Zenya

And yet, no device had been found. How did they intend to bend him to their will?

Brooding, he stared into his glass. Parect must have known that he would have himself checked and that nothing would be found. Either the man had command of a science unusual for the society in which he lived, or there was something he hadn't revealed. It could even be a naked bluff; if necessary, he would take the chance.

'Earl, how close are you to finding him?'

'Salek?' He shrugged. 'All I know is that he is among the people with whom the residents of this planet are at war. The chances are that he is dead.'

'Or will die?'

He caught the subtle undertones, the barely concealed hint, and remembered how she had once stood against him, the ambition she possessed.

'You could forget him, Earl,' she whispered. 'Chan Parect is old and will soon be dead. Suppose you didn't find the man, or found him too late? Who would question what you said? And then, later, when the old man is dead, have you forgotten what I promised?'

'Forget it, Lisa.'

'Forget?' Anger suffused her face, turning it ugly. 'Has that young fool wound you around her finger? Are you so besotted that you can see no further than a pillow supporting your head? Are you in love with her? Tell me, Earl! Are you in love with her?'

She was shaken, her composure ruined, and any woman in the height of passion would forget her caution. A little more pressure and he would learn what he had to know.

'Yes,' he said. 'I love her.'

She screamed a word.

It was formless, a combination of sounds complex and unknown, long, echoing. Dumarest felt as if something had exploded within his skull. Turning, he reached for the phone, picking it up, saying to the face on the screen, 'This is Earl Dumarest. Connect me to the Cyclan.'

'Sir?' The face frowned, wondering.

'This is Earl Dumarest. Connect me to the Cyclan.' Dumarest heard the words, saw the face, the indecision turning to acquiescence. Again he said, this is Earl Dumarest. Connect me to the Cyclan.' He could say nothing else.

A hand entered his vision, the nails shining with their coat of glistening black varnish, the needle points reflecting tiny splinters of light. A voice whispered a word in his ear, and suddenly he was free again.

'Forget that,' he snapped. 'Cancel the order.'

'As you wish, sir.' The face on the screen relaxed. 'It was an unusual request, but-'

'Forget it.' Dumarest found he was sweating. 'A mistake.'

'Of course, marshal.'

The screen died, and he turned to face the woman, her triumphant smile. 'There is no cyber here on Chard, Earl. At least, not yet. But should you insist, the Cyclan will be contacted. And should you run, no matter where you go, that compulsion to call them will always be present. You see, my darling, just how helpless you are?'

Chapter Twelve

A saw whined, the note falling as the edge hit the bole, rising as the powered teeth ripped through the mass of fiber. A lofios fell, pollen rising in a cloud, to cover the heads and faces of masked men. They gripped it, dragged it to the center of the narrow clearing, fired it with the concentrated beams of lasers. Thick smoke rose unwavering into the windless air.

Smoke that ran in an unbroken line in a wide arc around the foot of the hills.

Turning from the screen, Colonel Oaken said bitterly, 'Destruction. Savage, wanton destruction. Why did you order this, marshal? Are you trying to ruin us?'

'No, to protect you.'

'By slashing down the lofios? Captain Louk had obeyed your order to form a line.'

'It was unsatisfactory.' Dumarest strode across the operations room to where the big contour map stood marked with colored points and lines. One, amber, ran in a short curve before another, blue, which told of the progress they were now making. 'Look. If you were an enemy trying to get past, you could do it without trouble. The captain concentrated his forces facing the valleys, but no enemy would take the obvious route. My way is the best, a complete line twenty yards wide, giving clear vision to men and an open field for instruments.'

'Rafts would have sufficed.'

'No. They would have had to ride too high and maybe miss what we are looking for. Even so, rafts will also be used for general scan.' Dumarest turned, impatient. 'I know my trade, colonel. This line must be maintained; the truce depends on it.'

'The truce.' From where he sat at the table, Colonel Stone shook his head. 'I'm not belittling what you did, marshal, but how can you be sure they will keep their word? Even while you were in the hills, two villages were destroyed, some of your own men killed. I hate to admit it, but I think that Colonel Oaken has a point. The Ayutha have changed. They have become savage. You should not have canceled our order for the punitive expeditions. A strong reprisal is the best deterrent.'

'It is also the best method of creating antagonism.'

'Marshal?'

'I warned you about this at the beginning,' said Dumarest. 'All wars tend to escalate. You hit them, and they will want to hit you. Then you hit them again, harder this time, and get the same in return. If that is the kind of war you want to fight, I want none of it. I find no pleasure in seeing a world tear itself apart.'

Colonel Paran said quietly, 'We gave the marshal full responsibility while in the field, gentlemen. In any case, the attacks were made before the truce. Also, the destruction is not as bad as it seems; the lofios can be regrown. I suggest we hear his motives before we condemn him.'

'Am I on trial?'

'No, marshal, the word was badly chosen.'

Perhaps, but it carried the tone of the Council, the criticisms they were eager to make. To Captain Louk Dumarest said, 'Disperse the men, as I ordered. Individuals set at twenty-yard intervals, regular watches of two hours on, two off. Set monitoring posts behind the line with scanners aimed toward the hills. No firing; that is essential. In fact, you had better disarm the men on watch.'

'Disarm them?' Lome sounded dubious. 'Is that wise, sir? They wont like it, and if the Ayutha should attack at night-'

'Guns won't save them,' interrupted Dumarest curtly. 'But some trigger-happy fool could break the truce. The rafts can be armed in case of emergency, but if anyone opens fire without waiting for orders, he will be court- martialed and shot. I mean that, captain.'

Louk swallowed, thinking of Corm, the way he had died. Rumor had exaggerated the incident, forgetting the mercy of the shot, concentrating instead on the captain's disobedience. 'Yes, sir.'

'And see that my orders are obeyed as given.' Dumarest's voice matched the anger on his face. 'I want no further compromises. That line should be finished by now, would have been if you hadn't dallied.' To a junior officer he said, 'What is the weather report?'

'Some cloud, with a high possibility of rain, sir.'

'Wind?'

'None, and the air should remain steady.'

'You expect the rain when?'

'At nightfall, sir. It should be widespread over the entire lofios area.'

'Good.' To the waiting colonels Dumarest said, 'Now, gentlemen, I am at your service.'

They sat at a table in a room paneled with softly grained wood, wine standing beside maps, glasses of water, jugs of ice. Comforts for a heated day. But the comfort was illusory, the meeting more of an inquisition than Dumarest would have liked.

'About Captain Corm,' said Stone. 'I know his father. He is disturbed by the reports. Did you actually kill him?'