"My lord?"

  "I was looking for you," said Komis. He stepped forward and the door closed behind him cutting off most of the light. "I did not expect to find you here."

  "Is it forbidden? I did not know, my lord. I followed a stair to the sound of the sea. But if this part of your house is reserved for the family, then I shall leave immediately." Mede hesitated. "With your permission, my lord."

  "Stay." There was no point in the cyber leaving now. "You have made many investigations," said Komis directly. The time for delicacy was past. "I must ask if you have arrived at a decision."

  Mede was precise. "I make no decisions, my lord. I advise, nothing more."

  "And?"

  "My lord?"

  Komis was impatient. "Must we play with words? What do you advise me to do? How can I increase the fortune of Klieg?"

  "I think you misunderstand my purpose here, my lord." Mede's voice was a modulated accompaniment to the gusting wind. "I cannot tell you what to do. I can only advise you as to the course of any action you may choose to take. However I appreciate your concern, my lord. It cannot be easy for you to accept the fact that your people face inevitable ruin."

  Komis turned, saw a bench, sat on the cold stone. "Are you trying to frighten me, cyber?"

  "For what purpose, my lord?" In the shadow of his cowl, Mede's shaven skull was a glimmering blur. Thin hands tucked themselves into wide sleeves as the wind tugged at the scarlet fabric of his robe. "In all matters the Cyclan remains neutral. I am a servant of the Cyclan."

  "And so you also remain neutral." Komis drew a deep breath. "Tell me," he commanded. "I must know the worst."

  "The income of your estate is limited," said Mede smoothly. "I have already warned of the result to be expected from the depredations of the thren. But it is more than that. I have studied the figures, the land, the markets for the past twenty years. Your people and dependents increase but your resources do not. Even so, you would have managed on a gradually sliding curve until the position had been breached where you would solve the problem by the use of other technologies. However, a short while ago something happened which accelerated the curve. Your outgoings increased to the limit of income and beyond. You spent from capital, my lord. You entered into debt."

  Komis moved restlessly on the bench.

  "Your situation was delicate to begin with," continued the cyber. "It was as if your economy were balanced on the edge of a knife. A little push to one side and it would fall. You gave it that push, my lord."

  "I spent money," admitted Komis. "I borrowed money. But we have stock and land and men to work the land. How can you talk of ruin?"

  "A word with relative meanings," admitted the cyber. "Ruin to one could be fortune to another. But for you, my lord, it means retrenchment, the loss of those who now give you loyalty, the sale of land and the loss of certain expensive services you now enjoy."

  Komis saw the movement of his eyes, the glitter as light from the room reflected from the pupils. "My sister."

  "My lord?"

  Komis rose, tall, hard. "You are talking of my sister when you talk of 'expensive services.' The physicians to attend her, the life-support apparatus, the research to find a path to guide her back to health." And before that there had been the endless stream of doctors, the time bought at the big medical computers, the tests and treatments, the hope and disappointments, and, always, the expense, the expense. But what was the value of a sister's life?

  Mede bowed. "I understand, my lord."

  "Do you, cyber? I wonder if you can? If you are able?" Komis shook his head. The man was a guest! "I am sorry. Some things disturb me and I speak without thinking. My sister has been ill for many years. She was, is, greatly loved."

  "With your permission, my lord, I would like to see her. We of the Cyclan are versed in medical matters."

  "Are you a doctor?"

  "No, my lord, but if I knew the full nature of her ailment it is barely possible that I could suggest some helpful therapy."

  Komis hesitated. Keelan was not to be exposed to the eyes of the curious and yet Mede could possibly be of use. His mind did not work in the same way as other men's and he belonged to an organization which spanned the galaxy. Cybers were to be found at every center of rule and learning. Perhaps—?

  He shook his head. Tomorrow, he would think about it, but not now. Now the cyber would have to wait. As Keelan had waited. As she was still waiting. Tomorrow was soon enough.

  * * *

  From his window Mede could see the roofs of the out-buildings, the top of the surrounding wall, the rolling scrub of the downs beyond. To one side the path curved as it fell into the valley, invisible now as were the downs and the wall, shielded in the clouded night. Only the roofs of the outhouses reflected the gleam from his window, the shifting glow of the signal torch burning high above the gate.

  Carefully he drew the curtains, the thick weave proof against a prying eye. The door was fastened with a wooden bar which slid in wooden sockets. Thick, crude, but both simple to make and effective for its purpose. He engaged it and touched the bracelet locked about his left wrist. Invisible forces flowed from the instrument and built a barrier against any electronic device being able to focus in his vicinity. His privacy assured, Mede turned to the bed and lay supine on the warm coverings. Above his eyes the roof bore paintings of animals and the details of a hunt.

  Barbarism, he thought. When men lived close to the soil they seemed to share the attributes of the animals they tended or slaughtered for food—forgetting the fined instruments of their brains in the urges of the flesh. It was a mistake no cyber could ever make.

  Relaxing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the Samatchazi formula. Gradually he lost the senses of taste, smell, touch and hearing. Had he opened his eyes he would have been blind. Divorced of external stimuli his brain ceased to be irritated, gained tranquility and calm, became a thing of pure intellect, its reasoning awareness the only thread with normal existence. Only then did the grafted Homochon elements become active. Rapport was almost immediate.

  Mede expanded with vibrant life.

  No two cybers had the same experience. For Mede it was as if he walked over a field resplendent with flowers and each flower was the shining light of truth. His feet sank into the field so that he was a part of it, sharing the same massed and intertwining roots of the flowers, intermeshed inextricably with the filaments which stretched across the universe to infinity. He saw it and was a part of it, as it was a part of him. The flowers were part of a living organism which filled the galaxy and he also was a similar flower.

  And, at the heart of the system, a swelling node in the complex of interengaged minds, was the headquarters of the Cyclan. Buried deep beneath miles of rock on a lonely planet, the central intelligence absorbed his knowledge as a sponge would absorb water from a pool of dew. There was no verbal communication—only mental communion, quick, almost instantaneous organic transmission against which even ultra-radio was the merest crawl.

  "Your area the one with the highest index of probability. Concentrate on determination of true data to the exclusion of all else. Speed is of the utmost urgency."

  Mede framed a suggestion. "Isolating of time factor could have high relevancy. Cross-checking with medical facilities in area could confirm prediction."

  "Confirmation will follow. Immediate action is to determine probability and to take full action to safeguard as previously instructed. Emphasize the necessity for speed. On no account will failure be tolerated. Matter most important."

  That was all.

  The rest was pure, mental intoxication.

  Always, after rapport had been broken, was this period when the Homochon elements sank into quiescence and the machinery of the body began to realign itself with mental control. Mede hovered in a dark nothingness, a pure intelligence untrammeled by the limitations of the body, sensing strange memories and unexperienced situations. Shards and scraps of mental overflow from other intelligences. The idle discard from other minds. It was the overflow power of central intelligence, the radiated thoughts of the tremendous cybernetic complex which was the heart of the Cyclan.

  One day, if he proved himself, he would become a living part of that gigantic intelligence. His body would age and his senses dull but his brain would remain as active as ever. Then the technicians would take him, remove his brain, fit it into a vat of nutrient fluids and attach the tubes and instruments of a life-support apparatus. He would join the others, his brain hooked in series with the rest.

  He would be a part of, and yet the whole of, a complex of a vast number of brains. An organic computer working continuously to solve the secrets of the universe.

  An intelligence against which there could be no resistance.

  Chapter Ten

  ON CHRON, WINTER was a tiger, lurking, dangerous. The winds came blustering down from the icy mountains, harsh and loaded with the chemical fumes released from the fused magma of the mines. The sleet held acid which burned unprotected skin and caused painful rashes and sores. Food grew even more scarce, as did fuel. Men huddled around the smelters, risking asphyxiation for the sake of warmth, almost hoping to be caught by the rare patrols of company guards— for, enslaved, they would be fed.

  Dumarest grew leaner, harder as he scoured the countryside; then one morning Kalin woke screaming.

  "Steady!" Dumarest moved quickly to her side. He wore a thick cloak and his body was huge by reason of the rags bound about his body over his normal clothing. "It's all right," he soothed. "There's nothing to worry about."

  "Earl!" She clung to him. "Earl, don't go!"

  Gently he disengaged her arms from around his neck. A metered fire stood against the wall. He fed coins into the slot and threw the switch. Beam heat warmed the bed, the area around it. A hotplate provided heat to boil coffee. Through the window shone the false light of early dawn.

  He waited until the coffee had boiled, added sugar, handed the girl a cup and took one himself. "We went through all this last night," he said. "I've got to go out again with Arn and the others. You know why."

  "No," she protested. "I don't know why." She sat upright in bed, her hair a glowing waterfall in the red warmth of the fire. Traveler-fashion, she was fully dressed against the cold, against thieves and the possible need to get up and run. Here in this hotel room there was no real need for such caution but Dumarest didn't object.

  She might, he thought bleakly, have need of such teaching later on.

  He sipped his coffee and sat enjoying the taste and warmth. Soon enough he would be where both were almost unobtainable. "Kalin," he said. "You promised me not to look ahead."

  She was stubborn. "I agreed, I didn't promise. And why shouldn't I see what is going to happen?"

  "Because it makes you wake screaming," he said quietly. "Because you can't be sure of what you see." He sipped again, staring at her over the edge of the cup. "What did you see?"

  "Pain," she said. "And blood. And you all hurt."

  "But you can't tell exactly when," he said. "Or where. Or how. That is why I ask you not to look. Not to attempt to scan our futures. Some things we don't need to know. Some things, knowing, we cannot avoid. I don't want to go out on a hunt knowing that I'm going to be hurt. The mere fact of knowing could make it certain." It was getting too involved. He swallowed the last of his coffee and put away the cup. "I'd better get moving. The others will be waiting."

  "Let them wait." Woman-like, she was indifferent to the comfort of others when a problem filled her mind. "Why, Earl?" she insisted. "Why do you have to go out at all? We can make enough money at the gambling tables to live in relative comfort. We could make enough to buy us passage away from here. Why can't we just do that?"

  Dumarest was cold. "You're talking like a fool and you know it. They suspect you're a sensitive and only tolerate us playing because we've enough sense to be content with small winnings and because we make a good advertisement. If we went out for a killing you'd find they'd bar our bets. If we managed to force them to pay they would have men waiting for us outside. Knowing what's going to happen doesn't always mean you can avoid it. Chron is a small place as far as we're concerned. We couldn't hope to hide."

  He smiled at her taut face, brushed the tips of his fingers over her white cheek.

  "Look," he said. "Let's be sensible. You've got money, somewhere safe to live, heat and food when you want it. Gambling has provided that, and with luck, will continue to provide it."

  "Then why go out?" she said again. "Why risk your life? You could wind up like Crin. Lying helpless with a broken back. You don't have to help his brothers find money for a healing operation." She clung to him. "Earl! Don't go! You don't have to!"

  He gripped her arms. "I do."

  "But why? Why?"

  "Because we're in a trap!" He moved his grip to her wrists and caught the scent of her hair as he pulled free of her arms. "We're stranded, girl, can't you understand? There's no free work here, no way to earn enough money to buy a passage. We could steal it, but the company uses scrip, has guards and checks the field. We can't win it—not with you suspected of being a sensitive. So we have to make it. What other way is there than by hunting a zardle and hoping to find a zerd?"

  She was stubborn. "A Low passage wouldn't cost all that much."

  "Sure," he admitted. "If I wore the collar for a year, didn't spend a penny of my pay, didn't gamble or drink or run up any bills for food or clothing I might just about manage it. Of course there would be the interest charges on the money I'd borrowed but a second year should take care of that." He leaned toward her, smiling. "Will you wait for me, Kalin?"

  "Forever, Earl." Her eyes met his and he knew that she wasn't joking. "I'd wait until the sun went out."

  "I wouldn't let you." He rose, huge in the warm glow of the fire, almost shapeless because of the padding. "I couldn't be without you that long."

  "Thank you, darling, for saying that."

  "I mean it." He stooped, kissed her, tasted the heaven of her lips. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "I'll get you out of here."

  Then he was gone and she sat alone in the bed, seeing a succession of images, pictures of the future. She fought the screams which, born of fear, rose in futile negation.

  * * *

  Arn shuffled his feet in the freezing dust. "You're late," he said.

  "So I'm late." Dumarest looked over the assembled knot of men. "Have you got the nets? The other stuff?"

  "It's all here."

  Dumarest checked the group. Arn, Haran and his brother Wisar, five others—a total of nine. Too many, perhaps. Three men with lasers would have been more efficient: one to tend camp, one to cover and one to hunt. But three men wouldn't have been able to transport the meat—they would have killed for fun, not food.

  As the company officials did during the fine weather. Killing for the sake of it, hoping to be rewarded with a zerd but rarely finding any. Dumarest thought he knew why.

  "All right," he said, lifting his voice. "Before we start let's get a couple of things straight. Kalin has supplied the nets and supplies so she gets two shares. Arn, Haran and Wisar know the prey and terrain so they get a share and a half. I get the same. Any objections?"

  A man coughed. "That applies to everything? Head, skin and tails?"

  "Everything," said Dumarest. "Including any zerds we may find. Kalin gets a double share. Agreed?"

  Breath plumed in white vapor as they nodded.

  "The other thing is that I'm in full charge," said Dumarest. "What I say goes. If you don't like it you can walk away now. Try walking away later and I'll cut you down." He looked at their strained faces. "We're not coming back empty-handed on this trip," he said. "We're going to stay out until we get something worth getting. All in favor?"

  "Suits me," said a man. The rest added their agreement.

  Dumarest nodded to Arn. "Right," he said. "Let's check the padding and start moving."

  At first the going was easy, long slopes rising up from the village. The path led between the landing field and the smelter. On the field stood ships; lines of men like ants loading their bellies with metal, trotting to the cracking whips of overseers. Above the smelter shone the red glow of electronic fire, the swirling clouds of released fumes shot with streaks of burning as combustible gases reached flash-point. Well away from both smelter and field, the gaudy bubbles of Hightown shone almost iridescent in the weak light of a late dawn.

  Haran looked at them and spat. "Warmth," he said. "Comfort. Running water. Good food and clean clothing. Soft beds and soap and piped music—and my brother is lying in frozen filth!"

  "It's the system," said Lough. He was one of the new men and grunted as he shifted the weight of his pack. "Some have and a lot haven't. It's always been the same."

  "It always will be," said another morosely. "Like eating, sleeping, getting born, dying. It's a law of nature."

  "Like hell it is!" Wisar glowered at the bubbles. "Maybe we should change that law," he said tightly. "Go in there and take a little of what we need and they can't use. When I think of Crin—!"

  "How is he?" said Lough. "Still no improvement?"

  "There won't be until he gets a section-transplant." Wisar tore his eyes from the bubbles and looked directly ahead. "He can move his head and arms but that's about all. At that he's lucky. If it hadn't been for Earl buying treatment to neutralize the zardle poison he'd have died long ago."

  "No, he wouldn't," corrected Haran. "He'd be walking about alive and well—but we'd both be wearing a collar for life." He paused as the track divided. One branch curved to run down into a shallow valley, the other pointed to where mountains loomed in the far distance. "Which way, Am? Left or right?"

  "To the mountains," said Arn, and then as Haran headed right—"Two for one's a bad exchange. The way things are you've all got a chance to get away from here fit and free."