by E. C. Tubb
Flying.
Flying as no man had ever flown before.
Now it was over and he was back in his own body among his own kind. They had fed him, bathed him, checked his body and mind, questioned him with probing efficiency. Now, fed again, he was to learn his fate.
Marie looked up from his desk as Avro entered the office remaining silent until the aide had left them alone.
Without preamble he said, "It is the decision of the Council that you failed in your mission. Do you agree with their finding?"
"No."
"You claim to have succeeded?"
"Not wholly." Avro continued, "There are degrees of success. I went to find Dumarest and I found him. That was not failure."
"You went to capture him," corrected Marie. "You elected to do so and the Council met your every demand as regards supplies and men. A special ship. A special crew. The entire resources of the Cyclan placed at your disposal. Yet you returned with nothing. Dumarest eluded you and retains the secret of the affinity twin. We still lack the correct sequence in which the fifteen units must be assembled. The Council has determined that your lack of positive results illustrates your inefficiency and merits the penalty of failure."
Total extinction, both body and brain reduced to ash. His personal awareness, his ego, destroyed along with the rest.
Avro felt an inward chill as he considered it. An unusual reaction; as a cyber he should be a stranger to fear. And the punishment was normal; the penalty paid by all who failed. Marie himself would suffer the same end should he demonstrate his inefficiency.
Avro said, "I failed to effect Dumarest's capture, that is true, but even in defeat things can be learned."
"Not to underestimate your opponent?"
"I did not underestimate him. But his luck, the factor which seems to play such a prominent part in his like and which I suspect stems from some paraphysical source, saved him yet again. But I am not wholly to blame. The crew failed to operate with the expected efficiency. No matter what happened to me they should have taken Dumarest."
A mistake-explained by the debilitating effects of the journey, bluff, fear of losing their quarry, of killing their superior.
Dumarest was clever, Marie had never doubted it, but only now had he come to appreciate how elusive the man had made himself. Was it because of some paraphysical power he possessed? Certainly his luck seemed incredible at times. A trap set, sprung- and still he had managed to escape. Using the dedication of the servants of the Cyclan to their master to aid his plan.
What had it been like to fly?
Avro had done his best to tell them; spools of tape were filled with his report, but none of them could convey what he must have really known. Dead that knowledge would be lost. Alive it could be used to spur him to greater efforts.
Avro said, as if following the other's thoughts, "I know Dumarest now better than before. I've met him face to face, talked with him, tested his resolution. Incorporated into previous data the experience could be the turning point. The next time I shall not fail."
"Are you asking for another chance?"
"Eliminating me will gain the Cyclan nothing. If I try and again fail what would have been lost? To discard a useful tool is both illogical and inefficient."
Arguments bolstering Marie's own conviction. Avro had lived too long, had served too well not to have value. His failure must be punished but total extinction need not be the answer. Not how. Not when he could be of use.
The depiction of the galaxy blossomed into life as Marie touched a control. It expanded as he operated another, stars streaming outward from the center to cast swaths and streaks of transient brilliance over their faces and robes, the utilitarian furnishings of the office. As it settled he indicated a glowing point, a tiny speck beside it.
"There," he said. "Heaven."
A world of soft winds and soaring hills, of rolling plains and wide-stretching seas. Of crystalline nests hugging precipitous faces. Of winged figures which rose to wheel and dive and rise again.
And, suddenly, Avro was an angel again.
He felt the lash of wind against his face and body, relived the euphoria induced by the thrumming pulse of blood through veins and arteries, the drumbeat of his heart loud in his ears. Rising to soar, to glide while beneath him the terrain shrank to the dimensions of a toy. To lunge at others of his own kind, to drive off arrogant males, to circle the females, ushering them back to the nest.
"Avro." Marie was facing him, his eyes questing. "Is something wrong?"
"No." Avro drew air deep into his lungs. "It is nothing."
"The report on your physical condition stated that you are close to optimum function. There has been some loss of tissue, but that was to be expected despite the intravenous feeding during your journey back and the period here before your intelligence returned. And yet then, for a moment, you seemed about to collapse."
"A slight nausea." Avro corrected the statement, to be sick was to prove the inadequacy of the body. "A lack of immediate coordination of mind and eye." He gestured at the depiction. "The retinal musculature has been at rest too long. Exercise will correct it."
Marie nodded, dismissing the subject, Avro was the best judge of his condition. Again he faced the depiction and the planet he'd indicated.
"Heaven," he said again. "A world of little value even though the dominant avian life form holds a certain interest. From it Dumarest traveled to Aumont."
"When?"
"Shortly after you were stricken. The captain of your vessel did his best to make the most of the situation in which he found himself. He could not attack for fear of destroying Dumarest and he had also to safeguard your person. Leaving the world, he headed far out into space and there hung in a position to monitor the other ship. A chance which succeeded; his instruments were of a superior quality. He could register the other vessel but the reverse did not apply. He waited long enough to track their direction of flight."
"They could have altered course."
"A possibility but of no importance. Dumarest landed on Aumont. Word had been sent ahead to our cybers and agents in the area and he was spotted. He left before action could be taken, first to Kreuz then to Tolen and then to Ceruti. There the ship was seized by our agents."
"And Dumarest?"
"Missing. He had left the ship either on Kreuz or Tolen. Both are busy worlds with many vessels offering a choice of routes and directions." Marie's tone did not change as he added, "Which ship would he have taken? To which world would he have gone?"
A test; Marie would already have made the prediction and was now examining his ability. On the outcome could hang his fate. Avro studied the data which flashed on a wall; details of ships, cargoes, destinations, times. Dumarest would have been aware of his danger; a man on the run doing his best to delude his pursuers. Shifting in a random pattern and avoiding the obvious. But no pattern could be wholly random; each choice had to be dictated by the man himself and each would be governed by personal and subconscious idiosyncrasies. A dislike of the color red-and a ship so painted would be avoided. A dislike of cold, of mountains, of roaring winds. A reluctance to share a cabin. A fondness for warm climes. A host of minor spurs unsuspected by the quarry but glaring signposts to the hunters.
And Avro had studied every aspect of Dumarest's behavior known to the Cyclan.
"Schike," he said. "Dumarest would have traveled on the Hoyland to Schike."
"And then?"
"The Vladek to Caltoon." A small world on the edge of a busy cluster, one on which no cyber would find a use for his services but where a man could lose himself in a crowd. "And then to Ostrogoth."
And from there?
Avro checked the data. A normal man, even though aware of pursuit, would follow a predictable path, but Dumarest was far from ordinary. A man to take the obvious because it was just that, to bluff and counter-bluff, to do the unsuspected. Like traveling to Vanch with its continual rain. Or Leasdale with its icy seas. Bad worlds both and
Dumarest would not want to be stranded. Where then?
Where?
"Baatz." Marie supplied the answer. Avro had demonstrated his ability, to continue the test would be inefficient. "Dumarest is on Baatz at the circus of Chen Wei. Cyber Tron is on his way to ensure his capture or to take possession of him should the capture have been made."
"And if he should escape?"
"He will not."
"The possibility exists," said Avro. "Nothing can be one hundred percent certain. Always there is the unknown factor. Tron is a stranger to Dumarest, he has yet to learn of his wiles. He could be overconfident. It has happened before."
Too often and with too many dead cybers to add to the failures. A fact Marie knew as he was aware that, should Dumarest escape again, the blame would be his.
He said, "I place you in charge of Dumarest's capture and return. You will leave immediately." He added, in a tone bleak despite its even modulation, "You failed once, Avro-do not fail again."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Valaban said, "Settle down, Earl. The way you pace about is making me nervous. Quit it before you disturb the beasts."
Good advice and Dumarest took it, taking his place beside the old man on a bench. Around him stretched the cavernous area beneath the stands, one split and sectioned to avoid waste, the part reserved for the animals thick with smells.
He drew them into his nostrils, recognizing the tang of sweat, dung, oils, embrocation, urine. An odor too similar to another he knew but this, at least, was free of the reek of blood.
"You're restless," said Valaban. "I can sense it and so can the animals. Here." He held out a bottle. "Take a drink of this-it will calm you."
"Thanks." Dumarest took the bottle, held it to his lips, threw back his head and pretended to drink. Handing it back he said, "So you never met Chen Wei. Who owned the circus before Shakira?"
"Damned if I know." Valaban frowned at the single lamp which illuminated the area. A pool of light in a darkness edged with cages and gleaming, watchful eyes. "It was a long time ago now. Maybe Chen Wei did, I only said I'd never met him. Burski hired me. He got himself killed on Daleth-a fight over a woman as I remember, then Shakira took over. That must be, oh, close to thirty years ago."
A long time in a transient society and if Valaban lacked the answers they weren't to be found.
He stiffened as noise came from a cage, relaxing as it died.
"The klachen," he grunted. "The damned thing's more trouble than it's worth. Zucco must have been crazy to take it on."
"Maybe he likes its rider?" A lithe young girl with a rounded face and slanted, enigmatic eyes, she danced on the platform of the creature's back with stunning agility. "Is he like that?"
"What man isn't if he gets the chance?" Valaban shrugged. "But Kiki's too tame for him, too docile. He likes strength in a woman, something he can beat down, use, conquer. I guess you know what he is."
"I know."
"Then you know enough to be careful. Stay away from him. Maybe he'll forget you're around."
A warning? Dumarest looked at Valaban, studying the seamed face, the sunken eyes. An old man with an inner wisdom who would see more than he admitted and know more than he was willing to tell. But some information had been gained; small details which added to build a picture. Zucco, for example, a man who had joined the circus some five years earlier and who seemed to possess no special skills. One who had climbed fast and high. Dumarest wondered why.
"You're good, Earl," said Valaban. "I appreciate you helping me out. You've a way with animals. Some have it and some don't and no one knows just what it is. Trust, maybe, or just an absence of fear. You don't scare them." He frowned as, again, the klachen kicked at the bars of its cage.
Dumarest said, "When the circus moves do the beasts go with it?"
"Not all. We sell them off for breeding stock mostly, that's why none of the males has been neutered. Most can easily be trained but some can't. The cats, for instance, they come from Flyte. Special mutated stock bred for guardians. You know Flyte?"
"No."
"It's a prison world. Jungle and cleared areas ringed with wire. Outside the cats are allowed to roam free. Sometimes a prisoner tries to escape and when he does the authorities write him off. The cats get him," Valaban explained. "Use him for sport. If he's lucky he dies fast."
"Has Reiza had them long?"
"Since they were kittens. Shakira bought them for her. I cut their claws and blunted their fangs and she used to sleep with them. To build an affinity, you understand. Before they will obey they must accept her as one of themselves." Valaban paused then added, "Maybe she became more like them than she realized. A creature of whims and fancies and sudden impulses. Hayter said that once." He glanced at Dumarest. "You know about Hayter?"
"Her dead lover? Yes, I know. The cats killed him, didn't they?"
Valaban took a sip from his bottle and lowered it to stare at the lamp.
"Hayter was a good man and I liked him. The cats ripped out his life but I figure he was dead before he entered the ring. His mind wasn't on the job which was bad enough but I think there was something more. An animal," he said. "But walking on two legs like a man."
Zucco? A possibility, he had become Reiza's lover and Hayter's death had been a convenient accident. If it had been an accident.
Dumarest said, casually, "I've heard of such things. Used them at times when hunting for a living. A special mix which attracts the prey. A scent they can't resist and I suppose you could make one which would induce an attack. Was it something like that?"
"Maybe."
"You didn't spot it?"
"Hayter was covered in blood and his stomach was a mess. The stink was enough to cover all others but I remember, just before he went into the ring, he dabbed at his face with a cloth. To dry the sweat, I guess, but he could have been putting something on as well as taking it off."
"Did you tell any of this to Shakira?"
"I tried but he didn't seem to want to listen. And who am I to go up against his man? Not that I give a damn for any of them. With my skills I can go anywhere. Every farmer will want a man who can handle his beasts and this isn't the only circus in the galaxy." Valaban used his bottle again. "Maybe it's time to quit the way it's being run."
"Zucco?"
"It's not just him. Every circus needs a strong ringmaster but there are other things."
"Like too many empty seats?"
"You've noticed," said Valaban. "The take's too low. We've been here too long and lost our novelty. We should be up and moving to greener fields. In the old days this place would be on its way by now. The animals sold, acts thinned, half the tents deflated and packed. We even started-" He broke off, rearing to his feet as the klachen screamed its rage. "What the hell's going on?"
Metal clanged and, suddenly, the creature was before them.
It was the size of a horse, scaled, the head like that of a lizard. A vestigial tail ended in a knotted mass of bone and spine, the feet tipped with round and blunted claws. Beneath the hide and across the broad platform of its back muscle rippled in smoothly coordinated motion.
"Freeze!" Valaban's voice, while gentle, held the snap of command. "Something's scared it. Move and you'll make it worse. Leave this to me." He faced the animal, talking as he moved slowly toward the creature. "Easy, now. Easy. Just rest easy, now. Easy."
Words which became a soothing drone directed at the lifted head, the orifices of the ears. A demonstration of his skill, the talent which gave him mastery over the majority of animals. Dumarest remembered a man he'd once known who could calm the most frenzied horse by whispering in its ear. Valaban had the same attribute but the klachen wasn't a horse and, if it charged, the old man would be dead.
And Dumarest knew it would charge.
Knew it with the instinct which had served him so often before. Even as Valaban stepped closer Dumarest was on the move. A lunge which closed the space between them, sent his shoulder slamming into the other man, hurlin
g him down and to one side.
Falling beside him as the beast tore past where he had stood.
"Earl! I-"
"Your bottle!" Dumarest climbed to his feet. He didn't look at the other man. "Give me your bottle!"
His knife was in his hand ready to slash and stab but used it would fill the air with the scent of fresh blood. An odor which would madden the other beasts within the area into a destructive outburst. Already they deafened him with their snarls and growls, the metallic clash as they fought the confines of their cages.
"Leave this to me, Earl." Valaban, shaken, was on his feet beside Dumarest. "I know how to handle it."
"Get close and it will kill you." Dumarest pointed to where the klachen stood, head weaving, nostrils dilated as it snuffed the air. "You can't move fast enough to dodge. Now give me that bottle and your blouse. Or something to hold the liquid. Move!"
Time was against them. The creature, disturbed, could run amok. But to wait was to allow its fear to build, to explode in a killing fury.
"Here!" Valaban handed over the bottle and a blanket. He watched as Dumarest tore loose the cork and spilled the fluid over the material. "You going to blind it?"
"I'm going to try." Dumarest sheathed his knife. "Stand ready. Once I get this over its head it'll start to rear. When it calms run forward and do your stuff."
He edged forward before Valaban could answer, the blanket in his hands, booted feet silent on the floor. As the scaled head turned toward him he froze, standing motionless until the ruby eyes had moved away. Closer, he froze again, the blanket held high before him, the smell of the fluid masking his scent. As the head turned away he was running, jumping high to land on the broad back, the blanket falling to wrap around the head, blinding the eyes.
As it settled the klachen exploded into violent action.
Dumarest felt the surge and lift of muscle, the jarring impact as the creature landed. He slipped, almost fell as the beast reared, clamped his legs tight as it darted forward and came to a sudden halt. A moment in which he tasted blood and felt the strain on nerve and sinew then the animal was rearing again, the tail lashing to free itself of the rider on its back.