Gordon nodded. Both men were speaking literal truths, but only one knew just how sadly true the words were.

In the uncomfortable silence, Gordon reached for the very first question that came to mind. “So, you distribute toys with batteries, as sort of missionary tools?”

Aage laughed. “Yes, that’s how you first heard of us, isn’t it? It sounds primitive, I know. But it works. Come, I’ll introduce you to the head of that project. If anyone is a real throwback to the Twentieth Century, it’s Dena Spurgen. You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.”

He led Gordon through a side door and down a hallway cluttered with stacked odds and ends, coming at last to a room that seemed alive with a faint electric hum.

Everywhere there were racks of wires, looking much like strands of ivy climbing the walls alive. Socketed amidst the tangle were scores of little cubes and cylinders. Even after all these years, Gordon quickly recognized all manner of rechargeable batteries, drawing current from the Corval-lis generators.

Across the long room, three civilians listened to a longhaired, blond person wearing the black-on-white coat of a Servant. Gordon blinked in surprise as he noticed that all four were young women.

Aage whispered in his ear. “I ought to warn you. Dena may be the youngest of all the Servants of Cyclops, but in one way she’s a museum piece. A genuine, bona fide, rip-snorting feminist.”

Aage grinned. So many things had gone with the Fall of civilization. There were words in common use, back in the old days, that one never even heard anymore. Gordon looked again in curiosity.

She was tall, especially for a woman who had grown up in these times. Since she was facing the other way, Gordon couldn’t tell much about her appearance, but her voice was low and certain as she spoke to the other intense young women.

“So on your next run I don’t want you taking chances like that again, Tracy. Do you hear me? It took a year of holding my breath and threatening to turn blue before I was able to get us this assignment. Never mind that it’s a logical solution — that outland villagers tend to feel less threatened when the emissary is a woman. All the logic in the world would come to nothing if one of you girls came to harm!”

“But Dena,” a tough-looking little brunette protested. “Tillamook’s already heard of Cyclops! It was just a quick hop over from my own village. Anyway, whenever I take Sam and Homer along they just slow me—”

“Never mind!” the taller woman interrupted. “You just take those boys with you next time. I mean it! Or I promise you I’lll have you back in Beaverville in two shakes, teaching school and making babies…”

She stopped abruptly as she noticed that her assistants weren’t paying attention anymore. They were staring at Gordon.

“Dena, come over and meet the Inspector,” Peter Aage said. “I’m sure he’d like to see your recharging facility and hear about your — missionary work.”

Aage spoke to Gordon, sotto voce with a wry smile. “Actually, it was introduce you or face a broken arm. Watch yourself, Gordon.” As the woman Servant approached, he said louder, “I have some matters to look into. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take you to your interview.”

Gordon nodded as the man left. He felt somehow exposed here, with these women staring at him this way.

“That’s it for now, girls. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon and well plan the next trip.” The others protested with entreating looks. But Dena’s head shake sent them out the door. Their shy smiles and giggles — as Gordon tipped his cap — contrasted with the long knives each wore at hip and boot.

Only when Dena Spurgen smiled, offering Gordon an outstretched hand, did he realize how young she had to be.

She can’t have been more than six when the bombs went off.

Her grip was as firm as her demeanor, and yet her smooth, barely calloused hand told of a life spent more among books than threshers and plows. Her green eyes met his in frank inspection. Gordon wondered when he had last met anyone like this.

Minneapolis, that crazy sophomore year, came his answer. Only then she had been a senior. Amazing 1 should remember that girl now, after so long.

Dena laughed. “Have I your permission to anticipate your question? Yes, I am young and female, and not really qualified to be a full Servant, let alone to be put in charge of an important project.”

“Forgive me,” he nodded, “but those were my thoughts.”

“Oh, no problem. Everybody calls me an anachronism, anyway. The truth is, I was adopted as a waif by Dr. Lazarensky and Dr. Taigher and the others, after the Anti-Tech Riots killed my parents. I have been spoiled terribly since, and learned how to take full advantage. As, no doubt, you guessed on overhearing what I had to say to my girls/’

Gordon finally decided her features could best be described as “handsome.” Perhaps a bit long and square-jawed. But when she was laughing at herself, as now, Dena Spurgen’s face lit up.

“Anyway,” she added, motioning at the wall of wires and little cylinders. “We may not be able to train any more engineers, but it doesn’t take much brains to learn how to cram electrons into a battery.”

Gordon laughed. “You’re unfair to yourself. I had to take introductory physics twice. Anyway, Cyclops must know what he’s doing, putting you in this job.”

This brought a reddening to Dena’s face as she blushed and looked down. “Yes, well, I suppose so.”

Modesty? Gordon wondered. This one is full of surprises. I wouldn’t have expected it.

“Oh rats. So soon. Here comes Peter,” she said in a much softer voice.

Peter Aage could be seen negotiating the clutter in the hallway. Gordon looked at his old-fashioned mechanical watch — one of the techs had adjusted it so that it no longer ran half a minute fast on the hour. “No wonder. My interview is in ten minutes,” he said as they shook hands again. “But I do hope we’ll have another chance to talk, Dena.”

Her grin was back. “Oh, you can bet we will. I want to ask you some questions about the way life was for you, back in the days before the war.”

Not about the Restored U.S., but about the old times. Unusual. And in that case, why me? What can I tell her about the Lost Age that she can’t learn by picking the memories of anyone else over thirty-five?

Puzzled, he met Peter Aage in the hallway and walked with him through the cavernous warehouse toward the exit.

“I’m sorry to rush you off like this,” Aage told him, “but we musn’t be late. One thing we don’t want is for Cyclops to scold us!” He grinned, but Gordon got the feeling Aage was only partly jesting. Guards bearing rifles and white armbands nodded as they passed outside into overcast sunshine.

“I do hope your talk with Cyclops goes well, Gordon,” his guide said. “We’re all excited to be in contact with the rest of the country again, of course. I’m sure Cyclops will want to cooperate in any way he can.”

Cyclops. Gordon returned to reality. There’s no delaying this. And I don’t even know if I’m more eager than scared.

He steeled himself to play out the charade to the end. He had no other choice. “I feel exactly the same,” he said. “I want to help you folks any way I can.” And he meant it, with all his heart.

Peter Aage turned away to lead him across the neatly mowed lawn toward the House of Cyclops. But for a moment Gordon wondered. Had he imagined it, or had he seen, for just a moment, a strange expression in the tech’s eyes — one of sad and profound guilt?