"Go to matter phase," Sorlij ordered.
The corporeal ship drifted in space like a sea vessel becalmed. In matter phase, the viewscreens showed nothing but the monotony of space. They decided to leave the ship in matter and return to energy phase themselves for compatibility. At least they could read brain waves.
Once away from the ship they needed some time to adjust to a kaleidoscope of visuals and the deluge of raw emotion bombarding them: changing landscapes of pastoral serenity, city buildings, meadows, a pulpit or two, dwelling places of austere simplicity or garishness, all under a continual verbal roar. Sifting through the storm of voices and energy, Sorlij's worst fears plummeted to new depths. "Oh, Barion ..."
"It's the Rock for them," Maj knew. "Shall we ask directions?"
"Got to start somewhere."
They found themselves on desert sand under a blistering sun. Not far away, an oddly garbed human crouched on his knees, face to the earth in an attitude of fervent prayer.
"Excuse me," Sorlij began. "We're strangers here. Could you tell us - ?"
The worshipper glared around, sprang up and charged at them with a wicked curved sword. "ALLAH IS THE ONE TRUE GOD!" Swoosh!
The blow merely passed through Sorlij, who dissolved and materialized further away, a little put out. "Now, see here, whoever you are - "
Maj made a stab at it. "We're looking for someone - "
The mad alien turned on her, swinging the sword. "PIGS!"
Maj discorporated and reappeared next to Sorlij. "Look, you might show a little court - "
"Allah el Allah-h-h. The one, the all-merciful," the Moslem yodeled, winding up for another try at them -
But they were long gone before the sword completed its futile arc, passing over landscape that changed with disconcerting frequency along with a colorful cast of characters. They had bewildering adventures. A large, scented female with plastic flowers on her powdered bosom exhorted them to join something called the Brotherhood of the Holiest Elect. Someone named Scotty invited them for the weekend at Pola Negri's. A group of intense women, ignoring Sorlij, made a breathy, hands-on fuss over Maj and invited her to a sisterhood party "without the sexist." Twice more they were attacked, once with something saw-toothed and nasty, once with a tube that went rat-tat-tat. They managed to escape through montaging scenery to a quiet, empty street with small dwellings in white plaster and ocher tile. Maj wilted down on the lip of a quaint stone well, confused and discouraged.
"Somewhere in this madness I can read Barion," Sorlij maintained.
"If someone would just give us clear directions before they turned religious, erotic or homicidal. Sit down, dear, you look done in."
"I am." Sorlij drew a deep breath, enjoying the tranquillity of silence. "At least it's quiet here."
"You two!"
Maj sighed. "At least it was."
"Get ready to move. I'm tired of being polite."
Their interceptor bore down on them, a short, powerfully built man in late Roman dress.
"Greetings," Sorlij attempted. "We're a bit new around here - "
"No." Bishop Augustine inspected Sorlij up and down. "You are not Him."
"No, I suppose not," said Sorlij, staying carefully in neutral.
"I have sought Him for sixteen hundred years. I will find Him if it takes that long again."
"Our wish to the smallest syllable," said the diplomatic Maj. "We're looking for him, too."
Augustine surveyed Maj with unconcealed disapproval. "Cover yourself!" After observing the better local female forms, Maj had refined the concept to a dazzling image with a charmingly minimal regard to costume. "You are a woman."
"As you build them, more or less."
"The beauty of woman is a snare."
"I did hope I was in good taste. The one we're seeking is unusual to your sort. Very handsome." Maj had always thought Barion attractive when he wasn't suffering from poetry or cosmic purpose. "Blondish, tends to be tedious. We call him Barion."
"Oh, that one." The contempt was audible. "He is always underfoot somewhere. I think he is a little dim."
Sorlij agreed. "Quite possibly."
"I purpose to see that one myself - scant joy or profit as it holds. Come along."
Once more the scenery dissolved with unsettling rapidity. The street became a plain hallway spaced with office doors. They followed the bull figure of Augustine until he halted at one, knocked explosively and entered without invitation.
"Here is where he works. If the verb applies," Augustine qualified. "Sort of a general fetch-and-carry. Barion, are you here?"
"Augustine? Just a moment, Your Grace." A drawer slammed shut somewhere behind a row of ancient green filing cabinets. Barion emerged, hands full of papers. "Sorlij and Maj! I knew someone was in the neighborhood."
"Of course it's us," Sorlij acknowledged brusquely. "What's the meaning of this dissonant lunacy?"
"Tact, dear," Maj intervened delicately. "I'm sure Barion has an interesting explanation."
"Well, Maj: after all these eons." Barion made a valiant try at gallantry. "You've matured splendidly."
"And yourself, although you look a little drawn."
"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you," Barion confessed with more honesty than was apparent. "Overjoyed is not the word. Sit down."
Sorlij and Maj settled into wooden office chairs that creaked in protest at every move. Augustine remained standing, a rock of long-thwarted purpose. "Attend me, Barion. I have been trying for sixteen centuries to extract from you a plain answer as to - "
"EEEE!" Maj shrieked and turned dark blue with horror. A nightmare loomed suddenly in the open doorway, most of its body burned to char, the rest caked with blood.
"Which way to the martyrs, please?" the apparition inquired.
"Martyrs." Barion riffled through a Rolodex. "Martyrs . . . yes: William James, just down the hall."
"Thanks awfully." The horror bobbed out of sight.
"Have to be a little patient with martyrs," Barion explained genially. "They tend to feel arrivte. Mr. James helps them put it all in perspective. Well." Barion sat down at his desk. "I suppose you're here to collect us - a-and I imagine you have a great many questions."
Masking his mind from them, Barion fired an urgent message at Coyul across the void -
SORLIJ AND MAJ: READY OR NOT, HERE THEY ARE. GO WITH WHAT YOU'VE GOT.
The reply came instantaneously, hurried and harried: