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longer. Let the padre think him mad if he wished. Regardless, they would play the scenario out to the end.
    Bateleur surprised him by chuckling softly. “For such a young man, you’ve been around quite a bit.”
    Flinx looked up out of bright green eyes. “Padre, you don’t know the half of it.”
    Bateleur directed the monitor to remove the view by several orders of magnitude yet again.
    “That’s better.” Flinx studied the image. “Can you rotate the field about forty degrees to the east? I know you can’t change the perspective.”
    “Not working with distances like this.” He complied, until Flinx felt he was looking at a section of sky he recognized.
    “There! That’s the place.”
    “The evil place?”
    “No, no.” Flinx shook his head restlessly. “The location isn’t evil. It’s what’s occupying the location. What’s out there.”
    Bateleur considered the monitor. “I’m sorry, my son, but it doesn’t look any more evil to me than any other section of the cosmos.”
    “I’ve seen it!” Flinx was insistent. “I—I’ve been there. Not physically, of course. Mentally. I’m still not sure how it was accomplished, but I know it wasn’t a dream. It was completely real, even to the jolt I felt just before achieving full perception.”
    “That’s certainly very interesting. I hope you won’t mind, my son, when I say that I think you have a very vivid imagination.”
    “Yes.” His guest sighed, having expected that reaction sooner or later. “I suppose I do. But will you at least admit that my basic idea has some merit?”
    “Let’s just say that I’m open to anything I can’t disprove,” Bateleur replied kindly. “You must understand that until now I never had occasion to consider evil as a function of unidentified subatomic forces.”
    “I know. It was a shock to me as well.” Rising, Flinx extended a hand. Bateleur took it firmly. “You said something about a back door?”
    “Yes.” The padre came around from behind the desk and started to put a reassuring arm around his guest’s shoulders. A hiss from Pip caused him to reconsider. “You strike me as an unusually independent and resourceful young man, but even though we’ll see you safely out of here, don’t forget about or underestimate Jack-Jax Coerlis.”
    Flinx nodded appreciatively. “I won’t, I promise.” Out in the hall he loomed over the stocky churchman.
    “Your accent immediately marked you as offworld,” Bateleur commented. “You have no drawl at all. Where do you call home?”
    A fair question. “Moth. It’s capital city of Drallar.”
    “I’ve heard of it. A freewheeling sort of place, I believe. Not as receptive to the Church as some others.”
    “I like the freedom it affords its citizens,” Flinx replied.
    “I will pray that you maintain it, my son.” They turned down another corridor. “What ship will you be departing on?”
    “I don’t recall, padre.” Flinx lied readily, with the skill of many years practice. “The information’s in my baggage.”
    “And your destination? No, forget that I asked.” The older man waved diffidently. “It’s none of my business.”
    “That’s all right. I don’t mind telling you that I’m heading home.” They passed more offices and, as they descended a ramp, a noisy children’s crèche.
    That much wasn’t of a lie, he mused. He
was
going home. Not today, perhaps, or tomorrow, or even next month. Not, in all likelihood, for some time. But eventually.
    “I wish you a safe journey, young man. I hope you will have no more trouble.”
    “I can deal with it. I’m used to dealing with it. I’ve had to grow up very fast, padre.”
    There was something so ineffably sad in the young man’s voice that Father Bateleur was moved to ask him to remain, to talk more, to come to his home and sup with his family. Despite the young man’s outward confidence and evident brilliance, it was clear to Bateleur that his guest was seriously in need of