Caradoc said nothing, sitting with his face shrouded in the uplifted cowl of his robe, his hands buried within the wide sleeves. Bochner was a little drunk, or was trying to give that impression. If the former, he was betraying a weakness which could kill him; if the latter, then he must again be trying to get information. An exercise which the cyber would have found amusing if he had been able to experience the emotion.
'A pattern which has won me many a trophy,' continued Bochner. 'To learn the habits of the quarry, to trail, to anticipate and then, finally, to close in for the kill.' His hand tightened around the cap of the ornate bottle. 'To win and again affirm the superiority of a thinking mind.'
'One fogged with drugs?'
'This?' Bochner lifted the cap and deliberately swallowed what it contained. 'You object?'
'To your drinking, no. To the possibility of your failure, yes. Need I remind you that the Cyclan has little patience with those who fail? That when you accepted your present commission you also undertook certain obligations? It would be wise for you to remember them.'
'Don't preach to me, Cyber!' For a moment the smooth, almost-womanish features changed, to become those of a feral beast, an animal devoted to the kill. 'The Cyclans have hired my skill, nothing more. And why did they hire me? Why, with all the skills and talents you claim to possess, was it necessary to find another to hunt down the man you seek?' Leaning forward a little, he added, 'Can't you, even now, guess why Dumarest has been able to elude you for so long?'
'Chance-'
'Luck! The whining excuse of fools!' Wine gurgled as Bochner refilled the little cup. 'Shall I tell you why? You persist in thinking of Dumarest as a factor and not as a man. As a unit instead of a thinking, human being. You make your predictions and assess your probabilities and point to a certain place and claim that is the spot at which your quarry is to be found. Yet, the men sent there find they are too late, or get themselves killed, or discover that some incident has negated your prediction. And still you haven't trapped your prey, and still you can't understand why.'
Caradoc watched as Bochner emptied his cup and again refilled it from the bottle.
'Dumarest is a man, not a cypher. An animal with sharpened instincts and an awareness of danger. But this time, he must know who is hunting him and why; an advantage he has which I do not. It would help if I did.' Pausing, he waited, and Caradoc noted the steadiness of his hand, the absence of glimmering reflections from the glass of the bottle, the surface of the liquid in the cup. A pause which the hunter ended before it became obvious he waited for an answer. 'But no matter how clever he is, the rules apply to him as they do to a beast. He has the same need for food, shelter and seclusion. Being human, all can be obtained with the one commodity- money. To get it he must steal, beg or work. To beg would take too long and bring too small a return. To steal is not easy, and to rob others is to take high risks for the sake of little gain. Therefore, he must work and where would a traveler without great skills obtain employment in the Quillian Sector? Work which would provide all a man in his position needs? Well, Cyber, where is he to find it? Where would he feel safe? Where else but among others of his own kind? Transients who ask no questions, employed by those who regard them as nothing but a needed source of labor. A construction site-mines, roads, buildings, canals-but where, Cyber? On which world?'
'Ealius. We arrive tomorrow.'
They landed at sunset when the terminator was bisecting the single continent and tattered clouds hung like shredded garlands against the darkening orange of the sky. Bochner paused at the gate as Caradoc went on his way, asking for and receiving audience with the guard-commander, a burly, sullen man who softened as money was pressed into his palm.
'Procedure? It's simple. We don't worry about arrivals and only test people when they leave. We stand them on the detector and ask their names. If they lie, we hold them for further investigation. If they're on the list, the same.'
'List?'
'Contract-breakers, debtors, those accused of any crime. We catch them, hold them, pass them on for appropriate action. Dumarest?' He frowned. 'No, no one of that name has passed through.'
'How can you be sure? Are you on duty at all times?'
'No, but we keep records and I check the lists. Want to check?'
'I'll take your word for it. Sorry to have taken up your time.'
'Dumarest!' The commander frowned, musing. 'Wait a minute! Dumarest-that name's familiar.' He turned to where a man sat at a computer terminal. 'Check it, Mallius.'
A moment, then, 'It's on the list, Commander. Man to be detained if spotted. An accusation of theft by the Hafal-Glych made on the-'
'Never mind that.' The commander looked at Bochner. 'Satisfied?'
With the thoroughness of the Cyclan, if nothing else. The listing of the name was proof of the efficiency of the organization-they must have alerted agents on every world in the Quillian Sector to keep watch for Dumarest. His respect for the man increased as he realized what difficulties he had to face. Still had to face. A cunning and intelligent quarry who should provide a stimulating chase.
Caradoc, sitting in a room in the foremost hotel, listened to what he had learned, then said, 'Your conclusions?'
'Dumarest must be working for one of the construction companies here. Maybe the Fydale or the Arbroth-both are large employers of labor.'
'As is the Lenchief.'
'You think that is where he is to be found?'
'The probability is high.' Caradoc made a gesture of dismissal. 'If you hope to gain your reward I suggest you waste no further time. Contact me immediately if you have located Dumarest. Once you are certain you have found the man I will give you further instructions.'
Bochner drew in his breath, aware of the rage mounting within him, the anger which must surely burst to reveal itself on his face. A rage triggered by the realization that the cyber had already assessed all possibilities and had arrived at his decision without deigning to consult his partner. His anger was not helped by the knowledge that his inquiries at the gate had been a waste of time. Why hadn't he been told?
Caradoc said, 'You have the name of the company and can gain its location if you ask at the desk. They will also arrange for transportation. Is there more you need before undertaking action?'
'No, I- Bochner forced himself to remember that no cyber was ever sarcastic and that Caradoc's inquiry had been genuine. 'Aren't you coming with me?'
'There is no need, in fact, my presence could be a disadvantage. In any case, I have other work to engage my attention while you execute your commission.' Again came the gesture of dismissal. 'Please delay no longer.'
Caradoc followed the hunter with his eyes as the man left the room. Bochner had mastered his obvious rage well and that was to his credit, but against that was the fact there had been no rational cause for anger at all. Another demonstration of the futility of emotion; the crippling reaction of the mind and body to external stimuli which destroyed the sharp reasoning power of the intellect. Had he considered the Cyclan to be so devoid of foresight that he had thought it necessary to question those at the gate? Had he no concept of the power of the organization which had chosen to utilize his limited skills?
Yoka had chosen him, and the old cyber had long ago proved his capabilities. Yet, too much importance should not be placed on past achievements. Age could bring more than physical decay; always there was the danger of a mind affected by senility. It was barely possible that all relevant factors had not been taken into account when he had decided on the use of Bochner. He would include the suggestion in his report. In the meantime, as he had mentioned to the hunter, he had other matters to attend to.
A touch on a button and a man answered the summons.
'Master!' The acolyte bowed. One of two sent from a different world on another vessel-what Bochner didn't know he couldn't guard against. 'Your commands?'
'Send in Fan Dudinka.'
He was of middle height, middle-aged, his face marked with lines of worry, his eyes wary even though his manner was assured. The Head of the Essalian Group, which faced ruin unless the Cyclan could help them.
'Cyber Caradoc, it is good of you to receive me.'
'Please be seated.' Caradoc waited until the man had taken a chair. 'As you have been informed, your bid to
