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vehicles remained operative, of course. The electricity here was generated by sunlight, not fossil fuel, for MT was as yet unable to preempt the entire light of the sun for the emigration program. “Maybe tomorrow,” the wry joke went.
    The reason for the lack of clear boundaries to the region was that the electric power lines did not extend all the way to the periphery, and batteries were reserved for emergency use. But radio communication reached some distance farther out, so that selected offices could be linked to the news of the world. At this fringe, wood was the fuel of choice where it was available.
    This was a pleasant enough ride, allowing Brother Paul to rest his weary feet. He felt a bit guilty about using the Order credit card for this service, but in one day he traversed more territory than he had in a week of foot travel. He could not otherwise have arrived on time.
    He spent this night at the Station of the Coordinator for the Order in this region: the Right Reverend Father Crowder. Brother Paul was somewhat awed by the august presence of this pepper-maned elder, but the Right Reverend quickly made him even less at ease. “How I envy you your youth and courage, Brother! I daresay you run the cross-country kilometer in under three minutes.”
    “Uh, sometimes—”
    “Never cracked three-ten myself. Or the five-minute mile. But once I managed fifteen honest pullups in thirty seconds on a rafter in the chapel.” He smiled ruefully. “The chapelmaster caught me. He never said a word—but, oh, the look he gave me! I never had the nerve to try it again. But I’m sure you would never allow such a minor excuse to interfere with your exercise.”
    Obviously the man knew something about Brother Paul’s background—especially the calisthenics he had been sneaking in when he thought no one was watching. He hoped he wasn’t blushing.
    “The mission you now face requires a good deal more nerve than that sort of thing,” Right Reverend Crowder continued. “You have nerve, presence of mind, great strength, and a certain refreshing objectivity. These were qualities we were looking for. Yet it will not be easy. Not only must you face God—you must pass judgment on His validity. I do not envy you this charge.” He turned and put his strong, weathered hands on Brother Paul’s shoulders. “God bless you and give you strength,” he said sincerely.
    God bless you … Brother Paul swayed, closing his eyes in momentary pain.
    “Easy, Brother,” the Right Reverend said, steadying him. “I know you are tired after your arduous journey. Go to your room and lie down; get a good night’s rest. We shall see you safely on the bus to the mattermission station in the morning.”
    The Right Reverend was, of course, as good as his word. Well rested and well fed, Brother Paul was deposited on the bus for a four-hour journey into the very depths of civilization. Thus, quite suddenly, he came to the MT station: Twenty-First Century America.
    He was met as he stepped down from the coach by an MT official dressed in a rather garish blue uniform. “Very good,” the young man said crisply, sourly eyeing Brother Paul’s travel-soiled Order robe. “You are the representative of the Visual Order—”
    “The Holy Order of Vision,” Brother Paul corrected him tolerantly. A Druid never would have made such an error, but this was, after all, a lay official. “Holy as in ‘whole,’ for we try to embrace the entire spirit of—”
    “Yes, yes. Please come this way, sir.”
    “Not ‘sir.’ I am a Brother. Brother Paul. All men are brothers—” But the imperious functionary was already moving ahead, forcing Brother Paul to hurry after him.
    He did so. “Before I go to the colony world, I’ll need a source of direct current electricity to recharge my calculator,” he said. “I’m not an apt mathematician, and there may be complexities that require—”
    “There isn’t time for that!” the man snapped. “The