"We've been through all this," he said savagely.

"We may still require her to abort. We do not wish a de- formed infant born; it's against public policy."

Staring at the doctor in fear, Herb said, "But she's six months into her pregnancy!"

"We have it down as five months," the doctor said. "Well within the legal period."

"You can't do it without her consent, Herb said; his fear became wild.

"The decision," the doctor told him, "is no longer yours to make, now that you have returned to Earth. A medical board will study the matter."

It was obvious to Herb Asher that there would be a mandatory abortion. He knew what the board would decide-had decided. In the corner of the room a piped-in music source gave forth the odious background noise of soupy strings. The same sound, he realized, that he had heard off and on at his dome. But now the music changed, and he realized that a popular number of the Fox's was coming up. As the doctor sat filling out medical forms the Fox's voice could distantly be heard. It gave him comfort.

Come again! Sweet love doth now invite Thy graces, that refrain To do me due delight.

The lady doctor's lips moved reflexively in synchronization with the Fox's familiar Dowland song. All at once Herb Asher became aware that the voice from the speaker only resembled the Fox's. The voice was no longer sing- ing; it was speaking. The faint voice said distinctly: There will be no abortion. There will be a birth.

At her desk the doctor seemed unaware of the transition. Yah has cooked the audio signal, Herb Asher realized. As he watched he saw the doctor pause, pen lifted from the page before her. Subliminal, he said to himself as he watched the doctor hesitate. The woman still imagines she is hearing a familiar song. Familiar lyrics. She is in a kind of spell. As if hypnotized. The song resumed.

"We can't abort her legally if she's six months along," the doctor said hesitantly. "Mr. Asher, there must be an error. We have her down as five. Five months into her pregnancy. But if you say six, then-"

"Examine her if you want," Herb Asher said. "It's at least six. Make your own determination."

"I-" The doctor rubbed her forehead, wincing; she shut her eyes and grimaced, as in pain. "I see no reason to-" She broke off, as if unable to remember what she intended to say. "I see no reason," she resumed after a moment, "to dispute this." She pressed a b.u.t.ton on her desk intercom. The door opened and a uniformed Immigration official stood there. A moment later he was joined by a uniformed Customs agent.

"The matter is settled," the doctor said to the Immigration official. "We can't force her to abort; she's too far along."

The Immigration official gazed down at her fixedly.

"It's the law," the doctor said.

"Mr. Asher," the Customs agent said, "let me ask you some- thing. In your wife's declaration prepared for Customs clearance she lists two phylacteries. What is a phylactery?"

"I don't know," Herb Asher said.

"Aren't you Jewish?" the Customs agent said. "Every Jew knows what a phylactery is. Your wife, then, is Jewish and you are not?"

"Well," Herb Asher said, "she is C.I.C. but-" He paused. He sensed himself moving step by step into a trap. It was patently impossible that a husband would not know his wife's religion. They are getting into an area I do not want to discuss, he said to himself. "I'm a Christian," he said, then. "Although I was raised Scientific Legate. I belonged to the Party's Youth Corps. But now-"

"But Mrs. Asher is Jewish. Hence the phylacteries. You've never seen her put them on? One goes on the head; one goes on the left arm. They're small square leathern boxes containing sec- tions of Hebrew scripture. It strikes me as odd that you don't know anything about this. How long have you known each other?"

"A long time," Herb Asher said.

"Is she really your wife?" the Immigration official said. "If she is six months along in her pregnancy-" He consulted with some of the doc.u.ments lying on the doctor's desk. "She was pregnant when you married her. Are you the father of the child?'

"Of course." he said.

"What blood type are you? Well, I have it here." The Immigration official began going through the filled-out legal and medi- cal forms. "It's somewhere The fone on the desk rang; the lady doctor picked it up and identified herself. "For you." She handed the receiver to the Immigration official. The Immigration official, raptly attentive, listened in silence; then, putting his hand over the audio sender, he said irritably to Herb Asher, "The blood type checks out. You two are cleared. But we want to talk to Tate, the older man who-" He broke off and again listened to his fone.

"You can call a cab from the payfone in the lounge," the Customs agent said.

"We're free to go?" Herb Asher said. The Customs agent nodded.

"Something is wrong," the doctor said; again she had re- moved her gla.s.ses and sat rubbing her eyes.

"There's this other matter," the Customs agent said to her, and bent down to present her with a stack of doc.u.ments.

"Do you know where Tate is?" the Immigration official called after Herb Asher as he and Rybys made their way from the examination room.

"No, I don't," Herb said, and found himself in the corridor; supporting Rybys he walked step by step back down the corridor to the lounge. "Sit down," he said to her, depositing her in a heap on a couch. Several waiting people gazed at them dully. "I'll fone. I'll be right back. Do you have any change'? I need a five-dollar piece." "Christ," Rybys murmured. "No. I don't have." "We got through," he said to her in a low voice. "OK!" she said angrily. "I'll fone for a cab." Going through his pockets, searching for a five-dollar piece, he felt elated. Yah had intervened, distantly and feebly, but it had been enough.

Ten minutes later they and their luggage were aboard a Yellow flycab, rising up from the Washington, D.C. s.p.a.ceport, heading in the direction of Bethesda-Chevy Chase.

"Where the h.e.l.l is Elias?" Rybys managed to say.

"He drew their attention," Herb said. "He diverted them. Away from "Great," she said. "So now he could be anywhere."

All at once a large commercial flycar came hurtling toward them at reckless speed. The robot driver of the cab cried out in dismay. And then the ma.s.sive flycar sideswiped them; it happened in an instant. Vio- lent waves of concussion hurled the cab in a downward spiral; Herb Asher clutched his wife against him-buildings bloomed into hugeness, and he knew, he knew absolutely and utterly, what had happened. The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, he thought in pain; he hurt physi- cally; he ached from the realization. Warning beepers in the cab had gone off-"

Yah's protection wasn't enough, he realized as the cab spun lower and lower like a falling, withered leaf. It's too weak. Too weak here. The cab struck the edge of a high-rise building. Darkness came and Herb Asher knew no more.

He lay in a hospital bed, wired up and tubed up to countless devices like a cyborg ent.i.ty.

"Mr. Asher?" a voice was saying, a male voice. "Mr. Asher, can you hear me?"

He tried to nod but could not.

"You have suffered serious internal damage," the male voice said. "I am Dr. Pope. You've been unconscious for five days. Surgery was performed on you but your ruptured spleen had to be removed. That's only a part of it. You are going to be put cryonic suspension until replacement organs- Can you hear me?"

"Yes," he said.

"-Until replacement organs, available from donors, can be procured. The waiting list isn't very long; you should be in sus- pension for only a few weeks. How long, specifically-"

"My wife."

"Your wife is dead. She lost brain function for too long a time. We had to rule out cryonic suspension for her. It wouldn't have been of any use."

"The baby."

"The fetus is alive," Dr. Pope said. "Your wife's uncle, Mr. Tate, has arrived and has taken legal responsibility. We've re- moved the fetus from her body and placed it in a synthowomb. According to all our tests it was not damaged by the trauma, which is something of a miracle."

Grimly, Herb Asher thought, Exactly.

"Your wife asked that he be called Emmanuel," Dr. Pope said.

"I know."

As he lost consciousness Herb Asher said to himself, Yah's plans have not been completely wrecked. Yah has not been defeated entirely. There is still hope. But not very much.

"Belial," he whispered.

"Pardon me?" Dr. Pope leaned close to hear. "Belial? Is that someone you want us to contact? Someone who should know?' Herb Asher said, "He knows."

The chief prelate of the Christian-Islamic Church said to the procurator maximus of the Scientific Legate, "Something went wrong. They got past Immigration."

"Where did they go? They have to have gone somewhere.

"Elias Tate disappeared even before the Customs inspection. We have no idea where he is. As for the Ashers-" The cardinal hesitated. "They were last seen leaving in a cab. I'm sorry. Bulkowsky said, "We will find them."

"With G.o.d's help," the cardinal said, and crossed himself. Bulkowsky, seeing that, did likewise.

"The power of evil," Bulkowsky said.

"Yes," the cardinal said. "That is what we are up against."

"But it loses in the end."

"Yes, absolutely. I am going to the chapel, now. To pray. I advise you to do the same."

Raising an eyebrow, Bulkowsky regarded him. His expression could not be read; it was intricate.

CHAPTER 10.

When Herb Asher awoke he was told perplexing facts. He had spent-not weeks-but years in cryonic suspension. The doctors could not explain why it had taken so long to obtain replacement organs. Circ.u.mstances, they told him, beyond our control. Procedural problems. He said, "What about Emmanuel?"

Dr. Pope, who looked older and grayer and more distinguished than before, said, "Someone broke into the hospital and removed your son from the synthowomb." "When?"

"Almost at once. The fetus was in the synthowomb for only a day, according to our records."

"Do you know who did it?"

"According to our video tapes-we monitor our syntho- wombs constantly-it was an elderly bearded man." After a pause Dr. Pope added, "Deranged in appearance. You must face the very high probability factor that your son is dead, has in fact been dead for ten years, either from natural causes, which is to say from being taken out of his synthowomb . . . or due to the actions of the elderly bearded man. Either deliberate or acciden- tal. The police could not locate either of them. I'm sorry.'' Elias Tate, Herb said to himself. Spiriting Emmanuel away. to safety. He shut his eyes and felt overwhelming grat.i.tude. How do you feel?" Dr. Pope inquired. I dreamed. I didn't know that people in cryonic suspension were conscious."

"You weren't."

"I dreamed again and again about my wife." He felt bitter grief hover over him and then descend on him, filling him; the grief was too much. "Always I found myself back there with her. When we met, before we met. The trip to Earth. Little things. Dishes of spoiled food . . . she was sloppy."

"But you do have your son.

"Yes," he said. He wondered how he would be able to find Elias and Emmanuel. They will have to find me, he realized. For a month he remained at the hospital, undergoing remedial therapy to build up his strength, and then, on a cool morning in mid-March, the hospital discharged him. Suitcase in hand he walked down the front steps, shaky and afraid but happy to be free. Every day during his therapy he had expected the authorities to come swooping down on him. They did not. He wondered why. As he stood with a throng of people trying to flag down a flycar Yellow cab he noticed a blind beggar standing off to one side, an ancient, white-haired, very large man wearing soiled clothing; the old man held a cup.

"Elias," Herb Asher said. Going over to him he regarded his old friend. Neither of them spoke for a time and then Elias Tate said, "h.e.l.lo, Herbert."

"Rybys told me you often take the form of a beggar," Herb Asher said. He reached out to put his arms around the old man, but Elias shook his head.

"It is Pa.s.sover," Elias said. "And I am here. The power of my spirit is too great; you should not touch me. It is all my spirit, now, at this moment."

"You are not a man," Herb Asher said, awed.

"I am many men," Elias said. 'it's good to see you again. Emmanuel said you would be released today."

"The boy is all right?"

"He is beautiful."

"I saw him," Herb Asher said. "Once, a while ago. In a vision that-" He paused. "Jehovah sent to me. To help me."

"Did you dream?" Elias asked.

"About Rybys. And about you as well. About everything that happened. I lived it over and over again."

"But now you are alive again," Elias said. "Welcome back, Herbert Asher. We have much to do."

"Do we have a chance? Do we have any real chance?"

"The boy is ten years old," Elias said. "He has confused their wits, scrambled up their thinking. He has made them forget. But-" Elias was silent a moment. "He, too, has forgotten. You will see. A few years ago he began to remember; he heard a song and some of his memories came back. Enough, perhaps, or maybe not enough. You may bring back more. He programmed himself, originally, before the accident."

With extreme difficulty Herb Asher said, "He was injured, then? In the accident?"

Elias nodded. Somberly.

"Brain damage." Herb Asher said; he saw the expression on his friend's face. Again the old man nodded, the elderly beggar with the cup. The immortal Elijah, here at Pa.s.sover. As always. The eternal, helping friend of man. Tattered and shabby, and very wise.