Dumarest typed TERRA.
TERRA: no information available.
It had been worth the chance but he knew nothing he had not known before and had just proved that the library knew less. Terra was another name for Earth but knowing it did not help him in his search. Perhaps Elaine Delmayer could.
He typed ELAINE DELMAYER.
There were three hundred and thirty eight of them. He sat looking at the closely packed list of names and professions. No addresses were shown and it would take another question to get them. But so many? He frowned, thinking. Quendis had said that he'd known her as a little girl so she could not now be very old. She had left Loame before the start of the war and she would not have done that as a child. Put her age at, say, thirty and allow ten years to either side.
He typed ELAINE DELMAYER AGE BETWEEN 20 AND 40.
This time there were only a hundred and eighteen. He asked for the addresses, hit the red lever and waited for the sheet to roll from the side of the machine. It would be possible, he supposed, to go through them all one by one but perhaps there was a quicker way. The girl had originated on Loame. Specifying it would, if the information was registered, cut down the list even more.
It did.
To one.
* * *
The address was in Technos, a building a mile from the palace, a soaring block capped by a transparent dome and obviously the home of the rich and influential. Inside were thick carpets and scented air, warm after the outside chill. An attendant moved forward as Dumarest thrust his way through the glass doors. He pursed his lips at the stated business.
"It's very early," he pointed out. "I am not sure that the person concerned would welcome a visit at this hour."
Dumarest was curt. "Then find out. Tell her it is important. Hurry!"
The attendant bridled. "Your name?"
"Keron." Dumarest flashed the stolen card. "Of Security. Now move!"
She lived on the twenty-second floor in an apartment furnished with excellent taste and unabashed luxury. And she was beautiful.
Dumarest looked at her, at the smooth contours of her face and the glowing olive of her skin. There was a familiarity about her which he found strange, and then she spoke and the illusion was shattered. This was not the mysterious woman he had met on the train. The voice was too mellifluous for that.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, my lady." He could lose nothing by being polite. "This may sound strange to you but I have traveled a long way to find you. From Loame. You were born there, I understand."
"That is so."
"You are the daughter of Grower Delmayer?"
"Yes. You have news of him?"
"I regret to tell you, my lady," said Dumarest quietly. "Your father is dead."
"I see." She stood before a window, the light rendering her thin robe translucent so that he could see the silhouette of her figure, the same light shadowing her face. "And how does this news affect Security?"
"It doesn't. I used a pretense to gain admission."
"You are honest," she said. "If nothing else. Would you care for refreshment? I have some excellent tisane."
Her composure was remarkable. Dumarest watched as she prepared the beverage and then, excusing herself, went to dress. She returned wearing a simple gown falling to below her knees and belted around the waist, the neck high and the soft fabric cut to enhance her figure. Sitting so as to face him, she poured herself a cup of the steaming tisane.
"You will forgive me if I appear unaffected by the news you bring. My father and I were far from close. I am sorry that he is dead but all things must die. It is the way of the universe."
"You are a philosopher, my lady?"
"A realist."
And an opportunist, he thought. Her ability had been wasted on Loame. Here, in this society, it must have enabled her to gain rapid status and she had taken full advantage of it. But did she know what was happening on her home world?
"I know," she said when he asked the question. "You are not a native of Loame so perhaps you can't understand. But I hated the system. A daughter cannot inherit the lands of her father. They pass to the man she marries. And it may seem an ideal existence for those who live in the mansions but for those living in the huts it is a different matter. The majority of growers are kind enough according to their conception of kindness, but even the best of them regards his workers as little more than serfs. Education is limited and class distinctions rigid. Progress is resisted because of the turmoil it could bring. The thorge is a clean and painless way of breaking the status quo."
"And those who are chosen to fill the tribute quota? What happens to them? Wouldn't they be happier left alone?"
"Their happiness would be that of cattle in a field of succulent corn. Here they are educated. They are taught skills and put to useful work. Their lives are better than they had reason to suspect."
She didn't know, he decided. She was repeating what she had been told, but at least she did know of the tribute. That, apparently, put her in a minority.
"And now," she said, refilling both their cups, "tell me why you wanted to see me." She looked sharply at him as he obeyed. "Are you serious?"
Dumarest met her eyes. "Yes, my lady. Very serious. Can you help me?"
"I don't know." Her eyes were thoughtful. "It was so long ago and there were so many books."
"But you can remember?"
"I can never forget," she said with a trace of bitterness. "My ability is not wholly an advantage. Childhood is not a pleasant time and there is much I would prefer not to remember. But Earth?" She paused, thinking, the steam from her cup rising to wreathe her face with vapor. "Earth," she said again and added, "There is a rhyme I once read in an old book. It was incredibly ancient and I didn't understand it at the time. It was simply something I read to assauge loneliness but, somehow, I think it may have a bearing on what you ask."
Dumarest looked down at his hands. They were tight about his cup. Carefully he set it down. "And the rhyme, my lady?"
"A silly thing." She began to recite in a thin, little girl voice. "The Ram, the Bull, the Heavenly Twins, and next the Crab the Lion shines the Virgin and the Scales. The Scorpion, Archer and Sea Goat, the Man that holds the Watering Pot, the Fish with shining scales." She blinked and said in her normal voice. "Does that mean anything to you?"
"No, my lady."
"And yet it must have a meaning." Her eyes grew blank, withdrawn and he realized that she was again reading the ancient volume, recalling each word from the chambers of her perfect memory. "The signs of the zodiac!" she said triumphantly. "A mnemonic to put them in correct order."
"The zodiac?"
"Twelve symbols each representing a portion of a band of the sky in a complete circle. Twelve configurations of stars each representing one of the signs. If you can find a planet surrounded by those signs then that world could be the one you seek."