received data to form new probabilities. The computer Risan was using was an aid he must learn to do without; no man wishing to run should practice on crutches.
'Well?'
Risan leaned back as the lights steadied. 'The situation shows the effect of the northern storms on three communes. They will all need importations of food and water and, if to regain viability, new deposits of soil. The mines in the Tanaya sector are hitting narrowing seams. The weed from three undersea farms has been spoiled and must be used as fertilizer instead of basic food.'
'Three major influences,' said Zao. 'How many minor?' He nodded at the answer. 'Fifteen-that is correct. Seven of them are relevant to the main situation and the others can be assessed at a low order of importance. Your summation?'
Risan said, 'Master, events are moving toward a nexus in which it is possible the present Maximus could be seriously weakened. A cabal has formed against him and he underestimates the potential danger.'
'Your recommendations?'
'It is not for me to recommend, master.'
The correct answer; a cyber did not take sides, back causes, uphold falling rulers. To advise was the full extent of their duties-all else was for the Cyclan not for those employing their services. Risan was ready for the final step and he would propose it as soon as the present situation had been resolved. In the meantime he had reason to make his report.
'Private seal,' he ordered. 'Total seclusion.'
As the acolyte bowed Zao made his way to his private room. It was stark, bleak in its Spartan simplicity, the cot the only item of relative luxury, but even so the soft mattress was for functional use not for personal comfort.
As the door closed behind him Zao activated the thick band he wore around his left wrist. Electronic emissions created a zone of privacy against any spying device and the locked door and acolyte protected him from physical intrusion. Twin safeguards used when communicating with Central Intelligence. The rest was a matter of training and adaptation.
Lying supine on the cot, Zao relaxed, closing his eyes and concentrating on the Samatachazi formulae. Gradually he lost the use of his senses; had he opened his eyes he would have been blind. Locked in the prison of his skull his brain ceased to be irritated by external stimuli. It became a thing of pure intellect, its reasoning awareness the only thread of continued existence. Only then did the engrafted Homochon elements become active. Rapport followed.
Zao expanded with the sense of it.
Each cyber had a different experience; for him it was as if he had gained insight into every corner of the universe. He saw it and knew it and was of it as it was of him. Nodes of light bright with the shine of naked truth, marching in ordered array to the edges of infinity and, at the center, the massed intelligences of those who had served and continued to serve the Cyclan.
There was no verbal communication, only a mental communion, quick, near-instantaneous, organic transmission against which the speed of light was a crawl. Faster than ultra-radio. Faster even than thought.
His verification.
His understanding.
His assurance.
The rest was euphoria.
It was always the same after rapport. A period in which the Homochon elements sank back into quiescence and the machinery of the body began to realign itself with mental processes. Zao hovered in an illuminated void filled with strange memories and alien concepts, dreamlike experiences and flashes of hallucination touched with disorienting vistas-scraps of overflow from other intelligences, the throw-away waste of other minds.
Opening his eyes he looked at the bare whiteness of the ceiling, assessing the information given even as his own had been sucked from his mind as if it had been water placed against a sponge. To capture Dumarest was a matter of prime urgency-Central Intelligence had left him in no doubt. The man must be taken and held at any cost. Against that directive the needs of Rham Kalova held little weight and he and his entire planet could be sacrificed should the need arise.
How best to obey?
The field was sealed and no ships were expected for at least a week, nor were any waiting to depart. Men in rafts watched the holding and reported on Dumarest's every movement. Soon Kalova would commence his plan to wrest sector D 18 from the woman's possession and with it Dumarest, who was resident. He would hand the man over to Zao as promised.
Or would he?
The ceiling was marred with small, almost invisible cracks, a tracery which spread in interwound convolutions like the distorted web of a spider. A mesh which resembled the problem and which Zao assessed even as he considered the variables open to those on whom he must rely. Dumarest was clever and shrewd as he had proven more than once. A man with a seemingly uncanny ability to escape from traps and snares as if sensing their presence; able to manipulate circumstances to his own advantage.
Against him the Maximus had nothing but the power bestowed by the peculiarities of this world's culture.
Already he had shown himself less than able to assess a given situation; the woman was not the dominant factor in her relationship with Dumarest no matter how it might appear. Kalova was basing his assumption on her reaction to men of his own culture but Dumarest was a stranger. She would be slow to tire of him if she tired at all and, long before that, Dumarest would have made his own arrangements to survive.
The pattern of cracks led nowhere, lines merging to meet and branch in an elaborate maze which held no meaning. Zao turned his attention from them, unwilling to spare even the little it had demanded. This time, as never before in his entire life, he must not fail.
What if Dumarest should confide his secret to Kalova? The man would be unable to resist the promise of what was offered, yet even to hint a warning against it would be to arouse his curiosity and turn him against further help to the Cyclan. To kill him would be easy but what would it gain? To replace him? To threaten him with ruin?
How to use what was to gain what needed to be?
A problem which Zao pondered as he lay staring at the ceiling, at the pattern of thin cracks which spread like the skeined threads of a person's life. Factors considered, assessed, evaluated. Others formulated and all woven into bars of metaphorical steel, forging a trap from which Dumarest could never escape.
Chapter Eleven
Between low ridges of agate the water was a pool of emerald held in tiled walls decorated with grotesque fish and writhing creatures, the floor itself a pattern of shells and weed laced in suggestive designs. Dumarest followed it, swimming low, traversing the length of the enclosure before rising, droplets flying as he jerked the hair from his eyes, more cascading as he gripped the wall and reared from the water to sit on the edge.
'You swim well, Earl.' Lynne Oldrant stared at him with unabashed admiration. 'Fiona is to be envied.'
'Her holdings?'
'You.'
A flat answer to a deliberate misunderstanding and one Dumarest had expected. The woman had made no secret of her desire, the bait she had offered in her body and eyes, her lips and her smile. A mature woman with generous proportions and a mouth too soft and eyes too wanton. Jaded, as they all were, bored, eager for the stimulation a stranger could bring.
Or one bribed to pretend just that.
Now she turned and gestured a serving girl to her side, taking her time as she studied the dainties offered on the tray, selecting with care two comfits formed of twisted sugar dusted with a powder of spices.
