Technos

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 come 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 each 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!"

* * *

The silence grew, deepened by the drifting shadows from the open door of the bedroom, the glow of artificial moonlight from the vaulted roof. Dumarest looked at his hands, raising his head to meet the woman's eyes.

Quietly he said, "I am not an assassin, my lady."

"You are a fugitive, on Technos without legal right, subject to punishment when caught. Hard punishment." she emphasized. "Interrogation and, perhaps, death. Unless I aid you, capture is certain. And you admit that you owe me your life."

"Is that why you saved it, my lady?"

"No," she spoke without thinking, but it was true enough. At first she had obeyed the promptings of a whim and the desires of her body. But then had come the interview with Brekla, the thinly disguised threats, the knowledge that she stood alone against Vargas and his ambition.

Shergan, Alica, Marmot, Dehnar, all had turned against her. The Supreme Council were rats each scuttling for safety. Or, perhaps, they had formed a cabal from which she was excluded. With the Technarch dead they would think again, and at least she would have time to secure her position.

Dumarest had to agree!

Leaning forward she spoke quickly before he could refuse. "Vargas is an old man, terrified of his shadow. He trusts only a single guard. I can arm you and guide you to his chamber. Two shots and the thing is done. In return I will give you money and arrange a passage." Her voice rose, grew thin and querulous. "Why do you hesitate? What have you to lose? Your mind carries the knowledge of violence. You have killed before so why not again? It is such a little thing I ask. Two shots and you will have repaid your debt. Do it, Earl. For me. Please!"

A little thing! To kill the head of a state! And afterward would she keep her part of the bargain or would she arrange to have him killed so as to close his mouth? And when he refused, what then? Poison in the wine?

Slowly he said, "My lady, you are distraught. You cannot realize what you ask."

"I ask you to kill a man," she said. "A mad dog who will drag us all to ruin. An ambitious fool blind to everything but his own lust for power. Kill him and Technos will have cause to be grateful."

"I have little cause to trust the gratitude of princes," he said dryly. "And less to rely on the thanks of a nation. What you propose, my lady, is unwise."

"You refuse?"

"To kill a man I have never seen? Yes, my lady. As I said, I am no assassin."

Dumarest rose, stiffening as a sudden knocking came from the door, seeing by the woman's eyes that the interruption was unexpected. It came again, sharp, imperious.

"Hide," she said quickly. "In there." She gestured toward the bedroom. "Make no sound."

The knocking increased as he stepped into the room, closing the door all but a crack. Through it he saw Mada cross the chamber and open the door. A flood of light from the corridor beyond lined her figure with a halo of brilliance.

"Your pardon, madam," said a familiar voice. "I crave your indulgence on a matter of planetary security. Have I your permission to enter?"

Keron! And from the sound of his voice, he would brook no refusal. Dumarest turned and ran toward the bathroom. Inside he scanned the walls. They were solid, broken only by grilles too small to allow the passage of his body. A disposal chute opened at his touch and he stared into darkness. It would lead to a shaft, dropping to the lower levels and ending, perhaps, in a furnace. As he hesitated he heard the sudden rise of Mada's voice.

"How dare you! To burst into my apartments! Have the members of the Supreme Council no rights?"

Keren's answer was firm. "Not when planetary security is at risk, madam. I must insist that you allow me to search your rooms."

The chute bent at a sharp angle two feet from the opening. Dumarest felt the scrape of the rim against his back as he wriggled around the bend, elbows extended to brake his passage. His legs dangled free and he followed them, hanging by his hands at the lower edge of the bend, reaching back with one foot to find the extent of the shaft. It was about four feet wide, narrow enough for him to press his feet against one side, his back against the other, lowering himself with cautious motions.

From above he caught a flash of light and heard a muffled voice.

"Nothing here, Major."

The light vanished and the darkness was complete. Cramped in the chimney Dumarest cautiously eased his way down. To return to the woman's apartment was to take an unnecessary risk. Keron would have stationed a guard in the corridor if nowhere else and the man would probably have orders to shoot on sight. And the woman was another problem. His refusal would not have endeared him to her, and if she was wise she would kill him to close his mouth.

He frowned, remembering the youth of her body, the childish solution she had found to social problems. Kill the Technarch and everything would be wonderful! It was the answer a primitive would think of, not an educated and sophisticated woman. And she was a member of the ruling council. An infant prodigy, perhaps? In such a society he guessed it was possible.

His foot slipped and he strained against his other leg, sweat beading his face at the thought of the emptiness below. He concentrated on the pressure of steel against the soles of his feet and the area of his back. He seemed lower than before, his body less cramped, and he realized that the shaft was widening as it descended. Soon it would be too wide for him to support his weight.

His foot slipped and met emptiness. A joining shaft or the mouth of a chute? He could have passed a dozen of them, missing them all in the thick darkness and he could miss a dozen more. But the lower he went the harder it became to straddle the shaft. Halting, feet and back pressed against the metal, he felt to either side with his hands.

Nothing. The shaft was unbroken. Crablike he moved in a circle, hands testing the metal, pausing as he felt the upper edge of an opening. It was smooth, rounded and slick with some covering. Grease, perhaps, or a plastic film to protect the metal from corrosion. In any case, it was too wide for him to gain a strong purchase; if he tried to thrust his body into the opening he would slip and fall.

Grimly he began to climb back up the shaft. He had to reach a point where it was narrow enough for him to enter one of the openings without losing his balance. His shoulders met the lower rim of a chute and he moved away from it, climbing still higher. When the shaft had narrowed so that his knees were pressed against his chest he searched for another opening.

Sweat oozed from his skin as he fought a mounting fatigue, the strain on his muscles turning them into fire. A foot met no resistance and he circled, back scraping the wall. Reaching the opening he positioned himself, hooking his left elbow into the chute. Tensing his muscles he kicked out, turning at the same time, the pressure forcing his head and shoulders into the opening before he could fall. Desperately he rammed both elbows against the sides, fighting the pull of gravity as his legs fell from the support of the wall. He kicked, meeting the upward bend, using elbows, chest and chin to gain traction. A knee caught the lower edge of the chute and he thrust upward, back arched and head rising toward the mouth of the chute.

His face bumped into hardness and he reached upward, fumbling at the smooth surface, pressing, feeling resistance and knowing that the door was locked. He tensed, ramming the sides of his legs against the walls of the chute, his back, one arm and hand. With the other he pressed against the top of the door, gritting his teeth as he felt himself begin to slip. Drawing back his hand he slammed the palm hard against the upper edge and, as something yielded, lunged forward and gripped both sides of the mouth of the chute.

A heave and he was through the opening and falling into darkness.