He still had the religious medallion, however, which was something of a miracle given the fact that the antitechnics had stolen everything else, so maybe it would protect him. Finally, having kept his feet, the runner went in search of his clothes. That was when he discovered that while his old road-ravaged outfi?t had disappeared, brand-new clothing was waiting in the tiny closet, a gift for which he was grateful. Getting the fresh garments on was something of a challenge however, and Rebo might have abandoned the project if it hadn’t been for the urgent need to pee. Fortunately, a nurse appeared about halfway through the process and helped the runner get his shirt on.
After a trip to the men’s bathroom, which was equipped with fl?ush toilets, Rebo went looking for Norr, only to discover that she was looking for him. Together they took refuge in a sun-splashed solarium. “I’m sorry,” the runner said contritely. “Putting those glasses on was a stupid thing to do.”
Norr shrugged philosophically. “Don’t worry about it. . . . If not the glasses, then something else would have given us away.”
“Thanks,” the runner replied humbly. “But I am worried. The antitechnics took off with all of our money, supplies, and weapons.”
“They took most of our stuff,” the sensitive agreed soberly, “but not everything.” At that point Norr tapped her chest and winked. The message was clear. Logos was lurking somewhere beneath her brand-new outfi?t. The runner had mixed emotions where the AI was concerned but forced a smile. “That’s good news. . . . So, how are the others doing?”
During the subsequent report, Rebo learned that while Hoggles’s right index fi?nger had been amputated after the battle with the antitechnics, the heavy was on the mend.
“That’s good,” the runner said gratefully. “I need to apologize to him as well. How ’bout Phan?”
“Fortunately, none of the spikes that they drove through her hands struck bone,” Norr replied. “She’ll be good as new within a few weeks.”
“And how good is that?” Rebo inquired cynically. “She isn’t who she says she is, we know that, so what to do?”
“Get rid of her,” Norr replied honestly. “As soon as we can.”
Rebo nodded. “Works for me . . . In the meantime, where the heck are we? And who’s running this place?”
“We’re in some sort of government-run complex,” Norr replied. “What was once a university if I understand correctly. More than that I couldn’t really say. But, since Facilitator Okanda invited us to dinner, maybe we’ll be able to learn more from him.”
“Yeah,” the runner said refl?ectively. “Maybe we will . . . In the meantime here’s hoping that the runner’s guild has a presence in Feda. . . . I should be able to withdraw some money from my account if it does.”
“You’re working for Lysander,” the sensitive responded.
“Maybe he can help.”
“That kind of help I can do without,” the runner objected, as he came to his feet. “Come on . . . Let’s fi?nd Bo. I owe him a body part.”
By the time evening fell, and the youngster named Hobarth led Rebo, Norr, Hoggles, and Phan into the citadel’s Grand Hall, the off-worlders were feeling better. The room was huge, and would have been almost impossible to light had it not been for the ancient Class IV fusion generator located two levels below. The fact that it continued to broadcast electricity was due to a generous supply of spare parts, knowledge handed down for hundreds of years, and no small amount of good luck.
Kas Okanda was waiting to greet his guests when they arrived at the far end of the long, formally set dining table. He was dressed in a heavily embroidered gold coat, black trousers, and gold slippers. His neatly trimmed mustache and pointed beard served to reinforce the aura of material well-being that surrounded him. The facilitator never tired of seeing the expressions of amazement that the brightly lit hall produced on most of his guests. “Welcome!” the government offi?cial said warmly. “Please, take your seats, and I’ll call for some wine.”
Okanda was an amiable host, and the next hour passed quickly, as the facilitator plied his guests with good wine, food, and conversation. Finally, having offered the offi?cial a carefully edited version of the journey from Thara, Rebo asked his host what the government planned to do about the Army of God.
The facilitator took a sip of wine before replying. “That’s a good question, Citizen Rebo. . . . As you have surmised by now, we not only have a pretty good idea where the rector and his fl?ock are at any given moment, we have the capacity to bring their wanderings to an end whenever we choose.”
“Then why wait?” Hoggles inquired.
Though blunt, the question was understandable given the nature of the heavy’s injury, Okanda smiled sympathetically.
“I understand how you feel—and regret what happened to you. But I, along with the other facilitators, have a responsibility to the planet as a whole. The rector is like a magnet to which tiny slivers of iron are inevitably drawn. Once all, or the vast majority of them are clumped together, we’ll sweep them up.”
“And then?” Phan inquired skeptically. Not only were her hands sore, they were slightly swollen, which would have made it diffi?cult to handle weapons. If she had had weapons—which she didn’t. Had the decision been up to her, the rector and his entire fl?ock would have been crucifi?ed and left to die. Men, women, and children.
“The present plan is to march the antitechnics to the great salt sea and transport them to a remote island, where they will be free to live without benefi?t of technology,”
Okanda answered smoothly. “A fi?tting punishment—and one that will serve to protect the rest of the population from their fanaticism.”
Norr heard the facilitator’s words, but what she “saw”
was something different. Based on the dark, slowly morphing thought forms that hovered around Okanda, it appeared that while some of the fl?ock might be transported, others would almost certainly be lost at sea. The rector being one of them. She shivered, tugged at the shawl she had been given, and was grateful for the additional warmth. The rest of the meal passed pleasantly. The main course was followed by a delicious dessert, wine, and a selection of local cheeses. And it was then, as Rebo thanked Okanda for his hospitality, that the facilitator invited the travelers to attach themselves to a government convoy that was slated to leave for Feda in three days. It was a generous offer, and one that would go a long way toward solving one of the group’s most pressing problems, so the runner was quick to accept on behalf of both his companions and himself.
“Good!” Okanda said heartily as he rose from the table.
“The matter is settled. Now, if you would be so kind as to follow me, I would like to show you through the citadel’s museum. We have a collection of techno artifacts that is second to none. Something that interstellar travelers such as yourselves are uniquely qualifi?ed to appreciate.”
Rebo was feeling a bit sleepy after all the wine and food, and would have preferred to go to bed, but couldn’t think of a graceful way to excuse himself. So the runner followed the facilitator to the far end of the hall, through an ironstrapped door, and down a circular fl?ight of stairs. Norr, Hoggles, and Phan brought up the rear.