"Of course all men have souls. Otherwise I might just as well waste my time killing animals."
—Conrad Bland
It was still dark when the troop trucks reached Binah some five minutes apart.
Jericho, sitting by the tailgate, knew that his disguise could never stand the scrutiny of Manning's friends in the daylight, and as the truck slowed down and made a sharp left turn he leaped out He doubted that any of the sleeping soldiers were even aware that he was no longer among them, but he took no chances and was running at right angles to the truck the second his feet hit the ground. When he had gone a quarter of a mile, weaving in and out of buildings, he ducked into a doorway and paused for breath. There were no sounds of pursuit.
He remained where he was for another hour, emerging only after the sun began rising. Then he got his first good look at the city.
Whatever he had expected, Binah wasn't it.
First of all, it was relatively free from destruction. There were a certain number of bodies littering the streets, or hanging by hooks from lampposts, but the uniformly low buildings were intact, the streets weren't pockmarked by bomb craters, and the electricity seemed to be working.
Second, despite the corpses, he saw none of the walking wounded that had seemed endemic to Hod. Evidently in Binah you were either personally marked for destruction or you were not, and those people he saw on the streets seemed quite happy and healthy.
Almost all of the men wore black or red cloaks decorated with the insignia of their sects, and most of them were armed with both knives and hand weapons.
The women, for the most part, were dressed in the same kink-and-leather he had seen during his first night in Amaymon, when he had stumbled onto the cat's funeral procession. Bare breasts and backs and buttocks were on display almost everywhere, regardless of the shape and age of the women, and Jericho found himself wishing that ninety percent of them would don some more clothing, if only for aesthetic reasons. He also idly wondered what they wore during the frigid Walpurgan winters.
A few soldiers appeared on the street, and he noticed that none of the citizens seemed to draw back from them. They were not cheered as conquering heroes, to be sure, but they were accepted with no discernible resentment.
He didn't know if any of the soldiers were from Manning's unit, and he had no wish to call attention to himself by searching for Celia's establishment in his current outfit. Therefore, he turned into an alley, standing motionless with a terrible patience, waiting for a lone male to wander by. Within twenty minutes he had his victim, and a minute later he was wearing a red cloak over his military uniform. Then, feeling more secure, he stepped back onto the sidewalk.
Binah was a small city, extending no more than a mile in each direction from its core, and Jericho had hopes of finding his contact before noon. As it turned out, he didn't come to her place of business until late afternoon, and even then he almost missed it until he realized that protective coloration also had to be adaptive, and that the medium standing by the window wearing nothing but a white corset and boots was the woman he was searching for.
The building was a moderately new structure made of brick and some hardwood he couldn't identify, and her suite was half a flight up from the ground level. He climbed the stairs and knocked twice on a door that proclaimed in small gold lettering that she was Madame Celia, Medium and Phrenologist.
"Good afternoon," she said, opening the door and leading him past a pair of tufted leather love seats to a large chrome-and-leather chair. "Won't you please be seated?"
"Thank you."
"And how may I serve you?" she said, sitting across from him on a matching chair, totally oblivious to any effect her naked breasts and exposed thighs might be having upon him.
"I wish to make contact with someone," said Jericho.
"What is the name of the departed?"
"The White Lucy."
"You're Jericho?"
He nodded. "Is she still alive?"
"Just barely," said Celia sadly. "Even when she's awake she's almost never cogent anymore. I just hope we can keep together after she's gone; she was the glue that bonded us."
"Then she had no message for me?" said Jericho.
"Just one. I received it a few hours ago."
"What was it?"
"She still doesn't know if you will succeed in your mission," said Celia. "But if you do, you must not kill John Sable."
"Sable's in Tifereth?" asked Jericho, surprised.
"Yes. You will not be able to escape without his help."
"How will he help me?"
"The White Lucy says he'll know what to do."
"That's all?"
She nodded.
"Did she have any suggestions concerning how I'm to get to Tifereth?" asked Jericho.
"No," answered Celia. "She's very weak, and rarely rational. I think it took almost all of her remaining strength to transmit that message to me."
"I see," said Jericho. He stood up and walked to an antique full-length mirror that hung on the wall between various charts of human heads and hands. He studied himself for a moment, then turned back to her.
"Can you tell me what kind of garb I'm wearing?"
"Your robe and insignia proclaim you to be a warlock in the Church of the Inferno."
"And you?" he asked, staring at her barely concealed body.
"I am dressed as a Daughter of Delight," she replied. "It is by far the major sect among the women of Binah."
"I've been going out of my way not to stare. Is that correct?"
She laughed. "Do you have any idea how uncomfortable whalebone and stays and garter belts can be? Of course you're supposed to admire us. Our mode of dress is for enchantment, not practicality."
"I've passed about two dozen Daughters of Delight Would my lack of reaction have drawn any attention?"
"I doubt it," said Celia. "After all, a native of Binah sees us every day, and could be expected to be preoccupied from time to time. No, I think you're safe."
"Good. Can a member of the Church of the Inferno go to Tifereth without being stopped?"
"Not a chance. Only Bland's security men can get into or out of Tifereth."
"Have I a contact in Tifereth?"
"No. I'm the last. Once you leave Binah you're on your own."
"Have you got anything further to tell me? I don't like staying in one place too long."
"No. That's everything."
"Then thank you for your help," he said. "And allow me to say that I greatly admire your dress code."
"Thank you," she said unselfconsciously. "And good luck."
He was walking toward the door when a sudden movement in the street caught his attention. He looked out the window for a moment, then turned back to Celia.
"There are two soldiers headed straight for this building. Do they have any business here?"
"None that I know of," she replied.
"How many other stores and offices are there in the building?"
"Five."
"Then there's probably nothing to worry about," he said. "Just the same, I think I'd better hide until they're gone. Have you got another room?"
"Just a bathroom," she said, pointing toward a door.
"That'll do fine," he replied, walking into it and leaving the door cracked open.
He had been there for no more than a minute when the front door opened and the two soldiers—one tall, one medium height, both lean and well muscled—strode into Celia's suite.
"You are Madame Celia?" demanded the tall soldier.
"Yes."
"You were born on the planet Beta Tau VIII, otherwise known as Greenveldt?"
"Why?" she asked, frightened.
"If you do not respond to the question, I must assume your answer is affirmative."
"Yes, I was born on Greenveldt."
"You will come with us, please."
"What is this all about?"
"My Lord Bland has issued orders that all offworlders be transferred to Tifereth for questioning."
Suddenly the blood drained from her face and her entire body tensed. "But I know nothing of use to Conrad Bland."
"That is no concern of ours," said the soldier. "Let's go."
"No," she said. "Please!"
The taller soldier shrugged and nodded to his companion. Then the two of them walked over and grabbed Celia roughly by her arms.
"Jericho! Help!" she cried.
Jericho stepped out of the bathroom and calmly shot each soldier in turn. As they slumped to the floor he knelt down and began rummaging through his nearer victim's uniform.
"Go through the other one's pockets," he said. "If they were taking you to Bland they've got to have some kind of pass or permit to get out of Binah and into Tifereth."
Celia did as she was told, and a moment later each of them were holding small cards signed by Bromberg.
"This will get me in," said Jericho. "But these passes are only valid for soldiers. They don't seem to have any extradition papers with them."
"Then you'll have to leave me behind," said Celia, visibly relieved.
"I can't," he replied. "Someone must have sent them here. Sooner or later more soldiers will show up looking for them."
"Then I'll leave."
"It won't do any good," he said, shaking his head. "You can't get out of Binah without a pass. It won't take them long to find you, and when they do I'm sure they have ways of making you talk."
"I'd never tell them anything about you!"
"Yes you would. You called out my name a moment ago when you merely thought that they might hurt you. I can't allow you to fall into their hands." He stared at her for a long moment. "I'm sorry," he said regretfully.
He pointed his weapon at her and fired.
He spent a few minutes rearranging the bodies, trying to make it look as if she had been killed defending herself from the soldiers. Then he removed his robe, folded it neatly, went out into the street, and threw it into a trash atomizer.
He found a car that worked by computer code, appropriated it, showed his pass at the edge of the city, and was soon driving across the flat arid plains toward Tifereth.