She was in shock, he decided; the even tenor of her life suddenly disrupted, her previous conviction now being replaced by doubt. He remembered the luxury of her apartment and the loneliness she had suffered when young. Here she was respected and her knowledge was valuable. The ability she owned gave a tremendous advantage in the peculiar competition of this culture.
"You told me that you had slow-time," he said. "Is it here?"
"A little. Enough for about thirty hours subjective time. You want it?"
He hesitated, tempted to take advantage of the offer. It would enable him to leave the building and perhaps reach the landing field. Certainly it would remove him from immediate danger. But he owed a duty to the girl.
"No, you take it. You've used it before?" He continued as she shook her head. "It will speed your metabolism to forty times normal That means you must be very careful how you move and walk. Don't hit anything and remember that, because of inertia, things will weigh forty times as much. Keep eating glucose because you'll be burning up a lot of energy. Use the stairs, not elevators, it will save you time."
She frowned. "Time for what?"
"To find Keron. To get him to prove what I say about Mada Grist To bring him back here and to put an end to this corruption. And," he added, "to save my life if I'm still around."
Chapter Twelve
IT HAD BEEN a prediction of a high order of probability, and Ruen was not surprised when the acolyte announced Dek Brekla. He came into the room, tense, wary, his eyes glancing from the scarlet figure of the cyber to the package lying on a low table. Ruen remained silent as the acolyte brought the guest a glass of wine. Brekla sipped and nodded.
"Nice," he said. "A good vintage."
Ruen wouldn't have known. To him food and drink were fuel for the mechanism of his body, tasteless substances which kept it operating at an optimum level of efficiency. The wine was kept merely for use by the Technarch and as an offering to guests.
Brekla finished his wine. "I want to talk to you, cyber. Can I be sure as to your discretion?"
His voice was strained, hurried, in direct contrast to Ruen's even modulation.
"You can, my lord."
"You can predict the course of events. I want you to make such a prediction for me. If Vargas were to die what are the chances of my becoming Technarch?" He frowned as Ruen remained silent. "Well? Why don't you answer?"
"Such a prediction is not easy to make, my lord. There are factors which must be taken into consideration and of which I have no present knowledge. The council, while sundered, still remains a viable entity and could unite against you. There could be a question as to the loyalty of your men." Ruen paused then added, "And Vargas is not yet dead. Much can happen in the immediate future to alter the present pattern of potential probabilities."
"Assume the Technarch was to die within the next few hours. What then?"
Ruen said, "Would you care for more wine, my lord?"
"More wine?" Brekla looked at his glass and then at the tall figure of the cyber. "You digress. Why won't you reply to my question?"
"The services of the Cyclan are not given freely to all, my lord. The fees are paid by the Technarch."
"And if I were he?"
Ruen bowed. "In such a case I would cooperate to the full, my lord."
The prediction had materialized just as he'd anticipated and its success brought the only pleasure the cyber could ever know. And yet it had been an elementary problem based on the emotional weakness of greed. Brekla was ambitious and so transparently obvious. He had been given a position of power and wanted more. It could be wise to let him have it. The mounting irrationality of Vargas's behavior was reaching a climax. Already his paranoia had spread to include distrust of the cyber.
"Of course, my lord," said Ruen, "we could, perhaps, reach a compromise. My aid in return for yours."
"You have it," said Brekla quickly. "What is it you want?"
"The man Dumarest."
"The stranger?" Brekla frowned. "Is that all?"
"Yes, my lord. Place him into my hands and I will advise you as to the steps you must take to achieve your ambition." It was a request the cyber had already made to the Technarch and Vargas had abruptly refused. Brekla would not.
"Dumarest," he mused. "He was questioned. You know that?"
"I know it."
Then he was placed in a cell. "You know that also?"
"Yes, my lord. It should not be hard for you to arrange his release. The probability of his attempting to escape is ninety-three percent and so it would be wise to render him unconscious before the cell is opened."
"Your information is out of date." Brekla enjoyed his momentary triumph. "He did escape."
"And was recaptured," said Ruen evenly. "That was inevitable if the Technarch had taken elementary precautions."
"You underestimate the man." Brekla was curious. What possible interest could the cyber have in Dumarest? That he was valuable to the Cyclan was obvious, but why? His restless mind probed the question. Perhaps it would be better for him not to rely on Ruen; if he could act alone he would be free of any obligations.
"The probability of you becoming the new Technarch is thirty-eight percent," said Ruen, as if he had read the other's mind. "That is if you operate alone. If you take advantage of my services the probability will rise to the order of ninety-one point seven. Now tell me about Dumarest. He was recaptured?"
"Finally, yes." Brekla recognized the threat and the promise. "He managed to get from the cell into the hospital. An adjoining chamber in which equipment was kept. Yendhal had it filled with anesthetic gas, and when Dumarest was unconscious, he was taken. The woman who must have aided him had vanished."
"A woman cannot escape from a closed room. It was closed?"
"Yes."
"And guarded?"
"It was watched all the time. Only the man was found." Brekla added, "The door opened once and closed immediately. No one came out. The guards swear to it."
"They were wrong, my lord. It was then the woman must have escaped. There can be no other explanation for her absence." Ruen did not elaborate. The woman was unimportant and could be ignored. Dumarest was another matter. But with Brekla's help he would no longer be a problem. "Can you bring Dumarest to me now?"
"No. Vargas has him safe." Brekla anticipated the cyber's question. "He is going to put him through the labyrinth."
* * *
Vargas stared fretfully at the screen and demanded impatiently, "Why doesn't he get on with it? What's he waiting for? Did you give him full instructions?"
Yendhal was soothing. "Of course, sire. But as yet we have not given him the signal to commence."
"Why not?"
"I am checking his external responses with electronic scanners, sire. The intensity of sweat, heat and emitted odor. The last is most interesting. As you know, an odor is actually minute particles which are translated into smell by a receptive organ. Emotions have recognizable odors. A dog will attack a man in fear and run from one in anger. Dumarest is experiencing neither."
Vargas was thoughtful. "He is not afraid?"
"Not as far as I can determine, sire. His temperature has risen a little but that is to be expected. The human metabolism being a heat mechanism will ready itself for action by consuming more fuel and thus gaining greater energy. He is not sweating which means that he is conserving that energy for later use. He is not afraid which means that he will be that much more efficient. There is a trace of resentment which is natural in any thinking organism forced to operate according to unwelcome dictates." Yendhal pressed a button and watched a flicker of lights. "The labyrinth is fully prepared. I have kept the programming exactly as before but it can, if necessary, be changed according to need."