“No,” Atro went on, “you’ll find the soul of the people true as steel, when the country’s threatened. A few rabble-rousers in Nio and the mill towns make a big noise between wars, but it’s grand to see how the people close ranks when the flag’s in danger. You’re unwilling to believe that, I know. The trouble with Odonianism, you know, my dear fellow, is that it’s womanish. It simply doesn’t include the virile side of life. ‘Blood and steel, battle’s brightness,’ as the old poet says. It doesn’t understand courage—love of the flag.”

Shevek was silent for a minute; then he said, gently, “That may be true, in part. At least, we have no flags.”

When Atro had gone, Efor came in to take out the dinner tray. Shevek stopped him. He came up close to him, saying, “Excuse me, Efor,” and put a slip of paper down on the tray. On it he had written, “Is there a microphone in this room?”

The servant bent his head and read it, slowly, and then looked up at Shevek, a long look at short range. Then his eyes glanced for a second at the chimney of the fireplace.

“Bedroom?” Shevek inquired by the same means.

Efor shook his head, put the tray down, and followed Shevek into the bedroom. He shut the door behind him with the noiselessness of a good servant.

“Spotted that one first day, dusting,” he said with a grin that deepened the lines on his face into harsh ridges.

“Not in here?”

Efor shrugged. “Never spotted it. Could run the water in there, sir, like they do in the spy stories.”

They proceeded on into the magnificent gold and ivory temple of the shitstool. Efor turned on the taps and then looked around the walls. “No,” he said. “Don’t think so. And spy eye I could spot. Get onto them when I work for a man in Nio once. Can’t miss ’em once you get onto ’em.”

Shevek took another piece of paper out of his pocket and showed it to Efor. “Do you know where this came from?”

It was the note he had found in his coat, “Join with us your brothers.”

After a pause—he read slowly, moving his closed lips—Efor said, “I don’t know where it came from.”

Shevek was disappointed. It had occurred to him that Efor himself was in an excellent position to slip something into his “master’s” pocket.

“Know who it come from. In a manner.”

“Who? How can I get to them?”

Another pause. “Dangerous business, Mr. Shevek.” He turned away and increased the rush of water from the taps.

“I don’t want to involve you. If you can just tell me—tell me where to go. What I should ask for. Even one name.”

A still longer pause. Efor’s face looked pinched and hard. “I don’t—” he said, and stopped. Then he said, abruptly, and very low, “Look, Mr. Shevek, God knows they want you, we need you, but look, you don’t know what it’s like. How you going to hide? A man like you? Looking like you look? This a trap here, but it’s a trap anywhere. You can run but you can’t hide. I don’t know what to tell you. Give you names, sure. Ask any Nioti, he tell you where to go. We had about enough. We got to have some air to breathe. But you get caught, shot, how do I feel? I work for you eight months, I come to like you. To admire you. They approach me all the time. I say, ‘No. Let him be. A good man and he got no part of our troubles. Let him go back where he come from where the people are free. Let somebody go free from this God damned prison we living in!’ ”