“Have you got any idea where this guy they’re looking for is?” he asked Scirio.

“If he’s not anywhere they’ve tried, then he’ll be freaking out in the club,” Scino replied.

Grevetz thought about it. If the Terran Murray was with them, the club wasn’t a secret. It didn’t sound as if they were interested in the firm’s business, anyway; more like some political crap that Grevetz didn’t want to get involved in. Perhaps just playing it straight and open would be the quickest way of getting them to leave him alone.

“Okay, you can take them there,” he instructed Scino. “If the German’s there, let them have him.”

Scirio replaced the handset. Saying nothing to Murray, he called out something to the front compartment again. A voice acknowledged from a grille in the partition.

Murray raised his eyebrows and nodded. “That did the trick, guys. We’re on our way to the Gondola.”

In the court of the People, Baumer watched from the prosecution table as the Accuser began reading his role of witnesses.

“In support of the case brought against the accused, I call upon the religious teachers of all time…“ A line of men in robes, cloaks, cassocks, some bearded, several with long, flowing hair and carrying wooden staffs, filed into the room through a side entrance. “I call upon the world’s great artists, its poets, its seers, its mystics, all those who have tried through the ages to turn Man’s eyes away from the mundane and the material, and open them to..

The Accuser’s voice trailed away as the Counsel for Defense rose to his feet, waving his hand in an impatient protest. Beside him was a dwarf dressed as a jester, hopping up and down excitedly in his eagerness to speak. From the dock, the industrialist, the engineer, the scientist, and the philosopher looked on with interest.

“If I might be permitted, I have here a single witness who will put an end to this whole farce now, without wasting any more of the court’s time,” the Defense Counsel said. “I move for the case to be dismissed.”

“Who is that fool?” the clerk of the court demanded, indicating the dwarf from his seat below the bench.

“A gremlin who was found lurking in the subconscious of the prime mover responsible for these proceedings.” The Defense Counsel turned and stabbed a finger at Baumer.

Startled, Baumer sat upright in his seat. This shouldn’t be happening. Something was going wrong.

A murmur went up around the hall. “Speak,” the Judge directed.

The Defense Counsel went on. “Briefly, this whole case reduces to an indictment of reason and its manifestation in technology. But this witness will testify that we are all, now, every one of us, creations of precisely those processes and nothing else. So is the entire reality in which we exist. In other words, the Accuser himself is a product of that which he would have us deny. Therefore, were he to prove his case, neither he nor his case could exist.”

“Is this true?” the Judge challenged, looking at Baumer.

Baumer rose to his feet, confused. “I don’t understand,” he stammered, staring at the dwarf. “He shouldn’t be here. How did he get in? If he’s mine, I can deny him. Proceed as if he didn’t exist.”

“But he does exist,” a voice boomed. It was JEVEX. Everything was going out of control. JEVEX had no business intruding like this…

The loop of current dipped downward, and Thrax felt its flux of energy touching his mind. Strange sensations and a feeling of detachment swept through his being. He saw fragments of images: figures in a large hall, some seated in tiers, others standing, and a row of what looked like a tribunal of judges behind a raised bench. Then there was a flash of a completely different place, a tiny cell in which he was looking up at the ceiling. The power of the assembled monks surged around him.

“It is time! The moment has come! Arise, Thrax!” Shingen-Hu’s voice resounded.

But suddenly everything exploded in pandemonium. From another peak outlined dimly across a deep gorge, bolts of fire curved through the darkness and burst among the rocks, causing the monks to scatter in alarm. At the same instant, winged shapes descended from above with terrible screams and slashing claws, driving them to seek cover. As the hold broke, the stream of current kinked and redirected itself toward the other peak.

A griffin swooped at Shingen-Hu and Thrax, who had been left standing alone. Shingen-Hu felled it with a lighting-dart aimed through a finger, and it fell to the ground shrieking and convulsing.

“There is another power!” Shingen-Hu cried. “See, the current is being drawn away. We cannot contest it. We are confounded!”

On the neighboring peak, Ethendor cackled gleefully. “Ha, they are undone! The current comes to us! We have it now. Rise up, Keyalo! Priests, send up your minds with him. Praise be to Vandros. Give strength now to thy servants!”

Keyalo felt powerful forces surging through him, bearing him aloft. The river of current loomed bright and pulsating before him, then everything was light.

“See, he rises up!” Ethendor exulted. “He delivers his substance to the current! He is borne into the night!”

Keyalo was pure patterns of energy, formless, unfettered. Pure being. A cosmic wind traversing a void. The void contracted, whirling and falling inward upon itself.

The limousine stopped in a dark, narrow street on one side of an enclosed square. There were a number of other vehicles parked nearby, several of them large and luxurious in Hunt’s estimation-although his experience in judging Jevlenese standards was limited. There was little sign of life, and the few figures visible scurried through the shadows, minding their own business. Hunt and his two companions got out first, the pair of bodyguards followed, and Scirio came last. The two men up front stayed in the vehicle.

They walked a short distance along one side of the square and then turned into a walkway with weak overhead lamps and solidly constructed doorways at intervals along both sides, all closed. At the end was another alley running crossways, some stairs going up on one side, and an opening into an even dingier passageway on the other. They entered the passageway and stopped at a door whose outline Hunt could barely make out in the shadows. Somebody must have pressed a button or something, for after a few seconds a voice spoke from a concealed speaker. One of the bodyguards, a big, steely-eyed man with a gray, battleship-armor chin, whom Hunt had mentally dubbed “Dreadnought,” replied. The voice said something else, and this time Scirio responded. A second or two went by, and then a spotlight came on above the door, illuminating the six figures outside. The light went out again and the door opened.

Inside, it was almost as dark as out in the passageway. And as bare. They were in what seemed to be a small foyer. It had a seat running along one wall, and a hole in the wall framing a reception desk opposite, with a door alongside. A pair of double doors led out at the rear. Scirio rapped on the door next to the desk, which was opened promptly from within. He entered, leaving Hunt, Cullen, and Murray with the two bodyguards, who lounged against the wall and stared into space. The sounds of several voices talking came through the opening above the desk.

“Did you say you knew this place?” Hunt asked Murray.

“I knew it was here-I’ve sent people to it. But I’ve never used it. I’ve got enough spooks in my head already. I don’t need this kinda shit.”

“Then why couldn’t you have brought us yourself, without all the performance?” Cullen asked.

Murray shook his head. “When you come here, nobody sees anything; nobody knows who you are. You wanna know if this guy you’re so anxious to find is in one of the booths? There’s no way you’d get to know without the boss’s say-so.”