The Coming Event

paint transient paths of brilliance over robes and the bleak furnishings of the office. As movement halted greater detail became visible; a sun, planets, a world marked with a glowing arrow.

'Ascelius.' Jarvet didn't look at the Cyber Prime. 'Where Okos went insane.'

A reminder Elge didn't need; he was fully aware of the problem. Aware too of the hammer-blow the incident had struck at the tower of confidence based on the efficiency of Central Intelligence.

It was impossible to tell which units of the gigantic complex were contacted by a cyber in rapport. Relaxing, he activated the implanted Homochon elements with the aid of the Samatchaze formulae and, once a certain stage had been reached, became as one with the massed brains. This union was beyond normal understanding; a merging, a belonging, a communion of minds. Knowledge was exchanged by a form of osmosis; a mental communication conducted at near-instantaneous velocity. This all cybers relished because of the mental intoxication experienced during the aftermath.

Yet Okos had gone insane.

Had he been flawed to begin with? A possibility but one so remote as to be negligible; any such weakness would have been discovered during his training as an acolyte. The impact of external stimuli? Again a remote possibility; a cyber was proof against the mental conflicts which destroyed ordinary men. His insanity could only have originated during rapport-a reflection of the aberration of deranged brains.

A madness which had allowed Dumarest to escape.

That failure merited a harsh penalty but death had put the cyber beyond that and beyond questioning, which could have provided valuable information. A loss but to dwell on it would be a futile waste of time.

And Dumarest had survived.

The depiction changed to show a new sector of the galaxy; a region of close-set suns and a host of worlds. The Zaragoza Cluster into which Dumarest had fled, there to move in a random pattern from world to world. A needle in a haystack but from which he had been lured.

And would soon be captured, the secret stolen from the Cyclan recovered, the man himself rendered into dust. Elge felt the warm glow of mental achievement as he predicted the immediate future. Once the affinity twin was in his hands the problem of the deranged brains would be solved if his suspicions were correct. Given host bodies the question of sensory deprivation would cease to exist. Would the brain have destroyed itself had it inhabited the body of a man?

A part of the whole; with the affinity twin every ruler and person of influence would become a puppet of a dominant cyber. World after world would fall beneath the domination of the Cyclan and the Great Plan would mature within decades instead of millennia.

Dumarest held the key to that vista.

Again the depiction changed to show a mote of light against a background of starred emptiness. Not a world but a man-made structure insignificant against the bulk of planets.

'Zabul.' Jarvet echoed his confidence. 'The home of the Terridae. A place from which Dumarest cannot escape. Cyber Lim reported him as good as captured.'

'Not taken?'

'A preliminary report. The prediction was that he would be on the Saito within the hour.'

Yet Lim had not reported the actual capture. Was he waiting until the vessel had left the vicinity? Had there been an unforeseen complication?

'Contact the Saito. Check with Central Intelligence to see that there has been no further rapport with Lim. Have all data appertaining to Zabul and the Terridae on my desk as soon as possible.'

'Master?' Jarvet was puzzled. 'You suspect something could have gone wrong?'

Elge remained silent. He was thinking of Okos.

CHAPTER TWO

In the dream a woman was laughing, a girl with a helmet of golden hair which hugged a face with strong bones, jaw and cheeks and eyebrows all denoting a stubborn strength. The eyes were blue and the mouth thinner than it should have been but the hands she held up before her were those of an artist.

'Look at this, Earl!' The hands moved to pick up a painting and he stared at the depiction of a young boy with thick curly hair and a mouth like a pouting rosebud. A mute he had once known.

'And this!' A portrait of a man sitting at a window staring at distant hills. He was dressed all in grey with the hilt of a knife riding above his right boot and the mark of a killer stamped in the set of mouth and eyes.

'And this!' An old crone seated on a box adorned with esoteric symbols.

'And these! These, damn you! These!'

She thrust out hands that were crushed and broken, blood oozing from ripped nails, more from ruptured ligaments, wrists puckered with gaping mouths of agony.

'Earl! Earl!'

The voice faded, ending in a blaze of white then returning again in a tone not belonging to the woman standing at his side.

'Earl! What is wrong? You were screaming, crying out.' Pausing, Althea Hesford added, 'You sounded almost like a woman.'

The dream woman had been Carina Davaranch whom he had taken and used with the magic of the affinity twin. To send her to torture and final death. Did a ghost remember? Could the dead mourn the broken hands which made it impossible to paint?

'Earl?'

'It's nothing.' Dumarest reared to sit upright in the bed. 'A dream. A nightmare. It isn't important.'

'Are you sure?'

He nodded, closing his eyes, seeing again the face framed in the helmet of golden hair. He had dominated her mind and she had died and he had returned to his own body-had a part of her returned with him?

'The Council is meeting,' said Althea. 'I came to warn you. I thought you'd need time to prepare. And I thought you'd like this.'

She had brought a tray containing a pot of tisane together with small cakes, some spiced, others with the flavor and consistency of ground nuts. Dumarest poured a cup of tisane and sat nursing it, inhaling the fragrant steam as he waited for it to cool.

Sitting down beside him, Althea said, 'It isn't going to be easy, Earl. The young want you to lead them but the Elders are against it. If we could force a vote I think you'd win, but a full referendum will take time to arrange and delay could cost you the advantage.'

Politics-the curse of civilization. Dumarest tasted the tisane and found it cool enough to swallow. It filled his mouth and stomach with a scented warmness and, rising, he headed into the bathroom to shower. Dried, he returned to the bedroom and dressed. Althea watched him with wide-spaced, luminous green eyes, the copper mane of her hair accentuating the delicate pallor of her face. She wore gold, a high-necked gown which fell to below her knees and was caught at the waist with a belt of heavy links. Against the fabric the contours of breasts and hips were sharply delineated. The skirt, slit at one side, revealed the long curves of her thigh at every second step.

A lovely woman but she had never known the tribulations of a normal world.

'Earl!' She barred his passage as he headed toward the door. 'Good luck, darling.'

Her kiss held a smoldering passion, which he had shared in the past and would share again, but now Dumarest had more urgent matters to attend to. Outside he turned left and moved down a spacious corridor to a flight of stairs. At its foot a group of young people saluted him. Some he recognized. One, Medwin, he knew well.

'We're with you, Earl,' Medwin said. 'If you want help just ask for it. If it needs force to kick the Council into action we can provide it.'

'Guide us to the Event, Earl!' called another. 'Lead us to Earth!'

Earth was the paradise they dreamed of, the world of eternal peace and happiness where all things would be given for the asking, the place of floating cities and soaring towers of crystal and benign Shining Ones, of pools