"Earth."
"How did you arrive on Technos?" The voice was cold, emotionless, the studied modulation of a machine. Dumarest answered without hesitation.
"Are you an assassin?"
"No."
"Have you killed?"
"Yes."
"On Technos?"
"No."
"Why did you try to kill the Technarch?"
Dumarest remained silent.
"Answer the question. The laser will fire if you refuse."
"I cannot answer because the question is wrongly framed. You are asking me to give a reason for doing something which I did not do and did not intend."
"Did you intend to kill the Technarch?"
"No."
"Did you try to kill him?"
"No."
"Could you have?"
"Yes Vargas turned from where he stood before a sheet of one-way glass as Yendhal came toward him. The man is lying. He has found a way to beat your machine."
"Impossible!" The physician was emphatic. "No man can control his respiration, muscular response and nervous tension to that degree. I stake my reputation that he is telling the truth."
"But he was in my apartments! What reason could he have had unless he intended to kill me?"
Yendhal was patient. "He had no weapon, sire, and an assassin would have to anticipate the presence of your guard. Logic dictates that if he had intended to kill you he would have been armed."
Vargas frowned, reluctant to accept the conclusion, yet knowing it to be true. And the man had illustrated a weakness. Who would have thought anyone could enter from the disposal chute? Ruen should have thought of it.
Perhaps he had. The frown deepened as Vargas's suspicions began to feed on his doubts. Who could tell what had happened after he had fainted? Had the cyber hoped that the sudden strain would burst his heart? Had they been interrupted before killing him without trace? The coincidence was too much for him to believe. How had the man known which chute led to his rooms? And Ruen had made certain that the guard had been summoned and sent ahead.
He scowled, listening to the drone of question and answer from a connecting speaker. Was the man in the pay of some seditious element? Had the cyber lied in his assurance that there was no organized opposition to his plan to gain supreme power? And Yendhal, could he have rigged the machine so as to give harmless answers?
"You are a stranger on Technos?"
"Do you have friends on the planet?"
"No."
"Have you been here before?"
"No."
Check questions repeated at irregular intervals and in different phraseology. Standard procedure to catch a liar but now it was even more than that. The relentless barrage would numb the consciousness and induce a hypnotic condition in which the answers would come mechanically from the lower regions of the brain, thus bypassing the censor. Dumarest was being conditioned to answer without conscious volition.
"An unusual man, sire." Yendhal turned from the observation screen. "I have questioned Major Keron as to his activities. Apparently he reacted most violently to routine interrogation, attacking the guards at the threat of violence and making good his escape despite formidable obstacles. The incident is even more remarkable when we realize that he knew nothing of our culture and could not fully assess the difficulties he would have to overcome."
"Are you saying that he reacted instinctively?"
"Yes, sire, I am. Almost as an animal would react, sensing danger and taking action to avoid it, gauging situations as they arose and taking steps to elude capture. An intelligent animal, naturally, and one with a highly developed sense of survival. He must have spent much time on backward worlds among primitive cultures in which personal survival depended on individual strength and quickness. His reflexes are amazingly fast. So fast that they must operate independently of conscious thought. Logically it would have been wiser for him to have accepted Keren's punishment and bided his time. He must have reacted on a purely subconscious level, assessing the situation, judging the chances of success and moving into action all in the time it took for him to see the upraised club and realize its significance. A truly remarkable performance."
Vargas was thoughtful. "Would you say he was unique?"
"I would."
"Isn't it possible to get him to volunteer information?"
"No, sire, not under the present conditions. Lying is a form of preservation, and he will lie if given the chance. As it is his monosyllabic answers are a form of protection. He will answer each question truthfully but will volunteer no truth. Our job is to make certain that we ask the right questions. I'm afraid that it will take some time."
* * *
A weak sun had thawed the snow turning the slush into water and filling the air with a damp chill. Huddled in her furs Mada stepped from the cab, dismissed the driver and stood looking down the street as it drove away.
It was an uninviting place. A quick-teach palace blazed with light and the promise to quick-feed education by means of the latest techniques. A store displayed shoddy goods from the occupied worlds together with an invitation to step inside and learn about the wonderful new settlement offers now available. A toyshop offered the latest in educational pastimes. A child, crying, was dragged from the window by its harassed mother.
"I keep telling you we can't afford it," she scolded. "With your father in the army it's all I can afford to put food on the table. Now shut up before I give you something to howl about!"
A man called softly from where he leaned against a wall. "Help a man with a limited wife, lady? She can't do better than the fourth level."
Another approached, limping. "Spare a few coins for study, madam? One more degree and I'll be able to get my leg fixed."
Mada glared her dislike. "How did you get hurt?"
"In ambush on Hardish, madam. A bunch of us got jumped by some locals one night."
"You're lying. If you were in the army you can get free medical attention."
He shrugged, unabashed. "Sure, but you know how it is. A man likes to get the best that's going."
Dirt, she thought as she pushed past him. Scum. The dregs of Technos and a disgrace to the planet. Why didn't they get themselves some education and find decent jobs?
The irritation was misplaced; she had more important things to do than worry about beggars and slums. With quick strides she walked down the street into a place selling educational tapes and out of a rear door. A narrow alley opened on a wide boulevard. Two hundred yards along a soaring sheet of glass and metal protected a display of gold and jewels. A uniformed attendant glanced at her, at the bulky bag she carried, then stepped forward to open the door. Inside, a wave of scented air warmed away her chill.
"Madam?" A man, sleek and well groomed, rose at her side.
"I wish to sell some items."
"Certainly, madam." He led the way toward an inner door. "If you will be so good as to wait inside?"
The buyer was a plump man with a pink scalp and veiled eyes. He looked at the contents of the bag, resting his fingers on scaled miniatures, an elaborate clock, a set of chessmen carved from solid crystal, two statuettes, a handful of cameos, some filigree work of silver and gold, a fragment of tapestry, a meditation light of skilled workmanship and historical interest.
Quietly he said, "You will pardon the question, madam, but can you give me proof that these things are yours to dispose of?"
For answer she held out her left wrist. Gravely he studied the engraving on the bracelet.
"My apologies, madam, but you can appreciate our concern. There has been a great deal of theft in the city recently."
"I understand. Can you accommodate me?"
"Certainly, madam. If you will permit me to make a closer study of these items?"
She nodded, relaxing as he produced a jeweler's glass and fitted it to his eye. Her precautions, though simple, should have been good enough. She had used three different vehicles and had walked the last few yards. Had anyone been following her, he must have lost the trail.