'Elohim is Hebrew for 'God.' A meter is, well, those.' He pointed at the instrument panel. 'The Elohimeter is round and enormous, and its needle, as long as my arm, is straight up and down. The circumference of the dial's face is marked with Hebraic letters that are supposed to mean something to those giving the test.
'Most people are ignorant of what the needle indicates. But I'm a joat. I've access to the books that describe the test.'
'Then you knew the answers, nespfa?'
'Fi. Though that means nothing, because hypno-lipno brings out the truth, the reality... unless, of course, you are suffering from Martian rash, natural or artificial.'
His sudden laugh was a mirthless bark.
'Under the drug, Jeannette, all the dirty and foul things you've done and thought, all the hates you've had for your superiors, all the doubts about the realness of the Forerunner's doctrines – these rise up from your lower-level minds like soap released at the bottom of a dirty bathtub. Up it comes, slick and irresistibly buoyant and covered with layers of scum.
'But I sat there, and I watched the needle. It's just like watching the face of God, Jeannette – you can't understand that, can you? – and I lied. Oh, I didn't overplay it. I didn't pretend to be incredibly pure and faithful. I confessed to minor unrealities. Then the needle would flicker and go back around the circumference a few square letters. But, on the big issues, I answered as if my life depended on them. Which it did.
'And I told them my dreams – my subjective time-traveling.'
'Soopji 'tiw?'
'Fi. Everybody travels in time subjectively. But the Forerunner is the only man, except for his first disciple and his wife and a few of the scriptural prophets, who has traveled objectively.
'Anyway, my dreams were beauties – architecturally speaking. Just what they liked to hear. My last, and crowning, creation – or lie – was one in which the Forerunner himself appeared on Ozagen and spoke to the Sandalphon, Macneff. That event is supposed to take place a year from now.'
'Oh, Hal,' she breathed. 'Why did you tell them that?'
'Because now, maw sheh, the expedition will not leave Ozagen until that year is up. They couldn't go without giving up the chance of seeing Sigmen in the flesh as he voyages up and down the stream of time. Not without making a liar of him. And of me. So, you see, that colossal lie will make sure that we have at least a year together.'
'And then?'
'We'll think of something else then.'
Her throaty voice murmured in the darkness by the seat, 'And you would do all that for me...'
Hal did not reply. He was too busy keeping the gig close to the rooftop level. Clumps of buildings, widely separated by woods, flashed by. So fast was he going that he almost overshot Fobo's castlelike house. Three stories high, medieval in appearance with its crenellated towers and gargoyle heads of stone beasts and insects leering out from many niches, it was no closer than a hundred yards to any other building. Wogs built cities with plenty of elbow room.
Jeannette put on the long-snouted nightmask; the gig's door swung open; they ran across the sidewalk and into the building. After they dashed through the lobby and up the steps to the second floor, they had to stop while Hal fumbled for the key. He had had a wog smith make the lock and a wog carpenter install it. He hadn't trusted the carpenter's mate from the ship because there was too much chance of duplicate keys being made.
He finally found the key but had trouble inserting it. He was breathing hard by the time he succeeded in opening the door. He almost pushed Jeannette through. She had taken her mask off.
'Wait, Hal,' she said, leaning her weight against his. 'Haven't you forgotten something?'
'Oh, Forerunner! What could it be? Something serious?'
'No. I only thought,' and she smiled and then lowered her lids, 'that it was the Terran custom for men to carry their brides across the threshold. That is what my father told me.'
His jaw dropped. Bride! She was certainly taking a lot for granted!
He couldn't take time to argue. Without a word, he swept her up in his arms and carried her into the apartment. There he put her down and said, 'Back as soon as possible . If anybody knocks or tries to get in, hide in that special chamber I had the wog carpenter build for you inside our closet. Don't make a sound or come out until you're sure it's me.'
She suddenly put her arms around him and kissed him.
'Maw sheh, maw gwah, maw fooh.'
Things were going too fast. He didn't say a word or even return her kiss. Vaguely he felt that her words, applied to him, were somewhat ridiculous. If he translated her degenerate French correctly, she had called him her dear, her big strong man.
Turning, he closed the door but not so quickly that he did not see the hall light shine on a white face haloed blackly by a hood. A red mouth stained the whiteness.
He shook. He had a feeling that Jeannette was not going to be the frigid mate so much admired, officially, by the Sturch.
Hal was an hour late returning home from the Gabriel because the Sandalphon asked for more details about the prophecy he had made concerning Sigmen. Then, Hal had to dictate his report on the day's espionage. Afterward, he ordered a sailor to pilot his gig back to the apartment. While he was walking toward the launching rack, he met Pornsen.
'Shalom, abba,' Hal said.
He smiled and rubbed his knuckles against the raised lamedh on the shield.
The gapt's left shoulder, always low, sagged even more, as if it were a flag dipping in surrender. If there were any whip cuts to be given, they would be struck by Yarrow.
Hal puffed out his chest and started to walk on, but Pornsen said, 'Just a minute, son. Are you going back to the city?'
'Shib.'
'Shib. I'll ride back with you. I have an apartment in the same building. On the third floor, right opposite Fobo's.'
Hal opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. It was Pornsen's turn to smile. He turned and led the way. Hal followed with tight lips. Had the gapt trailed him and seen his meeting with Jeannette? No. If he had, he would have had Hal arrested at once.
The gapt had one distinguishing feature: a small mind. He knew his presence would annoy Hal and that living in the same building with him would poison Hal's joy at being free from surveillance.
Under his breath Hal quoted an old proverb: 'A gapt's teeth never let loose.'
The sailor was waiting by the gig. They all got in and dropped silently into the night.
At the apartment building, Hal strode into the doorway ahead of Pornsen. He felt a slight glow of satisfaction at thus breaking etiquette and expressing his contempt for the man.
Before opening his door, he paused. The guardian angel passed silently behind him. Hal, struck with a devilish thought, called out, 'Abba.'
Pornsen turned.
'What?'
'Would you care to inspect my rooms and see if I'm hiding a woman in there?'
The little man purpled. He closed his eyes and swayed, dizzy with sheer fury. When he opened them, he shouted, 'Yarrow! If ever I saw an unreal personality, you're it! I don't care how you stand with the hierarchy! I think you're – you're – just not simply shib\ You've changed. You used to be so humble, so obedient. Now, you're arrogant.'
Hal said, evenly at first, his voice rising as he continued, 'It wasn't so long ago that you described me as unruly from the day I was born. Suddenly, it seems that I am an example of splendid behavior, one the Sturch may point to with – pardon the cliche – pride. I suggest that I have always behaved as well as could be expected. I suggest that you were and are a picayunish, malicious, nasty, bird-brained pimple on the ass of the Sturch and that you ought to be squeezed until you pop!'
Hal stopped shouting because he was breathing so hard. His heart was hammering; his ears, roaring; his sight, getting dim.
Pornsen backed away, his hands held out before him.