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branch and got spattered across the face by gooey half-rotted turnip
leaves.
"Those look like carrot greens," Brother Paul said, looking at his own
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forkful. "You do not consume the leaves?"
"Not in this condition!" Then Scot reconsidered. "The greens of any
vegetable should be edible, shouldn't they! Why throw away part of
the plant, when we're hungry? We should have been using them all
along!"
"Many things are not obvious at first. I had forgotten, myself.
Radishes, turnips, carrots, beets all the greens should be used in
salads. I believe there is merit in using the whole plant, just as there is
in using the whole animal."
"Yes, I see that now. Waste is the root of all evil."
"Perhaps," Brother Paul agreed, smiling.
If this were preaching, Scot thought, it was not objectionable.86 So
much could be accepted and assimilated in incidental tidbits that
would be unpalatable as a lecture. Brother Paul evidently knew this.87
As they penetrated beneath the brush, the pitching became easier.
Here in the depths of the pile, down where Tully had prepared it he
had evidently had a working arrangement with the neighbor so that
there had been no objection to having the pile so close to the house
decomposition was progressing nicely. And at the very bottom it had
become fine, crumbly black humus: compost so good that it was a
sheer pleasure to see and smell.
"Sometimes I imagine that we shall encounter shards of Babylonian
pottery," Brother Paul observed. "Or perhaps even dinosaur bones, if
we only dig down far enough in this pile."
Scot laughed. "They'd be composted by this time." Companionship
made a tedious job so much more rewarding!
But they had merely gotten down to the base. Most of the pile
remained, tiered on either side of the excavations.88
They rested again, sweating freely. Conversation was easy in this
situation; the strain of muscle exertion broke down intellectual
barriers somehow, perhaps because of the camaraderie of sharing a
difficult task or perhaps simply because it offered a pretext to rest a
little longer.
"Why didn't you emigrate?" Scot inquired. "Surely you can't really
like Earth as it is, or you wouldn't have joined the Order."
"I didn't like myself, as I was," Brother Paul said. "But your
observation is true, to an extent. I am not satisfied with Earth but I
love it too."
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"You could love a pioneer planet better," Scot said. "Fresh,
unspoiled there are myriads of worlds out there, each potentially
better than this one."
"Yes, that may be so."
"So why don't you go to one of them, as the priests and ministers and
rabbis and holy men of other religions are doing?"
"Because my mission is to help those most in need. My mission and
that of the Holy Order of Vision. We must go where there is human
misery, not where there is joy."
"You would actually turn down paradise?"
"Indubitably so long as there is suffering elsewhere."
Scot shook his head. "I never thought of it that way! You want
happiness for others, not for yourself."
"Our happiness is in bringing happiness to others." Brother Paul
paused, reflecting. "Or at least in helping them. Happiness must come
from within; we can not provide that directly."
"So you came to help us." Scot eyed the cutaway compost pile, noting
the steam rising from the hot sections, and the ugly dry powder
composition of the places where the water had not penetrated. Cup-
shaped: by all means! "Were we so miserable, here at the farm?"
"You were willing to be helped."
"Um, yes. I suppose that does make a difference." He remembered
what a relief it had been to have that pump working. He looked at the
pile again, and decided to talk a little longer. "You say you don't want
paradise so long as anyone else is denied it. But suppose everyone
could emigrate, and it was guaranteed they would all be ideal
worlds?"
"Then I suppose the Holy Order of Vision would go too. We could not
exist in isolation; that is not our purpose."
"You know, I wanted to go more than anything. But I couldn't and
now I'm not sure I want to."
Brother Paul faced him as if discovering a delightful intellectual
challenge. "Let me reverse the question on you. Suppose you could go
to the perfect planet, with no adverse elements at all?"
"That's what I mean. That was Conquest, for me. I don't think I
would now. Not without my friends."
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"Your friends would go. Everyone you chose."
"They'd have to want to, of their own accord. For their own reasons,
not mine."
"They would. You'd all want to, for a diversity of splendid reasons.
And everything would be fine. Guaranteed."
Scot shook his head dubiously. "There would be no challenge. I don't
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