ALAN FOSTER - the mocking program

"What Way is that?" he asked as she turned and he followed her.

"Why, the Right Way, of course. But if you are truly a seeker, as you claim, and not just another dumb, Neanderthalic fedoco, you already know that."

"The blue light?" he inquired as they turned a sharp corner in the featureless corridor.

"We don't fear ordinary weapons such as you bear on your person. We have ways of dealing with those. Our concern was that you might have carried, willingly or otherwise, a disruptor on your person. That would concern us." Glancing back at him, she smiled beatifically. "We can't have intruders spizzing our crunch."

"I feel exactly the same way," he replied truthfully.

The corridor opened with unexpected abruptness into a large, darkened room. The ceiling above had been removed, allowing the ranks of coil chairs to move freely between two floors. Screens glowed and heads-up projections filled much of the available space. More than two dozen acolytes of the Wise sat or slumped before the astonishing plethora of displays. Some of the attentive operators were directly wired in via contact caps, while others murmured to sensitive vorecs or fingered keyboards. The soft rise and fall of their voices as they whispered verbal commands to their consoles reminded Cardenas of muffled Gregorian chant, though the language they were speaking had as much to do with Latin as Finnish did with Fijian.

In the center of it all, at the far end of the chamber, Aurilac the Wise reposed contentedly in a reclining lounge that pivoted in response to his murmured commands. Gray of hair and sardonic of aspect, alert of eye and swollen of body, he waved off the woman who had just finished filling his half-meter-long glycol pipe and languidly blew a cloud of aromatic smoke in Cardenas's direction. Sampling the puff with a sniff, the Inspector identified at least three different soporifics in addition to the masking fragrance.

"Why don't you just ingest?" He halted before the lounge. If intended to give the appearance of a throne, it was decidedly cavalier in design. The young woman who had escorted him folded her hands and remained by his side. What surprises besides her undeniably attractive self lay concealed beneath the nictitating electronic garb that covered her from head to toe he did not know, but he suspected they would be potentially lethal.

Aurilac the Wise waved the pipe like a conductor halfway through a Ravel largo and grinned. "Could. Be more efficient. But there's no aesthetic appeal in popping a pill. This is more fun, and I really think it enhances the potency." His gaze narrowed. "You're an intuit."

For the first time since he had entered the outside alley, Cardenas was surprised. "How do you know that?"

"I didn't. But I'm a good guesser. You have to be, when you're forced to live with my physical problems." Wincing, he shifted his mass on the lounge.

"Is that a truth you've learned?"

"Better believe it, brother. There's no truth like incurable back pain. It's all bound up with reality. But then, reality is all about being bound to something. You're bound to your work, Camille there is bound to her preferences." He made a sweeping gesture, taking in the room of active acolytes. "We're all of us bound to something. It's those few who understand the nature of those bindings who have reached something of an understanding with their inner selves, and with life." He took another puff of the pipe. Smoke curled upward like translucent snakes preparing to strike. "Being an intuit, you already know that."

"I know a few things," Cardenas replied sincerely.

"But not enough." Coughing, Aurilac set the pipe aside. "Or you wouldn't be here."

The Inspector nodded imperceptibly. "I need your help. Yours, and that of your fellow believers."

The woman attending the reclining ecclesiastic spoke up sharply. "Why should we help you? Why should we tell you anything? The NFP has never done anything for us."

"I beg to differ, senora. We have left you alone."

Aurilac chuckled. "Ah, the wondrous benefits of official oversight! A fedoco with a sense of humor. Humor is a wedge for opening reluctant truths." Sitting up, he winked at his visitor. "Part of being a successful cleric is knowing how to dispense pithy aphorisms."

"You're good at it," Cardenas told him truthfully.

"Something else that binds us together. I suppose you're bound to ask me some questions. Doesn't mean I'll answer them."

"You don't have to. This isn't about you, or your sect. I'm trying to find a woman."

Beside him, Camille laughed softly. When she did so, the lights adorning her raiment flickered more brightly. "You need to look in a sextel, not the Bonezone."

Cardenas eyed her tolerantly. "A woman and her daughter."

Camille returned his gaze. "I rest my case."

With a sigh, the Inspector turned his full attention to the mildly curious Aurilac. "Others are looking for them as well. Some want to question them, some to kill them."

Aurilac grunted. "And which is it you intend?"

Cardenas took a deep breath. "I just want to find out what the hell is going on."

Exhibiting unexpected energy, the ecclesiastic sat up sharply, so quickly that he startled his doting attendant. Closing his eyes, he brought both hands down in front of him and genuflected in his visitor's direction. A look of satisfaction creased his features.

"Wonder of wonders! All praise to the Universal Box. A fedoco who not only has a sense of humor, but hints at wisdom. Who would have thought to see such a thing." Leaning back, he recovered his pipe. "That, my friend, is as close to a universal truth as any I have heard expounded. At least in the past week. I'm not saying we can help you, but what is it you want to know about these two females. Why do others want to question them, or wish them dead?"

"When I find them, I'll ask them," Cardenas replied. The Wise was coming around. The Inspector could tell.

Aurilac sighed. "Bound or unbound, they're all the same, and they don't even realize it." Setting the pipe aside, he picked up a vorec in his thick fingers. "What are their names?" By way of reply, Cardenas fingered his spinner and passed the cleric a wafer containing much of what had been learned about Surtsey and Katla Mockerkin.

Speaking directly into the vorec, Aurilac communicated with his flock. Immediately, new screens winked to life and freshly charged heads-ups glowed to one side and overhead. Less than a minute passed before the Wise rubbed the tiny receiver clipped to his right ear. His expression was not encouraging.

"No record of their current whereabouts. They are not bound to the community. You're sure of the names and likenesses?"

Cardenas's lips tightened. "Positive. I thought your people had access to closed boxes."

Aurilac shrugged slightly, and the soft flesh overlying his shoulder blades rippled. "Ay, it doesn't matter what you search if there's nothing inside. If the two you seek are within Namerica, there is no record of their presence. They must be well and truly hidden. Perhaps even by surgery."

An impatient and disappointed Cardenas shook his head. "They've had time enough to run or undergo alteration, but not both."

Aurilac was apologetic. "I'm sorry. If they were extant, we would know." Again he took in his flickering, luminous surroundings. "People can hide, but not numbers. You know that 'numerology' used to mean something entirely different?"

Cardenas had no more time for philosophical chit-chat. "Can you look for them one more time? In a place called Friendship?"

Aurilac passed the information along. Word came back almost instantly that no woman and girl of the indicated description had recently been reported in Pennsylvania, Iowa, or Manitoba.

Cardenas refused to admit defeat. Surtsey and Katla Mockerkin had to be somewhere. Confident of the some, he needed only to pinpoint the where. "Try linguistic analogs," he finally suggested.