It slowed and he breathed again, waiting as the door opened and his guard made the usual check. Warm air tainted with the sharp tang of antiseptics struck his nostrils as he walked down a short passage. The odor increased as he entered a chamber glittering with metal and glass. Brekla was before him, turning as he heard the click of the closing door.
"Sire?"
A good man, thought Vargas. An ambitious one and therefore predictable. But because he was ambitious, he was also dangerous. It was something he must never forget. Yet the danger was not immediate. Only when he had firmly secured the position he coveted would Brekla lift his eyes to the pinnacle of power.
"Is everything prepared?"
"Yes, sire." Brekla moved toward an inner door. "Yendhal is waiting."
The physician was a small man with delicate hands and the light of fanaticism burning bright in his eyes. He bowed as Vargas approached and looked pointedly at the guard.
"It would be best, sire, if your attendant remained outside."
"Leave us." Yendhal was to be trusted or the entire project was pointless. Even so, Vargas felt a prickling in the middle of his back as the guard withdrew. "Is this the man?"
He was a prime specimen, well muscled, in good condition, young and handsome. Vargas felt a quick envy as he looked at the naked, virile body. Once he had looked like that.
"You understand what it is you are to do?"
"I-" Sweat gleamed on the olive skin."I think so, sire."
"You are not certain?" Vargas glared at the physician. "Has he not been instructed?"
"Of course, sire, but he is afraid and has forgotten." Yendhal turned to the man and explained as he would to a child. "You have been selected to take part in an important experiment. You are fit and healthy and strong but, as I explained, strength is a relative term. A man under the influence of strong emotion can display unsuspected capabilities. It is this we intend to discover. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then let us commence." Yendhal led the way from the door, down a corridor and to a small chamber flanked by many doors. He pointed to one. "You will pass through that door when the light turns red. Beyond lie many dangers. If you survive them you will be given a rich reward."
"Does that mean I shall be sent back home to Loame, sir?"
"Yes." Stimulus was important to the success of the experiment and Yendhal did not hesitate at the lie. "Now do your best. Your life depends on it."
They watched from another room, Vargas intent on the screen, Brekla equally interested, Yendhal making appropriate comments.
"The initial waiting time is important for the generation of adrenaline and the mental preparation of the subject. He has, of course, been carefully chosen to fit the desired specifications. All that now remains is to discover the extent of his survival instinct. Many psychologists believe this to be a purely mental phenomena but my own researches have convinced me that much of it is inherent in the physique. As the body is a primitive entity divorced from the brain and as the brain is a separate mechanism to the mind so the trait of survival is something basic to the pattern incorporated in the DNA blueprint. This survival attribute has an important medical aspect verified by more than a thousand experiments. A person with it has a much higher chance of surviving extensive operative surgery than one without. It is this, of course, that we are now attempting to determine." He pressed a control. "Now we commence."
The subject lasted exactly four and a half minutes.
* * *
The chemist was a round, middle-aged man with tired eyes and manner. He pursed his lips at Dumarest's order. "Something to keep you awake? Sure I can supply it. Have you got an order?"
"No."
The man shook his head. "That makes it difficult. All drugs are under strict control or didn't you know that?"
"Of course I know it. All I want is something to give me a lift." Dumarest lowered his voice. "You're a professional man and I'd appreciate your advice. I've got some important work to do and I was on a binge last night. Didn't get a wink. If I fall asleep on the job I'll get canned for sure." He displayed a folded bill, "It's worth this if you can help."
"Studying, eh? You up for exams?"
"That's right." Dumarest didn't know what the man was talking about but rode along. "It's my last chance and I don't want to spoil it."
"I know how you feel." The chemist was abruptly sympathetic. "I had to sweat to get my degree. We had neighbors, dumb swine who stayed up late and the noise was really something. At times I thought I'd go out of my mind trying to memorize formulae." He reached for a jar and poured tablets into an envelope.
"These should do it. Take three at a time and repeat as you need." He exchanged the envelope for the bill. "Good luck!"
Luck, thought Dumarest as he left the just opened druggist's. How long could it last? He'd had more than his share when he'd met the woman. She had obviously been someone of importance, a member of some high family perhaps, and he had walked from the train under the shield of her authority. An all night restaurant had provided food and shelter, and he'd stayed there until the dawn had awakened Technos to life. Now, armed with the tablets, he faced another day.
He took three with a cup of savory liquid at another restaurant. The fatigue of constant strain was beginning to catch up, but it was important that he stay alert. With care it should be possible to lose himself among the teeming population of the capital.
But how to find Elaine Delmayer?
On a small, primitive world it would have been easy. Everyone would know everyone else. On a medium civilized planet it would have been impossible without the expenditure of money and time. On Technos it shouldn't be hard. A society in which everyone carried identification cards was one in which everyone would be registered in a central index. All he had to do was to find it.
The waitress was young and obviously impressed. She frowned as he asked the question.
"You want to find someone and you don't know her address?"
"That's right." He smiled at her. "An old friend. We lost touch and I'd like to meet her again."
The hint of romance won her cooperation. "I should try the library. It's over in the palace. They should be able to tell you what you want to know."
The library was busy with a stream of youngsters passing through the doors; students intermixed with older people, most carrying books. Dumarest guessed that advancement on Technos was based on intellectual achievement, the gaining of degrees giving a higher status. It made things easier. In such a society information should not be hard to obtain.
The reference section was lined with machines, each facing a chair, all with space for the taking of notes. The attendant was brusque.
"Insert your card, type out your question and wait for the answer. If you want a photographic copy press the red lever. The charges are listed above each machine."
And would be charged against the credit number on the card, Dumarest guessed. Keren's card. It would leave a trail but it was a chance he had to take.
Early though it was the place was crowded. Dumarest waited his turn and moved forward as the place fell vacant. As an experiment he touched the keys. Nothing happened. Inserting the stolen card he sat down. On impulse he typed EARTH.
Above the keyboard a screen brightened to life. On it flashed words.
EARTH; soil, dirt, loam, ground. A general term depicting planetary mass.
EARTH; the name of a mythical planet held as an object of veneration by The Original People.
Dumarest typed THE ORIGINAL PEOPLE.
The screen blanked then brightened to new life.
THE ORIGINAL PEOPLE; a religious sect of minor importance to be found on various backward planets scattered throughout the galaxy. The sect is a secret one and neither seeks nor welcomes converts, fresh adherents being obtained from the natural increase of existing worshipers. The main tenet of their belief is that Mankind originated on a single world, the mythical planet Earth, and that, after cleansing by tribulation, Mankind will return to this supposed world of origin, at which time the universe will cease to exist and the cleansed race be transformed into a higher form of life. This belief, founded on an obvious fallacy, is surrounded by esoteric ritual and elaborate ceremonies which are based on a primitive cult of fertility. There are no grounds supporting the truth of their contention which must remain as one of the more illogical religious creeds.