thought. An opening of new dimensions of awareness and the appreciation of a vaster scope of achievement. Often while rising from rapport with those gifted brains in central intelligence he had experienced the ultimate in mental intoxication. An ecstasy he had never dreamed existed or could possibly exist. Even now he wasn't sure why, of all the servants of the Cyclan, he should have been chosen.
And yet it seemed so clear.
Despite their awesome intelligence the assembled brains depended on the use of men to execute their desires. Gifted men, trained, specially selected, but men just the same. And men held an ingrained weakness. Even the best must fall far short of the aspirations of those they were dedicated to serve. For long ages they had waited, hoping that their servants would rise to their needs and now, finally, they had decided to act.
The brains with whom he had been in direct contact. That part of central intelligence which had tested him and found him not wanting. Unhampered by established tradition. Unrestricted by artificial barriers.
Elge was wrong. The newly elected Cyber Prime was too cautious and, impatient, the brains had chosen him to take his place. Okos, Cyber Prime-the words had a ring like the throb of bells. And it could be done so easily. With the brains aiding him, no, showing him the need, all had become clear. Dumarest on Podesta. His prediction as to his movements- everything which had followed, all proved he should be the ultimate master. And now, aside from minor details, all was accomplished.
'You will remove the knife.' Okos gestured with the laser. 'Your left hand, first finger and thumb only, let it fall.'
An inward glow as the man obeyed. As all would obey once he was the Cyber Prime. And soon, now. Soon.
'The woman is hurt,' said Dumarest. 'May I attend her?' A request he knew would be refused; one made only to gain her friendship. 'No? Some wine, then? May I give her some wine?'
Poison to dull the intellect-why were these lesser beings such fools? Yet that same folly made them easy to manipulate. Greed and personal satisfaction and indifference to the welfare of others. A multitude would only be as strong as one. Cattle for harvesting-labor to build the new universe.
How clear it all was!
'Wine,' said Dumarest. Then, to the woman, 'You see how concerned your friends are about you? That shot could have taken off your hand. He could just as easily have sent it into your brain. Ask him why he didn't?'
Okos looked at her as she obeyed. 'To kill you would be a waste. I may still require your assistance.'
'And you hope to get it?' Her voice rose. 'You scarlet swine I'll see you rot first!'
'To refuse aid will gain you nothing.'
'I want only what you promised. The cure and-'
'The cure will be given you when it is discovered. The rest also as we agreed. I do not lie. The Cyclan does not lie.' The tone was the careful modulation of all cybers but the words carried a chill. 'Further argument is an illogical waste of time.'
Was he alone? Dumarest looked around the chamber seeing nothing but a narrow panel, open, through which the cyber had come. Had the guards who had chased him worked for him or the woman? Why had the cyber fired?
The answers to those questions could mean life or death.
Dumarest looked at the tall figure, the face, the eyes, the set of the mouth. All cybers looked gaunt and all radiated the aura of protoplasmic robots, but Okos was unusual. A man who seemed to be gloating over some secret joy-and no cyber could experience physical pleasure. The joy of achievement, then, of having made a successful capture, but why was he alone? Knowing his movements as Okos had known, it would have been simple to have taken him on Podesta. Yet he had been allowed to escape. Apparently escape-but why?
Madness had to be the answer.
Insanity as defined by a cyber.
The touch of human ambition and greed.
A guess but the only logical answer if the known facts were to fit. An unsuspected weakness in the man's character had revealed its flaw under the pressure of staggering opportunity.
Dumarest said, 'Charisse, do you know why the Cyclan consider me to be so valuable? Would you like me to tell you?'
'Silence.' Okos lifted the laser. 'You will remain silent.'
'I have a secret,' continued Dumarest. 'One stolen from a Cyclan laboratory a long time ago. A biological chain consisting of fifteen units which enables an intelligence to-'
Smoke rose from the table beneath the touch of the laser's beam. It sent more smoke rising an inch from Dumarest's boot.
'You will remain silent or I will burn your vocal chords,' said Okos. 'The woman must not be told.'
'Why not? What harm can it do? You will kill her anyway.'
'Kill me?' Charisse lifted her arm, stared at the blackened wound, then at the cyber. 'Okos! You promised!'
'You will not be harmed if he keeps silent.'
'Look at your wrist if you believe that,' said Dumarest. 'His token of friendship. Do you know why he burned you? Ask him. He'll tell you it was because he feared you might fire and kill me. Or fire and kill him if we had made a deal. As he would still fire if I told him we had. Shall I prove it?'
'No!' She looked again at her wrist. 'No!'
She believed him and Dumarest knew he had managed to drive a wedge into their mutual trust. Knew too that he held her life in his hand. Two words would do it. All he need say to the cyber was. 'She knows.'
Okos would do the rest.
But how to get rid of the cyber in turn?
Dumarest had the advantage of being physically safe as far as a threat to his life was concerned. His value lay in what he knew; the correct sequence of the fifteen units forming the affinity twin. The biological entity which enabled the dominant partner to take over the mind and body of a subjective host. Literally to become that host. With it Charisse could live and act and love and feel and be a young and lovely girl. The reflection she would see in her mirror would be that of the selected host.
Cybers could become the rulers of worlds and knit them into the common plan.
Okos could become the Cyber Prime.
That was the chance he had seen and taken-there could be no other explanation for his actions. The Cyclan had contacted Charisse. After learning he was not aboard why hadn't they concentrated on Podesta?
'I directed them to Quen,' said Okos when Dumarest bluntly put the question, 'The predictions were of almost equal probability that you could be on there or Ascelius.'
And, as he hadn't been reported on Ascelius, they had directed their agents to look elsewhere. But Okos had known and had chosen to retain his knowledge.
The madness which would save him.
Dumarest said, 'The coincidence of Charisse's ship? Arranged, I assume?'
'There was no coincidence. From the moment you set foot on Ascelius you were under constant observation. Used, hunted, driven like the animal you are to take the path I chose. It suited my plans to allow you freedom of movement until it was time to end the farce.'
'The time in jail,' said Dumarest. 'Held while you waited for Charisse to arrive. Followed then attacked so as to be rescued.' He added, bleakly, 'Did Myra Favre have to die?'
An answer he knew; one way or another she had been doomed. Had she not fallen the wine would have killed her and the end would have been the same. He felt a renewed anger against the Cyclan, the organization which treated people as if they were pieces to be moved on a board. Things devoid of needs or feelings. Expendable pawns used in a game of conquest.
He controlled his anger-if he were to live he needed to be calm.
He looked at the woman. The illusion had slipped a little, the pain of her wound taking priority so that her face looked softened as if made of wax. A potential ally and the only one he had. But how to win her aid?
Okos provided the answer. He stepped forward, tall, arrogant, conscious of his power. Already the universe was his. Eyes, deep-sunken beneath ridged brows, stared with a burning intensity.
'You will arrange transportation,' he told the woman. 'I shall also need restraints and medication. Your own
