"Don't let it come unstuck now! Here he comes --" Thomas struck the benediction pose; Howe followed suit. Jeff intoned, "Peace be unto you, Master!"

The Asiatic cop stopped. His knowledge of English was limited to halt, come along, and show your card; he depended on his club to keep the dogs in line. On the other hand he recognized the get up; it matched a picture on a notice newly posted in the barracks, this was one of the many silly things the slaves were allowed to do.

Still, a slave was a slave and must be kept in line. All slaves must bow; these slaves were not bowing. He cracked his club at the midriff of the nearer slave.

The nightstick bounced off before it reached the robed figure; the cop's fingers tingled as if he swung on something quite hard. "Peace be unto you!" Jeff rumbled again and watched him narrowly. The fellow was armed with a vortex pistol; Jeff was not afraid of it but it was no part of his plan to let the creature discover that he was immune to the Emperor's weapons. He was sorry that he had to use the shield against a blow from a stick and hoped that the PanAsian would not be able to believe the evidence of his own senses.

Certainly the man was startled. He looked at his stick, started to draw it back as if to swing again, then appeared to change his mind. He resorted to his meager supply of English. "Come along!"

Jeff raised his hand again. "Peace be unto you! It is not meet that the farjon should ripsnipe the cuskapads in the sight of the great lord Mota! Franchope!" He pointed to Howe.

The cop looked doubtful, then moved a few feet away to the street corner, glanced up and down and blew his whistle. Alec whispered, "What did you point to me for?"

"I don't know. It seemed like a good idea. Watch it!"

Another cop came trotting up; the pair approached Howe and Thomas. The new one seemed to be in authority over the first; they held a short discussion in meaningless singsong, then the later arrival came close, drawing his pistol as he did so. "You fellow boys, come along now quick!"

"Come, Alec." Thomas fell in with the policemen, switching off his shield as he did so. He hoped that Alec would notice that he had done so and conformed, it seemed a good notion not to advertise the existence of the shields -- not yet, at least.

The PanAsian conducted them to the nearest police station. Jeff walked briskly along, giving unctuous blessings to one and all. As they neared the station the senior cop sent the other trotting on ahead. When the party arrived they found the officer in charge waiting in the doorway, apparently curious to see these queer fish his men had hooked.

He was both curious and very much on his toes; the officer knew the circumstances under which the unfortunate lieutenant who had first turned up these strange holy men had gone to his ancestors. He was determined not to make a mistake which would cause him to lose face.

Jeff marched up to him, struck his pose and said, "Peace be unto you! Master, I have a complaint to make about your servants. They have stopped us from carrying out our holy work, work which is blessed by His Serene Highness himself, the Imperial Hand!"

The officer fingered his swagger stick, then spoke in his own language to his subordinates. He turned back to Jeff. "Who are you?"

"A priest of the great god Mota. "

The PanAsian asked the same question of Alec; Jeff interceded. "Master," he said hastily, "he is a most holy man who has taken a vow of silence. If you force him to break it the sin will be on your head."

The officer hesitated. The bulletin concerning these crazy savages had been most pointed, but it had given no clear precedents for dealing with them. He hated to establish precedents; those who did so were sometimes promoted, more frequently they joined their ancestors. "He need not break his holy vow. But show me your cards, both of you."

Jeff looked amazed. "We are humble, nameless holy men, serving the great god Mota. What have we to do with such?"

"Hurry up!"

Jeff tried to look sad rather than nervous. He had rehearsed this speech in his mind; much depended on it getting across. "I am sorry for you, young Master. I will pray to Mota on your behalf. But now I must insist that you take me before the Hand of the Emperor -- at once!"

"That's impossible."

"His Highness has seen me before; he will see me again. The Hand of the Emperor is always ready to see the servers of the great god Mota."

The officer looked at him, turned and went back into the station house. They waited.

"Do you suppose he'll actually have us taken before the prince?" Howe whispered.

"I hope not. I don't think so."

"Well, what will you do if he does?"

"Whatever I have to. Shut up -- you're supposed to be under a vow of silence."

The officer came back after several minutes and said curtly, "You are free to go."

"To the Imperial Hand?" Jeff inquired maliciously.

"No, no! Just go. Get out of my district.,"

Jeff stepped back one pace and delivered a last benediction. The two "priests" turned away. From the corner of his eye Jeff saw the officer lift his swagger stick and cut savagely at the senior of the two policemen; he pretended not to see. He walked about a block before he spoke to Howe. "There! We should have no more trouble for a while."

"How do you figure? You sure got him sore at us."

"That's not the point. We can't afford to have him or any other cop thinking he can push us around like the others. By the time we have gone three blocks the word will be all over town that I'm back and to lay off. That's the way we've got to have it."

"Maybe so. I still think it's dangerous to have the cops on the alert for us."

"You don't understand," Jeff said impatiently. "There isn't any other safe way to do it. Cops are cops, no matter what is the color of their skin. They deal in fear and they understand fear. Once they understand we can't be touched, that it is very bad medicine to bother us, they'll be as polite to us as they are to their superiors. You'll see."

"I hope you're right."

"I'm right. Cops are cops. Pretty soon we'll have them on our payroll. Oh, oh! Watch it, Alec -- here comes another one." A PanAsian policeman was dogtrotting up behind them. However, instead of overtaking them or calling to them to halt, he crossed over and kept abreast with them on the other side of the street. He ignored them determinedly.

"What's up, d'you think, Jeff?"

"We're being chaperoned. A good thing, Alec the rest of the monkeys won't bother us now. We'll just get on with our job. You know this town pretty well, don't you? Where do you think we ought to locate the temple?"

"I guess that depends on what you are looking for."

"I don't know exactly." He stopped and wiped sweat from his face; the robes were hot and the money belt made it worse. "Now that I'm here, this whole deal seems silly. I guess I wasn't meant to be a secret agent. How about out in the west end, in the expensive neighborhood? We want to make a big impression.

"No, I don't think so, Jeff. There are just two kinds of people out in the rich neighborhoods now."

"Yes?"

"PanAsians and traitors -- black market dealers and other sorts of collaborationists."

Thomas looked shocked. "I guess I've been out of circulation too long. Alec, until this very minute it never occurred to me that an American -- any American -- would go along with the invaders."

"Well, I wouldn't have believed it either, if I hadn't seen it. I guess some people will do anything, born pimps."

They settled on an empty warehouse downtown near the river in a. populous, poor neighborhood. The area had long been rundown; now it was depressed. Three out of four shops were boarded up; trade had stagnated. The building was one of many empty warehouses; Thomas picked it because of its almost cubical shape, matching that of the mother temple and the cube on his staff, and the fact that it was detached from other buildings by an alley on one side and a vacant lot on the other.