"It's noble of you to want to take the same risks as so many of our Sisters must, but the reality is that without you we have no chance at all."

Judith accepted this, a touch reassured by the fact that the groundside warehouses had contained sufficient suits for the rest of the command crew and a few other key personnel. Aaron's Rod did have rescue capsules, and the plan was to move the most vulnerable into them in case of emergency. But hopefully, that would not be necessary. Hopefully they would simply launch, get to the hyper limit, and make the translation into hyper before anyone on Masada could catch up with them.

Judith's duty station for this stage of Exodus was in the cockpit. After donning her suit, she headed there and began working out the details for Flower's rendezvous with Aaron's Rod. Happily such maneuvers were routine. Once she'd entered in the merchant vessel's parking orbit and a handful of other parameters, the computer could do the calculations.

Judith had deliberately left the cockpit door open, and was aware of a gradual rise in the noise level behind her as she worked. Crying of small children mingled with the soft voices of women soothing them and stronger voices giving orders. Subconsciously, then, she was prepared when Dinah's voice sounded over her com link.

"Abraham to Moses. We have everyone we're going to get. A few Sisters did not make the contact points, but God is with us. We have a full hold."

Judith felt her heart beating incredibly fast, but her voice was calm as she responded:

"Moses to Abraham. Close hatches. Report to cockpit. Moses to Exodus. Disconnect personal communication devices. Use shuttle intercom in case of emergency."

A handful of women had been filing forward as she gave her orders. Judith glanced over at the woman sitting at the sensors and communications station.

"Odelia, Naomi knows that we're in God's hands now, but even so, you may get calls regarding our passengers. I don't want to hear any of them—even if someone goes into labor. The only things I'm to hear are if something goes wrong with ship systems. Dinah will be primary on sensors, so only pass something on to me if she's missed it."

Odelia, a plain but strong woman from the household of a Senior Elder—and therefore someone with whom Judith had had only limited contact—nodded curtly.

"I'm on it, Moses."

Without giving any further instructions, Judith hit the release that opened the shuttle hanger doors. They slid easily and almost before she could wonder, Dinah reported:

"Scanning. No indication of any alarm sounding."

Judith brought up the shuttle's contragravity and fed power to its air-breathing turbines and watched the hangar walls beginning to move as it glided easily forward. She could tell from how Odelia's hand rose to her ear-set that the anticipated flurry of calls had begun. Odelia muttered into her throat mike, then Judith's own ear-set went live.

"Jacob in Engineering," came Rena's voice. "Everything looks good."

Judith resisted an urge to snap at her. Procedure was to report only problems. Then she forced herself to relax. After all, she was glad to know.

"Moses here. We'll be shifting to full flight mode. Ready?"

"Ready," came Rena's confident response.

Dinah commented almost casually, "We've been noticed. There are men running out onto the tarmac."

"Odelia, warn them back," Judith ordered. "I'm shifting for take-off."

Odelia touched her throat mike, and Judith knew that possibly for the first time since the Faithful had come to Masada the amplified voice of a woman giving orders—even if masked—was sounding.

She didn't have time to think about this, though, but concentrated on remembering the take-off and orbital boost sequences. The computer could have done it, but she wanted to prove to herself that she was more than back-up for the automated systems.

Her delight when the ship obeyed and launched gracefully from ground to sky, then began climbing was so enormous that she cheered aloud. The surprise on the other women's faces was such that Judith momentarily felt embarrassed, but she forced herself not to apologize.

"We have angel's wings," she said instead, letting them share her joy. "According to the computer, we'll rendezvous with Aaron's Rod right on schedule."

There was a palpable reduction in tension, and Odelia relayed the information back to the passenger cabin and cargo hold. They weren't home free yet, but although Masada did have intercept vehicles, the rights of Elders were so firmly established that any domestic air traffic enforcement would waste valuable time before interfering with a vessel belonging to Ephraim Templeton.

Odelia had a file of appropriate responses to use if they were queried and an appropriate male dummy to fill her screen. Oddly, nothing came from the surface but an automated confirmation of their course and reassurance that there were no impediments.

"Could it be," Odelia asked, breaking the listening silence in the cockpit, "that everyone is so busy watching the Manticorans that they have slacked off on domestic traffic control?"

"I suppose so," Judith agreed, but she didn't feel at all confident.

The next strange thing happened when they approached Aaron's Rod. Judith was about to command the shuttle bay doors to open, when they slid apart on their own.

"Sisters," she said, checking and double-checking the angle and cutting back on the shuttle's speed. "Something isn't right."

Chief Elder Simonds of the Faithful of the Church of Humanity Unchained was without a doubt the oldest looking man Michael had ever seen. His face was deeply lined. The skin sagged on his neck, but had drawn tight around the swollen knuckles of his hands. Eyelids drooped, but did not conceal a penetrating gaze.

Despite his appearance, Simonds was not the oldest man Michael had ever met—not by far, since the Faithful had decided that the use of prolong was an abomination against God—and so Simonds was quite likely younger than many of Michael's instructors at Saganami Island. Unlike them, however, Simonds had aged without even the slowing of that process that those first generation prolong recipients could expect.

For the first time in his life, Michael realized that there was a strange power that came with the physical trappings of age. In Simonds' wizened face numerous deeply graven lines proclaimed not only his years, but made one imagine some wisdom must have been gained in his long life. It was an interesting lesson, and Michael suddenly understood why Quentin Cayen had tinted his hair to create the appearance that he was graying. Cayen knew the Masadans would respect the signs of age and had sought to acquire them.

For a fleeting moment, Michael wondered if he should have tried something similar. Then he rejected the idea out of hand. He was a prince of Manticore. Nothing would change that, and no cosmetic alteration would make him any more himself.

Greetings were framed in praise of God and His wisdom, but Michael had not grown to maturity in Mount Royal Palace without learning to hear the notes of self-congratulation in a man's voice—nor were they especially hard to detect here. Chief Elder Simonds was a man very pleased with himself.

With what Michael hoped would be taken for the modesty of youth before age, he set himself to listening silence while Ambassador Faldo and Mr. Lawler said the appropriate, flattering things to the Chief Elder, his attendant Senior Elders, and the very few mere Elders who had been permitted to attend this first private conclave.

He was doing very well until the doors slid open to admit a small contingent who were most definitely not Masadan. Like Ambassador Faldo's diplomats, they wore civilian clothes, but the styles were not Masada's flowing robes. Instead they were in the neat, trim-lined tailoring currently in fashion in the People's Republic of Haven.