Chapter Three

Martin stood in the middle of the ladder examining the trap door. He was not afraid of the unknown, but instinct warned him to move into new situations with great caution. He fingered the metal, testing its weight carefully.

"Well, what do you think," Rachael asked?

"Our choices are rather limited. I'm not about to go back down to the beam, and there doesn't seem to be any other direction available to us. The only way off this ladder is up."

Martin climbed the last rungs, pushing the door open with surprising ease. Warm air flowed over him as he climbed into a dimly lit room, and reached back to help Rachael through the opening.

Slipping out of his backpack, Martin examined the small chamber. His shaking body wanted nothing more than to collapse on the hard floor, but he forced himself to concentrate on the room and its contents. Cupboards, filled with any number of familiar articles, lined the walls. Beside a larder of food and eating utensils, sheets, pillow-cases, and blankets were neatly stacked on the upper shelves.

"Penthouse," Rachael whispered, "and from the sound of it, occupied." She eased her backpack to the floor next to Martin's and followed him toward the single exit.

Martin pressed his ear against the door, listening to the din of many conversations going on at once. There were obviously a large number of people in the next room and the clatter of silverware and plates indicated they were about to eat.

"A festive mood," he grunted. "Probably as good a time as any to meet our new hosts."

"Wait just a minute," Rachael whispered hoarsely. "You have no idea who, or what, is out there. They may not be as understanding as Gateman."

"Well we can't hide in here for long," Martin countered, "and I am certainly not going back outside. Chances are they're no different than the folks on ground level. If that's the case, we'll fit in nicely. Ready?"

Without further protest from Rachael, Martin took a deep breath and opened the door. He blinked as the bright lighting of a great hall struck his eyes. The melee of sound turned out to be a well ordered gathering of men and women dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos. They stood in small groups, social amenities being exchanged between them as would have been natural at any party in a civilized society. The scene was so exhilarating that Rachael gasped in awe.

"It's exquisite! Everything we have at home and more. Look at the walls."

Martin appraised the rich tapestries, taking note of the panorama artistically woven into the material. Cathedral windows reached up toward a vaulted ceiling fifty feet above their heads. Sculptured figures crowded in toward the center of a great mosaic. They stood in such a mass of humanity that no one figure could be seen as a complete individual.

The object of their attention was the ornate carving of a flowering tree. A vague, solitary figure stood leaning against its trunk, barely visible in its newly traced condition, the face blank. This fragmentary touch seemed to give the work a note of mystery.

Martin and Rachael became aware of plush red carpeting under their feet. It felt soft, and helped to dampen the sound of an increasing number of guests. Beyond the crowd, long metal boards carried a rich harvest of food.

Bowls of fruit headed each table, then steaming trays of what Martin assumed were meats and vegetables. Wine glasses held colors of every shade, aromas from vines he could not even imagine, bouquets so strong he could smell them across the room.

"Now I know I'm starving to death," he whispered. Rachael had no time to answer.

"Well, well, well, late guests. Do come in and join us. Another moment and you'd have been too late, these scavengers would bare the Governor's table in seconds."

Laughter echoed around them as a tall figure stepped forward with an air of the dramatic in his movements. Those nearest Martin and Rachael suddenly left their private discussions to appraise the new arrivals. An eyebrow or two was raised in deference to their dress and Rachael grunted out a whispered response.

"You look gorgeous too, dear. Sorry we didn't have a formal invitation."

"Now, Rachael....." The aryan looking blonde held out a weak-wristed hand, which Martin took hesitantly.

"The last victors from our election." It was more of a statement than a question, but Martin felt obliged to respond.

"Oh, yes. Sorry to be late. Hope we haven't missed anything."

"Nothing but the usual, boring conversation of bureaucratic newcomers. All of us have been reelected, but I'm sure you know the details." Smiling faintly, he took quick note of Rachael before going on.

"And what district do you represent?"

"Maintenance and Entry," Martin breathed without hesitation.

"My.....my, my, my. Two celebrities to help city politics establish itself on a new scale." Another raised eyebrow. "Gateman has certainly done well for himself, but I expected it. One does well not to underestimate the groundling."

Martin nodded in smiling agreement, feeling just a bit uncomfortable. The room was cool enough, but a drop of sweat trickled down his forehead as he stood under close scrutiny.

"How irresponsible of me, please. I've not offered you a drink, nor have I bothered to introduce myself. Blake," he bowed, "Public Affairs Secretary, to our most high Governor, Chairman of the Council, Fairmont."

Martin bent at the waist, acknowledging Blake's eloquent speech with a delighted grin. A touch of Rachael's elbow reminded him to return the amenity.

"Martin. And this," he stepped aside, "is Rachael."

"Delighted."

He ignored Rachael's presence again, regarding her with cool disinterest. After a quick glance he turned to Martin and gestured toward the growing tumult of guests.

"Larger than usual, especially for an off-year election," Blake noted dryly. "But then, this is the first time city government has gotten involved on level-ninety. I think we should celebrate."

"Margo! Everyone! I'd like you to meet our newest members, Martin and Rachael. They are here on behalf of the east-gate groundling, Gateman. Let us welcome maintenance and entry to the Council of Fairmont."

The din was unbearable. Applause, then wild cheering echoed through the vast hall. Glasses were raised in a salute of recognition and drained instantly. As quickly as it had begun, the ecstatic noise died on their lips. Having done their duty the audience turned back to its own private discourse. It was Rachael's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Well, we do thank you," she muttered. Blake went on, ignoring her remark.

"Welcome to the body politic. Ah, Margo."

Rachael was aware of the woman's approach before Martin, but it did not keep his eyes from opening wide in quick appraisal of the voluptuous female. Her low-cut evening gown did little to hide her overly-ambitious proportions.

"Margo, be a dear and take our guests to their quarters. Martin, I'm afraid your wardrobe will have to wait until we've had time for a fitting, but at least you can freshen up before dinner. You have just enough time. Rachael."

With a quick nod, Blake turned and disappeared into the center of the gathering. Rachael barely heard his parting remark.

"Look me up when you have the chance."

She found Martin at her elbow casting nervous glances at the very blonde Margo.

"Uh, Martin? I think Blake had the right idea. Time to freshen up and eat? I'm sure a wonderful meal is about to be served."

"Right. Margo, if you'll lead the way....."

"Our backpacks!" Rachael hurried into the storeroom, reappearing moments later with the straps of their duffel slung over her shoulders.

Margo said nothing, but started across the room without a second glance at her charges. Martin held Rachael back until he was certain they could not be overheard.

"Notice anything about the hall?" Rachael gave him a quick snort.

"Yes, it's full of bosom."

"Oh, come on. I mean the room, the dimensions." Rachael studied their lavish surroundings.

"It's big.....and crowded."

"Yes, but it's too big. Think about the level we just left, the beams, they were nowhere near this size. The girders....."

Martin stopped quickly as his overactive imagination pictured the heights laying just beneath his feet. His stomach rebelled against the thought, forcing him to take a deep breath.

"The girders were exactly the same size as the elevator, about as big as my house. The platform shrank as we came up from the landing, incredible as that may sound. This chamber is enormous, far too large to fit into a space the size of level-ninety. Rachael continued to examine the hall with growing interest.

"I can't see an end to the room from here," she murmured, "how do you explain it?"

"Right now, I wouldn't try. Just stay close to me and be careful. This place gives me the creeps."

"Agreed, and nothing stranger than our host, Blake." Martin chuckled.

"True, but never underestimate a politician. He is a man of substance, and I would imagine great power in his own circle."

The sight of Margo waving to them from the side of the hall ended their conversation. She waited at an archway until they reached her and then led them down a narrow hallway lined with featureless, metal doors.

"You're the last on the right."

The young woman's voice surprised both of them. She had not spoken since Blake's quick introduction and her soft tones were a pleasant change from the harsh murmur of the gathering. Rachael even thought them a bit seductive.

"If you had arrived earlier you might have gotten a larger room, but this one has a window."

Before either of them could answer she turned and left them staring after her exquisite figure. Bewildered, they could do nothing but shrug their shoulders and examine the apartment.

"If this is small I'd love to see the Governor's mansion."

Rachael hurried across the spacious room toward a king-size bed and threw herself onto the pillowed mattress with a groan of delight. Her eyes roamed about the suite, relishing the wealth of detail that surrounding them.

Ornate frames held full-length mirrors at each end of the room, giving the impression of increased dimension as the room reflected back and forth between them. A carved vanity stood near the bathroom door, as ornate as the dresser across from it. In like decoration, carvings spawned from both across the walls.

"Look." Rachael pointed toward the ceiling.

"Another tree. It seems to be a central figure in their artwork." Martin continued his own scrutiny of their quarters as she spoke, but he found no window.

"The same tree. Well, the symbol certainly has significance for us. The elfin tree brought us here, and there's the dead tree you spotted on top of the knoll....."

"There was no sign of living vegetation on the plain, certainly not our trees," Rachael noted. "It must be of historic importance to their culture."

"Possibly, but I'm sure we'll find a way out if we stay long enough. Right now, I need a bathroom."

The door stood open wide enough for Martin to see the edge of a large tub and he assumed it contained all the usual furnishings. Rachael was still sprawled across the bed as, knapsack in hand, he closed the door. Opening it quickly, he stared at her reclining figure.

"What are we going to do about the sleeping arrangements?"

"And you think I'm too practical? Don't worry, Martin, we'll just get comfortable and go to sleep. It's really very simple." He shut the door without further comment.

* * * * *

Martin walked out of the bathroom in a pair of clean, unpressed slacks and a rumpled shirt. Flipping the bath towel over his shoulder he stared at the scene before him with breathless admiration.

Rachael stood in front of an enormous picture window, her silhouette framed by a million moving lights. Every building in the city was aflame with color, each girder and beam glowing with bulbs of many sizes and hues. Lights sparkled, glowed, moved, swayed in an ever changing landscape, and at its very center a great, flowering tree overlooked all the other diamonds of the night as they performed their magic.

Daring to look down, Martin stared at the deep pool far below them. An ocean of light radiated, swam in a vivid display of motion at the base of the skyscrapers. Winding its way amidst the labyrinth of color one dark thread of ultraviolet forced its way through brilliance. He knew it was the road.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Martin eased closer to Rachael as she smiled with delight.

"Unbelievable," he sighed. I don't think anything I've ever seen can measure up to this. The size, it takes your breath away. Look, those lights moving up and down, elevators?"

"Must be," she agreed. "See how the lights thicken toward the great tower? It's almost a miniature of our galaxy. There are only a few stars on the edge, but a billion suns give off their light as you move toward the center."

"Perhaps this is their universe," Martin conjectured. "There doesn't seem to be anything in the sky for them to look at. If today was any example there's no sun, probably no stars either. But, it's getting late. Dinner will be over before we get there."

Nodding, Rachael slipped away from the window and left Martin to stare at the spectacle alone. For the first time since they had entered the city, weariness overcame him and he lay down on the feather-soft mattress with a satisfied moan. He knew nothing else until Rachael shook him into consciousness.

"Hey, time to eat."

"Just resting my eyes," he mumbled.

Martin looked toward the window, but Rachael had pulled the tapestry over it. The familiar, green-leafed tree stared back at him, its branches spiraling up toward a needle-sharp peak. His attention returned to Rachael as she showed off her gown in girlish fashion.

"Where did you get that?"

"Margo brought it while you were resting your eyes. Beautiful, isn't it?" Martin yawned, leaving the bed with obvious hesitation.

"You look very attractive, I mean it. Sorry I didn't bring anything dressy, but I hardly expected to be attending a formal dinner."

He opened the door for Rachael, bowed eloquently, and then followed her into the hall. A warm feeling eased through Martin as she took his arm. It was an emotion he had not felt in years. Delighted with his new role, Martin led her down the corridor and into the great hall.

It was far more crowded now, and beside the luxury of formal dress there were uniforms present. The gray and green pastels were obvious in a chamber filled with brilliant colors. Steel helmets glared white in the harsh lighting.

Martin and Rachael joined a line at one of the tables and worked their way down an assortment of mouth-watering aromas. With plates piled high, they reached the end of the board where filled glasses awaited their pleasure. Martin reached for what appeared to be a rose'.

"Red? No, no. Choose a good white, even a green, but not a red." Blake stood behind him, smiling wryly.

"You must hurry though," he urged, "the Governor will be here shortly." Blake strutted away before they could answer.

"So nice to be noticed," Rachael cooed sarcastically. "But, when you have Margo....."

"Come on, grab a white or even a green, but leave the red alone." Martin chuckled as he headed toward a group of small tables near the far wall.

"Roast beef?"

"Looks more like veal." Martin poked his fork around the dainty rolls of meat, prodding them in an effort to identify the well-cooked substance.

"It doesn't smell like either, too dainty." She lifted a piece and sniffed cautiously.

"Well, this has to be a carrot," Martin exclaimed.

He popped the orange colored square into his mouth and chewed hungrily, slowed, and then froze with the morsel stuck in one cheek. A bitter frown distorted his face as he blinked uncomfortably and swallowed.

"Tastes like paper-mache.....sticky."

Martin lifted the wine glass and studied the clear liquid it held. The aroma said wine, his first sip said, nothing. Flat and tasteless, the promise of a familiar tang escaped him.

Rachael joined in the disappointment. Chewing cautiously she worked on a small piece of pseudo-meat, forcing herself to swallow out of self-preservation rather than enjoyment.

"I'd love to get my hands on the chef," she muttered.

"The chef had nothing to do with it. I would be willing to bet this is not a vegetable and that isn't meat. A close copy, but not genuine." Martin felt strengthened despite the pallid flavor of their meal.

"It looks delicious, smells inviting," Rachael mused, "but it's not quite what it seems. I feel cheated."

"No worse than the city," Martin exclaimed between bites. "A show of lights. An artwork in itself, but we know that it's unfinished, only a skeleton. The whole thing is a sham."

Rachael set her fork down beside the empty plate and finished her wine. She noted how drastically the atmosphere had changed in the hall. More people were merged into a single mass of spectators. The later arrivals were dressed more eloquently and jewelry became apparent as a wealthier class joined the festivities.

A stir began at the far end of the hall and necks began to turn in the general direction of a mounting applause. Martin and Rachael stood, trying to peer over the heads of those in front of them.

Pastel uniforms cut a swath through the pressing mob and formed an aisle of marble-like soldiers. Frozen at attention, their eyes stared straight ahead as the white-haired figure hurried between them and mounted an unseen podium. Rising above the guests, he accepted their accolades with a gesture of resignation. Blake stood beside him with an attitude of solemn respect.

The longer the Governo0r remained silent, the louder the tribute grew, echoing through the hall in shattering waves of sound. Blake moved forward at last and the noise subsided to a few clapping hands which seemed intent on continuing the refrain. As a good speaker should, he refused to begin until silence reigned in the chamber.

"New hope begins. The body politic remains intact and the chosen are elevated to level-ninety once again. To the future, to the promise, arise!"

A cheer rose from the floor. Striking the ceiling with the force of a thunder-clap, it rolled about the crowded chamber in unending waves until the echoes settled back on those who gave it birth.

"His excellency, Chairman of the Council, director of your will, Governor of the city, Fairmont!"

Absolute silence greeted the white-haired figure as he surveyed his audience.

"I congratulate all of you who have been victorious this day. Let our thanks be given to Shaper, for he has formed us to lead, and lead we shall. Once again the will of the people has been made known. Let us honor their decision." Mild applause was the only response to his resonant voice.

"And tonight, as if to prove the desire of our maker, we greet the newest level to be consolidated within the body politic, maintenance and entry."

Martin and Rachael were stunned, shocked into silence as a thousand eyes turned toward them, storing their faces in memory to be recognized wherever they might go. Rachael blushed, Martin's brow broke into a curtain of cold sweat as he breathed deeply and then bowed. Fairmont's eyes needled into theirs before returning to his audience.

"We are one. We are the body politic, constant and unending."

For some reason, the applause was pensive. A mood of restless anticipation moved through the assembly as though they were waiting for something special. It came with an omen of foreboding to Martin and Rachael. A frightening tenor resounded from Fairmont's deep, bass voice.

"Our work goes on without rest, without fear of sacrifice. Soon.....soon the last obstacle to our success will be destroyed and the council shall rule all things and all people." A dramatic pause silenced all of creation.

"The central-landing manhole has been sealed!"

The explosion frightened Rachael so badly, that she turned toward Martin and took his arm for support. Not only applause and cheering, but screams of delight filled the room. Fairmont smiled arrogantly as he raised his arms in a plea for order.

"The delvers shall not corrupt our life-blood," he shouted!

Madness reigned. Men and women danced in the hall, arm waving and screams driving their emotions to fever pitch. Martin and Rachael backed against the nearest wall hoping to escape the fray.

"The delvers will not blemish Shaper's dream!"

"DEATH TO THE DELVERS!" Blake's voice rose over the delirium.

"DEATH TO THE BASTARDS!"

"LOCK THEM IN THE SEWERS....."

"STARVE THEM TO DEATH!"

Madness, insanity drove the mob toward Fairmont. It crowded around the podium as his smile grew into a yawning death-mask. He let them go on until exhaustion stilled their pounding emotions and all that remained was the sound of heavy breathing. The Governor's voice turned soft, the sullen growl of a beast as it slid over the hungry crowd.

"We will segregate the deformed mind before it can taint our society. We will seek them out. We will exile them and their inferior shaping, men, women, and children. They shall be denounced, hunted down in the streets and sealed on the delving levels. Then we shall exterminate them, one by one, until nothing is left of their race."

Rachael trembled, her face drawn with the fear of a horror too deep to express. Long minutes passed before the frenzy of the crowd began to die, but Fairmont was waiting for them when they were done.

"Too many centuries have gone by in this struggle, too many innocent lives have been lost. They came with sweet words, reason, and promise. They wanted to enlighten our society with philosophies of right and wrong, good and evil."

"Their intellect gave us nothing but misery. Delver thinking almost brought about the end of the body politic. But, we have finally overcome the stigma of the delvers. Our generation shall see the end of them all, an end complete and without mercy. They have never been, nor are they now, part of the tree."

"CAST THEM OUT! CAST OUT THE DELVERS!"

Fairmont's voice rose above the surge of the crowd, driving it into a state of chaos. His arms waved, circling above his head in a signal to riot. Bodies contorted, writhed in an area too restricted for extreme movement.

They turned on each other in an emotional frenzy, punching, tearing at each other in their madness. Tables were overturned as the guests surged around the podium, clothing tore, and flesh was scarred by clawing nails.

Those too weak to fight back were pushed aside, slung back against others in the audience who were pressing forward. Crushed to the floor, several bodies lay still beneath trampling feet, others crawled away in an effort to escape the bedlam. Women abandoned by their escorts were sieved back toward the walls and restrained by the military.

The men crowded forward, kneeling before Fairmont's pulpit as though to receive a holy commission before going into battle. Arms raised majestically, the white-haired figure lifted his eyes toward the heavens and performed the benediction.

"Almighty Shaper, hear our plea. Give strength to the chosen of your forming. Raise up their arms to deal the blow of blows and end the blemish of a pestilence wrongly set upon this congregation. Let now the end be done, let the scourge be complete."

Silence echoed in their ears until one mighty breath escaped from the speaker. Rising unsteadily, the body politic faced the Governor.

"I now summon the elected government to action. I proclaim the nine thousand, six hundred and eighty-seventh council of Fairmont, to be in session."

The audience congregated again, men and women mingling in a spirit of calm celebration. Glasses raised, clinked together and were emptied by the emotionally drained participants. Torn jackets and ruined dresses returned to sanity while the Governor, surrounded by his troops, evaporated from the hall like a flimsy vapor.

Martin and Rachael were left standing against the wall, staring in disbelief while disheveled and half-naked people returned to the festivities as though nothing had happened. With Fairmont gone, they seemed intent on driving themselves into varying states of drunkenness, and their movements were becoming anything but stable.

Martin was encouraged by the sight of Margo's smiling face as she approached them, the side of her dress torn down the seam. She made no attempt to cover her naked breast. Martin found it difficult to take his eyes from the distended nipple, but Rachael's elbow finally brought him to his senses.

"Margo, you look a little.....tired," he blushed.

"Blake will see you." She turned abruptly.

"You mean, now? What does he want?" Margo looked back over her shoulder, but offered no explanation.

Assuming they were to follow her, Martin took Rachael's arm and started after the shapely woman. This time they walked to end of the great hall. Margo stood waiting for them at a single doorway and ushered them through in silence. She returned to the party without repairing her dress.

"Nothing to say," Martin urged?

"Nothing." Rachael bit her lip nervously. "I don't like this private audience. You know they have to be aware that we're not one of the body, and the women in this place seem to be secondary citizens, almost an after thought. So I can't quite imagine why I've been asked along except to add to the pleasure of their game. I would do well to keep quiet."

"I meant about, Margo. UH!" Martin grunted as Rachael's elbow dug sharply into his side.

He assumed they were going in the right direction for there were no more doors along the hallway to confuse them. They followed it in a hard right turn and found themselves confronted by a large, ornate tapestry. The tree stood emblazoned on its dark material.

The guards on either side seemed indifferent to their presence. One of them moved to pull the curtain aside, allowing Martin and Rachael an unhindered entrance into the room beyond.

Blake sat behind a small, metal desk. Like the interior of the suite, it reflected a dull, white coloring. The rug, black as night, bore the symbol of the tree.

"Come in, Martin, Rachael....." He gestured toward the only two chairs in the room.

"What did you think of the Governor's speech? Compelling wasn't it?"

"Impressive. Yes," Martin cleared his throat, "inspiring."

Blake appraised him quickly and then turned his attention toward Rachael. She smiled quickly and looked away.

"A perfect forming," Blake sighed. "I will have Rachael listed in the register as your concubine."

Concu....." She coughed angrily, but found silence before her objection could be noted.

"You are honored to be part of the council at a time when the delving question will finally reach a conclusion. I need not tell you that Fairmont is delighted to have the groundling in the fold at last. Not that Gateman's loyalty could ever be questioned, but he has been hesitant about taking an active role in level-ninety business."

"Your presence here indicates his complete agreement to the council's plan of extermination. We must assume that you have no objection to any means Fairmont may use to end the issue?"

"Uh, no, of course not. After all, don't the ends justify the means?" Blake raised an eyebrow and smiled warmly.

"Excellent, very good, Martin. The ends justify the means, I must remember to repeat your phrase to the Governor. Very clever."

Rachael squirmed uncomfortably, but Martin was playing a part and there was no stopping him. If he did not know what he was agreeing to, at least he was preserving their safety.

"I must show you this," Blake crowed.

Leaving his desk he hurried across the room to a shelf of books and carefully withdrew a long scroll. Bending over the desk he unrolled the paper until it lay flat across the metal top, and stared at it intently.

"Here," he pointed, "is the central-landing manhole. It was sealed today by the elite guard with the loss of thirty good soldiers." His teeth ground in anger.

"Delvers," Martin offered? Blake shook his head woefully.

"If only they would give us that good an excuse. No, in the usual way of their kind they slunk back into the sewers. Non-violent and unprotesting they continue to do nothing but die most amusingly. The guards worked too late, slummers did them in."

"But," he whirled around, "they wouldn't have been there at all except for the delver pigs. They'll pay a price, Fairmont has ordered fifty executed for every guard who was taken down." He paused long enough to regain his composure.

"Here, look at this."

Martin examined the complex blueprint, noting long tunnels criss-crossing the city in every area of level-one. The maze seemed enormous, capable of protecting its inhabitants against an army of huge proportions. The manholes, marked in red, appeared to number in the thousands.

"The gate openings were closed long ago, but the cursed delvers have been able to come and go as they please through the central-landing. Today we put an end to that." He smiled proudly.

"Still a lot of openings," Martin sighed.

"But few enough to be covered by the guard. The most difficult problem centers around the viaducts."

Blake's finger traced a line to one side of the city opposite Gateman's post. Catacomb size vaults were outlined beneath the city limits, obviously larger than the drawing could indicate. Martin's eye noted a single building outside the border.

'This," he pointed?

"We have examined the oldest plans, but there is nothing to indicate that tunnels were ever built....." Blake stared at Martin for a moment and then scowled.

"Those sacrilegious bastards! Martin, you are indeed an asset to the council. I shall make recommendations for you with, Fairmont. Using Shaper's temple for a doorway out of the sewers," he growled. Blake slapped Martin on the back, and nodded toward Rachael.

"You are a fortunate woman to have such an intelligent consort. Obviously you have been studying the problem for a long time." Blake retired to his overstuffed chair and sat, hands behind his head.

"Shaper's intent never ceases to amaze me. He forms those of all levels for his own purpose, even as he formed you to be part of the council. We accept the fact, formed we are and formed we stay. Only the delvers are insolent enough to question Shaper's personal design."

Martin sensed a half-spoken philosophy in Blake's words and decided not to comment. Weariness was overcoming him despite his efforts to fight it off. He yawned helplessly.

"How very rude of me, you must be exhausted after your first experience with the body politic. I can't blame you, I'm a bit tired myself. Off with you, to bed. Time for the work will come soon enough."

Dismissed with a wave of Blake's hand, Martin and Rachael hurried out the door. They dared a mutual sigh of relief only after the guards were far behind them. Hurrying down the corridor, they entered the great hall and stopped in awe of its empty silence.

Ghosts echoed in the dimly lit space, long shadows that fell where cheering crowds once milled. Flickers of light darted through a dozen vaulted windows near the ceiling, reflecting the lights of city. The pulse of its being splashed across marbled walls in greens, yellows, and blues; reds chased darkness away forcing Martin and Rachael to slow their pace.

The great cathedral surrounded them in quiet, not one sound emanating through the sacred temple of Shaper's design. From the vaulted roof far above them, a thousand stone-carved faces glared down, expressions of wonder sculpted to last forever as they stared across the hall toward the massive, flowering tree. Tables and chairs, everything had been cleared away by parties unknown and everything shone with a dampness left by well-used mops and rags.

Neither of them said a word until they reached the safety of their room. Despite feeling uneasy, they were pleased to see a tray of fruit on the vanity. Filled wine glasses had been included.

"I don't like this at all," Martin Exclaimed. "We've obviously entered this dimension in the midst of a civil uprising. As far as Blake is concerned, we're on the Governor's side."

"You didn't do much to prove otherwise." Rachael nibbled at a tasteless snack.

"I wasn't given much of a choice. After all....."

"Now, now, you don't have to defend yourself with me," Rachael cooed. "I couldn't have done any better. Considering a woman's position in this society, probably a lot worse. Concubine, can you believe it? And what was all that about a temple?"

"I don't know. I merely pointed to the markings of a building outside the city wondering what it was. Blake took it from there, just like the concubine thing."

Martin chuckled softly, joining her at the tray. The food was still bad but filling, and he ate as much as he dared. Rachael had taken off her dress, unmindful of Martin's bashful glances. She took her time in slipping into a clean pair of slacks.

Gateman mentioned the delvers," he muttered. "The idea that some of them might have gotten out of the sewers worried him."

"But he didn't get frantic about it," Rachael noted. "These people seem to be on a holy crusade. Their emotions are absolute on the subject, death or dishonor. It scares the hell out of me."

Martin emptied his glass and sat on the edge of the bed. His eyelids flickered wearily and his attention wavered as sleep overcame his weakened senses.

"We'd better get in touch with Gateman," he muttered. "Things are happening too fast.....need to let him know what we've done. Hope we haven't caused trouble....."

Rachael watched him lay back as he spoke. Martin fell asleep before his head finished turning to one side on the pillow. Smiling tenderly, she lay down beside him and kissed his cheek.