, and I want the unenthusiastic law enforcement people to be shown, that we of the Lines don’t take kindly to having our women and children tampered with. It’s necessary to make that unambiguously clear, and without any delay that might confuse their little minds.”
“It’ll cost the earth, Thomas,” said Andrew slowly. “Not that I mind the expense, but — ”
Thomas cut him short.
“There are special funds,” he said. “Special funds set aside for unusual circumstances, when cost should not have to be considered. This qualifies as one of those circumstances. Think, Andrew — damn it, man, do you want word going out on the street that anybody who fancies it can go pick off a linguist infant from a maternity ward and we’ll just wring our hands and whimper in many tongues? We may be able to silence the media, but we sure as hell can’t silence the criminals.”
“Maybe you’re right, Thomas. Hell… of course you’re right. It’s the sort of thing a criminal might do on a dare from his buddies, isn’t it? Jesus.”
“Andrew,” said Thomas firmly, “you go home and tend to your affairs. Get all the women out on contracts if you can. Those that aren’t on duty even as informal backups, find something exhausting to keep them occupied. I’ll get things started here right now — first, I’ll lean on the press; second, I’ll hire the detectives. Leave it in my hands and go home.”
Andrew St. Syrus stood up, stiffly. He was tired; he’d been up all night, and he had a full day ahead of him.
“Thomas, I’m grateful,” he said. “I can’t tell you how much it means to all of us, having this kind of support.”
“Don’t mention it, Andrew. Kidnapping is a contemptible crime. Harming babies is barbarism. I’ll tolerate talk, Andrew, but I won’t have the families of the Lines actually harmed. I won’t stand for it. We won’t stand for it.”
“You’re absolutely right. Of course. All that chaos and hysteria I’ve been listening to has addled my brains.”
“Go home, Andrew. Stop thanking me, and stop agreeing with me, and go home — so that I can get this under way.”
“Of course. Of course.” St. Syrus picked up his cigarettes and his flyer keys, and stood up. A back muscle he’d strained somehow jabbed at him, and he was careful not to wince. He stopped in the office door, holding it open, and drew a swift line in the air. PanSig for good-by. The necessary light touch.
“Good-bye, Andrew,” said Thomas, and matched the PanSig unit politely.
Andrew was interested in PanSig; it was almost a hobby with him. He’d even managed to add three very useful units to its painfully limited lexicon, all of them producible in body, color, and odor Modes — and to get them past the PanSig Division of D.A.T. That had been a good deal harder than working out the units in the first place. He was tempted, briefly, to do the V-unit that was PanSig Body Mode for “Thank you”; then he thought better of it, and went on into the hall, letting the door slide shut behind him. Thomas wouldn’t have found it either interesting or amusing.
Chapter Eight
Gentlemen, we know the set of beliefs that you have about the linguists — every new group of D.A.T. trainees arrives here with that same set.
We will begin by telling you bluntly that most of those beliefs are in error. For example: there is the firm public conviction that the linguists live in luxury, surrounded by the trappings of their vast wealth. Nothing could be less accurate, men; the linguists’ lifestyle has an austerity and frugality that I am absolutely certain not one of you would willingly endure. Only in the monasteries of the Roman Catholic Church could you find anything even remotely comparable as a standard of living — and if it were not for the advanced technology required by their duties as linguists, which does entail some expensive electronic equipment, a more apt comparison would be the communities of the American Amish and Mennonites. I am sure this surprises you — for excellent reasons which I am not at liberty to discuss at this time — but I give you my word it is true. And I hasten to add that the lifestyle is not imposed by any government authority.