Questions the carved figures on the stairs couldn't answer. Nor did the wooden heads in the Council chamber. Even the living remained silent, the silence a mute reproach for having being kept waiting.
Gydapen broke it. Plumping into his seat he said, "Well, you asked me to come and I am here."
Erason held the chair. Coldly he said, "The formalities must be observed. First an apology for the willful insult to the Council. Then-"
"To hell with that!" The slap of Gydapen's hand was a meaty thud rising from the table. "Get on with it or I leave."
Alcorus cleared his throat. Old, withered, he hated displays of violence. Hated, not feared, two dead men killed in a formal duel proved that.
"I'll make this short Lord Prabang. I've heard that you intend to break the Pact. Is that true?"
"And if it is?"
"I ask for the last time." The dry tones held contempt. "Is it true?"
"No." Gydapen looked around as relief made an audible rustle as clothing shifted on relaxing bodies. "I have no intention of actually breaking the Pact. But it can be altered. Adjustment can be made."
"You split hairs, my lord!"
"I'm giving you the truth, Alorcus." Gydapen returned the old man's glare. "There are valuable minerals on my lands. I intend to obtain them. That is all."
"And what of the Pact?" Navolok leaned forward in his chair. "Do you intend to defy the Sungari?"
"I've explained that."
"No." Suchong made a curt gesture. "You have done nothing of the kind. You, like all of us, have certain designated areas for mining. Now you say that you intend to extend your area of operations. This is a direct contravention of the Pact."
"It has already been contravened."
"By whom? The Sungari? How? When?"
"You want proof?"
"I demand it!" Alcorus returned to the attack. "It is essential. Without evidence I refused to accept your testimony."
"You dare to call me a liar!"
"Do you take us for fools?" With an effort Alcorus restrained his anger. "Do you ask us to destroy our heritage on your unsupported word? If the Pact has been broken then we must know how and where and in what manner. Accidents have happened before but the Pact has been maintained. It will still be maintained with good intent on both sides. But if you, or anyone, deliberately breaks if for reasons of selfish greed then the full weight of this Council will be turned against him. I call for a vote!"
Dutifully Lavinia raised her hand and, with surprise, noted that Gydapen also voted in favor. A cynical gesture or a genuine desire to keep the peace? A cunning move in order to gain time? It was possible and she wondered who had first spread the rumor. Gydapen himself, perhaps, it would fit his nature. To cry wolf again and again so that when he really did set to work who would believe it?
The Council dissolved in apparent concord, the members taking underground passages to their various places of accommodation. Lavinia made certain that Gydapen should not claim her, an act made simple by his own apparent lack of interest; another cunning move on his part, perhaps, or a demonstration of calculated patience. The average woman would have been piqued by such an apparent affront and eager to prove the worth of her attraction.
Roland pursed his lips when, later in her room, she mentioned it.
"Gydapen is cunning, Lavinia. Never make the mistake of underestimating him."
"I don't intend to."
"I watched him in the Council chamber. His rage-did you notice how artificial it was? And he seemed to want to goad certain members. The vote, of course, was a farce."
"But, even so, what could he do against us?"
The room was small; one in a relatively inexpensive hotel, the paneling uncarved, the wooden floor graced only with a thin rug. The window, now firmly shuttered, was of small panes of colored glass, reflections from the lamp filling it with a jigsaw of multicolored hues which touched Roland's hair and sharpened his features.
Quietly he said, "The wrong question, my dear. You should ask, what can we do against him should he choose to go his own way?"
"He wouldn't dare!"
"Why not?" He turned and now his face, sharper than before, held a sagging weariness. "Like me he's been to other worlds. He knows how limited Zakym can be. With money the galaxy is waiting. Worlds without number, races, civilizations, climates, how to even begin to tell of their variety? And he has no cause to love this planet. If it came to it he would ruin it and leave, smiling, reveling in his revenge."
She said, with quick understanding, "Me?"
"You could be the last straw. He wants you. I do not say he loves you; personally I think the man incapable of anything aside from self-love. You would be an acquisition. An excuse if you rejected him."
"No!" She refused to accept the burden. "No, Roland! You can't place the fate of this world on my shoulders! I won't have it!"
He made no answer, just stood watching her, waiting as the moments dragged past and the obvious came to stand before her and smile with its fleshless jaws.
What she wanted was no longer of importance-like it or not she had no choice.
Chapter Eight
No ship traversing space was ever truly silent, always, if it lived, there was sound. Small noises, vibrations carried by the structure, the tap of a boot against metal, the muted sussuration of voices, the quiver of the generators and the soft, near-inaudible drone of the Erhaft field itself. A drone which was more of a vibration than actual noise, a thing which could be felt with the tips of sensitive fingers. On a good vessel with efficient padding such noises were unobtrusive, a background murmur which provided comfort rather than distraction, a sense of life in a sterile void, but the Sleethan was far from new and the sounds were loud. But not loud enough to drown the even modulation of Cyber Broge.
"You displayed wisdom. You knew that I would not have hesitated to fire."
Dumarest said, dryly, "And broken your command not to risk my life?"
"I have skill in medical matters. The stumps would have been seared by the beam and blood-loss avoided. There would have been relatively little shock. Tourniquets could have been applied and other precautions taken. You would have been in no danger of losing your life."
"And yet you couldn't be certain of that?"
"Nothing can be absolutely guaranteed," admitted the cyber. "Always there is the possibility of the unknown affecting any prediction. Yet, had you left me no choice, I would have taken the risk."
A fact Dumarest had known. He could have hurled the knife and, perhaps, taken the man's life, but he would have fallen beneath the beam and, falling, died.
Also, somewhere, the man's acolyte would have been on watch.
Was still on watch.
Dumarest had seen him after he had dropped the knife and obeyed the cyber's orders. Deft hands had removed his boots, his tunic, leaving him dressed only in his pants. His hands had been cuffed behind him and, once on the cot, his ankles had been manacled to the structure of the bed. He could sit upright, turn from side to side, could even throw himself awkwardly to the floor. But it was impossible to leave the bunk.
A prisoner, he could only wait.
Wait and watch and plan. To be ready at all times to take advantage of any opportunity which might come. To mask the alertness by a seeming, numb acceptance of his fate. To use a man's weakness against himself.
Broge was young, inexperienced, sent to Harald because it was a world of relative unimportance and would serve to train him in the extension of his instilled attributes. A man who, while not capable of true emotion, could enjoy the pleasure of mental achievement. And he had succeeded in gaining the one man the Cyclan wanted most of all.