by E. C. Tubb
"It is," admitted Yendhal, "but we are not testing to determine educational ability. As I explained the survival instinct is inherent in the basic pattern. A man can be taught but it is not the same. I assure you, sire, I know what I am doing. Each subject has been selected on the basis of tissue affinity. If you wish I could operate tomorrow but-"
"Only with a success factor of eighty percent?"
"That is so, sire. I strongly suggest that you allow me to continue my researches on the present basis. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain by waiting. The laws of probability must, in time, produce a perfect specimen."
Vargas glowered around the subterranean laboratories. Yendhal was in his element here, a man devoid of morals or conscience, happy to pursue his experiments and, perhaps, forgetful of the main object. Such a man would take no account of the passage of time.
To reassure himself he said, "There is no doubt in your mind as to the suitability of the subjects?"
"No, sire, none. The people of Loame are unique in that they show a total lack of the stress factors induced by higher civilizations. From birth they have eaten a mainly vegetable diet, lived in a relatively gentle environment and have had none of the strains of competition. The results show in their medically perfect physiques. Comparisons with opposed types from Technos show a remarkable diminution in organic wear and arterial blockage. Unfortunately the same environment which has provided the stress free condition has worked against a high survival factor. They are like domestic cattle as compared to those running wild. The domestic types are more healthy in every way."
"But are more easily killed?"
"Exactly, sire. If they were not, the war with Loame would be far different from what it is. The mere fact they agree to the tribute is proof that their natural resistance is low. On a planetary scale war is, of course, an analog of an individual infection. A healthy organism will resist the invader-by healthy I mean one with a high survival factor. It will produce antibodies to fight on its behalf. Loame has not done so. And so we have the apparent paradox of a people perfectly healthy in body but hopelessly unable to resist the infection of war. For our purposes they are ideal."
* * *
At four in the afternoon the palace was a teeming hive of activity with people streaming through the lower chambers, supplicants, examinees, minor officials intent on their business. An ant hill, thought Major Keron dispassionately. A hive. A community of which the whole was greater than the parts.
The activity fell away as he rose to the upper levels, changing elevators to rise still higher, the cage humming as it rose into silence. A guard checked his credentials, another guided him down a mesh of passages, pointing as he reached a turn.
"The third door along, Major. Knock and wait."
Frowning, he obeyed. The panel swung open and a youth, bright in scarlet, gestured for him to enter.
Ruen stood at the far side of the room.
"Major Keron?"
"Yes." Keron stared about the room. "I was summoned to appear before Cyber Ruen."
"I am he. Will you sit?"
Keron obeyed. The acolyte glided silently from the room. For a moment the two men stared at each other, Keron frankly curious, the cyber calculating as he studied his visitor. A typical product of Technos culture, he thought. A man who considered himself to be highly intelligent because he had passed various exams, not suspecting that wisdom, intelligence and book learning were not the same.
"I have the permission of the Technarch to interview you, Major," he said. "You understand that I have his full authority? That in speaking to me you are speaking to him?"
"With respect, cyber, I disagree." Keron was firm. "As an officer attached to the Security Division I must be circumspect. You understand?"
"Are you intelligent, Major?"
"I have nine degrees."
"That isn't answering my question. Do you know what intelligence is?"
"Knowledge," said Keron after a moment. "Education."
"Wisdom is neither," said Ruen in his even monotone. "An untaught man can be wise. And intelligence is not necessarily knowledge. It is, rather, the ability to survive in the environment in which you find yourself. You can appreciate the difference. I venture to state that on Sarg, a planet of blistering heat and little water, you would quickly die." He paused and added, "Dumarest would live."
"Dumarest?"
"The man you allowed to escape." He caught the sudden tension, the almost indiscernible stiffening of his visitor. "You have never heard of him?"
"No."
"I have been checking the records," continued Ruen. "Of the last contingent from Loame how many were suspect?"
"Five. One was a liar, claiming to be the son of a grower when he was not. Three were interrogated and found to be harmless. The other-"
"Escaped," said Ruen. "That man was Dumarest. He was not a spy and comes from no local world. How did he elude your guards?" He waited as Keren explained. "He moved quickly?"
"Very quickly. Faster than any man I have ever seen before."
It was confirmation if Ruen had needed it, which he had not. Logic and extrapolation pointed to the obvious. The message received via Central Intelligence proved that Dumarest must have visited Technos. Now he had to be found. If Keron was as intelligent as he thought he would have found him long ago.
"I take it that you have thoroughly checked the base area? That he was not found?"
"I have and he was not." Keron was irked by the implication that he was incapable of doing his job. "We found his discarded uniform. We also found other clothes which he had left in a hotel. There is a suspicion that he booked at another under the name of Ganish. Other than that, nothing."
"It was getting late," pointed out Ruen. "The temperature was falling and later it snowed. He could not have wandered the streets all night."
"No."
"So he must have found shelter. Where else but on the monorail? Surely you checked?"
"Yes," admitted Keron. "I did. A ticket was sold against my credit card and identification. He stole it together with some money. But he was not on the monorail. Every car was checked and no passenger was found without satisfactory identification."
"He could not have boarded a vessel?"
"Impossible. The gates were locked and the fence guarded. Also each ship was later searched."
Ruen stood thinking, his eyes somber in the stark planes of his face. "The man is in the capital," he said after a moment, "You will find him at a hospital or nursing home. Either that or he will be in jail. Check every patient and prisoner, and when you find him bring him to me. To me, Major, do you understand?"
Keron frowned. "It is a security matter, I am not sure that I can do that."
"You can." Ruen was insistent. "It will be to your advantage. The man means nothing to you. Do as I ask and you will not regret it. I have the confidence of the Technarch and he will promote you if I suggest he do so. Now hurry. Already too much time has been allowed to elapse."
Chapter Nine
THE ROOM was pentagonal, windowless, soft lights casting an artificial moonlight from the vaulted roof, the air heavy and perfumed with a musky odor. Soft carpets lined the floor, and on small tables rested various objects of interest.
Idly Dumarest examined them. A tall cylinder of transparent crystal held a slowly moving growth of fibrous matter, bright colors merging, changing into new patterns, the material streaked and flecked with kaleidoscopic brilliance. Another cylinder held a mass of crystals which spread, piling one on top of another until the jar was filled with a glittering tree, the whole abruptly slumping into a turgid liquid which grew again as he watched, faceted gems forming themselves into new configurations. A cone shimmered with living rainbows. A cube slowly revolved, the lines and planes seeming to shift into other dimensions so that he blinked at the sudden ache in his eyes.
"Children's toys. Mathematical novelties to illustrate natural and scientific law."
The voice had com
e from behind him. He turned. A door stood open in one of the angles of the pentagon, dim illumination showing a wide bed, a mirror, a table loaded with vials. The woman standing in the opening was almost as tall as himself, hair a dark waterfall streaming to below her shoulders, a thin robe caught just under the breasts with a golden band. She stepped forward, naked feet graced with laced sandals, the movement accentuating the long curves of her thighs. Her face was that of a young and beautiful woman.
"I am Mada Grist." Her hand rose, gold shining from the nails. "Do you remember me?"
"We met on the train." Dumarest caught the proffered hand and lifted it to his lips, feeling the softness and warmth of the olive skin. "It seems, my lady, that I owe you my life."
"You acknowledge the debt?"
"Yes, my lady."
"My name is Mada. You will please me by using it." She moved from the open door of the bedroom and crossed to where a wide, padded bench stood against one of the walls. "You will find wine in that cabinet. Serve us both."
It was held in a jar of frosted glass cut to a mathematical form. The glasses rose like flowers from a solid base. The wine was tart and refreshing to the tongue, scented with a delicate odor and bright with drifting bubbles.
"From Hardish," she said. "They have a knack with wine. Have you been there?"
"No, my lady."
"Mada," she reminded. "There is no need for us to be formal, Earl." Her eyes smiled at his expression. "Yes, I know your name and a little about you. There are techniques known to our medical science which can gather knowledge from a sleeping brain. Earl Dumarest," she mused. "A traveler. A man with a quest." Her voice grew wistful. "Does finding this planet mean so much to you?"
"It does." His voice was guarded. Guessing the reason, she laughed.
"Don't be so wary, Earl. We could only skim your mind and gather information you were willing to give. Your secrets are safe. I would not have ordered the violation of your privacy but certain matters made it urgent that I learn something of the truth." She emptied her glass and held it to be refilled. "That you were not a spy. That you are not an enemy of Technos. That you owe loyalty to none."
"Mada?"
"Never mind." Taking the replenished glass she drank half the contents at a gulp. "Serious matters can come later. For now tell me something of yourself. You have traveled, that I know. Far? To the Center?"
"To the Center and beyond," he said, remembering. How many ships, journeys, worlds? How much time spent traveling Low or riding High? Biologically he was still fairly young but chronologically the years had mounted and, in one respect, he was very old. In experience, the only time scale which held any real meaning. And Mada?
The light was dim, the contours of her face blurred with shadow, but her body was young and appealed to him with primitive attraction. Thoughtfully he sipped at his wine. She was high in this society, that was obvious, and possibly bored and eager for excitement. Often such women sought it in the company of strangers, titillated by novelty, intrigued by the attraction of the unknown.
Was that why she had saved him, had him healed and, when he was wholly fit, brought to her apartments in the palace?
He lowered the glass, conscious of danger. Such a woman could have jealous guardians quick to hire an assassin to cleanse the honor of their house.
"You are somber," she said. "Why?"
Bluntly he told her.
"Assassins?" Her laughter was strained. "No, Earl. That is the least you have to fear. Technos is not a primitive culture with a proud nobility and formal ways. And I have no husband, no lover, none who would object to any liaison I may make." Again she held out her glass for it to be replenished. "You have known many women?"
"A few."
"Now you are being discreet. I would venture to guess that many women have found you attractive. Have you never thought of marrying? Of settling down?"
"Yes."
"And what happened? Why didn't you?" The wine, she realized, was going to her head, and its aphrodisiacal qualities accentuated the desire burning her flesh. "What happened Earl? Why hasn't some woman claimed you for her own?"
"Fate, my lady," he said quietly. "Death and unfortunate circumstances."
"And you don't want to talk about it," she said quickly. "I understand." Her hand rested on his own, the long fingers caressing the flesh, halting as they rested on the ring he wore on the third finger of his left hand. "And this? A gift?"
"Yes, my lady."
Her voice was sharp. "From a woman?"
"Yes," said Dumarest, and added, "she is gone. It was some time ago."
"Dead?"
"You would call it that."
"I'm glad." she said. "I would not like to have to share you." Fabric rustled as she turned to him, taking the glass from his hand and setting it aside. "Now," she whispered. "I have waited too long. Now!"
* * *
A lamp burned in the center of the groined roof, its wash of kaleidoscopic colors turning the chamber into a vault of mystery, swathes of red and yellow, orange and blue, green and smoky amber drifting over the wide bed, his naked body, the furnishings of the apartment. Dumarest stared at it, lying supine, his eyes half closed against its hypnotic compulsion. From beyond a door came the sound of rushing water, a shower where the woman laved her body, but even there the light was dim.
Shadows, he thought, and strangeness. The burning demands of a young and nubile body but the face had remained almost totally serene. Only the eyes had reflected the passion and, when he had tried to caress her cheek, she had prevented it, holding his hand, guiding it to the soft contours of her body.
A mask? It was more than possible, but if so it was the product of a master. She had smiled and sighed and pursed her lips for his kiss. Drifting shadows of changing color had blurred all detail and mounting passion had taken care of the rest. But now, with passion spent, there was time for thought.
"Earl."
He rose as she came from the bathroom. The robe was once again adorning her body, the hair falling neatly to her shoulders, the graceful feet enhanced by the sandals.
"Bathe," she said, "and dress. We have much to discuss."
She watched as he moved toward the shower, feeling again the strength of his arms, the joy he had given. Perturbed she went to a cabinet, opened it, selected a drug from assembled vials. Somehow she must control the rebellious reactions of her body. He had slaked her desire but still the yearning remained. It must be crushed if she was to remain in control of the situation.
The drug quieted her so that she was calm when he joined her in the pentagonal chamber. She poured them both wine, a different vintage from that they had drunk before, handing him a goblet and sitting so as to face him.
"To health," she said. "To the achievement of heart's desire."
Dumarest drank to the toast.
"Love," she said. "Another name for the chemical reaction occurring between the sexes. A romantic definition of the urge to procreate. You agree?"
"My lady, I-"
"Mada," she interrupted. "How can we be formal now?"
"It is not always wise to build a future on events of the past," he said quietly. "It is a mistake often made and one for which many men have suffered."
Had he? She studied him over the rim of her glass, resentful of his calmness while appreciating his tact and diplomacy. He was telling her that the incident could be forgotten. It made it easier for her to guide the conversation.
"You are a traveler. It must be wonderful to visit new worlds and see different cultures. Are most of them barbaric?"
"No, Mada. Usually a world when colonized falls into a definite pattern. Great houses rise to control government and industry. But others are based on different forms of society. Kren is a world in which democracy has been carried to the ultimate. Nothing can be decided until a referendum has been taken. Computers, naturally, make this simple. Pharso, on the other hand, is a dictatorship with supreme authority vested in one man who is chosen by lot eac
h five years. Charos is a world devoted to athletic prowess. Status is determined by victories scored at games and combats. The old and those unable to compete are relegated to the status of servitors."
"An interesting system," she commented. "Those once in power inevitably wind up as demoted citizens. It should make them consider the welfare of the servitors if nothing else. They would be safeguarding their own future."
Dumarest poured them both more wine, wondering at the woman's motives. "And Technos?"
"A meritocracy based on educational attainment." She sipped at her wine. "To you it must seem a strange culture. There is small chance for individual freedom of the type to which you must be accustomed. Technos was a bleak world. In the beginning everything had to be subordinate to the common welfare. There was no room for wasted effort, even the unfit were culled at birth or shortly afterward. Now citizens are allowed to breed only if they reach a certain mental level. The dream was of a continually rising spiral of intelligence governed on scientific principles."
"An ambitious undertaking," said Dumarest. "Why did it fail?"
"Fail?"
"Technos is at war. War, by definition, is a confession of failure. It requires little intelligence to beat a weaker man with a club."
"And much to persuade him to do what you want while letting him think he wants to do it?" She nodded. "You are right, but one mistake doesn't make a failure."
"You have made more than one. A viable culture should not erect barriers to prevent the free passage of visitors or residents. Technos is a hard world to reach. Science should not be afraid of the truth."
"And travelers carry truth?"
He smiled. "Not always. Most travelers simply want the chance to work and accumulate enough money to buy another passage. Is that possible here?"
"No." She paused, watching him, gauging the moment. "You acknowledge the fact that you owe me your life. Do you consider the debt paid?"
Dumarest met her eyes. "No."
"You want to leave Technos, to continue your search for Earth. I can help you."
"At a price, my lady?"
"Money and a High passage," she said quickly. "All made easy for you to go. In return I want you to do one thing." She drew in her breath. "I want you to kill the Technarch!"