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seen as many as ten thousand of them. He thought he had developed an eye for spotting them. It wasn’t anything scientific, of course, and he knew it was a little foolish thing to do. However, his job didn’t allow for many distractions or amusements, so he gave it a try.
    There were three who looked very promising.
    The first was a straw-blond haired, ruddy youngster of about twenty-five. He had a straight nose, broad cheekbones and strong shoulders. Even if he tried to be casual about it, he couldn’t quite hide the thick farmworker arms that bulged under a Syntex shirt engineered to look like rough, worn-out jeans fabric.
    Benedict was positive that behind the almost dumb look of the young man, a quick, inquisitive brain was to be found. He was sure the man had listened to him very carefully and that he had understood every single word of what he had said. A good competitor.
    Seemingly, there was another who hadn’t missed a word of Benedict’s introductory speech. She was a pale and thin woman of about twenty, had long red hair, a pointy nose and a small chin. Her cold, emerald eyes kept moving around, losing nothing of what she saw; another interesting subject.
    The third contender was also a young woman. She had jet-black hair woven in long, tight braids pulled up in a bun on the top of her head. She had black opals for eyes, the lean body of an athlete and full, lovely lips. She hadn’t stopped taking notes in her electronic pad for the whole length of Benedict’s speech, except for once, when the fire had engulfed the test room.
    “There’s another promising subject,” thought Benedict. It wasn’t just his nose for spotting believers, something else had convinced him.
    When the applicants had witnessed the accidental death of the alien creature—the little, helpless scaled salamander—all three had looked straight in Benedict’s eyes. They blamed him for what had happened.
    That wasn’t a bad sign at all. On the contrary. A good believer must value life beyond anything else. The more he valued life, the more his belief would be focused, the lesser the chance he made errors in creating the Main Belief.
    Benedict allowed his mouth to curl into a little, self-satisfied smile. Yes, those three were going to do very good as believers ...
    He snapped out of his personal considerations, extending his arm toward a stern-looking woman of about forty in lab overalls who had suddenly appeared to Benedict’s right.
    “Mrs. Matthews will pick up from here,” he said. “She will lead you through the next steps. Good luck to all of you and welcome to Credence ...”
    He moved aside, letting Matthews step forth and take charge of the applicants.
    “I’m Stephanie Matthews,” said the woman in a crisp and brisk tone of voice. “I’m responsible for the preliminary selection of the applicants. If you have questions about how we choose believers or about how points are assigned at every stage of the interview, just let me know. We will now evaluate your primary attitude for believing. Please follow me.”
    Matthews herded the applicants down the corridor. They soon disappeared in one of the many rooms of Credence.
    Only Benedict stood in the now-empty corridor—and a previously unseen Trumaine ...

Chapter Four

    Benedict didn’t remember having any appointments today, and it wasn’t like him to forget something. He studied Trumaine with a slight frown.
    “You’re not here to apply, are you?” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.
    “Detective Investigator Trumaine,” said Trumaine, showing his blue badge.
    Benedict shot a quick glance at the plastic card, then looked up again and smiled vaguely.
    “I’m Noah Benedict, chief of board and main responsible for the federal institution that is Credence. How may I help you, Detective?”
    “This morning, Aarmo Jarva was found dead in his bunker house,” said Trumaine. “It was in the lunchtime news.”
    “So I’ve heard. It is a great loss for the