"Try to remember," urged Badwasi. "If we can see them then this is where Earth used to be. If not then we are in the wrong place."
"Used to be," mused Niall. "That's a possibility. Maybe it has moved. The galaxy is rotating," explained the navigator. "The drift isn't fast but it's there and has to be taken into account. How old were the coordinates you gave me? A thousand years? Five?"
"I don't know," admitted Dumarest. "But they had to be very old."
"Which means we are at a point in space where Earth used to be a long time ago. A few thousand years isn't much in galactic terms but it could be the answer. All we have to do is plot a course which will compensate for the galactic drift. Don't worry, Earl. If Earth exists we'll find it."
Dumarest waited, staring bleakly at the screen. There was nothing he could do if the search should end in failure. Nothing but admit defeat and try again, but, if Earth was not found, there would be problems he would have to face. The Kaldari, disappointed, believing themselves to have been cheated, would demand vengeance for their dead. Even if they left him alive he would be stranded on some hostile world. Perhaps crippled, maimed, blinded, helpless to fend for himself. Capable only of waiting for death.
Irritably he dismissed the concept. To worry about an uncertain future was worse than stupid. The very fact such thoughts had intruded on his mind was proof that the search was costing him more than money and fatigue. He was losing the sharp edge of assessment which was essential if he hoped to survive.
"Soon," said Chapman. His tone betrayed what he expected to find. Another failure and the inevitable disappointment which could lead Dumarest to make demands backed by the threat of violence. The captain's hand rose to feel the flat hardness of the laser beneath his tunic. If such demands came he was ready to face them.
From his station Niall said, "Stand by, captain. Now!"
The field collapsed, the ship slowing, the screen blazing with a sudden rush of light. A glowing sun and, before them, a ball of blue and swirling white hanging like a jewel against the darkness of space. One attended by a sister globe, smaller, brightly silver with reflected light, marred and pocked to give the likeness of a skull.
"That's it!" Niall shouted his triumph. "By God, we've found it!"
Earth – and something else.
It came from behind the moon, a gleaming spindle which was suddenly before them, to hang, a bright fleck against the bulk of the planet. A vessel of unfamiliar pattern but Dumarest knew to whom it must belong.
To Chapman he said, "Order full battle alert. Move, damn you! Badwasi, get to your station and ready missiles!" Over the blare of the alarm he yelled, "Schell! Any contact?"
"No."
"Keep trying," snapped the captain. "Niall, what have you on that vessel?"
"Nothing. The design is one I've never seen before. But it's fast and looks armed. Let's hope it's friendly."
A hope Dumarest didn't share. The Cyclan had advanced technology and the ship had to be theirs. The fact that it was here, waiting, was proof they knew of the existence and location of Earth. Like a spider in a web they had waited for his arrival. Logic dictated they would communicate. He knew what they would demand.
"Dumarest.'The face portrayed on the comscreen was a model of sculptured perfection. "Earl Dumarest. Are you receiving me? Please respond."
"I am receiving you."
"We must talk in private. Use your communications shack." The communication was broken as Dumarest followed the instructions. Was resumed as he sat in Schell's chair. "You are wise to cooperate. We have matters to discuss."
Dumarest said, dryly, "I assumed that."
"You are astute. Incidentally I must congratulate you. The prediction that you would fall victim to the trap presented by the Evoy was of a high order of probability. By escaping you demonstrated your unusual abilities. I am confident we can arrive at a satisfactory arrangement."
"Who are you?"
"The representative of the Master Ryon, the Cyber Prime. Think of me as an extension. I suggest you consider the implications of what that means."
Not just an agent. Not an ordinary cyber as his appearance made obvious; the thin, skeletal features born of a stringent diet had yielded to a fuller, more rounded appearance graced with wide-set eyes, a sculptured nose, finely moulded lips. The beauty was incidental. The product of functional design.
A surrogate, he guessed. A creature manufactured as an experiment or to serve a specific purpose.
"Do you have a name?"
"I am Tryne. I am a product of the Cyclan laboratories. My body is stronger than that of any human. My brain is constructed of a sponge-metal alloy which emulates the cerebral cortex. On it can be impressed the memories, knowledge and directives of a human brain. Cellular laminates provide synaptic unions. The outward appearance can be altered as required. Need I explain to you what this means?"
The end of his special status. While the Cyclan had needed his secret they had taken care to guard his life. Now they had found an alternative way of extending their domain he had lost his unique importance. Or was that what he was meant to believe? The face on the screen could be the mask it seemed. The entire story designed to soften his resolution.
Dumarest said, "If I had nothing you wanted we would not be having this conversation. It is both illogical and inefficient to waste time and energy. Therefore I assume you want to obtain the correct sequence of the fifteen units forming the affinity twin."
"That is correct."
"If I refuse to give it to you?"
"Your ship and all it contains will be totally destroyed. I assure you the probability of that prediction is close to certainty. You are a gambler, Dumarest. Do not make the mistake of thinking this is a bluff."
"It would be illogical to kill me."
"We now have a viable alternative as you must have realized. It will serve until the sequence can be rediscovered. It is only a matter of time."
A long time, or it could be a day.
"A secret is useless to a dead man," said Dumarest. "I'm willing to trade. It's yours for the ship and the lives of the crew. For myself, safety, power and wealth."
"Agreed."
"One more thing. Tell me about Earth."
"That would serve no purpose."
"What harm would it do? I was born on the planet." Dumarest leaned closer to the screen. "Logically you have no reason to refuse me."
"What has logic to do with you and Earth? To it you are a stranger. You stowed away when little more than a child on a ship which broke the proscription. Instead of evicting you the captain allowed you to work your passage. You stayed with him until he died. We know about you, Dumarest. Your wanderings, your search, your killings. You are a true product of your world. Yet what do you know about it? Your journeys were limited."
The truth and he had found nothing of paradise.
He said, "A monk told me Earth was anathema. He begged me not to find it."
"You should have taken his advice."
"Why should he have given it?"
"Because he thought it best." Tryne paused, then continued. "You have traveled, touched on a host of worlds, seen the brutality and depravity of petty rulers, their lust for power, their greed. Imagine that vileness multiplied, condensed, introduced into an overcrowded world. Logic, sanity, reason, restraint, all were denied. The entire planet was afflicted with a madness which defied belief and it led to a terrible end. The monk warned you against Earth because, to him, the planet is abomination."
"Diseased with an affliction which could still survive," said Dumarest. "He told me that, too. Does the Cyclan subscribe to that belief?" As the surrogate made no answer he quoted, "From terror they fled to find new worlds on which to expiate their sins."