'Obey.' Okos did not raise his voice and the smooth modulation of his tone remained unaltered but the acolyte bowed and seemed to cringe a little. 'Do any wait?'
'Two, master. The manager of the Vard Federation and Professor Pell of the Paraphysical Laboratory of the Higham University.'
Men who wanted the services the Cyclan offered and Okos would see them both-there would be time while the data was assembled, and the business of the Cyclan never hesitated.
'Show in the manager. His name?'
'Mahill Shad.'
He was round, plump, sweating a little and radiating anxiety. A typical product of a culture which thought that to consume was to progress. He came directly to the point.
'I am here on business, Cyber Okos, and it's possible you could help me. I will, naturally, pay for any advice you see fit to give.'
'Is that all you want? Advice?'
'Well-' Shad hesitated, suddenly conscious of his crudity, suddenly aware of what the tall, calm man at the desk represented. Cybers were not hired as common workmen and not all could gain their services. To forget the power of their organization was to invite disaster in more ways than one. He tried again. 'I've come to Ascelius to recruit graduates for our interests on Lemos; we have an extensive mining project there with associated developments in bacteriological culture farms. The problem is how many to hire for how long and in just what fields. Our computer has provided an analogue, of course, but-' The spread of his hands completed the sentence. A computer was only as good as the data it contained, the operators in charge, the programmers who made up the schedules. 'A form of insurance,' he ended. 'A mistake could be costly in contract terms, voidances and compensation for work shifts.'
'I understand.' Okos knew more than the other guessed but said nothing. The mines on Lemos would run into trouble in a matter of months when the shafts hit a strata of geological instability. The bacteriological farms would be faced with competition from a new process already proved on a nearby planet. Men hired now would be a liability. 'I will forward your request for the services of the Cyclan,' he said smoothly. 'If you are accepted and the fees can be agreed then the matter can be resolved.'
'But-' Shad was impatient. 'Can't you give me the answer now?'
'No. Leave details of how you can be contacted.' Then, as the man still hesitated, Okos added, 'Or am I to understand you are no longer interested?'
A hint taken as the veiled threat it was and Shad left, protesting his interest. Impatience would drive him to hire the men and time would ruin him. The Vard Federation, driven desperate, would beg the help of the Cyclan which would be provided at a price. The advice, followed, would be of value and a foothold would have been gained in the company and on its world. A foothold was all the Cyclan needed. Once established the organization would be in demand and in a matter of years would be the true power behind the fagade.
Professor Pell had a different problem.
'It's a matter of academic values,' he said as he plumped into a chair. 'The Higham University is in the process of reorganization and my department is regarded as of small value. I wondered if-that is-well…'
He was begging but connected to the scholastic establishment and of potential use.
Okos said, 'The paraphysical sciences have recently gained an impetus from the discoveries of Doctor Ahmed Rafiq of the University of Zabouch. His report on a hundred sensitives tested under stringent laboratory conditions is a telling document. I could get you a copy.'
'Would you?' Pell had succeeded beyond his wildest hopes. 'If you could I would be grateful. If at any time I could serve you please ask.' He left, protesting his gratitude, not guessing that he would be asked to pay and, having paid, would continue to do so.
The Cyclan always had a use for agents.
Alone Okos studied the data Ashir had provided. A mass of items which the cyber checked, valued, assessed, assimilated, fed into the computer which was his brain. Facts to build a pattern. Data to forge a trap for a man.
Dumarest had been on Elysius, that was a fact established beyond all doubt. He had left on the Mercador. The ship had touched on several worlds on a regular schedule-on which had Dumarest left it? To which had he gone?
Okos had narrowed the choice down to two, working on a basis of pure logic adapted to local conditions and associated factors. If Dumarest was aware that he was being hunted, and the probability of that was in the order of ninety-three percent, then his actions would be influenced by that knowledge. The region was one of poor worlds with limited economies among which a ship would need to work hard to earn a profit. For such ships the exodus of scholars from Podesta would provide a welcome source of revenue. And how better to hide than among a crowd?
On the other hand, guessing that he was being searched for, knowing the power of the Cyclan he could have made for Quen there to wait for the hunting season to open and the tourists to arrive with the increase in shipping such trade would entail.
Two probabilities-which was correct?
The communicator came to life beneath his touch.
'Ashir-bring me the latest data received from the worlds of Podesta and Quen.'
On the latter there had been rape, murder, theft, a ship delayed for no apparent reason, an accident in which a waiting hunter had blown off his foot, the second-hand report of a man who had wronged another and had died beneath the thrust of a knife. A second and Okos passed on; the victim had been a gambler, the killer a man who had lost too much. A clue, perhaps, but the probability was low.
On Podesta a man had rescued a child.
Okos checked the region, the details, absorbing the data at a glance and feeling the glow of mental satisfaction at having made a correct prediction which was the only pleasure he could know. Podesta-Dumarest had revealed himself-revealed too the world which must be his destination.
A window filled one wall of the room and Okos turned toward it, halting to stare through the crystal at the mass of buildings beyond-the spires and towers, domes and turrets, parapets and peaks all adorned with variegated flags denoting different universities, various seats of learning, the clustered departments, the massed halls. The product of a world whose main industry was the imparting of knowledge and which sprawled in city- sized confusion.
Even as he watched another ship settled on the distant field to discharge its cargo of fresh students. Another batch to add to the hordes which thronged the streets and lodging houses, the eating places and taverns, the emporiums, the bookstores, the cut-price tutorials. A mass of variegated humanity, nondescript in their ubiquitous robes. Soon Dumarest would be among them-when would he arrive?
Chapter Three
It had rained, the downpour followed by freezing winds which had turned the water into ice, coating the buildings with a glistening frost which glittered in the late afternoon sun as if the towers and spires and soaring peaks had been dusted with crushed and scattered jewels. Against the white brilliance the flags displayed their varied hues, their markings, their shapes: oblong, square, forked, lozenged, some with puffs and slashes, others with a stark and simple dignity.
'Damn!' The man at Dumarest's side stamped his feet, white plumes of vapor wreathing his uplifted cowl. 'I hate the cold!'
Rani Papandrious, a merchant and a successful one, now aimed to acquire a degree and the entry it would give him to the higher echelons of society on his home world. Beyond him a girl sucked in her breath as she stared with wide eyes at the flags, the frosted buildings. She had been backed by her family and launched into a strange environment in a desperate hope that she would provide for them all.
Papandrious shook his head as she walked from the field toward a group of waiting figures.
'They'll skin her,' he said with professional cynicism.
'Take all she's got and then leave her stuck in a slum dormitory, classes she can't handle, a job she won't be able to keep.'
