Dumarest looked up at the physician from where he lay on the couch.
"The upper part of the left lung was badly affected," continued Erlan cheerfully. "A bulbous mass of vegetable growth which had to be completely eradicated by major excision. That was a vicious spore you managed to get inside you, a quick-grower, nasty."
He stepped back and did something to the couch. The head lifted raising Dumarest upright.
"I had to remove quite a large area but managed to do it by internal surgery. There may be a little scarring but the regrowth has fully restored the lung capacity so you will have no difficulty as regards oxygen conversion. I also repaired your left eardrum which had burst, probably due to high pressure."
Dumarest looked at his arm. There was no trace of where he had cut himself. "How long?"
"In slow-time therapy?" Erlan pursed his lips. "About forty days subjective, a day normal. Your tissues showed signs of dehydration and malnutrition so I gave you intensive intravenous feeding. You can rest assured, my friend, that you are now completely fit and free of any physical disability, both present and potential."
"Thank you," said Dumarest. "You've taken a lot of trouble."
Erlan shrugged. "Don't thank me, it was Jocelyn's order. He is waiting for you in the lower cabin. Your clothes are on that chair."
They had been refurbished and were as good as new, the soft gray of the plastic seeming to ripple as it caught the light. Once dressed, Dumarest left the medical chamber and descended a stair. Ilgash ushered him into a cabin. Inside Jocelyn sat listening to music.
It was a sweeping melody of strings and drums with a horn wailing like a lost soul in atonal accompaniment. There was a wildness about it and a hint of savagery, the taint of the primitive and barbaric splendor of ancient days.
Jocelyn sighed as it ended and switched off the player. "Unusual, is it not? The factor allowed me to take a copy of his recording. He has quite a wide selection of melodies and shows a particularly sensitive taste. This one, I believe, originated on Zeros. Do you know the planet?"
"No, my lord."
"And yet you have traveled widely, I understand." Jocelyn shrugged. "Well, no matter. A man's, path sometimes takes him in strange directions, to Scar, perhaps even to Jest."
Dumarest made no comment.
"You disagree?" Jocelyn smiled. "And yet, what choice have you? The price you paid me for saving your life was the total of your possessions. Your clothes and ring I do not claim; the rest I do. Sit and discuss the matter."
"There is nothing to discuss, my lord." Dumarest took the proffered chair. "I do not wish to accompany you to Jest."
"You intend to remain on Scar without money and with the winter almost due? How will you survive?"
Dumarest shrugged. "I can manage, my lord. It will not be the first time I have been stranded on a hostile world."
"You are stubborn," said the ruler of Jest. "It is a trait which I find admirable. Without it, you would now be surely dead."
He rose and paced the floor. At his rear the worn bindings of ancient books rested in their cases of wood and crystal. He paused, looking at them, then glanced at Dumarest.
"Are you willing to leave the matter to fate?"
"The spin of a coin, my lord? No."
"A pity," sighed Jocelyn. "How else can I persuade you?" He resumed his pacing, feet silent, head inclined a little as if about to spring. "Wait," he said. "There is something you seek, a world, Earth." His eyes were bright as he looked at Dumarest. "Terra."
Dumarest surged from his chair. "You know it?"
"The name is not strange to you?"
"No. I have heard it before, on Toy." Dumarest caught himself. "And again on Hope, my lord, in the archives of the Universal Brotherhood. Do you know where Terra lies?"
Jocelyn was honest. "No, but I have thought of your problem and perhaps I could be of help. My father was an unusual man. He loved the past; he squandered his wealth on ancient things. Traders came from all over with their wares. They even coined a name for him, the Jester, the Fool. Sometimes I think the name was apt."
Dumarest made no comment, recognizing the bitterness in the other's tone.
"He bought old books, charts, mathematical tables together with the works of those who probe into the meaning of things, philosophers. I think that they alone can teach you how to find what you seek."
Books, printed in almost indecipherable words in a medley of languages no longer current, hardly seemed the answer. Dumarest felt a sudden anger. Was Jocelyn toying with him, enjoying his private jest? How did he expect a traveler to have the knowledge or time to read who could guess how many books?
"You would need specialists," said Jocelyn as if reading his thoughts. "You would need those who have devoted their lives to the study of what has gone before, men who dream of strange possibilities alien to accepted fact, not scientists, who are limited to what they can see and feel and measure, but philosophers, who recognize no mental boundaries. For example, I can give you a clue. Not the name Terra, which you already know, and which was a fragment of a forgotten poem, but the use of navigational coordinates. We use a common zero, correct?"
"The center," said Dumarest. "Where else?"
"Let us assume something ridiculous," said Jocelyn seriously. "Let us, for the purpose of argument, assume that all mankind originated on a single world. The ancient poem I spoke of mentioned such a possibility. In that case, where would the zero of their coordinates lie?"
"On their home world." said Dumarest slowly. "As they expanded they would use that as their point of reference."
"Exactly! Now do you see how it may be possible to solve your problem? If Earth, Terra, was the home world then, somewhere, there could be a set of navigational tables which would use that planet as their zero point. Find such a set, discover a common reference with those we use at present, and you will find the coordinates of the world you seek." Jocelyn smiled. "You see, my friend, how simple it really is."
It was simple if the suggestion that Earth, at any time, had really been the originating planet of mankind, if any navigational tables existed from that time, if he could find them and if there were any common reference points.
"Yes, my lord," said Dumarest dryly. "You make it sound very simple."
"Great problems usually are when looked at from the correct viewpoint," said Jocelyn. "On Jest we have many ancient books, perhaps one of them will contain the information you seek."
"Perhaps," Dumarest ignored the obvious bait. "One thing, my lord."
"Yes?"
"You knew where to find me. Will you please tell me how you knew where I would be?"
Jocelyn laughed. "Now that is simple. I asked. Why else should I keep a cyber?"
* * *
Zopolis spread his hands. "Earl, I didn't know, I swear it. Do you honestly think I would supply a raft to men like that?" The agent's face was sweating despite the coolness of the processing shed. "It was Wandara," he added, "that lousy overseer of mine. He took a bribe to hire a new scout. The louse must have picked up his friends and jumped you."
"They killed Clemdish," said Dumarest flatly. "They almost killed me."
"I know how you feel," said Zopolis quickly. "I felt the same. Do you think I want anyone coming after me with a knife? I tell you it was Wandara who supplied the raft. And I still haven't found it," he mourned. "It must be somewhere over the sea by now. More expense, more trouble."
"And Wandara?"
Zopolis shrugged. "Gone. I kicked him out when I discovered what had happened, not what happened to you," he explained. "If I had known that I'd have come after you, but when I found out about the new scout, I held back his pay and he had to travel low. Maybe he won't make it," he added. "A man like that doesn't deserve any luck at all."