"If I said it wasn't?"
"You'd be a liar. Phase malfunction is confined to the similarity units. A burn-out would have left a deposit. An overload the same but in a different sector."
"And power-pulse feedback?"
"The regulator takes care of that."
"And if it doesn't?" Angado didn't wait for an answer. "You're dead, that's what. Or drifting. You know a lot about generators, Earl. Where did you study?"
On ships and helped by a man long dead. Dumarest saw his face pictured on the shining surface of the generator units, multiplied by conduits, flat planes, distorted by convex swellings. The face of the captain of the first ship he had ever seen. One in which he had stowed away to be found, threatened with eviction, saved by an old man's kindly whim.
"Earl?"
"It doesn't matter." Dumarest squeezed shut his eyes and shook his head to clear it of fogging memories. "How long will you be?"
"As long as it takes." Angado smiled as he gave a remembered answer to the question. "As you told me on the plain."
"Days? Weeks?"
"It's a matter of synchronization. That and balance of similarity. Nine nines is as good as we're ever going to get and we can't reach that without specialized equipment, which isn't here. Seven nines is good. Five nines is the least we can get away with. I'll have to use a mirror-reflection phaseometer and I'll need help to compute the trial-and-error readings. The first I can rig from what's available. The second?"
"I can manage that."
"Good," said Angado. "Let's get to it."
It had been raining and the streets of Anfisa held an unaccustomed shine. A gleam in which the drooping pennants showed like smeared patches of oily hues and the rounded domes with their spike ornamentations were reflected in a profusion of altered shapes so that the town seemed to be haunted by bizarre creatures of some undersea forest.
An association Avro didn't make as he stood at the window looking toward the distant field, the spot where his ship was resting. Where it had rested for days now after a journey in which three of the crew had died and two others had suffered irreparable damage to hearts and kidneys.
That sacrifice had been unnecessary and stood as a silent accusation.
What had gone wrong?
The Thorn was behind schedule and no message had been received to give the reason. Accident? Damage? A burst engine causing the vessel to drift helplessly in space between the stars?
Madness?
The possibilities were endless and to speculate a waste of mental energy. It was time to search out facts and to be more determined than before. The factor could have been careless or hiding the truth for reasons of his own. The Thorn, on a regular route, would have gained friends and backers who needed to protect their investment.
Avro saw a touch of scarlet in the street below. The flash of color vanishing as it was spotted. Minutes later Byrne knocked and entered the chamber.
"Master!" The acolyte bowed. "I have-"
"News? What of the Thorn?"
Impatience displayed with an interruption; behavior so alien to normal procedure as to cause the acolyte to stand mute. A silent reproof Avro recognized as he knew the reason. Time had been wasted-Byrne could have been about to tell him what he had demanded to know. The interruption was a blatant display of inefficient conduct.
He said evenly, "You may report."
"Yes, Master." This time there was no bow. "I have gathered all available information from the field as you ordered. Nothing new has been gained but Cyber Ishaq arrived on the Panoyan as I was questioning Amontabo, the Hausi agent. Cyber Ishaq waits outside."
He was too young, too ambitious, too eager to make his mark. Avro studied him as he walked forward to make his greeting, the bow almost perfunctory as if he resented the older man's superior rank. Yet, superficially, he was deferential.
"I was ordered to report to you and place myself at your disposal," he said. "It meant terminating my association with the Matriarch of Lunt. However, as I assured her, a replacement will be provided. I understand you are here to meet the Thorn."
"That is so." The information would have been relayed to Ishaq from Central Intelligence-but why hadn't he been told of the man's coming? Avro added, "The ship is behind schedule. No reason has yet been given to account for the delay."
"I can provide it. The vessel is under quarantine."
"Quarantine?"
"It is now in closed orbit around this planet." If Ishaq took a mental delight in displaying his superior knowledge he didn't show it. "The information has been kept secret for obvious reasons. The suspicion of plague would create a panic and affect the financial welfare of this world."
"How do you know this?"
"A radio message was picked up by one of our monitoring stations. A monk of the Church, Brother Jofre, was informing his superior of an incident that happened during flight. A sudden illness followed by the forced abandonment of two passengers. The superior must have informed the appropriate authorities." Ishaq paused then added, "It was something they dared not ignore."
The Church had friends in high places and the Cyclan had long known of the net of communication built on the super-radios incorporated into every benediction light. A system not to be compared to the efficient working of Central Intelligence but good enough for the activities of the monks.
Why had Jofre radioed ahead?
Had it been an act of revenge against Krogstad for his high-handed action or a genuine concern for the people of Anfisa? A question now without relevance; the Thorn was in quarantine. The ship and all it held isolated and beyond reach.
Avro said, "The passengers who were evicted. Was Dumarest one of them?"
"That has not been determined. Nor has his presence on the vessel."
"You doubt the probability?"
"The fact. It has yet to be verified."
The truth as Avro knew; no probability could be regarded as certain and his own convictions were not enough. If Dumarest was on the Thorn he was safely held. The ship was now a prison. But if he hadn't been on it or was no longer on it-what then?
Wait?
If Dumarest was free then delay increased the risk of losing him. Yet to contact the Thorn direct would be to reveal an interest it was better to keep hidden.
Amontabo solved the problem.
The Hausi was thick-set, strongly built, his dark cheeks slashed with the livid scars which were the castemark of his Guild. A man who never lied, but that was not to say he always told all of the truth. A dealer, go-between, agent, proxy-the Hausi performed a variety of needed roles. And Amontabo knew of the power of the Cyclan.
He bowed as he entered the chamber, first to Avro then to Ishaq. No accident, he had taken the trouble to discover who was senior. His words, when he spoke, were carefully aimed between the two.
"My lords, it has been an honor to have served you. I only trust the information I was able to gain will be of value. Of course, there were difficulties, a matter of certain arrangements which had to be made-closed beam radio with double scrambler is not something used every day."
"You will be paid," said Ishaq.
Avro, more discerning, said, "All expenses will be met as promised together with the agreed fee. In addition certain advantages will come your way." Commissions, fees, advantages, opportunities to partake of certain profits-the Cyclan could be generous when it chose. "Your report?"