"You poor devil," she said. "Someone has been having a game with you. Mada Grist is eighty-seven years old."
Beyond the bars of the cell footsteps echoed from a point down the external corridor. As they grew closer Dumarest said, "Delay matters. We must talk."
"But-"
"Do it!"
He returned to the bed and lay supine, eyes closed and hands lax at his sides. He felt the woman lean over him and touch him with some instrument. The footsteps halted.
"Madam?"
"I am not finished. Leave me. I will call when ready." As the footsteps retreated she said, "What have we to talk about?"
"Mada Grist. Has she a granddaughter?"
"No. She has no children."
"The woman I am talking about wears a bracelet of gold on her left wrist. It is her identification. Does that mean anything to you?" He rose as she remained silent, turning to look into her face. "Well?"
"Members of the Supreme Council wear such a bracelet," she admitted. "But it could have been a forgery. How would you know?"
"I wouldn't, but the guards would, and could an impostor live in an apartment in the palace? And your friend saw her. Major Keron came looking for me. He seemed convinced she was genuine."
"No. It isn't possible. There must be some mistake."
"Such as?"
"Women are vain and old women more so. The wearing of masks has become fashionable. In a dim light you could have easily been mistaken."
It was possible, he had seen her only twice and both times the light had been poor. He remembered how she had prevented him from touching her face and his own suspicions that she wore a mask. But there had been no doubt as to the youth of her body.
"I told you that I knew her," he said. "I saw her naked. Her body is younger than your own." He saw the look in her eyes, the dawning comprehension. "You didn't know?"
"No. How could I have? I still can't believe it."
He was harsh. "You don't want to believe it because, if you do, it will shake your nice, tidy little world. But you work here. You must, have guessed. What do you do?"
"Tissue typing mostly. Taking cells to grow new organs in culture vats as replacement grafts for the war-injured."
"From the tributaries sent from Loame?"
"Mostly, yes. We have an extremely low rejection mechanism which makes culture growths ideal for surgical use. The donors aren't harmed, of course; they just lose a few cells which are quickly replaced by normal means. But the other-what you suggest-it's horrible!"
"But true. Mada Grist can't be the only one. There must be others, members of the Supreme Council wouldn't take the risk unless there was a reasonable chance of success." Or perhaps she had been desperate, he thought, her body so diseased that it was easier to give her a new one rather than a series of implants. The details didn't matter. The important thing was to convince Elaine of the inevitable consequences. "You are intelligent and must know what will happen. More and more old people will want new bodies and, for every one that does, one of your own people has to die. Technos will become a parasite on Loame. Your planet will be a farm for the production of young and healthy beasts. Their brains won't matter, only their bodies, fed and cosseted until they are needed. Cattle!"
Her hands tightened into fists. "No! It's too vile! It mustn't happen. It can't!"
"It will unless you stop it. The Technarch has everything in his favor. He can offer young bodies and extended life to those who are loyal. Already he has made himself the master of Technos, and soon he will be almost a god. And he has someone to help him do it. A creature of the Cyclan. My guess is that the cyber came here just before the wars started. Am I right?"
"I don't know. I've only been in the capital a short time. I was studying and-" She drew a deep breath. "That doesn't matter. What can I do?"
"Fight, what else?" Dumarest paused, listening. From somewhere down the corridor he heard the muffled slam of a door. "You have access to some of the tributaries from Loame. Set them free, fill them with chemical courage and turn them against the palace guards. How well do you know Keron?"
"Very well. We are to be married."
"Contact him. Use hypnotics if you have to but get him to act. He is in control of armed and trained men. Once Vargas is dead he could become leader of the planet. Damn it, girl, think! A culture like this is brittle, the people conditioned to obey the man with the big voice, the officials terrified to act of their own volition. Act now and Loame is safe. Mada Grist will cooperate because she has no choice now that Vargas knows she asked me to kill him. With her on your side others of the council will fall into line. Keron can retain control in the name of security and from then on it's up to you."
"You make it all sound so very simple."
"It is simple. All you need to do is to think and act for yourself." Dumarest tensed as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. "The guard. Can you get me out of here?"
Elaine shook her head.
"Why not? He has to let you out and you can take me with you. Tell him that you have to conduct some special tests or something."
"It wouldn't work," she said regretfully. "You don't understand. They are afraid of you and there are guards posted beyond each end of the corridor. If we leave together they will incapacitate us both."
"Incapacitate? Why not kill?"
She glanced toward the medical trolley. "You seem to be very important and now I've a suspicion why. The samples I took are to confirm tests already made. Your tissues are sympathetic to those of the Technarch." She paused then added, "And Vargas is a very old man."
Dumarest said tightly, "Get me out of here."
"I can't. I told you, it's impossible."
"You've a stack of degrees and a headful of knowledge," he said sharply. "Use that intelligence you're so proud of. Help me or I'll ruin your life."
She studied his face, the hard set of his mouth, the savage determination of his eyes. "You mean it. You really mean it?"
"Yes," he said. "You'd better believe that."
* * *
The guard came running at her call. He halted beyond the bars, looking to where she stooped over Dumarest as he lay on the bed.
"Madam? Is anything wrong?"
"This man is ill," she snapped. "Dying. Summon help immediately. He must be taken to the hospital at once."
He hesitated. "My orders-"
"To hell with your orders! This is an emergency! Move!"
"I'll call a doctor."
"You stupid fool!" Her eyes blazed with impatient anger. "I am a doctor! I tell you this man is dying. He needs immediate surgery. Now do as I say. Quickly. If you delay and he dies, you will answer for it. Now hurry!"
Her tone, sharp with fear, spurred him to action. From the end of the corridor came a blur of voices and the sounds of movement. Elaine dropped her hands to Dumarest's chest, thrusting with the heels of her palms in the basic actions of heart massage. Her breath was warm against his cheek as she whispered quick instructions.
"Remain lax as if you were unconscious. Roll up your eyes in case anyone makes a simple test. Restrain your breathing if anyone comes close or, if you cannot hold your breath, make it ragged and irregular. It would be better if I drugged you. There will be other physicians."
"No. Have you slow-time?"
"Not with me. In the hospital, yes. Is that what you want?"
"Use it if you can. I-" He broke off, falling silent as men streamed down the corridor. They brought a wheeled stretcher, waiting as the door of the cell slid aside, entering to lift Dumarest on the vehicle. Continuing her massage Elaine walked beside him, shielding him with her body, maintaining the pretense, as they passed the guards. One of them busied himself with a phone as they headed toward an elevator, Dumarest catching his tone of frantic urgency.
Unable to hold his breath any longer he inhaled with a tearing rasp, forcing saliva into his throat to produce a liquid gurgling.