The woman turned rather hesitantly. “I’m Dawn. But thank you.” She came over, however, and Jubal thought for an instant that she was going to kiss him . . . and decided not to duck it. But she either had not that intention, or changed her mind. She dropped to one knee, took his hand and kissed it. “Father Jubal. We welcome you and drink deep of you.”

Jubal snatched his hand away. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, child! Get up from there and sit with us. Share water.”

“Yes, Father Jubal.”

“Uh . . . and call me Jubal—and pass the word around that I don’t appreciate being treated like a leper. I’m in the bosom of my family—I hope.”

“You are . . . Jubal.”

“So I expect to be called Jubal and treated as a water brother—no more, no less. The first one who treats me with respect will be required to stay in after school. Grok?”

“Yes, Jubal,” she answered demurely. “I’ve told them. They will.”

“Huh?”

“Dawn means,” explained Ben, “that she’s told Patty, probably, since Mike is withdrawn at the moment . . . and that Patty is telling everybody who can hear easily—with his inner ear—and they are passing the word to any who are still a bit deaf, like myself.”

“Yes,” agreed Dawn, “except that I told Jill—Patty has gone outside for something Michael wants. Jubal, have you been watching any of what is showing in the stereo tank? It’s very exciting.”

“Eh? No.”

“You mean the jail break, Dawn?”

“Yes, Ben.”

“We hadn’t discussed that—and Jubal doesn’t like stereo. Jubal, Mike didn’t merely crush out and come home when he felt like it; he gave them a dilemma to sit on. Here he has just been arrested for everything but raping the Statue of Liberty, with Bigmouth Short denouncing him as the Antichrist on the same day. So he gave ’em miracles to chew on. He threw away every bar and door in the county jail as he left . . . did the same at the state prison just out of town for good measure—and disarmed all the police forces, city, county, and state. Partly to keep ’em busy and interested . . . and partly because Mike just purely despises locking a man up for any reason at all. He groks a great wrongness in it.”

“That fits,” Jubal agreed. “Mike is gentle, always. It would hurt him to have anybody locked up. I agree.”

Ben shook his head. “Mike isn’t gentle, Jubal. Killing a man wouldn’t worry him. But he’s the ultimate anarchist—locking a man up is a wrongness. Freedom of self—and utter personal responsibility for self. Thou art God.”

“Wherein lies the conflict, sir? Killing a man might be necessary. But confining him is an offense against his integrity—and your own.”

Ben looked at him. “I grok Mike was right. You do grok in fullness—his way. I don’t quite . . . I’m still learning.” He added, “How are they taking it, Dawn?”

She giggled slightly. “Like a stirred-up hornets’ nest. The mayor has been on . . . and he’s frothing at the mouth. He’s demanded help from the state and from the Federation—and he’s getting it; we’ve seen lots of troop carriers landing. But as they pour out, Mike is stripping them—not just their weapons, even their shoes—and as soon as the troop carrier is empty, it goes, too.”

Ben said, “I grok he’ll stay withdrawn until they get tired and give up. Handling that many details he would almost have to stay in it and on eternal time.”

Dawn looked thoughtful. “No, I don’t think so, Ben. Of course I would have to, in order to handle even a tenth so much. But I grok Michael could do it riding a bicycle while standing on his head.”

“Mmm . . . I wouldn’t know, I’m still making mud pies.” Ben stood up. “Sometimes you miracle workers give me a slight pain, honey child. I’m going to go watch the tank for a while.” He stopped to kiss her. “You entertain old Pappy Jubal; he likes little girls.” Caxton left and a package of cigarettes he had left on a coffee table got up, followed him, and placed themselves in one of his pockets.

Jubal said, “Did you do that? Or Ben?”

“Ben did. I don’t smoke, unless the man I’m with wants to smoke. But he’s always forgetting his cigarettes; they chase him all over the Nest.”

“Hmm . . . pretty fair-sized mud pies he makes these days.”

“Ben is advancing much more rapidly than he will ever admit. He’s a very holy person—but he hates to admit it. He’s shy.”