Technos

Chapter Ten

It was a bathroom. He could tell by the scent of soap and lotions, the touch of tile and humid warmth. Carefully he felt along the walls, finding a switch and narrowing his eyes against a flood of light. From a wall a mirror threw back his reflection.

He was filthy, covered with greasy dirt, his face streaked, his hands grimed and his clothes a ruin. If he hoped to escape the building he would have to wash and change. As he was, he would be arrested on sight.

Dumarest turned, switching off the light and gently opening the door of the bathroom. Beyond lay a chamber dim with subdued illumination, a bed resting in the center, a wardrobe to one side. From an outer room came the sound of voices.

"My lord, my extrapolations show that there is a probability of ninety-two percent that insurrection will break out on Hardish within a few weeks. I advise that extra troops be sent from Cest and Wen to reinforce the occupying garrisons."

"I know what you advise, Ruen." Vargas was impatient. "But there are things of greater importance. Five members of the council have agreed to retire and three others will probably join them. Brekla has secured a favorable vote to grant me extraordinary powers for the duration of the war. How long will it be before I am in absolute command?"

"You are that in fact if not in name already, my lord." Ruen's even monotone was in direct contrast to the Technarch's emotional outburst. "The prediction that a cabal will be formed to act against you is of a very low order to probability, seven point eight percent. It cannot be ignored but the probability can be lowered to two point three percent if Dehnar is sent on a special mission to Loame."

Vargas scowled. "And to eliminate it totally?"

"That is not possible, my lord. The potential danger will always remain. Even if you destroy all the members of the council a junta of the military could seek power at your expense. The most that can be accomplished is to reduce the probability factor to a point where it can be safely ignored."

His calmness infuriated the Technarch. How could the cyber be so cold, so calculating? Events were dark clouds piled before a rushing wind, sweeping relentlessly toward him, monstrous with hidden dangers. Restlessly he prowled his room, his brain trying to grapple with a dozen facts, make a score of extrapolations and failing to determine even one. Now it seemed that the euphorias had lost their power to soothe. Sleep was a thing of nightmare to be taken in small doses and even the darkness brought by the closing of his eyes held peculiar terrors.

The things which could happen in such a moment of inattention! A laser could blast his life, the roof fall, an assassin strike in a host of ways. And Ruen spoke of danger to be safely ignored!

His hands felt sticky, slimed with sweat and he headed towards the bathroom, caution slowing his feet. Yet he was reluctant to summon the guard. The apartment had been checked before he had entered with Ruen and, each time he called the man he risked a blast from the weapon hired to protect him.

Ruen watched his hesitation, gauging the extent of the Technarch's fear, feeling the glow of mental achievement at the success of his predictions. Vargas was medically insane and would soon totally disintegrate. Vargas would leave chaos: the council disrupted and the state in turmoil. From the wreckage he, Ruen, would fashion a new council, guiding it with his advice, steering it the way it must go.

"My lord," he said as Vargas reached the door of the bedroom, "let me summon your guard. It is not wise to take chances."

"Could an assassin come through the walls?"

"The probability is extremely low, my lord, yet it does exist." Make him afraid of darkness, of shadows, of the very beat of his own heart. A man poisoned by terror was unable to think, to plan and determine. A creature of blind, unthinking emotive reaction was a predictable tool. "The guard, my lord?"

He came at the call, laser in hand, eyes searching the rooms. It was a ritual he had performed a thousand times before and he acted with a trained economy of movement. A foot opened the bathroom door, lights blooming in automatic response, the panel swinging back as he entered.

Dumarest struck with the heavy bottle of lotion he had snatched from a shelf.

He dropped it as the guard slumped, snatching the laser and springing through the door into the other room. Vargas screamed his terror, hands lifted to protect his face, eyes bulging with the fear of imminent death.

"Be quiet!" There had been two voices. Dumarest ran to the door of the bedroom, narrowing his eyes as he saw the scarlet of the cyber's robe. "You! In here. Quickly!"

Calmly Ruen obeyed, standing beside where Vargas had slumped in a faint, his eyes bright within the shadowed sockets of his skull. "Your name must be Dumarest," he said. "You are making a grave mistake."

"Perhaps."

"This man is the Technarch. How do you hope to escape?"

Dumarest ignored the question. He had managed to wash the dirt from his face and hands but had been unable to do anything about his clothes. He stepped to the wardrobe, sliding back the doors, tensing as he saw a threatening figure. It was a reflection; the cabinet was backed with mirrors. He turned as he noticed the movement of Ruen's hands.

"No. Keep your hands away from your sleeves. Away, I say!"

"You are being irrational," said the cyber, obeying. "Logical deduction should tell you that you have no hope of avoiding the guards." He watched as Dumarest changed, tearing clothes from the cabinet, dressing awkwardly but keeping the laser trained on the scarlet figure. "If you leave here with that weapon the probability of your being killed is ninety-nine percent. Certainty. Your only hope for life is to surrender yourself to me."

"Inside!" Dumarest gestured to the wardrobe. It had a catch and would hold for a while. "Quickly!"

"And if I refuse?"

"That would be illogical. I am a desperate man and it would be simpler to kill you than to argue. Your hands!" snapped Dumarest sharply as Ruen lifted them to his wide sleeves. "I shall not warn you again."

"You are desperate without cause. Yield yourself to me and I guarantee that none on Technos will harm you."

"Move!" Dumarest closed the panel as the cyber entered the wardrobe. He engaged the catch and glanced at Vargas. Unconscious the man was no problem. He had a few minutes at least before the alarm could be given.

Opening the door, he stepped into the corridor outside. The Technarch's paranoia had kept it free of guards. At the far end a man in red and black glanced at him, curious but reassured by Dumarest's air of confidence.

Fifteen seconds later he ran directly into Major Keron and six of his men.

* * *

Yendhal said, "I want you to be certain as to what we are doing. You have heard of lie detectors?"

"Yes," said Dumarest.

"Then you will understand what this is." The physician gestured toward the assembled apparatus. "It is a development of my own with certain improvements over the standard model. Electrodes will register the tensions of your body, the degree of emitted sweat, the minute, muscular contractions impossible to avoid when uttering a lie. The truth needs no consideration and can be spoken without hesitation. A lie, no matter how well rehearsed, requires concentration and there is usually a small but measurable delay. You understand?"

"Yes," said Dumarest again. He was naked, strapped to a chair, electrodes fastened to a dozen points of his body, more sprouting from a band of metal about his head.

Calmly he stared about the laboratory. The place had a harsh, clinical smell and looked more like a hospital than an interrogation room. Yendhal, fussing over his equipment, seemed more like a schoolmaster about to conduct a routine experiment than an inquisitor. But his eyes held a ruthless dedication which betrayed his true nature.

"There is one other thing." Yendhal rested his hand on a tube aimed directly at a point between Dumarest's eyes. "This is a laser. If you lie it will burn a hole in your brain." He looked at someone beyond the range of Dumarest's vision. "Commence."

"Your name?"

"Earl Dumarest."

"Your planet of origin?"

"Earth."

"How did you arrive on Technos?" The voice was cold, emotionless, the studied modulation of a machine. Dumarest answered without hesitation.

"Are you an assassin?"

"No."

"Have you killed?"

"Yes."

"On Technos?"

"No."

"Why did you try to kill the Technarch?"

Dumarest remained silent.

"Answer the question. The laser will fire if you refuse."

"I cannot answer because the question is wrongly framed. You are asking me to give a reason for doing something which I did not do and did not intend."

"Did you intend to kill the Technarch?"

"No."

"Did you try to kill him?"

"No."

"Could you have?"

"Yes Vargas turned from where he stood before a sheet of one-way glass as Yendhal came toward him. The man is lying. He has found a way to beat your machine."

"Impossible!" The physician was emphatic. "No man can control his respiration, muscular response and nervous tension to that degree. I stake my reputation that he is telling the truth."

"But he was in my apartments! What reason could he have had unless he intended to kill me?"

Yendhal was patient. "He had no weapon, sire, and an assassin would have to anticipate the presence of your guard. Logic dictates that if he had intended to kill you he would have been armed."

Vargas frowned, reluctant to accept the conclusion, yet knowing it to be true. And the man had illustrated a weakness. Who would have thought anyone could enter from the disposal chute? Ruen should have thought of it.

Perhaps he had. The frown deepened as Vargas's suspicions began to feed on his doubts. Who could tell what had happened after he had fainted? Had the cyber hoped that the sudden strain would burst his heart? Had they been interrupted before killing him without trace? The coincidence was too much for him to believe. How had the man known which chute led to his rooms? And Ruen had made certain that the guard had been summoned and sent ahead.

He scowled, listening to the drone of question and answer from a connecting speaker. Was the man in the pay of some seditious element? Had the cyber lied in his assurance that there was no organized opposition to his plan to gain supreme power? And Yendhal, could he have rigged the machine so as to give harmless answers?

"You are a stranger on Technos?"

"Do you have friends on the planet?"

"No."

"Have you been here before?"

"No."

Check questions repeated at irregular intervals and in different phraseology. Standard procedure to catch a liar but now it was even more than that. The relentless barrage would numb the consciousness and induce a hypnotic condition in which the answers would come mechanically from the lower regions of the brain, thus bypassing the censor. Dumarest was being conditioned to answer without conscious volition.

"An unusual man, sire." Yendhal turned from the observation screen. "I have questioned Major Keron as to his activities. Apparently he reacted most violently to routine interrogation, attacking the guards at the threat of violence and making good his escape despite formidable obstacles. The incident is even more remarkable when we realize that he knew nothing of our culture and could not fully assess the difficulties he would have to overcome."

"Are you saying that he reacted instinctively?"

"Yes, sire, I am. Almost as an animal would react, sensing danger and taking action to avoid it, gauging situations as they arose and taking steps to elude capture. An intelligent animal, naturally, and one with a highly developed sense of survival. He must have spent much time on backward worlds among primitive cultures in which personal survival depended on individual strength and quickness. His reflexes are amazingly fast. So fast that they must operate independently of conscious thought. Logically it would have been wiser for him to have accepted Keren's punishment and bided his time. He must have reacted on a purely subconscious level, assessing the situation, judging the chances of success and moving into action all in the time it took for him to see the upraised club and realize its significance. A truly remarkable performance."

Vargas was thoughtful. "Would you say he was unique?"

"I would."

"Isn't it possible to get him to volunteer information?"

"No, sire, not under the present conditions. Lying is a form of preservation, and he will lie if given the chance. As it is his monosyllabic answers are a form of protection. He will answer each question truthfully but will volunteer no truth. Our job is to make certain that we ask the right questions. I'm afraid that it will take some time."

* * *

A weak sun had thawed the snow turning the slush into water and filling the air with a damp chill. Huddled in her furs Mada stepped from the cab, dismissed the driver and stood looking down the street as it drove away.

It was an uninviting place. A quick-teach palace blazed with light and the promise to quick-feed education by means of the latest techniques. A store displayed shoddy goods from the occupied worlds together with an invitation to step inside and learn about the wonderful new settlement offers now available. A toyshop offered the latest in educational pastimes. A child, crying, was dragged from the window by its harassed mother.

"I keep telling you we can't afford it," she scolded. "With your father in the army it's all I can afford to put food on the table. Now shut up before I give you something to howl about!"

A man called softly from where he leaned against a wall. "Help a man with a limited wife, lady? She can't do better than the fourth level."

Another approached, limping. "Spare a few coins for study, madam? One more degree and I'll be able to get my leg fixed."

Mada glared her dislike. "How did you get hurt?"

"In ambush on Hardish, madam. A bunch of us got jumped by some locals one night."

"You're lying. If you were in the army you can get free medical attention."

He shrugged, unabashed. "Sure, but you know how it is. A man likes to get the best that's going."

Dirt, she thought as she pushed past him. Scum. The dregs of Technos and a disgrace to the planet. Why didn't they get themselves some education and find decent jobs?

The irritation was misplaced; she had more important things to do than worry about beggars and slums. With quick strides she walked down the street into a place selling educational tapes and out of a rear door. A narrow alley opened on a wide boulevard. Two hundred yards along a soaring sheet of glass and metal protected a display of gold and jewels. A uniformed attendant glanced at her, at the bulky bag she carried, then stepped forward to open the door. Inside, a wave of scented air warmed away her chill.

"Madam?" A man, sleek and well groomed, rose at her side.

"I wish to sell some items."

"Certainly, madam." He led the way toward an inner door. "If you will be so good as to wait inside?"

The buyer was a plump man with a pink scalp and veiled eyes. He looked at the contents of the bag, resting his fingers on scaled miniatures, an elaborate clock, a set of chessmen carved from solid crystal, two statuettes, a handful of cameos, some filigree work of silver and gold, a fragment of tapestry, a meditation light of skilled workmanship and historical interest.

Quietly he said, "You will pardon the question, madam, but can you give me proof that these things are yours to dispose of?"

For answer she held out her left wrist. Gravely he studied the engraving on the bracelet.

"My apologies, madam, but you can appreciate our concern. There has been a great deal of theft in the city recently."

"I understand. Can you accommodate me?"

"Certainly, madam. If you will permit me to make a closer study of these items?"

She nodded, relaxing as he produced a jeweler's glass and fitted it to his eye. Her precautions, though simple, should have been good enough. She had used three different vehicles and had walked the last few yards. Had anyone been following her, he must have lost the trail.

Removing his glass the buyer said, "You have excellent taste, madam. These items are truly works of art."

"You will take them?"

"Naturally." He mentioned a price. "It is not as high as you may have expected but the market is slow and the cost of storage high. If you would prefer us to sell them on commission you would probably get more but it would take time."

"I accept your valuation. Can you give it to me now?"

"Of course, madam. I will arrange for a check immediately."

"Not a check, jewels. Small stones easily negotiable. I will shortly be traveling to various primitive worlds," she explained. "I want something I can use to purchase local products."

He was too polite to display surprise. "In that case I suggest unmounted gems. The tax is lower and they should meet your requirements."

For travel, for bribes, for escape. She still retained enough influence in the palace to be able to get information. Dumarest had been captured and was being questioned. Vargas would not be gentle and would learn everything he knew.

And she had asked him to assassinate the Technarch!

If nothing else, his testimony would damn her. Without support she wouldn't stand a chance. Even with it the crime was enough to send her to trial as an enemy of the state.

Her only hope lay in flight.