A possibility Avro considered then discarded; even if Dumarest had chosen to hide behind conspicuousness the ship had been bound for Zshen. A long flight. Too long for a man needing to lose himself.
And there were other factors to be taken into account. Central Intelligence absorbed an astronomical amount of information from a host of cybers. Data of no obvious value but all taken and sifted through the organic computer to be correlated, aligned, evaluated and all possible connections checked and determined.
Information passed to Avro at his request.
He stared at the papers before him, remembering, wondering why, the last time he had established rapport, it had been as normal. There had been no bizarre landscape, no figure to greet him and exchange words as if face to face. No enclosed universe in which he had been thrust as if by a whim. Would it ever happen again?
He set aside that question as he returned to his task. With a handful of facts he could predict the logical outcome of any event. Training and talent which could not only show where Dumarest had been but predict where he would be and when.
On Nyne a warehouse had been damaged. Broken out of by someone locked within. An item of local news coupled with that of a broken crate. And crates of just that size had been shipped from Baatz after Tron had died. Dumarest could have traveled in one. And after?
The Burdinnion was close and a good place for a man to hide. Easy traveling, with journeys too short to do other than ride Middle. Natural time spent in a variety of ways all designed to eliminate boredom-and Dumarest had skill as a gambler.
Which ship and where headed?
Three had left Nyne at the relevant time. One, a private charter, could be eliminated; such craft didn't cater to the casual trade. Another, heading toward Baatz, the same. The third, the Solinoy, had been bound for Tysa.
Tysa?
It held nothing but a farming complex fueling a stringent economy based on the export of medicinal drugs. A small, harsh, bleak world lashed by radiation and populated mostly by contract workers who had no choice but to stay where fate had dumped them. The last place a man would hide.
And yet?
Avro checked the data; the mechanism of his mind evaluated probabilities. Then he judged time and distance. A button sank beneath a finger as he reached a decision.
"Master!" Tupou answered the command. "Your orders?"
"Go to the field. Have my ship readied for immediate flight. I shall require full velocity. Have Byrne clear the suite."
"Yes, Master. The destination?"
"Anfisa."
It had to be Anfisa. The Thorn had left soon after the Solinoy had landed and the ship was bound for that world.
Avro intended to meet it.
Angado Nossak sucked at a bone and said, "Earl, I've never felt better in my life."
He looked it. The lumpy protrusions had gone as had a slight plumpness at the waist and jowls. The skin and eyes were clear. Sitting cross-legged before the fire he was the picture of health.
Dumarest said, "You were lucky."
"Sure I was lucky-I had you to look after me." Nossak sobered as he reached for another meaty bone from the heap stacked before the fire. "Though I had a bad dream, once. A nightmare, I guess. I seemed to hear you saying you were going to desert me."
"It was no dream!"
"It had to be!"
"Is that what you always say when you bump up against something you don't like?" Dumarest lowered the tunic he was working on with plastic and a hot iron; the knife included in the supplies which he'd heated in the fire. "Pretend it doesn't exist? Call it a dream? Keep that up and you won't have to worry about growing old."
"I almost didn't." Nossak looked at his arms and frowned. "You gave me slow time, right?"
"That and other things."
"Drugs, sure, but what about the rest? I'm in too good a shape to have starved for over a month. We've no equipment or supplies for intravenous feeding so how did you manage?"
With blood mixed with water and fed into his stomach through a pipe made from the intestines of the predator. Fluids followed by raw, pulped liver and other soft meats.
Nossak gulped as he listened.
"Maybe I shouldn't have asked."
"Squeamish?"
"Let's just say I was never used to things like that."
"What were you used to?" Dumarest thrust the knife back into the fire. Stripped to shorts his body showed a pattern of bruises, marks left by the blow and rake of claws, the snap of teeth. Only the metal protection of his clothing had saved him from fatal lacerations. Now, slowly, he was doing his best to refurbish the garments. "Servants? Money? Adulation?"
"Let's forget it."
"No." Dumarest's tone brooked no argument. "I want to know. Someone tried to kill you and I got mixed up in it. They could try again. It would help to know why."
"Kill me? But I was sick, ill-"
"Poisoned." Smoke rose as Dumarest applied the hot metal, forcing molten plastic into the rents left by claws. "Nothing crude and it couldn't be detected but it exploded allergic reactions once triggered. Anything could have done it, the cards, the basic, the woman's perfume. What do you know about Cranmer?"
"Nothing. Why?"
"He yelled plague and scared the hell out of everyone. Stopped them thinking, too. A smart assassin would have thought of that. One way or another he wanted you dead. Why?"
"It doesn't matter." Nossak gnawed at the bone. "It happened. It's over. Forget it."
"You said that before."
"Then why not do it?"
Dumarest rose, standing upright, the early sun touching his skin and accentuating the bruises. He dressed, adjusting tunic and pants, slipping his knife into his right boot. The other, the one he had used to melt the plastic, he threw into the dirt at Nossak's feet.
"You'd better have that. The axe, I'll take with a canteen, one of the sacs and half the snares. The compass too and some of the concentrates." Stooping, Dumarest lifted a joint of meat from where it had been set to cure in the smoke from the fire. "You can have the rest."
"You're going?"
"Yes."
"But-" Nossak rose to his feet, the bone falling from his hand. "You're leaving me? Earl, you can't do that!"
"Watch me."
"But why? What the hell have I done?"
"Nothing, You're a full-grown man now and can stand on your own. If you can't then too bad-I'm no nursemaid."
Nossak said, slowly, "It's because I won't talk, is that it? But what difference does it make? A man's business is his own affair."
"Not when it involves others. I'm here because of you, remember. I'd like to know why." Dumarest paused then said, flatly, "It's up to you, Angado. Or should it be Hedren? Or Karroum?"
"You know?"
"You babbled. Big promises, long names, great rewards. What's so special about being Hedren Angado Nossak Karroum?"
"The seventh," said Nossak bitterly. "Don't forget the number. And if you want you can stick a title in front. Lord Hedren-" He broke off and spat. "To hell with it. Why can't I have one name like you, Earl?"
"You can. Pick one. Angado. From now on that's it." Dumarest sat and picked up the bone the other had dropped. Handing it back he said. "Eat. We can't afford to waste a thing. Now why would anyone want to see you dead?"
"I don't know."
Dumarest sighed. "Just talk," he suggested. "Fill me in on your background."
It was much what he'd expected, an old and established family suffering from inbreeding and decay. The sharp edge which had originally lifted them to power and carved a position of authority weakened by petty rivalries and jealousy. Angado, the seventh to hold the name and title, had an ambitious cousin. One who had made him a tempting offer.