Angado

Chapter One

Once, the place had been bright with the froth of make-believe; domes, minarets, spires, towers, soaring arches and sweeping promenades all blazing with variegated colors-a skillful illusion created with paint and plastic, lying like a jewel in the cup of rounded hills. The circus of Chen Wei was gone now, leaving only an expanse of torn and barren ground, a scatter of debris, the crusted surface of a fetid lagoon.

A monument to emotional waste, which Avro pondered as his raft circled the area. How many work-hours had been poured into its construction, operation and maintenance? How many more had been squandered by those visiting the circus for the sake of transient thrills? Time, effort, resources, skills all dissipated to the wind. Leaving nothing but a raw devastation. Time would heal the wound and soon the hills would seem as if they had never been touched. More waste. Under correct guidance things of lasting worth could have been constructed for the benefit of humanity. Testimonials to the efficiency of the Cyclan.

Instead the place was evidence as to its failure.

"Master?" The acolyte was deferential, the title more than an acknowledgment of Avro's superiority. "Would you care to go lower?"

"No." Avro had seen enough. "When did they leave?"

"Five days ago." Cardor added, "A week after the accident."

When Tron had died, and Valaban, and most important of all, Dumarest. Avro looked again at the place where it had happened, assessing, extrapolating, knowing the mental bitterness of defeat. Too late. He had arrived too late. A matter of days and his search would have been over, his mission accomplished. Dumarest, taken and helpless in his charge. Dumarest-and the precious secret he owned. One which had made Avro into an angel.

The cyber leaned back as the raft headed toward town. High above, a winged shape glided, others wheeling close. Small birds feeding on airborne seeds, mindless creatures operating on a plane of sheer instinct but, for a moment, he envied them. Remembering the freedom of the skies, the rush of wind, the thrum of pinions, the surging impact of alien emotions. Then he had known hate and fear and anger and, yes, even concern. He had known the burning flame of passion and, at the end, he had experienced death.

Watching him, Cardor felt a mounting unease. He was young, taken and trained by the Cyclan, yet still to don the scarlet robe which was the mark of a cyber. He might never wear it. Not all acolytes made the grade. Some continued to work in subordinate capacities but the majority quietly vanished from sight, erased by the touch of oblivion.

He said, "I did what I could, master. As I was ordered to do."

By Tron who had demonstrated his inefficiency. Who had escaped his punishment by extinction.

"Tell me again what happened."

Unnecessary repetition, every detail was clear in Avro's mind as the acolyte knew. As he also knew that, in making the demand, the cyber had put him on trial. The next few minutes would decide his fate.

"I arrived with Cyber Tron on Baatz fifteen days ago. We stayed at the Dubedat Hotel. He was in contact with an agent in the circus of Chen Wei. The man had reported that Dumarest was attached to the circus and could be captured. Cyber Tron visited the circus but neither Dumarest nor the agent was present. He made a second visit later. That is when he died."

"And you?"

"Obeying orders, I stayed in town. To meet you should you arrive and report on what was happening. When Cyber Tron failed to return I made inquiries at the circus. There I learned of the accident." Cardor paused, reliving the incident, recognizing its importance. "The owner, Tayu Shakira, explained what had happened. An animal had gone berserk, broken free of its cage and had run amok. A klachen. It-"

"I know what it is. Continue."

"Its keeper, Valaban, had been killed. Cyber Tron and Dumarest also. There were witnesses."

"Did you see the bodies?"

"No. But with Shakira's permission I tested the witnesses with lie-detectors. All responses were positive. They were not lying."

"But you did not see the bodies."

"They had been disposed of before I arrived. A matter of necessity, so it was explained. The scent of blood needed to be eradicated in order to prevent further upset among the beasts. And the bodies themselves were terribly mangled. But some things had been saved. Cyber Tron's bracelet and a gun he carried. I recognized them both."

Proof the cyber had died-but the others? Avro stared at distant, wheeling shapes. Valaban, certainly, the man must have died if Dumarest had escaped but, from the evidence, he had joined the others in death. A fact Avro found hard to accept; he did not want to accept. Yet to refute the evidence was to be illogical.

"How many witnesses did you examine?"

"Eight. Three actually saw the incident. The others all saw the bodies and three helped to dispose of them."

"And the owner?"

"He actually saw nothing. Cyber Tron must have contacted the agent direct."

"But you tested him?"

"I did. With his permission after I pointed out how ill advised he would be to make an enemy of the Cyclan. The findings confirmed what he claimed."

Which meant that he had not lied. And yet… And yet…

"Relate the evidence of those who saw the incident," said Avro. "Individually and in detail."

He sat immobile as he listened to the acolyte. The raft headed toward the sun and warm hues painted his face with red and gold and amber. Colors which accentuated the scarlet of his robe, reflecting brilliantly from the sigil adorning his breast. The Seal of the Cyclan, the symbol of his power. Yet despite the sunlight and the warm tint of his robe a chill rested about him. An aura emphasized by the skull-like contours of his face. One thin to the point of emaciation, the scalp shaven, the deep-set eyes meshed by lines. The visage of a living machine devoid of the capacity of emotion. A flesh and blood robot who could only know the pleasure of mental achievement.

Behind him the site of the circus fell away. The barren ground, the litter, the crusted lagoon. The pool in which the dead had been buried and, with them, the ending of a dream.

At night Baatz became a world of gaiety with bright lanterns illuminating the tiered buildings and the market itself turned into a playground. Here the venders, traders, merchants and entrepreneurs put aside business and joined with stallholders, farmers, shopkeepers, housewives, workers and the restless tide of transients that made up the population.

A time of drinking and dancing and merriment but one free of violence. The air saw to that, the invisible spores it carried from the vegetation clothing the surrounding hills. Exudations which calmed and reduced tension so that men laughed instead of quarreling and sought peaceful solutions instead of bloody settlements.

Like a scarlet ghost Avro moved through the town.

Cardor could have accomplished the task, as could others of his own acolytes, but he needed to do it himself. The woman who answered his knock frowned as she saw his face, became respectful as she recognized his robe. Even on Baatz the Cyclan was known.

"My lord!" Her head dipped in a bow. "This is an honor. How may I serve you?"

"A man stayed here." Avro's tone was the even modulation of his kind, devoid of all irritating factors. "Dumarest. Earl Dumarest. I have the correct address?"

"You have, my lord. He hired a room upstairs. In the back." She blinked sorrowful eyes. "Such a pity he died."

"You heard?"

"From the circus. They told me to sell his things and to let the room if anyone wanted it. Not that he'd used it much."

"Let me see it."

It was a box containing a narrow bed, a cabinet, a small table, two chairs. A rug half-covered the bare wood of the floor. A jug held scummed water and a bowl had a chipped rim. Avro assessed this at a glance then he was at the cabinet, searching, the table, the drawers. They yielded nothing and he dropped to his knees and checked the underside of the bed, the chairs, finally stripping the cot and examining the bare, wooden structure.

Nothing aside from a few crumpled papers, some packets of dried fruit, a book, a folder of bright pictures, a deck of cards. These things he checked with minute attention, holding each of the pasteboards to the light, running his fingers over their edges. Finally he turned his attention to the room itself, scanning each wall, the ceiling, the floor bared when he moved aside the rug.

Again he found nothing and stood, thoughtful, trying to put a man into the chamber, trying to guess what that man would do.

Guessing, for he lacked data on which to base an extrapolation. The essential ingredient to promote his honed talent. Given a handful of facts he could predict the logical outcome of any event; without them he could only make assumptions. A man, alone on a strange world-how would he have safeguarded his secret?

Again Avro checked the room, looking for the fifteen symbols which would tell him all he needed to know: the sequence in which the biomolecular units of the affinity twin had to be assembled. The secret which would give the Cyclan galactic domination.

But he looked for it without success.

A failure he had expected, yet to have ignored the possibility of success would have been insane stupidity. An error equal in magnitude to that made by Tron. To have had Dumarest in his grasp and then to have lost him. Death had been a merciful punishment.

Avro looked once more at the room. A small, bare place, cold, featureless. One Dumarest had known as he must have known so many others. Moving on to leave nothing of himself behind. And yet there had to be more.

He found it at a local bank, the manager reluctant to cooperate, finally yielding to logical persuasion. To refuse Avro's demand was to ruin all hope of promotion.

"Yes," he admitted. "Dumarest did have money on deposit here. Quite a large sum as a matter of fact."

"Withdrawals?"

"None after the initial deposit."

"How was the credit registered?"

"The usual way." The manager added an explanation. "This is a transient world and we get all types. This bank is affiliated with others and we use the common system. When a deposit is made-" He broke off as Avro lifted a hand. "I see you understand."

"Give me the number of the account."

The deposit Dumarest had made had been registered in a pattern of metallic inks set invisibly beneath the skin of his left arm. Special machines could read the code and adjust the credit as necessary. A blast of flame would incinerate the limb had there been any tampering or forgery.

"Here." The manager handed over the desired information. "But no withdrawals have been made to date."

With Dumarest dead none ever would. More proof as to his extinction-would a man in need refuse to use the money that was his?

From the bank Avro went to the field where Cardor waited. The acolyte shook his head in a gesture of defeat.

"Nothing, master. The traffic is too great. It is impossible to gain detailed records of who traveled where and on what vessel."

"The circus?"

"Bound for Lopakhin."

Traveling in assorted ships, some members going their own way, others ready to disperse. All could be followed but nothing new would be gained. Dumarest was dead. All the evidence proved it. To deny the facts was to demonstrate his inefficiency.

Yet to accept evidence without checking was to do the same.

Avro said, "Take men out to the circus lagoon. Have it dragged. If bodies are found have them placed in cryosacs for later examination. Bones also. Nothing must be missed."

"Yes, master." The acolyte hesitated. "But all waste from the circus was pulverized before being pumped to the lagoon."

"Do as I order."

The tone of Avro's voice did not change but Cardor flinched as he bowed and hurried away. A mistake and one he must have recognized; no assumption could be regarded as proof. Yet it was a natural one for him to make, for what else was a dead body but waste? And he had been influenced by Tron who had demonstrated his weakness by his failure.

All this Avro considered as he made his way to the Dubedat Hotel. To waste a valuable resource was to be avoided and the young man could be salvaged. A period of intense training, exposure to what a true cyber could be, a final warning to stiffen his resolve and he could yet earn the right to don the scarlet robe.

A decision made and set to one side as he entered his suite. Byrne rose to greet him, Tupou at his side. Personal aides who have traveled with him.

To them both Avro said, "Total seal."

He moved on, into his chamber, the door closing behind him. A barrier the acolytes would protect with their lives. One enhanced as he touched the broad band of metal clasped to his left wrist. A twin to one Tron had worn; activated, it emitted a pattern of forces which formed a zone impenetrable to any prying electronic eye or ear.

Avro lay supine on his bed.

The hotel was luxurious, the bed soft, the ceiling decorated with intricate designs picked in red and yellow and vivid scarlet. Patterns which vanished as he closed his eyes and concentrated on the Samatchazi formula. Gradually he lost the use of his senses; 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 immediate.

It was followed by chaos.

Avro felt the mental shock and twisted in his mind, screaming as his body lay immobile on the bed, dumb, soundless, incapable of movement. A husk that housed roiling insanity, a conflict of jarring discord, flashes of light, of color, of searing impossibility. A turmoil in which he spun like a leaf in a gale, helpless to do other than ride the storm, to wait for a period of calm.

It came with the echoes of rolling thunder yielding to a host of twitterings, whispers, murmurings, sighs. A shadowed darkness which slowly brightened to reveal a bizarre landscape composed of crystalline facets gleaming with a fire of splintered colors. A ball in which he stood with his feet resting on softly engulfing shadows.

Before him stood a mirror image of himself.

A shape as tall, as thin, as skeletal about the face. One wearing the twin of his scarlet robe. But the image was no reflection and he recognized it at once. Master Marie, Cyber Prime, the head of the Cyclan.

But how? How?

Normally communication with Central Intelligence was preceded by the illusion of bubbles moving in continuous motion with other bubbles all composed of gleaming light. An experience unique to himself; each cyber had a different experience. Then would come the actual contact during which information was absorbed from his mind as water was sucked by a sponge from a pool. An interchange in which orders were relayed as fast. Organic communication of a near-instantaneous speed. After would come the time of euphoria in which he drifted in a zone filled with the scraps of overflow from other minds.

Never before had he known this confusion.

"Avro?" Marie sounded as confused as himself. "Are you Avro?"

"Marie?" Avro caught himself, the evidence was before him. Incredible as it seemed they stood face to face. "A coincidence," he suggested. "We both established rapport at the same time and Central Intelligence has created this direct link. An improvement if restricted to special occasions."

"Perhaps." Marie was slow to agree. "What have you to report?"

"Dumarest is dead."

"Explain." Marie listened as Avro gave him the facts. "The lagoon?"

"Can only produce negative evidence. Anything recovered may, on examination, prove the death of Tron of which we have no doubt. The rest must be based on a valuation of other evidence. I regard it as conclusive."

"Eye-witness accounts," said Marie. "Irrefutable testimony substantiated by mechanical lie-detectors. And yet you were not satisfied."

"I needed to be certain."

"Of what? To check the lagoon was wasted effort if you believe the testimony. Time and expense used to no purpose. Could Cardor have lied?"

"No. His findings have been checked."

"So he told the truth as he knew it. As others could have done."

Avro caught the implication and stepped forward, noting, with vague detachment, that the figure he faced remained at the same distance.

He said, "The possibility that a man could lie and yet not know that he lied is credible. Hypnotism could produce such a condition. But there were eight witnesses, not including the owner of the circus. All eight had seen the bodies and all swore as to the deaths. Also Cardor took steps to guard against such conditioning. I have checked the detectors and the results are conclusive. The men saw what they claimed to have seen."

"Tron dead? Valaban?"

"And Dumarest. All three the victims of a klachen which had run wild."

"And the animal?"

Avro hesitated. "Dead, I think."

"You are not positive?"

"No mention was made of it. The fate of the beast was not considered important."

Against the greater loss that was understandable but it was an oversight which could not be forgiven. Avro revised his decision as to Cardor's fate. He would be questioned, tested, checked-then disposed of. Marie, by his question, had cost the man his life.

As, by his decision, he could cost Avro his.

As Avro watched, the figure before him seemed to blur, to dissolve into smoke which writhed and plumed to dissipate against the bizarre landscape. An illusion added to illusion, or reality which his limited senses could only convert to familiar terms. Then the return of the wind, the confusion, the mind-wrenching turmoil as the universe gyrated around him and his ears were filled with the thin, hopeless screaming of the damned.

"Master!" Someone was pounding at the door. "Master! Is all well?"

Byrne, his face anxious as Avro broke the total seal, Tupou behind him carrying wine. Ruby fluid which he gushed into a goblet and handed to Avro without a word. Liquid he drank without thinking then dismissed them both with a curt gesture. Alone, he sank on the bed and buried his face in his hands.

And heard the song of wind, the thrum of pinions, the thin, keen hiss of parting air.

Madness and he reared, looking at the walls, the ceiling, the familiar shapes of ornate furnishings. Things to be despised for their nonfunctional design but now objects of comfort.

What had happened?

Coincidence, Marie had said, or the figure he had taken to be the Cyber Prime. But it was a coincidence which must have happened many times before. Why had this been different?

Avro examined the problem with trained mental efficiency.

Central Intelligence was the sum total of the massed brains which formed the heart of the Cyclan. Living intelligences, released from the hampering prisons of fleshy bodies when age had made those bodies no longer efficient. Locked in sealed capsules, fed with nutrients, hooked in series, the brains rested in darkness and total isolation from external stimuli. An ideal state in which to ponder the problems of the universe. A tremendous organic computer of incredible complexity; with its aid the Cyclan would rule the galaxy given time.

But the tool had revealed a flaw. Certain of the brains had shown signs of aberrated behavior and had to be destroyed. Was the sickness continuing?

Was Central Intelligence going insane?

A possibility loaded with frightening implications, for if the brains could no longer be trusted then what of the Cyclan? And what would be the reaction of cybers denied their reward for dedicated service? The potential immortality granted at the end of their useful physical life?

"Master!" Byrne turned as Avro opened the door to his chamber. "Is all well?"

A question Avro dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"Go to the field," he ordered. "I want all details of every vessel movement from Baatz from the time Tron landed here. Names, cargoes, destinations, complements, operating velocities-everything." To Tupou he said, "Bring all the records of the examinations made by Cardor together with a complete record of all circus workers." A near-impossible task but one which had to be attempted. "When you have done that, relieve Cardor and have him report to me."

Effort and expense with little hope of reward but Avro was beyond counting the cost. If Dumarest was dead he must be certain of it. If, despite all the evidence, the man had managed to survive then he must know that too. The future of the Cyclan depended on it.