The Peacemen hoarded the remains of pre-purge invention, Dard noted as he matched his steps to Kimber’s across the park at an unhurried pace, but their maintenance of such appliances was not promising. Several of the flood- lights were out and there were cracks in the concrete under his boots. There couldn’t be too many techneers left in the slave-labor camps of the Temple gangs. Some day no ’copter would rise from this park, no light would burn. Had the leaders of Pax thought of that, or didn’t they care? The old cities built by the techneers were rubble fit only for bats and birds. Now there were only grubby villages slipping back and back, with the wilderness edging down across the field to nibble at man’s building.
So far they had not met anyone, but now they approached the western gate of the Temple and there was a guard. Dard straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin summoned that arrogance of bearing which cloaked a Peaceman as tightly as the gaudy uniform. Kimber had the right presence. He strode along with a damn-devil air suitable to a Laurel Wearer. Dard did his best to copy that. But the boy couldn’t quite suppress a half-sigh of relief when the guard did not attempt to stop them and they crossed the threshold unchallenged.
Of course, they were still far from the sanctuary of the Voice. And Dard’s knowledge of the place would not take them farther than the second court.
Kimber stopped and touched his companion’s sleeve. Together they slipped out of the direct path of the light up to the shadowed obscurity behind one of the massive pillars.
Before them lay the inner court where the commoners might gather-in fact were expected to gather-to hear words of wisdom as mouthed from the August Sayings of Renzi by one of the Laurel Wearers. It was now deserted. After dark none of those not “Wedded to the Inner Peace” dared enter the Temple. Which would make the venture more precarious since they would be alone among the Peacemen and might betray themselves by ignorance of custom. Dard’s hand twitched, but he kept it off the stun gun.
“The Voice?”
Dard pointed to the archway at the other end of the inner court. What they sought lay beyond that, but where-he wasn’t sure. Kimber went on, flitting from pillar to pillar, and Dard followed on a woodman’s sure, silent feet.
Twice they stiffened into inanimateness as others tramped into the open. Peacemen, two Laurel Wearers and, just as they had almost reached the archway, a third party-two shuffling labor slaves carrying a box under the malicious eye of a single lounging guard.
Kimber leaned back behind a pillar and drew Dard in beside him.
“Lot’s of traffic.” The whispered comment was tinged with laughter and Dard saw that the pilot was smiling, an eager fire in his eyes.