The penalty of age when the body grew too gross and the great pectorals, the deltoids, began to weaken. A time when lift was slower, agility less, vulnerability a growing menace.
The moment of truth for an angel who refused to yield his nest, his women, his position in the community.
A thing Avro knew from the instinct buried in the body and brain of the host he dominated as he knew that to fold his wings and fall would be to signal his peaceful withdrawal from the conflict. An act which would save his life and leave him to fly alone as long as his wings would carry him. To join the flock of other aging males who had been forced to yield to younger blood. Tolerated and even cared for as long as they recognized the victor's right.
But Avro was too new to this body and its way of life. Too entranced by the novelty of emotion and conditioned by the subtle knowledge that, for him, death in this body would not mean extinction. So he fought until the blood ran from a dozen wounds and his wings were in tatters. Fighting on until he began to fall, to continue to fall despite his struggles, wheeling in circles to the rocks below, the wheeling becoming a tumble, a drop, a sickening plunge to the jagged teeth waiting to smash out his life.
An impact which was the hammer-blow of extinction, filling his eyes with a flash of vivid light.
One which lingered as he jerked upright on his bed to sit, fighting for air, hands clasped over his eyes.
'Master!' Byrne calling from beyond the door attracted by his screaming. Concerned by it also; it was becoming too frequent. 'Master?'
'All is well.' Avro lowered his hands. 'Enter.'
He stood upright as the acolyte came into the room his face masked, hands steady. The chamber was as it had been when he'd retired for the sleep which should have refreshed him but had not. And the pressure at the back of his skull seemed to have grown worse.
To the aide he said, 'You have something to report?'
'Nothing positive, Master.'
'Have the electroencephalograph scans arrived from the ship?'
'They are on your desk, Master.'
'That will be all.'
'Yes, Master.'
Avro stared after the aide as Byrne bowed and made his way through the door. Insubordination was out of the question: an aide was trained to obey, but obedience could be tinged with more than a desire to please. Had his use of the title been all it seemed? Normally to address a cyber as 'Master' was a recognition of superiority and an admission of dependency but overuse could make its own point. One of accusation or even of contempt. Had Byrne, by what could be regarded as zealous courtesy, shown his disquiet?
He was a spy, of course, as Tupou was a spy, as all acolytes were spies. Eyes and ears to see and listen and a mouth to report. Had he told Ishaq of the screaming? Had the cyber reported the incidents to Central Intelligence? Had he received secret orders in turn to watch and assess and, if necessary, to restrain his nominal superior?
Avro lifted his hands and pressed them against the back of his skull. Why had Marie ordered Ishaq to join him? Why had rapport altered so strangely? Why did he so constantly dream of his life as an angel?
Part of the answer was in the electroencephalograph scans sent from the ship.
Seated at the desk Avro studied them, checking one against the other with quick efficiency. The variations were minor but unmistakable and when combined with other records from other examinations left no doubt. Even so he double-checked before leaning back to stare at the tinted panes of the window.
They were diamond-shaped, made of various hues, the sunlight streaming through them forming a tessellation of mauve, orange, red, blue, amber, emerald which flowed over the floor, the desk, the scattered papers on the surface. A transient beauty which Avro ignored as he stared at the window, the sun, the endless expanse of the dried sea bed beneath it. On it men and machines crawled in a constant search for nodules of manganese and other valuable minerals. The only source of wealth on the world and one controlled by a combine who had reason to be generous to the Cyclan.
Janda, a world as hostile as Velor, was set in the mathematical center of a sphere in which Dumarest would be found if he was still alive.
Closing his eyes Avro saw it again; the open grave, the metallic sheen which broke into rippling motion, the fretted bone revealed as the insects scuttled from their feeding place. Dumarest or some other? How to be sure?
Yet on the answer depended his life.
Avro glanced at the scans, again conscious of the pressure within his skull. One not born of imagination but of harsh reality. The Homochon elements grafted within his brain showed unmistakable signs of change. Normally quiescent until stimulated by the Samatachazi formulae they lay incorporated in the cranial tissue; a sub-species of reactive life akin to a beneficent growth which enhanced telepathic contact and made rapport possible. Now, those within his brain were growing.
Swelling like a bomb which would rip his skull wide open.
He would be dead long before that could happen and insane long before he was dead. His only hope was to have his brain removed from its bony casing and placed in a vat forming part of Central Intelligence. There the Homochon elements could grow as they normally did once the transfer had been made and his intelligence would not be affected. But, to gain the final reward, he must redeem his past failure and capture Dumarest.
Find him, capture him and deliver him to Marie. And do it before it was too late.
* * *
Angado said, 'Home, Earl. Lychen where I was born. Now I'm back I wondered why I ever left.'
He wore soft fabrics touched with vibrant color; reds overlaid with green trimmed with gold piping. A costume which once had suited the languid dilettante he had been but which now no longer belonged to the lean body and hard face. Something he spotted in the reflection carried by the window before which he stood and he turned, smiling, arms lifted in a gesture of greeting.
'Cousin! How wonderful to see you! In truth there were times when I thought we should never meet again. I was desolate as I am sure you would have been at the concept. Have you wine? A comfit? Something to ease the endless burden of this tiresome round?' His arms fell, his tone hardening as he looked at Dumarest. 'Well?'
'Is that how you used to talk?'
'To Perotto and his cronies? At times, yes. It amused me to see their contempt.'
'Is that all?'
'No,' admitted Angado. 'The spoiled sons of rich families tend to act the fool until it is no longer acting. To go into raptures over a trifle, to swear vengeance on a slight, to vow undying fealty to a friend-' He shook his head in disgust. 'How little they know of real values. You've taught me a lot, Earl.'
Dumarest said, dryly, 'I hope enough for you to stay alive.'
'I'll be careful.' Angado spun in an elaborate pirouette. 'A fool left Lychen and a fool has returned. One concerned about his finances and for no other reason. He'll be apologetic, gracious, swearing it's all a mistake and promising retribution- but I'll remember Yuanka.'
'And remember a man can smile and murder as he smiles.'
'I shan't forget.' Angado hesitated then said, 'There's a lot I shan't forget, Earl. I-'
'You don't owe me.'
'I can't agree. If it hadn't been for you I'd be stuck on Yuanka.'
'If it hadn't been for you I'd be dead.' Dumarest rose from the deep chair in which he'd been sitting. 'We each helped the other. The slate's clean.'
'But your money!'
'What good is money to a dead man?'
Dumarest moved from the chair and crossed the room to stand as Angado had done before the window. It gave on a wild and rugged scene; bleak rocks, cracks, slimed stone the whole dominated by the sheet of water which dropped from above so close it seemed it could be touched. A waterfall of stupendous proportions falling to
