The Coming Event

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Standing at the open window Dumarest squared his shoulders and drew air deep into his lungs as he looked at the balcony outside, the expanse of the city beyond. The execution was over; Tammi Canoyan had paid the price of reckless ambition and was now nothing but a part of the heap of ash smoldering in the main square. He remembered the flames, the screams-Su Posta had not been gentle.

"It was necessary." She had come up from behind to stand at his side, guessing, with her woman's intuition, his thoughts. "An example had to be set to stop others from trying the same thing. A ruler dare not be gentle. And never forget that it could have been me out there."

He would but she would never rid herself of the fear she had known when, at the last, she had realized just how unpopular she had become. A gamble-so nearly lost! A word could have swayed the consensus to back her rival, a look, a tonal inflection-their faces had worn the feral hunger of beasts!

"It's over," said Dumarest, watching her. "Don't keep thinking about it."

Good advice but hard to follow. If Canoyan had fired at herself instead of silencing the engineer. If she had contained herself a while longer. If she had maintained her protestation of innocence-but the guards had prevented her from firing again and the dead woman had been proof enough of the accusation.

Details which now had no meaning. Dust to add to the rest, carried by the smoke, left to soil the gaudy pennons and streamers displayed throughout the city. It had begun to rain and in the dull harbinger of evening they hung like a collection of rags from their standards.

As she shivered, Dumarest reached forward and closed the leaves of the window. Wine stood on a low table and without asking her permission he poured, taking a sip before handing her the glass.

"Drink, my lady. It will warm you."

"And you made sure I knew you hadn't poisoned it."

"A custom on many worlds. Another glass?"

"This will do." She sipped, savoring the wine, watching as Dumarest moved about the room, sensing his restless impatience, his desire to be gone. "You still haven't changed your mind?"

"No, my lady."

"I shall not ask again." She finished the wine and set down the glass and looked at her hands, now so wrinkled and blotched where once they had been so smooth and vibrant with life. "All this means so little to you. An old woman, a child, an accident in space. Even the threat you did so much to solve. All unimportant. Just another episode in your travels. Soon you will have forgotten us all."

"I shall not forget."

"No," she admitted. "Only idiots and fools do that and you are neither. But you will not bother to remember. We shall be lost among all the other memories you have accumulated and, one day, when someone mentions Jourdan you will need to pause and think where you have heard the name before."

Memories, she thought, the sum total of existence, and he had so many while she had so few. Her childhood, Donal, others who had registered their presence on her emotions. Her children, Lucita-at least she could remember every tiny line of that small and wonderful face. Dumarest who had saved them both.

She said, "I must not detain you. But before you go there is a gift I must make. Here." She delved into a pocket and produced a heavy ring, which she slipped on his finger. From a wide band of gold the ruby stared at him like a watchful eye.

"Thank you, my lady."

"You will treasure it?" A stupid question and she was quick to rectify it. "Never mind. I am being maudlin. It is because I am tired. Venicia will escort you as you leave."

She waited outside and began to walk as he reached her, saying nothing until they had reached a passage in the lower region where she halted and faced him with an air of defiance.

"There's a question I must ask," she said. "The woman was your engineer-why did you accuse her?"

"She wasn't my engineer."

"Even so-"

"She begged for a berth," said Dumarest. "She was a skilled engineer yet she was willing to work as a handler. It only made sense if she wanted to hide. So I guessed that someone on Jourdan had reason to want her dead."

"Canoyan-the bitch!"

"So it turned out."

"You weren't certain?" She didn't press. "Well, she's dead now and that's all there is to it. But I had to ask."

A matter of loyalty, he guessed. Of the duty owed and returned by the one to whom it was given. To her it would be important, the code trapping her in a framework no less rigid than that which had led Canoyan to her death. The arrogance which had been as much a part of her as her skin. The inability to regard others as more than inferior. To consider herself inviolate because of birth and position.

Dumarest said, "I understand."

"Yes," she said. "I thought you would." Then, "Come, my lord. We haven't much farther to go."

Elge closed the door and leaned against it as he looked at the glowing depiction of the galaxy illuminating his office. A toy, it was no more than that, but on it one could build entire universes of fantastic complexity. The stars were not suns but solid balls of ice at the temperature of absolute zero. The planets not as cold but still frigid when compared to the smoldering energy of space. And beyond the galaxy, in the vast spaces between the island universes lay regions of heat so incredible as to baffle the comprehension.

A simple reversal-and to what realms of speculation it could lead!

Yet such a universe could exist and he had formulated the physics which would govern it. In this new regimen light was a variable governed by magnetic flux and temperature-variation. Gravity was a matter of pressure and life a facet of condensation.

"Master!" The voice came from his communicator. "Master may I attend you?"

Jarvet-why couldn't the aide leave him alone?

"What do you want?"

"The matter of the Illanian Combine, Master. Your final decision has not yet reached the programmers."

A moment, then, "Have all factories in the Harganian Sector of the Combine cease production of bacteroid 2427H. Within two harvests the blight it controls will have reduced the sector to starvation. Once that happens the Hegonians will have the lever they need to demand the dispensations they require."

"Yes, Master. And-"

"Enough!" Tedious detail when universes waited to be constructed. "Have all but urgent problems handled in the usual way. What news of Dumarest?"

"None."

So he had not touched at Millett or Emney as had been predicted. Which meant that an unknown factor had been introduced and with it a complexity of variables. Elge sat at his desk as he considered it. Where would he be heading for now? Or had he landed? If so, it had to be within a certain area of where he was last reported.

Those details clustered around his mind like bees around blossoms.

Later he would attend to them. Later. But for now there was more important work to be done. The last batch of recordings had to be studied and assessed before he could finalize his report to the Council. Obviously his previous conclusions had been at fault in certain aspects and efficiency demanded that he check and reexamine before crystallizing his findings.

The communicator hummed to be ignored. The voice of his aide echoed to be similarly treated. Then there was silence broken only by his own breathing, the soft rustle of his robe as he slipped lower in the chair. Silence and the shimmering glow of the depicted galaxy which filled the room with points of brilliance. Tiny fires reflected from the attachments of the recorder and turned them into things of brightness.

Jarvet saw them as he opened the door and lifted them from the shaven skull before looking at the man in the chair. Elge didn't move but remained with his face toward the profusion of light, his opened, unwinking eyes filled with reflected gleams.

"Master?" The aide received no reply and had expected none. Stooping, he waved his hand before the staring eyes then rested the tips of his fingers on the lids and lowered them over the glazed orbs. Activating the communicator he said, "Send Icelus to the office of the Cyber Prime."

He arrived within minutes, prepared for what he saw. With deft skill he made a preliminary examination then stood back. "Catatonia." His diagnosis was terse. "Complete withdrawal."

"There is no doubt?"

"None." Icelus lifted Elge's arm and released it. The limb stayed where he had left it. "You see? He has relinquished all mental control. The autonomic system of his body continues to function, naturally; if that had ceased he would be dead."

A word-Elge breathed, his heart beat, blood flowed through his organs but, as far as a living creature was concerned, he was dead. Without a mind he was little more than a vegetable.

"How?" Icelus looked at the attachments which Jarvet had removed and which now lay on the desk. "I see. You warned that something like this could happen. Did he leave notes?"

A tape to which they listened then; as it fell silent, Jarvet said, "It is obvious he became a victim of the same malady which had affected so many units of Central Intelligence. However he was certain that the condition was not caused by any disease or sickness. That it is, in effect, an acute heightening of the perceptions leading to an alteration in the viewpoint which leads to a change of mental frames of reference which had little or no association with the universe as we know it."

"A good definition of insanity," said Icelus. "What happened to his theory that the derangement was due to sensory deprivation?"

The tape gave the answer, Elge's voice coming in its even modulation from the speaker as Jarvet found the place.

"As a theory it has served its purpose and can now be discarded. From our experiments we have learned that there is a close correlation between catatonic withdrawal and mental ability. The higher the intelligence and the more disciplined the mind the greater is the ability to survive sensory deprivation. All cybers have a trained and finely edged mind. All suffer from some form of sensory deprivation for the major part of their lives. All anticipate the total cessation of bodily stimuli as the reward for dedicated obedience to the Cyclan. The laws that apply to emotionally crippled organisms do not apply to those free of such handicaps. The conclusion, therefore, is that the apparent derangement must be due to a growing awareness of mental capability on the parts of the units affected. To discover the real nature of this development is the basis of my experiments."

The tests and trials had ruined his mind, leading to the subtle addiction to madness that had brought him to his present condition. Jarvet looked down at the man whom he had served since his elevation to the highest office the Cyclan had to offer. Elge had failed, as his predecessor had failed, to find Dumarest and the cure of the affinity twin-who now would take his place?

Ysanne was restless, pacing the salon like a caged tiger, snapping at Batrun when he tried to offer condolences and reassurances.

"The old bitch has him fast and doesn't want to let him go. Soon it will be dark-another night and how many yet to come?"

"Probably none. Earl will be here as soon as he can."

"If he wants to come. If she hasn't bribed him with soft-bodied women-God knows she has enough at her disposal. Money too and-oh, the hell with it. I want a drink!"

She found it in a bar at the edge of the field and stood in a corner sipping a thick wine which tasted of oil and grease. Imagination, probably, but she forced it down hoping to numb her senses and quiet her nerves. She was acting the fool and knew it but the knowledge didn't help. Dumarest would come to her when he was ready and she had no right or reason to act like a jealous idiot. No wonder Batrun had thrown up his hands and gone to help Craig with the generator. Shandhar, too, had stayed well out of her way. He was a fool like the rest-couldn't he see she was concerned for them all?

The bar began to get crowded, workers coming in from the field, eager to shelter from the rain. A couple of guards entered, shaking rain from their capes, followed by a man who stared at her with frank admiration, another, more bold, who halted to take her arm. His companion drew him away at her frown; older, he knew what could happen to an impulsive male on a world ruled by women.

When the music blared from a machine, she'd had enough and went outside to feel the drizzle on her face. The wine hadn't had any affect and she guessed it had been watered or the pills Batrun had given her after the ball were still negating the alcohol. The palace drew her toward it and she was facing the door when Dumarest emerged. For a moment she stared at him and then was running to clasp him in her arms. "Earl! I was getting worried!"

"No need. How are things at the ship?"

"As you might expect." She was chilled by his attitude. "The Hausi cooperated once the old cow met her obligation and met that note." She saw the ring on his hand. "A bonus?"

"You could call it that."

"Or a love-gift? I could call it that too."

"You can call it anything you want." Dumarest lifted it to look at the stone. "I call it fuel when we need it and supplies and stuff to help us on our way." He smelled her breath. "What have you been drinking?"

"They called it wine. I got it in that place at the edge of the field. Starrest, I think, some name like that."

"A dive." He took her by the arm. "Let's find somewhere decent so as to dodge this rain."

It was large, the room low-roofed, set with tables and benches. A tavern which held a warm comfort with windows that showed the darkening sky. A good place to be- compared to the other it was a palace against a slum. A youngster brought them a bottle dusted with sparkles and glasses engraved with interwound figures engaged in an ancient pastime. Pouring, he stirred the air with empty chatter.

"Did you see it? A public burning-I tried to get away but the mistress is strict and said I was too young and anyway, the place needed cleaning. I think she was afraid of my finding a better situation. The talk is that there could be more executions and if there are I'm going to attend no matter what. Not that there's much danger of losing my job. Once the word gets around we'll be run off our feet with the extra trade. A spectacle like that is bound to bring in the tourists. One thing you've got to hand to the matriarch she knows how to rule. Once let a rebel get a step out of line and who knows where things will end?"

"Bodies on every standard," said Dumarest. "Burnings every night. In a year you'll be famous."

"That's right." The youngster missed the irony. "Anything else, my lord?"

Dumarest said, "What have you to eat?"

"Some shredded meat roasted before an open fire and dusted with spice. Marinated fowl. Three kinds of bread and a soup so thick you could float a ship on it. If you want the full meal I could arrange a table in the restaurant or if you only want a snack you could have it here."

"A snack," said Dumarest. "Meat and some bread. Serve it here."

Ysanne laughed as the youth hurried away. "He must have heard of you, Earl. He acts as if you're his hero."

"No, he's afraid of displeasing you. Watch his eyes when he returns."

They flickered from her face to Dumarest and back again as if he waited a clue before speaking, as he put the food on the table and looked at the tip Dumarest had given him.

"Thank you, my lord. If there's anything more you want just let me know. We've fine rooms upstairs if you've the need for a soft bed and a bit of privacy." His eyes moved to Ysanne. "My lady?"

"Later, maybe. I'll let you know." Her smile widened as she followed the youth with her eyes. "I could enjoy living on a world like this. At least women aren't treated as chattels." She frowned. "Earl?" He had turned away from her to stare after a retreating figure. "Earl, is something wrong?"

"That man."

He frowned, trying to remember the fleeting glimpse he'd caught of the face. With deep lines and beetling brows, the cheeks blotched with purple scars, the face was not easily forgotten.

He'd last seen it on Zabul!