“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.
Electric lights came on, apparently of their own volition, as Okanda led his guests out into a room that would have been equal in size to the hall above except for the fact that the ceiling was a good deal lower. Whereas the Great Hall was open, and sparsely furnished, this space was fi?lled with row after row of glassed-in display cases, with only narrow aisles between them.
Faced with the prospect of what looked like a long march, combined with what promised to be a boring narrative, Rebo uttered a silent groan as Okanda led his guests into the fi?rst passageway. It was fi?lled with a mind-boggling array of small household appliances. As the government offi?cial led them down the corridor, the visitors were shown machines that the ancients used to toast bread, dry their hair, listen to music, talk to each other, heat their food, and remove unwanted body hair. It was a truly amazing display. However if that section was of interest, the next was even more so, since it was focused on a subject of more than passing interest to at least three of Okanda’s guests. Rebo, Phan, and, to a lesser extent, Hoggles stared in openmouthed lust as they were invited to eyeball case after case of neatly racked weapons. There were knives, pistols, rifl?es, machine guns, and hand grenades, all displayed along with accessories where appropriate, and quantities of ammunition.
Fortunately, Okanda failed to notice the longing looks, or regarded them as understandable, because he was in no way offended when the previously taciturn Phan peppered him with all manner of technical questions having to do with the weapons laid out before her. But all good things must come to an end, so it wasn’t long before the facilitator led the group into the next corridor, which was even more intriguing in its own way. “This,” Okanda announced importantly, “is the section of the museum dedicated to artifacts that we don’t understand fully and probably never will. But our scientists continue to study the more promising specimens in hopes that we will be able to bring some of them back to life.”
The offi?cial wanted to say more, would have said more, had it not been for the fact that one of the objects in front of him chose that particular moment to activate itself. Glass shattered as the metal sphere shot upward, hovered in midair, and made a beeline for Norr. Okanda was startled, but not so startled as to be rendered immobile, and was in the process of bringing a small device up to his lips when Logos spoke from the vicinity of Norr’s neckline. “He’s calling for help! Stop him!”
