He frowned intently at McAran's last comment. "Well, sure. Of course I understand that Gramarye's pivotal. If it develops into a constitutional monarchy, it'll be able to provide the communications system the DDT will need to keep democracy alive."
"More than that," McAran said. "Your neighbors aren't going to be standoffish, Major. They're going to leave their home planet, lots of them, and they're going to fall in love and marry, wherever they go. A thousand years from now, about half the people in the Terran Sphere will be telepaths—because of your people."
Rod just stared. He felt Gwen's hand tighten on his, and squeezed back.
McAran waved his last earthquake away. "But that's really secondary. Gramarye's real contribution will be the wiping out of this artificial dichotomy we've developed between intuition and intellect, humanity and technology. Your local chapter of the Order of St. Vidicon is the cutting edge of that revolution, but it's simply formalizing something your whole people have been developing since they landed on Gramarye. Of course, they just view it as magic and mechanics—and they see absolutely no reason why one person can't be gifted in both."
Rod transferred his stare to Gwen.
She looked about her, confused, then back at him. "Milord?"
"Uh… nothing. We'll talk about it later." But he tucked her hand into his elbow and kept firm hold of it with the other hand, as he turned back to McAran. "Okay, so Gramarye is immensely important to the future of democracy, maybe even to the future of humanity, period. So what does that have to do with your coming eleven hundred years into your future, just to meet me?"
McAran looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, I really only came over to the time machine that was bringing you in. You're in the twentieth century right now, Major—technically."
Rod pushed his jaw back into place.
Yorick erased the problem. "Doesn't really matter, Major. This time-travel base could be located in any century. It is, in fact—just keeps going for a couple of thousand years, all the way through the Fourth Millennium. And it was just as easy to set the controls for this century, as for the one we were in. Easier, in fact—these are the ones I have memorized. Quicker to punch in, when you're in a rush."
Rod gave his head a shake. "Okay, if you say so. But…"
"Why did I want to meet you?" McAran wore his grim smile. "Well, I've heard so much about you, Major!"
"Great. Can I present my side of it?"
"No. Because if Gramarye is pivotal in the development of democracy, you're pivotal in the development of Gramarye."
Rod froze.
Gwen gazed at him, wide-eyed.
"Me?"
McAran nodded.
"Why not her?" Rod jabbed a finger at Gwen. "She's at least as powerful as I am! And she's done as much as I have toward putting Gramarye on the road to freedom!"
"Aye, yet I've espoused thy cause only for reason that
I've espoused thee," Gwen said softly, "and so would I continue to do, e'en—God forbid!—an thou wert ta'en from me. Yet had I never known thee, I ne'er would have so much as thought of it."
McAran nodded. "She was reared in a medieval monarchy, Major; she didn't have the vaguest notion of democracy. Nobody there did—except the future totalitarians and anarchists, who had come back in time to subvert Gramarye."
"And she wouldn't have learned advanced technology if those Futurians hadn't kidnapped the two of you back in time," Yorick said.
Gwen shook her head. "Thou canst not avoid it, my lord. Thou mayest not be the person who doth bring matters to fruition, but thou art the one who doth sow the seed." She flushed, smiling, and turned to McAran. "Which doth bring to mind that thou hast not spoken of the role our children are to play in this."
"Mighty," McAran assured her, "but only an extension of what you two are doing. An extension and an expansion, I should say, there are four of them, and each of them will grow up to be more powerful than either of you. Still, they'll only carry on what you've begun." His frosty smile etched itself on his face again. "Even if they don't quite realize it."
The exchange had given Rod a moment to recover. He took a deep breath. "But that still doesn't tell me what I'm doing here, talking to you."
"Do I have to lay it out for you?" McAran growled. "I want to make sure which side you're on."
"Why… democracy's."
McAran just regarded him, with a glittering eye.
"No," Rod said slowly, finally recognizing the transformation within himself. "Gramarye's."
McAran nodded.
"But democracy is in Gramarye's best interest!"
"If you're so sure about that," McAran grated, "you won't mind joining GRIPE."
Rod sat still for a minute, letting the shock pass. Then he said, "I'm already a SCENT agent. Doesn't that make me an affiliate member?"
McAran shook his head. "There's no official alliance between the two groups—just common interest. We don't even have a formal tie to the Decentralized Democratic Tribunal. In fact, neither of them knows we exist—and frankly, we like it that way. So, of course, one of the responsibilities of membership is maintaining that secrecy."
"Of course," Yorick added, "we do have overlapping membership. Other than you, I mean."
McAran nodded. "Some of our best agents are SCENT operatives. We even have a few DDT bureaucrats, and the odd tribune or two."
"Must be pretty odd, all right," Rod muttered.
"So how about you?" The eagle's eye was still on him. "Are you for us or not, Major?"
Rod met McAran's stare, and took a deep breath. "For you—but not part of you. Call me an associate member."
McAran sat still for a moment. Then he nodded. "As long as you're for us, and not against us." He stood, holding out his hand. Rod stood, and clasped it. He was amazed at how fragile and slender the scientist's hand seemed.
But McAran was nodding, and smiling again. "Good to have you, Major. Now, would you like to go back where you came from?"
"I would indeed," Gwen said instantly. "Eh, my little ones!"
Rod nodded, grinning. "Yeah. I think I've had my fill of high-tech society for another dozen years or so. Send me home."
McAran turned to Chornoi. "What do you want to do, O worm in the woodwork?"
"Worm?" She leaped to her feet. "Who the hell do you think you are, throwing insults around like lava?"
"The volcano on whose slopes the tyrants live," Doc Angus snapped, glaring.
Chornoi's eyes narrowed. "I made a mistake. It was a bad one, and I helped hurt a lot of people. But I think I've kind of paid for some of that on this trip—even if Gwen and her husband did help me as much as I helped them."
McAran's smile was sarcastic. "Oh. You don't like dictators anymore, huh?"
"No," Chornoi snapped, "especially on the personal level."
"Prove it," McAran jibed. "Join GRIPE."
Chornoi stared, totally floored.
"He means it, Miz," Yorick said softly.
"But… but… how can you?" Chornoi exploded. "For all you know, I could be the worst PEST agent alive, trying to infiltrate your organization!"
McAran nodded. "Possible, very possible—but if you were, you wouldn't have been helping fight totalitarianism at every turn."
Chornoi frowned. "When did I do that?"
"When you helped avert a war on Wolmar," Yorick reminded her, "and when you helped us fight off Eaves and his buddies on Otranto. Listen, Miz, if you were really a PEST agent, you would have shoved a knife in Whitey the Wino's ribs at your first chance. He's at least as important to democracy as we are."