And crying… crying…
"No!" His voice was a gasp of pain. "No! No!"
Another voice, strange, remote, whispering in the recesses of his brain.
"A sensitive-quickly, the apparatus is erratic. Some malfunction and loss of integration … foreign elements … adjust… align… so!"
Coolness and the aching died. Peace came, the sickening movement within movement vanishing as did the blaze of stars, the fear, the crying, the pain.
Dumarest lifted his head and rose, trembling, aware of the aftermath of strain-aware too that his eyes were no longer covered by the amplifying apparatus.
Then how was it he could see?
The walls glowed with a soft nacreous light to either side. The floor was a dusty amber lined with green. The roof was bathed in an azure haze. The figure of the monk standing before him was a familiar brown.
A monk?
He stepped forward and stared into the cowl seeing a calm and placid face. Brother Jerome? Once he had known the High Monk, but Jerome was dead.
"And so no longer exists in the form you knew," said the figure. "But the shape is one you find comforting and trust. Why are you here?"
"I am looking for the Sungari."
"And have found them. We are the Sungari. You have broken the Pact."
With good reason, how else was he to ask for aid? And what good was a Pact when no one knew what it was all about? And how was it that an individual claimed plurality? And what was the real shape of the Sungari?
"You will never know," said the monk evenly. "And it is best that you do not. Yes, we have the ability to read brains. Those who first came to this world and contacted us used sensitives to communicate. We arranged a mutually agreeable settlement which you must know. Why did you not communicate earlier? We were watching you and your primitive attempts. Almost we destroyed you."
Curiosity had saved him-one thing at least men and the aliens had in common. And telepathy explained how they first had agreed to cooperate. The talent must have proved a recessive gene and had died from the surface culture.
Dumarest said, "How is it that I can see?"
"A direct stimulation of the brain. We also adjusted that which was in it. Life persisted due to the radiation of the twin suns. Now it is dormant and will eventually be absorbed but, while it lasts, we can communicate. You want something but what do you offer?"
Another familiar trait or was he misunderstanding the meaning behind the words? How to understand an alien mind? Yet some things all life had in common; the need to feed, to expand, to breed, to find safety. As the Sungari had found it by burrowing deep into the planet using the rock and soil as a barrier against the energy of the suns. Which meant?
"We are not native to this world as you have guessed. Long, long ago a ship was wrecked beyond repair. We did what had to be done and achieved a balance. When those of your race came there was attrition but finally we struck a new balance. Now you come asking for help and offer what?"
"Trade."
"How?"
"Items can be left for you to collect. In return you provide minerals and other sub-surface products. Later, if mutually agreeable, a closer cooperation can be achieved."
A hope, but what else had he to offer? As the figure remained silent Dumarest took another step closer. The robe the monk wore seemed to move and, stepping even closer, he saw that it was not solid material but a mass of tiny creatures shifting, each hooked to the other, their bodies providing the illusion.
As others made up the face, the lips, the eyes, the body of the monk.
A hive-but could things so small have the mental power he had experienced? Or was the figure merely an extension of a greater intelligence?
"Is the part the whole?" said the monk. "If you shear your hair is the hair you or are you the hair? If you should lose a limb which part is you? The part with the intelligence and brain? But what if the brain itself is in many parts?" And then, as Dumarest remained silent, "Do not try to understand. We are the Sungari."
Creatures from a different existence to that he had known, perhaps bred on worlds men had yet to reach. Dumarest thought of an ant and its nest, a bee and its hive, a cell and the body to which it belonged. A brain commanding a host of appendages each able to convey information. A computer would be much the same and if its scanners were mobile and obedient-was the Sungari a giant organic computer?
More important-would it help?
"Come," said the monk. "You shall see."
And suddenly dissolved into a mass of glinting particles which rose and spread and spun a curtain before and around Dumarest so that he was enclosed in a sphere of shimmering brilliance which took shape and form and…
He looked down at a world.
It was Zakym, the terrain was obvious but the conviction was stronger than that. He knew and, knowing, ceased to question. Hills moved to one side and a building grew large in his sight. Castle Belamosk, almost he could discern the figures on the upper promenade then, as he dropped lower, or appeared to drop, they grew clear.
Lavinia, Roland, Gartok huge in his helmet and armor. Others stood tense and watchful, some armed, others with empty hands. One was speaking but there were no words. Only vision as if he looked through the eyes of a flying scanner which, Dumarest realized, was probably what he was doing. Some creature of the Sungari flying high, seeing, relaying back what it saw. Something in a familiar shape or with transparent wings and body so as to be invisible against the sky.
Against the wall of the castle a flower bloomed with a gush of red and orange, wreaths of grey smoke rising to vanish, to reveal the ragged crater the missile had left. Others lay behind it; raw pockmarks in the dirt, each signaling the path of a creeping barrage. Soon they would reach the wall and send the massive stones to fall in splintered rain.
A blur and he looked at another castle, smaller, less graceful, less fortunate. A turret had fallen and one wall showed an ugly breech. The missiles which reached for it widened the gap in warning of what would come unless the ultimatum was met.
Already the owner must be on his way to Belamosk with what men he could find and arm. Navalok would join him, Suchong, the others. Tomir had increased his force by a simple threat.
Tomir?
He sat in a somber room looking at his maps, a communicator at his side and, behind him, like a scarlet flame, stood the cyber Dumarest and known must be at the commander's service.
And, this time, there was sound; the rustle of papers, the sigh of breathing, the rustle as Tomir moved, the scrape of his chair.
"Report!" he snapped into the communicator. "Unit Two!"
"No change, sir." The man had a hard, rugged face. "Still no surrender."
"Advance barrage."
"More and we'll be on the walls."
"Obey!" Tomir slapped at a button. "Unit Five! Report!"
"Castle walls breeched and internal damage achieved. Alcorus asked for permission to fly to Belamosk and urge surrender. Permission granted."
"Hold your fire. Unit Four?" Tomir grunted as he heard a similar report. "Maintain surveillance. Unit Three?"
"No reaction as yet, sir."
"Increase destruction. Cease only when the owner asks for permission to visit Belamosk."
Ardoch said, as the communicator died, "My lord it would be best to cancel your orders to Unit Two. Belamosk must not be put at risk."
"This is my war, Cyber!"
"And you will win it, my lord. But we have a bargain."
"Dumarest. I know. But he is stubborn and I refuse to wait longer. Once he sees his woman in danger he'll show himself. Once she sees her precious castle begin to fall apart she'll surrender. Either way we win."