"We fight," he said. "You win and the girl is yours to use as you want. I win and you give me her value."

  "Which is?"

  "A year's labor at the standard rate." More than the cost of a High passage and money he didn't have but the man gave Dumarest no time to argue. He attacked, cheered on by the girl, hands reaching, knee lifting in a savage jerk to the groin, head lowered and butting to break the nose and mash the lips over shattered teeth. An attack which vented itself on air as Dumarest moved aside.

  "Coward!" Brill was annoyed. "Stand and fight like a man!"

  He moved in again, this time kicking, his foot rising to slam forward, the heel aimed at the stomach. Dumarest caught it, twisted, threw the man off balance and staggering to one side. Purple vapor engulfed him and he emerged snarling, followed by a woman with braided hair who stood watching as the girl screamed encouragement.

  "Get him, Brill! Hurt him! Show me blood!"

  A bitch who would be as loyal to the man who won her as she was to her present companion. She danced forward with a suggestive thrust of the hips, a gyration of her buttocks which sent matching ripples up her torso and activated her small but pendulous breasts.

  A distraction which Dumarest ignored. Brill was drugged but the more dangerous because of that. Even though unarmed his hands and feet could be used to maim and kill. To underestimate an enemy was often the last mistake a man made.

  "Earl?" Zalman was concerned. "He means to kill you."

  "I know."

  "Shall I help? No," he read the answer. "You don't need me."

  The next time Brill attacked Dumarest ceased being gentle. He ducked, avoiding the fingers stabbing at his eyes, the thumb hooked to rip at his mouth. Twisting he guided the upthrusting knee from his testicles and then, with cold deliberation, ended the conflict.

  "Wonderful!" The woman with the braided hair clapped her hands in admiration. "So neat! So fast! How often did you hit him? Five times? Six?" She looked at the limp figure sprawled unconscious on the tiles. "Will he live?"

  "Yes."

  "Bruised and sore and hell have no use for that chit for awhile." She looked distastefully at the girl who stood, simpering, waiting to be claimed. "But now, of course, she is yours."

  "Must I take her?"

  "You will insult her if you don't but, no, there is no obligation." She added, wistfully, "Had I been in her place I could have wished there was."

  "You flatter me, my lady."

  "No, I am honest. But a word of warning. The man has friends and wealthy relatives—need I say more?"

  She had said enough and provided another reason for Dumarest to be on the move. Assassins were easy to hire and no man could stand against a powerful House. As he turned to leave the girl ran after him.

  "What about me?"

  "Stay and take care of your friend."

  "You don't want me?" Shocked incredulity shone in her eyes. "You really mean it! You reject me? You dirty, stinking—" She broke off as Dumarest closed her mouth with his palm. As she twisted free her eyes glowed with a warped anticipation. "Are you going to beat me? Hurt me? Make me grovel? Are you? Are you?"

  Zatman said, "Get dressed and wait for us outside. You have fifteen minutes."

  They left the baths in three, Zalman leading the way to where a small park rested enclosed by plumed trees and adorned by a tinkling fountain. A bench rested in the seclusion of bushes and he sat looking up at Dumarest.

  "Sit, Earl. We must talk."

  About Earth and his claim.

  "Of course. How shall I begin? With my knowledge of your interest? That I learned from Bochner who won the information from a woman you confided in. He thought as she must have done that you were bemused by a legend. Ask the next hundred people who pass you why if they know of the planet and they will tell you it does not exist. Earth is a world like Bonanza and Jackpot and El Dorado, Like Eden and Paradise and a place called Heaven. Realms born of wishful longings. Planets which hold all the things anyone could ever desire. And, if you insist and tell them the world does actually exist they will ask where are the coordinates?"

  "You have them?"

  "No." Zalman met his eyes. "I am honest with you, Earl. And you will not kill me. Not here. Not ever unless I cheat you and that will never be." He added, quickly. "No. I was not talking merely to save my life."

  He read too much; from the expression on his face he had learned Dumarest's suspicions and he wondered who could ever tolerate such a man. The rounded face gave the answer. Zalman was alone. His talent had locked him in a prison of isolation.

  He said, wistfully, "You are probably the first to realize that." Then, shaking his head, "Maybe I shouldn't have said that but I seem unable to remember my talent can be offensive."

  "Only when you display it. If you waited before speaking you could manage to keep it hidden. Surely you have tried that?"

  "Of course, but, Earl, can you imagine what it is to know the woman you love is lying when she tells you she is yours alone? Or to know a friend is betraying you? A companion plotting your destruction? To know you are being robbed and deluded and taken for all kinds of a fool? My own father—my mother—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I thought they would be pleased but how mistaken I was. Who would guess parents could be so cruel? You, perhaps, yes, I think you have no love for your childhood."

  A time he preferred to forget. Dumarest said, "And Earth?"

  "Exists. Or, at least, I know of a man who swears it does. I will take you to him and from him you may learn what it is you wish to know. My share of our agreement. Yours?"

  "I have nothing you can use."

  "So you say but I am convinced otherwise. Well, it can wait. I trust you. Later, after you have met the man I spoke of we will talk again." He rose, stretching, "Shall we go?"

  "To where?"

  "The field. To find a ship and book passage. The man you want is on Elysius."

  Chapter Three

  Jarvet had anticipated reassignment but was not surprised when retained. Nequal had molded the apex of his world to his own design and the new Cyber Prime would have found the fit not wholly to his liking. The diet, for example; Nequal had been old, his body able to maintain itself on little, but Elge needed more calories to keep his metabolism at an optimum level. The same with the temperature of his new quarters which he found too high, their illumination which he found too bright, and alterations were needed in the schedule which had been geared to his predecessor's biological clock. Small things but more efficiently dealt with by an experienced aide than one new to the position and Jarvet had not served Nequal long enough to have been strictured by his routine.

  Elge checked a report and added it to a pile before looking at the man where he stood beyond the desk. The Elmay situation had been dealt with and a new disposition of cybers made in the Phalange Confederation. More work remained but he sensed the aide wanted his attention.

  "Yes?"

  "Master, those for processing wait in the reception chamber."

  Cybers, old, ill, some diseased but all retaining clarity of mind and now ready to receive their earned reward. Custom dictated they be welcomed and addressed by the Cyber Prime; a tradition far from an empty formality. Minds reassured by personal contact gained added strength of determination and were better fitted to withstand the psychic shock of transference.

  "How many? Four? When are the next expected?"

  "Five will be arriving the day after tomorrow."

  Why not save those present until then and greet them all at the same time? Work halved and time saved—yet would it be efficient? Elge decided not; the surgeons would be ready with their assistants and apparatus and the saving of his own effort would be lost in the waste of their greater potential. Also it took time to complete the processing and to work them too hard and under pressure would be to create unnecessary strain. Even so the facets of the situation had to be examined.

  "Prepare an update on operation schedules with particular reference to transference processing based on the use of latest equipment together with any probable advantages to be gained by new techniques."

  A minute gained by the use of an added machine would make that inclusion worthwhile. The same amount of time lost by the release of an assistant would pay in dividends gained by the saving of labor. The objective of the Cyber Prime as Jarvet had quickly learned; to maximize potential and minimize waste. Even efficiency was a matter of degree and Elge was a new broom intent on sweeping clean.

  Jarvet said, "Will you decide on the Thailen Disposition now, Master?"

  He watched as Elge studied the data. A man as intent as Nequal had been but one with a different background. Not for him the slums and lucky chance of winning the attention of the Cyclan. Elge was of the minority and held an advantage most lacked. The younger son of a wealthy House, a strange, tormented boy who had found an escape in books and a pride in mental achievement. One who had a father with the foresight to recognize an advantage but lacked the understanding to see how futile his ambition was. A cyber recognized no family, no friends, no allegiance other than to the organization of which he was a part. Once accepted he lost his past, his very name, and the operation performed at puberty rid him of all emotion including the possibility of regret.

  Facts which had won the Cyclan a dedicated servant and had cost a father his youngest son.

  One who now pondered the destruction of a world.

  Subtlety was taking too long to resolve the problem; the cabal ruling the Thailen Disposition was entrenched and stubborn. Greed, the natural ally of the Cyclan, was a tool which had a blunted edge as was ambition and hope. The Disposition had been designed by an expert in human behavior and the pattern he had formed a century ago still held strength. But all such societies were brittle and, like glass, would shatter if the correct force could be determined.

  Within seconds Elge had decided what that force must be.

  Rising he activated the galactic depiction and adjusted the relevant sector. The worlds of the Disposition were close; Thailen marked with green, the two others in yellow and blue. Planets united in a mutual dependency, self-sufficient, a barrier to the domination of the Cyclan.

  One to be broken by the use of plague. A mutated virus introduced to Thailen would decimate the population and spread an enervating weakness through the survivors. Mutual aid had its limits; soon resentments and irritations would become manifest—emotions exacerbated by skilled agents and contrived situations leading to violent incidents. Thailen, deserted by its allies, would be forced to appeal to the Cyclan for help in order to survive. The rest would be simply a matter of time.

  Jarvet said, "Which virus, Master?"

  "HXT 3274." A product of the Cyclan laboratories and kept well away from the complex in which he stood as were all such compounds. "Prepare relevant schedules."

  Times, costs in terms of material and labor, relative efficiencies—such a plan must not be allowed to fail. And it was one beyond the normal scope of operations—the Cyclan had no need to wage such outright if hidden war. Was Elge impatient to make his reputation? A thought Jarvet dismissed as soon as formed; such small ambition would have eradicated him from the organization long ago. What then? A desire to advance the major ideal? To demonstrate to the Council that they had been correct in having chosen him to take Nequal's place?

  Without looking at the aide Elge said, "You think I am using excessive force to solve the problem. That it is a demonstration of misplaced zeal."

  Statements, not questions, and Jarvet recognized the trap. To agree was to tell his superior that he thought him less than he should be. To deny was to betray a weakness—no cyber should ever be awed by rank when the one holding it had shown a lack of efficiency. A dilemma from which Elge saved him.

  "Observe." The depiction expanded still farther to show the area in fine detail. "Kochbar, close to the Thailen Disposition and one still to accept the services we offer. They are skilled in the manufacture of biological compounds and provide growth-stimulators to the farmers of Thailen. Once the plague has been introduced the order of probability of them being blamed is eighty-three percent."

  Other customers would cancel their orders, the industry would suffer, poverty move in and the economy shatter—dangerous pressures for a ruling class operating on a feudal system. It was almost certain that one or more of the great Houses would call on the Cyclan for aid. The advice the cybers gave, the subtle influence they would bring to bear, and another world would shine scarlet in the depiction.

  And yet was even the winning of worlds worth the waste inherent in the means to be employed?

  Again Elge answered his unspoken question.

  "HXT 3274 has yet to be tested on a wide scale and much can be learned from an actual field-application. Also it is a virus allied to the emotional content of the victim in that it responds to the level of adrenaline and tension generated in the thalamus. There will be waste, yes, and that is to be deplored, but the victims will be mostly from types with a high emotional content."

  Dreamers, idealists, those who hated the cold efficiency of applied logic and who would be natural enemies of the Cyclan. Once they had been eliminated the rest would be relatively simple. Waste in terms of potential labor and active units, yes, but set against the greater gain it was minimal.

  Jarvet looked at Elge with a new respect. Already the man had shown his ability to grasp more than just the immediate pattern. The situation had helped, naturally, but he had been quick to realize its full potential and to determine the best means to employ. Yet the naked use of power was a drug and he must be watched to ensure he did not rely on it too strongly. As Nequal had been watched and finally condemned for his failure. His inability to master a single man. Would Elge succeed where he had failed?

  Someone in the salon was singing: a simple melody of five repetitive notes, the lilt accompanied by the twanging of a stringed instrument; a performance which could have normally held a certain charm but which was only an irritating noise. Dumarest was glad when it ceased and was replaced by the usual sounds to be found on any ship in space: the transmitted vibration of voices, movement, the hum of the Earhaft drive which whispered from the very fabric of the vessel and told that all was well.

  Lying supine on the bunk he stared at the roof of the cabin he shared with Zalman. The man was absent but his presence remained as a subtle something in the atmosphere; the hint of body odor, the pomade he used on his hair, the tang of lotions, the fluids used to clean his garments. Things normally unnoticed but Dumarest had brought them to the forefront of his consciousness; scents he tested like an animal and found innocent.

  Yet questions remained.

  Coincidences happened as Zalman had pointed out; his meeting with Bochner, his being on the same world at the same time as Dumarest, his knowing of a man who knew the whereabouts of Earth. All could be pure coincidence—but so many and so complementary?

  The music began again, this time a low, humming croon which merged with and accentuated the vibration of the drive, the throb of strings adding an extra dimension. Dumarest tried to guess who the singer could be; Julie Dimault, the fading woman with the gilded hair? Estelle Lamont, young but aged with a peculiar blight? Sven Axilia the tough miner with scarred hands and a face frozen into a perpetual sneer? Ochen? Quail? Tocsaw? Rosichien? Marriol?

  A minor problem and Dumarest dismissed it as he looked at the smeared paint of the roof. The Phril had little to commend it. The third vessel they had taken after leaving Lyten and the last he could afford. Elysius was not the easiest place to reach.

  Yet, if it held a man who knew where Earth was to be found then he must go there. He had no other choice.

  Again the music ended and Dumarest rose, stretching, passing from the cabin into the passage leading to the salon. The singer had been Estelle who sat now with her eyes staring vacantly before her, the stringed instrument on her lap, held by lax fingers. A cheap thing as her gown was cheap, the gilded ring she wore, the faded bloom in her hair. An artificial depiction of a natural glory now dulled and eroded by time. And yet the girl herself was young as the lines of her body and the firmness of her skin betrayed.

  As Julie Dimault was old.

  She smiled from where she sat at the table, hard eyes matched by the brittle glow of gems, the gold gleaming from her tresses. A woman who had lived and loved and now flaunted her possessions like a banner of defiance. One faded as the flower in the girl's hair was faded but from a far different cause.

  "Earl, come and join us!" Ochen extended the invitation, turning in his chair, rolls of fat gathering beneath his chin. "Maybe you'll change my luck."

  "You need skill, not luck." Rosichien was sour. "Top price for a High passage and we get skinned on the journey too. To hell with it!"

  He rose, throwing down his cards, leaving the salon to head for his cabin, his bunk, the compounds he carried in his bag and which would yield him erotic dreams. Watching him go Tocsaw said, thoughtfully, "He has a point."

  "You think I am robbing you? Cheating?" Like all such ships the Phril carried a man to work the table; a gambler who was paid with a share of the profits he made. Now Chamdo looked at the assembly. "If you want to change the game I am willing. The cards too—you can even ask one of your number to deal."

  A wild suggestion—how could he hope to use his skill if it was accepted? Yet did he need to cheat? Dumarest, from his own experience, decided it would be unnecessary. The players were too inexperienced and the gambler too proficient as he must have discovered during the journey. The offer had been an empty gesture.

  Zalman said, "Some men are bad losers and we've just lost the company of one of them. Well, it's small loss. Like to take his place, Earl?"

  "That's right, sit down and let's get on with the game." Julie glared at the dealer. "Come on, man, let's get on with it. I've lost too much to quit now."

  A claim Zalman couldn't make. The table before him was heavy with money and Dumarest could guess how he'd got it. It took little skill to win if you could read from your opponents what they held.