“We ran into some,” Theremon said.
“Then you know. We were surrounded by a bunch of them. They could tell just by the way we talked that we had to be educated people, and then someone recognized me—recognized me, Theremon, from a picture in the newspaper, from one of your columns, one of the times when you were interviewing me about the eclipse! And he said I was from the Observatory, I was the man who had made the Stars appear.” Beenay stared off into nowhere for a moment. “We were about two minutes away from being strung up from a lamppost, is my guess. But then came a providential distraction. Another gang showed up—territorial rivals, I suppose—throwing bottles, yelling, waving kitchen knives around. Raissta and I were able to get away. They’re like children, the crazies—they can’t keep their minds on any one thing very long. But as we were crawling through a narrow path between two burned-out buildings Raissta cut her leg on some broken glass. And by the time we got this far south on the highway it was so badly infected that she couldn’t walk.”
“I see.” No wonder she looks so terrible, Theremon thought.
“Luckily for us, Restoration Province’s border guards were in need of a professor. They took us in. We’ve been here a week, or maybe ten days, now. I figure Raissta may be able to travel again in another week if all goes well, or more likely two. And then I’ll have the boss of this province write out a passport for us that might get us safely through the next few provinces down the road, at least, and we’ll set out on our way for Amgando. You’re welcome to stay here with us until then, and then we can all go south together, if you like. Certainly it’ll be safer that way.—You want me, Butella?”
The tall man who had tried to search Theremon in the clearing had poked his head over the curtains of Beenay’s little den. “Messenger just came in, Professor. Brought some news from the city, by way of Imperial Province. We can’t make much sense out of it.”
“Let me see,” Beenay said, reaching up and taking a folded slip of paper from the man. To Theremon he said, “Messengers go back and forth between the various new provinces all the time. Imperial’s north and east of the highway, stretching up toward the city itself.—Most of these Searchers here aren’t too good at reading. Their exposure to the Stars seems to have damaged their verbal centers, or something.”
Beenay fell silent as he began to scan the message. He scowled, frowned, pursed his lips, muttered something about post-Nightfall handwriting and spelling. Then after a moment his expression grew dark.
“Good God!” he cried. “Of all the rotten, miserable, terrible—”
His hand was shaking. He looked up at Theremon, wild-eyed.
“Beenay! What is it?”
Somberly Beenay said, “The Apostles of Flame are coming this way. They’ve assembled an army, and they’re going to march down to Amgando, clearing away all the new little provincial governments that have sprung up along the highway. And when they get to Amgando they’re going to smash whatever reconstituted governing body it is that has taken form down there and proclaim themselves the only legally empowered ruling force in all of the Republic.”
Theremon felt Siferra’s fingers digging into his arm. He turned to look at her and saw the horror on her face. He himself must not look very different, he knew.
“Coming—this—way—” he said slowly. “An army of Apostles.”
“Theremon, Siferra—you’ve got to get out of here,” said Beenay. “Immediately. If you’re still here when the Apostles arrive, everything’s lost.”
“Go to Amgando, you mean?” Theremon asked.
“Absolutely. Without wasting another minute. The whole university community that was in the Sanctuary is down there, and people from other universities, educated people from all over the Republic. You and Siferra have to warn them to scatter, fast. If they’re still in Amgando when the Apostles get there, Mondior will be able to gobble up the whole nucleus of any future legitimate government this country’s likely to have, all in one swoop. He might even order mass executions of university people.—Look, I’ll write out passports for you that’ll get you through the next few Search stations down the line, anyway. But when you’ve gotten beyond our authority, you’ll simply have to submit to Search and let them take whatever they want from you, and then keep on heading south. You can’t afford to let yourself be distracted by secondary issues like resisting Search. The Amgando group has to be warned, Theremon!”
“And what about you? Are you just going to stay here?”
Beenay looked puzzled. “What else can I do?”
“But—when the Apostles come—”
“When the Apostles come, they’ll do what they want with me. Are you suggesting that I leave Raissta behind and run off to Amgando with you?”
“Well—no—”
“Then I have no choice. Right? Right? Here I stay, with Raissta.”
Theremon’s head began to ache. He pressed his hands against his eyes.
Siferra said, “There’s no other way, Theremon.”
“I know. I know. But all the same, to think of Mondior and his crew taking a man as valuable as Beenay prisoner—executing him, even—”
Beenay smiled and rested his hand for a moment on Theremon’s forearm. “Who knows? Maybe Mondior would like to keep a couple of professors around as pets. Anyway, what happens to me is unimportant now. My place is with Raissta. Your place is on the road—scampering down to Amgando as fast as you know how. Come on: I’ll get you a meal, and I’ll give you some official-looking documents. And then on your way with you.” He paused. “Here. You’ll need this, too.” He poured the rest of the brandy, no more than an ounce or so, into Theremon’s empty glass.—“Down the hatch,” he said.
41
At the boundary between Restoration Province and Six Suns they had no trouble at all getting through Search. A border official who looked as though he might have been an accountant or a lawyer in the world that no longer existed simply glanced at the passport Beenay had written out, nodded when he saw the florid “Beenay 25” inscription at the bottom, and waved them on through.
Two days later, when they were crossing from Six Suns Province into Godland, it wasn’t that simple. Here the border patrol looked like a gang of cutthroats, who would just as soon toss Theremon and Siferra over the side of the elevated highway as look at their papers at all. There was a long uneasy moment as Theremon stood there, dangling the passport like some sort of magic wand. Then the magic worked, more or less.
“This thing a safe-through?” the head cutthroat asked.
“A passport, yes. Exemption from Search.”
“Who from?”
“Beenay 25, Chief Search Administrator, Restoration Province. That’s two provinces up the road.”
“I know where Restoration Province is. Read it to me.”
“ ‘To Whom It May Concern: This is to attest that the bearers of this document, Theremon 762 and Siferra 89, are properly accredited emissaries of the Fire Patrol of Saro City, and that they are entitled to—’ ”
“The Fire Patrol? What’s that?”
“Altinol’s bunch,” one of the other cutthroats murmured.
“Ah.” The head man nodded toward the needle-guns that Theremon and Siferra wore in full view at their hips. “So Altinol wants you to go marching off through other people’s countries carrying weapons that could set a whole district on fire?”