It was the thin, worn little mission book Meia had been reading. He stood holding it, trying to guess what it meant, as Kleon left. Shaking proved there was no note between the pages, and nothing was written inside the covers. It was a mystery to him. Yet he was homesick as the rocket roared upward, lifting him from Sayon.
Judson woke early, bothered by the light streaming from the windows on two sides of his apartment. He groaned, still aching, and fumbled about until he found his glasses. A slave must have come in during the night to undress him, and one entered now, bringing his freshened clothes and a welcome cup of coffee.
One wall of windows faced north toward the hill, he saw. The other opened on a rear garden. He threw one of the windows open, letting in fresh air and a babble of childish voices. There were three little boys, from six to eleven, playing outside. From their looks, they were obviously Dupont’s. The man had been a fool to have them, but Judson couldn’t really blame him as he watched them, envy thick in him.
He shut the window again, just as Dupont himself came in. The man looked sick and scared. “The Fas Kaia arrested Athon!” he screamed, wasting no time on civilities. “She’s holding trial on him for profaning the temple. After I ordered her to leave him alone. Come on, we’ve got to stop it!”
The rule book was torn up, and Dupont’s carefully built shelter was gone. It was a shock to Judson too, but no cause for panic. He should have expected some such high-handed action from the priestess.
“I countermanded your order,” he said. He realized he was committing himself—probably accepting Kaia’s bribe—but there was no use trying to undo what she had done. The less damage the better. “If you’re worried, Dupont, maybe you’d better get your sister and your boys to the ship.”
The sickness in the man abruptly washed out all the fear. Incest was still enough to ruin him completely. But he nodded at last. He shook himself, pulling at some strength inside him to put on a normal appearance, then headed for the garden.
Judson hurried out to the street. There was no chariot waiting, of course; Fas Kaia obviously meant to have a fait accompli when he heard of it. He set out on foot, noticing that there were mobs clustered about the temple, and others streaming toward it. But they were still leaderless and unsure of what had happened. They made way for his uniform without thinking.
Inside the temple, a reluctant priestess led him to a great gold and silver door and swung it open for him. He could see Kaia at the far end of the huge room, addressing a prisoner in the hands of two Ludh. How the temple rated Ludh guards would have to be explained later.
She looked up and motioned him to her, standing up as he drew near. “I couldn’t get a chariot and message to you through the hostile crowd,” she lied easily in a low voice. “So I went ahead, hoping you’d hear. Here, I’ve already judged him an impostor of Earth stock, and handed him over to the temple as a spy in temple uniform—his robe really is an old temple one. I found rules about jurisdiction over spies in an old covenant of Earth and used them?”
“So you didn’t need me, after all?” he asked bitterly. He could admire her solution; with the detail of the temple uniform, it might even be legal. But her tactics rankled.
She shook her head, smiling faintly. “I’m glad you’re here, Eli. I’d rather not forge the papers. Here, take the seat of judgment and finish. You can certify to his being human, too.”
He found himself seated in the great chair, with the papers in front of him. They were in good order and in English. Kaia was thorough. But if he had even a shred of doubt about the man, after her arrogant assumption she could control him, he’d let her go whistle…
Abruptly, he saw the prisoner, and the anticlimax took all the stubbornness out of him. The man was unimpressive and plain, with mild blue eyes and carroty-red hair that could only come from Earth. There was even a hint of freckles across the nose.
Reluctantly, Judson signed. There was no doubt left, and nothing else to do. One man couldn’t count against whole worlds, any more than Meia had counted against Earth. But his hand shook as he put the pen back.
“Hear the judgment,” Kaia called immediately. “For sacrilege within the temple, let the self-termed O6 Athon die on the pointed seat this day. Take him away!”
Judson rose to protest. The man was practically a political prisoner. He’d only come for ritualistic laving, not to harm the temple literally. But it was too late for protests. Anyhow, the prisoner was speaking.
It was a rich, ringing voice that seemed to fill the whole room. “The world has judged and the world is judged,” Athon pronounced slowly. His eyes lingered on them and his hand came up in a strange gesture. Then he shrugged and let the guards move him away.
Judson felt his eyes smarting, and his vision seemed to blur. He reached for his glasses automatically and began cleaning them. Then shock hit him as he glanced at the papers before him. Without the glasses, the smallest
text was clearly visible. There had been a final miracle, even inside the temple.
Kaia was in front of him as he stumbled to his feet, and there was a package in her hands. “Sometimes the Goddess is quick to reward,” she chuckled. “Naturally, to refuse Her gift is to profane Her name. The temple thanks you, too, Eli.”
He took the package and thrust it into his pocket, knowing it bound him to her, and not caring at the moment. “You are kind, Fas Kaia,” he said formally. Then he headed for the exit and toward the street.
But now the crowd was thicker, pressing inward. As he came to the steps, he found himself swallowed by it, almost carried by it. It had always been a faceless, abstract crowd to him before—one with no character or feeling. He hadn’t really realized that it could claw and tear and smother with its solidity. And he was too old to tear through it.
Then another shock registered. A few feet away, the face of Kleon appeared, with the old eyes staring straight toward him, before the movement of the mob drove them apart. The surprise seemed to clear his mind, though. He lifted his voice to a shout. “They are taking him to the hill for the Seat. Kaia has ordered the Seat for him!”
Other voices picked up the cry and spread it. Now suddenly the crowd began to turn, trying to get away from the temple and toward the hill. Judson was forced along with them, but they were moving north, at least, toward the palace as well as the hill. He put all his failing energies to the task of working sideways, looking for a chance to drop out before they passed the palace.
Somehow, he made it. He had no memory of it, nor of passing out on his bed. But he came to, filthy and torn, some time later. There was no answer when he yelled for a slave. He struggled through a hasty bath and into one of the standard Service uniforms in the closet. Then the silence of the house and the low rumble of sound from the north finally registered, and he looked out.
Kalva was deserted now. The entire populace was at the hill, where Ludh guards with crossbows held a small circle open at the tjjp. In the middle of that, there was a quiet figure. Foi> a inoment, Judson hoped that the tortured man was dead^ until the head moved weakly.
Athon had not saved himself. The judgment was fulfilled.
And in the sky, dark clouds were piling up for one of the periodic storms. Judson gazed at it, beginning to worry again. This was a primitive world, where omens were all-important. A storm now would indicate divine displeasure—it would damn him and Kaia more than all logic or law—more than he could damn himself, perhaps.