"You joining?" Chambo waited, cards poised to deal. As Dumarest took the chair he added, "Good. Let's see your money."

  The game was spectrum; seven cards to a hand, two draws of up to five a time. A full rainbow was the top hand with various combinations of colors forming different values. A basically simple game but one allowing for wild betting and the use of bluff. Dumarest played with caution, using his limited resources to back only good hands and not trying to buck impossible odds. A system which had doubled his wealth when, after a couple of hours, Julie flung down her cards.

  "That's enough!" She scowled as Zalman drew in the pot. "Four violets and three reds and still I lose. Talk about luck! I've lots of it—all bad!"

  "Me too!" Like the woman Ochen had had enough. "How about you, Sven?"

  Chambo shrugged as the miner shook his head. "You want to change the game? Poker? Starsmash? High, low, man-in-between? No?" He rose, yawning, "Well, that's me for now. I need to get some sleep. You want to play on just help yourself." His gesture included the cards, the table, "Have fun."

  "The bastard!" Julie snatched at the cards and began to examine them. "Was he cheating, Earl?"

  "He didn't have to cheat."

  "But was he?"

  "No." Dumarest smiled as the woman looked for nicked edges, marks, frays or any sign the cards had been fixed. "He's a professional," he explained. "His living depends on being able to outguess you, outbluff you and outplay you."

  "What about him?" She glanced at Zalman. "And you didn't lose either."

  "I'm lucky," said Zalman. "Earl is just clever."

  "He's more than that." Her eyes held admiration. "He's the kind of man a woman would leave home for. Work for too, if he asked her." She was blunt with a directness he recognized. "Look me up after we land. If you want work I could use you. A house always needs someone to handle trouble should it walk through the door." She frowned at Zalman, his smile. "Something amusing you?"

  "You ever been to Elysius before?"

  "No, why?"

  "Take some advice. If you're thinking of opening a house you'd do better to move on with the ship."

  "Competition?" Her face grew hard, ugly. "You talking about competition? Mister, I can handle that as I've done before. If you're trying to warn me off forget it."

  "I'm trying to help. You don't know the situation."

  "Like hell I don't! Sure, this is my first visit, but you think I'm a fool?" Julie nodded to where the girl sat like a child with her toy instrument in her lap. "Where do you think I found her? You want to know about Elysius she's the one to tell you. She was born there."

  The wine had been watered until it was almost a ghost but enough flavor remained to mask the taste of the stimulant it contained. Dumarest knelt before her, the glass in his hand, forcing himself on her attention.

  "Here!" He thrust the glass into her hand. "Drink. I want you to drink!"

  "Drink?" Her voice was as empty as her eyes. "You want me to drink?"

  "Yes." He was patient. "Take a sip and then a swallow. Then another sip and another swallow." Her throat moved in mechanical obedience. "That's it. Now finish the rest."

  They were almost alone in the salon. Julie Dimault had been escorted to her cabin by Zalman who had read Dumarest's intention. The others had followed the gambler to their bunks. Only the miner remained, sitting at the table, brooding, sipping at wine.

  "Better?" Dumarest took away the empty glass. Soon the drugs would lend her strength to break the shell around her. "How about some music?"

  A mistake—how often had she been asked to play? He sensed her recoil, the withdrawal into herself; the warm, snug, private place in which no one could touch her, none do her harm. He said, quietly, "Talk to me, Estelle. Tell me about your home. About Elysius."

  For answer she touched the strings of the instrument lying in her lap. Sound rose, whining, breaking into a glissade, a ripple, to whine again as if in pain. The answer which could have been given by a mute but he had heard her sing.

  "Elysius," he said again. "Estelle, tell me of your home."

  From the table Sven Axilia said, "You waste your time and what could she say? To her home was a place from which to run."

  As it had been to him?

  Dumarest said, without turning, "Don't interfere. Just drink your wine."

  "Drink and listen to a fool? It needs an urge from the harridan to bring the girl to her senses. I watched as she persuaded her to sing—God knows why. Who wants to hear such caterwauling?" Wine gurgled as he refilled his glass. "Women! Trouble every last damned one of them. Like the bitch who threw acid in my face. She aimed for the eyes but I caught the glint of light on the moving vial and took it on the cheek instead. Now, each time I look into a mirror I see the reason to curse the whole stinking sex."

  He stood, swaying, catching at the table to steady himself, sending wine to flood from the bottle he'd knocked on its side. He stared at it for a moment then cursed and headed toward the door. As he vanished Dumarest drew his knife.

  "Estelle!" The light flared in sudden brilliance from the polished steel. A gleam which he directed at her eyes. "Estelle!"

  The girl could be conditioned and from what the miner had said he guessed she was. A precaution against her saying too much? One designed to keep her submissive? Julie, wise in the ways of her trade, would know about such things.

  "Estelle, listen to me." The knife moved, brilliance illuminating the empty, staring eyes. "You are waking up now. You are waking up. You want to stand and talk and laugh. Wake up, girl! Wake!"

  "What time is it?" Her voice had the thin quality of a child or a woman who had grown too fast. "Is it time yet? Have we arrived? Do you want me to sing? I am good at singing."

  "And what else?"

  "I can dance a little. And cook. And sew." Her voice deepened as if she had suddenly become aware of his face, the knife he held. "What is this? Who are you? What the hell are you doing?"

  "Asking questions." He lowered the blade and sheathed it within his boot. "Just talking. Feel better now?"

  "Was I bad?"

  "Giddy," he lied. "A little dizzy. I gave you a drink. Have you known Julie long?"

  "No."

  "But you're traveling with her, right?" At her nod he said, "To Elysius? Your home world?" He waited until again she had nodded. "Why?"

  "Business. Our business."

  One he could guess. He rose to look down at her, at the cheap tinsel finery, the young face marred with lines which did not belong. A runaway who had found hell where she'd hoped to find heaven. A girl who could be at war with herself; one subject to sudden, maniacal rages or suicidal frenzies—was that why she had been conditioned?

  He said, gently, "You have a family? Parents? A sister, perhaps?" Her answer was short and what he'd expected. She flinched as he lifted his hand but he used it only to tilt back her chin. "You don't have to be afraid of me, girl. I mean you no harm. Why don't you tell me about yourself? Your family?"

  For a moment he thought he'd won then the doors closed behind her eyes and the young face regained its blighted mask. She could be answering but if so it was in a manner only Zalman could understand.

  "Earl!" He stood at the door looking into the salon. His face cleared as Dumarest turned and walked toward him. "Still here? I thought—"

  "No."

  "But—"

  "You were wrong." It made a change for him to read the other man. "I only wanted to talk to her."

  "And you had no luck."

  "No. Where's Julie?"

  "Doped and sleeping." Disgust edged Zalman's voice. "The old hag! She did nothing but complain about her luck and left me in no doubt she would have preferred your company to mine. A chance there, Earl, if you've a mind to take it. You could win more than her affection; those gems she wears are genuine and she has a shrewd sense of business." He glanced to where the girl was again sitting, eyes vacuous, the stringed instrument in her hands. "But it seems you have no liking for what she has to sell."

  "I want you to buy her."

  "Estelle? But—"

  "Buy her." Dumarest explained, patiently, "Julie lost heavily at cards and will be eager to recoup her losses. Hint that the girl has conned her and will be a liability. Do it right and you'll get her cheap." He added, "And do it soon—we land tomorrow."

  Chapter Four

  The blood had gone, the flesh, the skin, the bone—all reduced to basic elements and distributed for use as fertilizer. Only the brain remained and that was important only because it provided the receptacle which housed the mind; the burning intelligence which distinguished humans from beasts and which alone could solve the secrets of the universe. A brain now sealed and enclosed; a mass of convoluted tissue little larger than a pair of clenched fists.

  All that remained of Nequal, the recent Cyber Prime.

  "Waking has been delayed," said Icelus. "Extended five days beyond the normal period in order to minimize any traumas induced by the unusual situation. The element of primeval fear cannot be ignored in the presence of doubt introduced by the possible limitation of continued survival."

  The maximizing of potential—Elge agreed with the procedure. But to wait longer would be to wait for no useful purpose.

  "Has everything been checked and tested?" To ask was to insult the engineers but he had to be certain. "All attachments made?"

  "Linkage is with the affected unit only," said Icelus. "There is, and will be, no contact with Central Intelligence at this time. Electronic apparatus will provide for monitoring and communication."

  Machines to alter the flow of nutrients, to change the temperature, adjust ionic balance, to take the cerebral stimulus and relay it through meters, dials, speakers.

  More confusions added to those expected by a brain divorced from its natural housing. One now sleeping from the effects of microcurrents fed directly into the sleep center of the brain.

  A touch and it would wake—to face what?

  Elge had tried to imagine it, closing his eyes, dulling his senses, drifting in a void of sensory deprivation but it could never be the same. Not even when the Homochon elements had been activated by the Samatchazi formulae and rapport had been achieved with the massed brains could a cyber know just what it must be like to be finally rid of the irritation of flesh. When in communication there was an engulfing, an absorption of knowledge as if it had been water sucked from the mind by a sponge. Data taken and instructions given in near-instantaneous exchange against which the speed of light was a crawl. And, afterward, when the rapport was broken and the Homochon elements turned toward quiescence, came the period of mental exultation in which the entire universe was filled with the glowing light of alien intelligences.

  Would Nequal enjoy that pleasure in unbroken munificence? Would he even remember the reason for his having been processed?

  "Master?" Icelus was waiting. "We can maintain the present status for another thirty hours if necessary but to wait longer would be to invite deterioration of the psyche."

  Time—why was there so little of it? Even by cutting his hours of rest there was not enough and to do with less was to endanger the optimum working of his body and a consequent dulling of his mind. A matter to be investigated—why did men need to sleep? If a substitute could be found, a drug or mental discipline, how much more efficient they would be.

  A thing he would look into but now Icelus was waiting his decision.

  "Now!"

  Immediately Nequal was awake.

  It was an awakening without sight, without feeling, like a man rising from sleep yet still locked in drowsiness, still clinging to the surrogate womb of comfort and oblivion. Awake and tasting the dissolving fragments of dreams. Seeing flashes of color and pictures which were items composed of assorted trifles; places, faces, incidents—a montage constructed of memories. Cybers he had known; Yandron, Quendis, Wain—his early instructors, the companions of his youth, the rulers he had advised. Almost a century of accumulated data presented in wild disarray; a jumble of misplaced times and situations, a melange of events.

  "Initial disturbance nearing climax," said Icelus, looking at his instruments. "The peak is as expected."

  Madness!

  He tried to scream but found he had no mouth. To see but discovered he had no eyes. To hear to find only silence. To move, to feel, to discover both impossible. He could only think, to be aware, to know what had happened and what he now was.

  Gladness!

  Now he could rest and, free of all pressures, probe abstract concepts. Light blazed in mental brilliance, forming equations which he held with a part of his attention while he expanded them with others, the equations changing, altering at a thought, a little blurred as yet but time and practice would cure that as it would his present euphoria.

  A city rose on a plain, each item clearly marked, the inner structure plain, the molding of the segments, the fittings of joints, the foundations, the power sources, the water, the waste disposal—all built with mental imagery. And this was just play. Next would come the abtruse construction of a system of pure mathematics, the selection of a particular problem in multi-dimensional geometry or an investigation into the properties of inert matter.

  "The unit has successfully peaked," reported Icelus. "The curve is following the normal pattern but continued isolation could create variables it would be better to avoid."

  Time for another decision.

  "Engage." Elge watched the bank of instruments. "Complete." A dial moved—Nequal was no longer alone.

  Isobel stirred, reluctant to wake, hugging the memory of a dream before opening her eyes. It was late, the window bright with luminescence, yet the house was strangely silent and the bedside table lacked her morning cup of tisane. A silence broken by the jar of the phone as she rose and left the bedroom naked but for a robe. She ignored the instrument; other things came first and whoever was calling could call again. The musical tone ceased as she searched the house.

  The servants were gone; her maid, the cook, the two cleaners, the mechanic who serviced the raft. The vehicle itself had not been loaded which added to her irritation. An emotion she fought as she returned to the bedroom— on Elysius anger was futile.

  The phone rang again as she showered, again as she made a simple breakfast. Mtouba, the Hausi, stared at her from the screen.

  "Madam Boulaye—I was beginning to think something was wrong."

  "Because I didn't answer?" She forced herself to smile. "Sorry, but it's one of those days. You understand."

  Too well, but his face, scarred with caste marks livid against the chocolate of his skin, remained the bland visage of an idol. A man firm in his niche and in control of his environment. She could almost envy the agent.

  He said, "At least you are well and I am glad to hear it. I called to see if you wished to add anything to your shipment or to give me any instructions as regards supplies. The Phril is due to arrive later today and it would be unwise to miss the opportunity."

  "Thank you for letting me know."

  "You have nothing to add?"

  "Sorry, Mtouba, you have it all."

  "All?" She sensed his disapproval. "I'd hoped for better news. You realize, of course, that what I hold will barely pay for the supplies delivered on your order? I am reluctant to mention it but your credit is almost totally exhausted."

  Did he think her unable to calculate? "I am aware of the position, but surely you appreciate my difficulties? The juscar is available and I know it. What you hold is proof of that—the only difficulty at the moment is in getting it out. And I'm not without security."

  "Your deed?"

  "Naturally."

  "You have assets on some other world?" He knew the answer before she shook her head. "A pity. The deed you hold on the Fulda Hills is, to be blunt—"

  "Worthless." She said it for him. "But I have other things. Don't worry, Mtouba, I'll make out."

  "I'm certain of it." He smiled, ending the conversation. "I wish you luck, Madam Boulaye."

  A cheap wish—what she needed were men of determination to tear free the wealth lying in the hills. The metal was there as Rudi had sworn but not even he had guessed how hard it would be to obtain.

  Memory of him soured the taste of the food and she pushed aside the barely touched breakfast to sip at a cup of spiced tisane. Rudi who had loved her and whom she had loved though he had been twenty years her senior. A man with an intellect she had admired yet one tainted with a streak of romanticism which had finally cost him his life. A trait to which she had responded at first, finding herself stimulated by his flights of imaginative speculation. They had married and he had wanted to give her the universe to adorn her beauty. Now he was dead and she was alone.

  Like the food the tisane tasted sour and she rose from the table with sudden impatience. It was a waste of time but again she searched the house finding it as deserted as before. For a moment she debated as to whether or not to load the raft then decided against it. To fly to the hills would be a wasted journey. Instead she climbed to the roof.

  Over the hills the devils were dancing.

  They rose high against the sky to the east, thick plumes which spread like smoke from distant explosions to be caught and shaped by the wind into a series of new and elaborate configurations; men, beasts, demons, creatures from delirium. Puffs of yellow and green, scarlet and orange, amber and dusty brown all starkly clear against the pale azure of the sky. A long line of them dancing above the Fulda Hills.

  Rudi had given them their name as they had stood watching on the flat roof, his arm around her, his body close. She could visualize it now, the gray hair fluttering, his thin, peaked face alive with interest, one hand lifted, pointing as if he were giving a lecture back at the university where once he had taught and she had studied.

  Devils—they were well-named. They had taken his life.