Carefully he said, "Tell me, cyber, if death is not certain then how can a man avoid it?"
"There is only one way, my lord. By continuing to live."
Vargas flushed with anger.
Quickly Ruen continued, "I do not mock, my lord. There is no other secret to immortality. In fact, by the nature of the universe, there can be no such thing. Nothing can last forever, certainly nothing as fragile as flesh and blood, but to extend life is not impossible. Your own physicians can do that."
"You contradict yourself, cyber." The drugs in Vargas's blood had mastered his rage. "First you say that nothing is certain including death and then you say that death is inevitable. Is this a sample of your trained logic? For half the price I pay to your clan I could buy machines to do better."
"If you wish to terminate your agreement with the Cyclan that can be arranged," said Ruen evenly. "We serve none against their will."
A threat? Vargas knew better. The Cyclan did not threaten, they did not take sides, they were not corrupt. But if he dismissed the man he would be free to take service with others. It would be foolish to provide his enemies with such a weapon. And he had so many enemies.
"If I so decide you will be informed," he said curtly. "In the meantime, cyber, remember that your loyalty lies to me alone. Not to the state, but to me."
* * *
Ruen bowed. "It is understood, my lord."
Alone the cyber reseated himself and assimilated the latest data. The Technarch was reaching a critical stage and already beginning to act illogically. The knowledge he had acquired when younger, the coldly appraising scientific approach, was dissolving beneath the mounting aberrations of his psychosis. Soon he would be completely irrational and then it would only be a matter of time before he was ousted from his position. But he would not go easily. Such a man could only hope to resist his enemies by holding supreme power. Therefore, he would remain Technarch no matter what the cost.
At such times of confusion the Cyclan came into its own.
Had Ruen been able to feel amusement he would have smiled at Vargas's insistence on personal loyalty. A cyber was loyal only to the Cyclan. He was a part of the Great Design and against that all the petty desires of transient rulers were nothing. Vargas would fall. His successors would lean even more on the advice he had to offer. Subtly they would grow dependent and, in time, another sector of space would be under Cyclan domination.
He turned back to the computer on the desk, his fingers dancing over the keys, eyes reading the spinning dials as they settled to form words, spinning again as he tripped the release. A mass of routine information, a thousand items of data to one of potential value, and he would not recognize its significance until he saw it. Hence he must see them all, from Cest, Wen, Hardish and now from Loame.
Fifteen minutes later he rose and stepped to the door of an inner room. An acolyte, young, totally dedicated, rose as Ruen looked into the chamber.
"Master?"
"I am retiring. Total seal. I am not to be disturbed for any reason."
The acolyte bowed. "It is understood, master."
Ruen turned and crossed the outer room to the door of his own, private cubicle. It was small, holding a narrow cot and little else, a windowless niche devoid of decoration. The inside of the door had been fitted with a heavy bolt. Ruen threw it and then touched the thick bracelet locked about his left wrist. From it streamed invisible energies, a zone of force which made it impossible for any electronic eye or ear to operate in or focus on the vicinity. His privacy assured, he lay supine on the cot.
Closing his eyes he relaxed, concentrating on the Samatchi formula, ridding his mind of the irritation of external stimuli. He was deaf, numb and, had he opened his eyes, blind. Triggered by the formula the Homochon elements grafted in his brain woke to active life and, suddenly, he was not alone.
He was a part of the Central Intelligence, the gigantic organic computer at the heart of the Cyclan, the massed brains which resided in a world of pure intelligence. He was of them and with them in an encompassing gestalt which diminished time and distance, mind merging with mind in organic communication so nearly instantaneous that the speed of ultra-radio was by comparison the merest crawl.
Like water from a sponge the information was absorbed from his brain,
The man Dumarest was on Loame? You are positive?
Ruen emphasized his conviction.
And has departed to Choal?
If the information received from the computer had not lied the man he had been instructed to watch for had done exactly that. But his training qualified the answer. Lacking personal knowledge he could only relate the information available.
He must be apprehended. Agents will be instructed to intercept him on Choal. Others will watch on a predicted basis of fifty percent probability of movement. You, yourself must be even more alert. It is of prime importance that the man be constrained.
The subject discussed was dismissed. Brevity was the hallmark of such communication, but other matters needed clarification.
Cybers have been sent at the invitation of the ruler of Rhaga. You will divert any attempt at expansion in that direction. Extrapolation of the civil unrest on Hardish shows that insurrection will break out within one month. Acceleration of the program designed for Technos is desirable.
The rest was sheer intoxication.
As communication ceased Ruen felt that he was suspended in an infinity of diamond glitters, each tiny fragment of sparkling light the cold, clear flame of a living intelligence, and each aligned, one to the other so that all were composed of a universal whole, an incredible vastness which stretched across the entire galaxy. And, at the center, unified by nearly invisible filaments of brilliance, reposed the glowing heart of Central Intelligence, the hub and mind of the Cyclan.
Voices echoed in Ruen's mind as he drifted in the glowing vastness, scenes, snatches of unfamiliar shapes, alien, unknown, and yet somehow belonging to the gestalt of which he was a part. The overspill of other minds, other memories, the interplay of living intelligences all serving the organization of which he was a fragment.
One day he would be more than that. At the end of his active life he would be taken to where the assembled brains rested miles deep beneath the surface of an ancient world. There he would join them, freed of all physical limitations, resting in a world unhampered by bodily ills, his detached brain joined with those of others there, living and aware for countless years.
It was the highest reward any cyber could hope to obtain. To become an actual part of Central Intelligence. To work for the complete domination of the galaxy and to solve all the problems of the universe.
The aim and object of the Cyclan.
* * *
It could have been a theater or a concern hall but Dumarest guessed that it was a lecture room, massed seats facing a dais backed with screens and boards, the low roof grilled with speakers, soft light diffused from the juncture of walls and ceiling. Cramped in the third row he turned, looking over a sea of olive faces to the rear of the hall. The doors were closed, locked no doubt, but there was no sign of the guards who had ushered them from the ship and across the field, down a tunnel into this place. No sign of the red and black uniforms but he knew they would be there. Out of sight behind loopholes, perhaps, or waiting in the corridor outside.
Beside him a man stirred, restless, anxious.
"What are they going to do with us?" he muttered. "Why are we here?"
"I'm hungry," said another further down the row. "When are we going to get fed?"
"What are we waiting for?" said someone from behind.
Like the rustle of ripe corn in a breeze the murmur of questions swept over the auditorium.