"Anyone's a fool who walks blind into a trap," snapped Dumarest. "And before loot can be spent it has to be won."
"Meaning?"
"You've been in the arena. What happens when a fighter is convinced he's already won? That he's got it made. When all he can think about is the money he'll get and the woman he'll pick and the feast that's waiting. What would you call such a man?"
"A suicide." Sanchez puffed out his cheeks. "I get the point."
"Keep it in mind. That goes for all of you." Dumarest looked from one to the other. "We don't know what's in the Temple. It doesn't matter. First we have to get to it. Any ideas?"
Kroy Lauter led the explanations, jabbing a thick finger at the map he unrolled, moving it to illustrate points.
"Raniang's a hard world. One little better than a cinder. The Hsing-Tiede Consortium has an installation there but it's on the other side of the planet from the Temple. Pilgrims usually arrive in groups on chartered ships which land here." His finger jabbed. "Well away from the Temple and down in this depression. Pilgrims march toward the Temple and enter the complex here." Again his finger rapped the paper. "They are met and escorted by priests. After certain ceremonies they are led into the Temple proper."
"Which is where the hard part begins." Altini leaned over the map. "We can only guess as to what really lies inside."
"Why guess?" Dumarest glanced at Ellen. "Don't we have maps? Diagrams?"
"The best I could get," she admitted. "But-"
"Things change," said Altini quickly. "Walls built or removed. New paths opened in different chambers. Traps set in the floor. Even the rituals can vary. Those guarding the treasure aren't fools and we can't be the first to want to rob them."
Dietz said, "No matter how things vary the basics remain the same. A thing I learned when young at my trade. To hunt down a man, to place him in the right position for the kill, to strike home and escape capture-all depends on established habit-patterns. Discover them and the victim is helpless."
"An assassin's philosophy," sneered Sanchez. "You are saying a man cooperates in his own murder."
"Unconsciously, yes. As you may easily cooperate in your own defeat when-"
"Nonsense!"
"No," said Dumarest. "A fighter, any fighter, can't help but follow a certain pattern. He will repeat winning maneuvers, hold his blade in a familiar way, stand in a workable position. Watch him long enough and you can plan his defeat." He changed the subject; if he had to fight Sanchez then the less he knew the better. To the assassin he said, "You were talking about the basics, Pinal. Would you please continue?"
He listened, checking points, evaluating available data. Too little was based on known fact, too must rested on assumption. Yet it was logical to expect that the treasure, whatever it was, would remain in its shrine. That ceremonies would remain basically unaltered. That Karlene, despite her conditioning, would have yielded essential data as to the interior of the Temple.
He remembered how Altini had cut Ellen short and wondered at his reason. Later, when the discussion was over and the others had drifted apart, he spoke of it to her as they walked beside the garden wall.
"Ahmed is a thief and as such he tends to be cautious. Also he is proud and wants to enhance his prowess."
"Is that all?"
"Of course." She turned to look at him, smiling. "What other reason could there be? You can trust him, Earl."
A conviction Dumarest didn't share. He said, "Are you coming with us?"
"Yes."
"I meant into the Temple."
"I can't do that." She walked seven paces in silence then added, "Remember we talked of weaknesses? Mine is pain. I can't stand it. I found that out on Kampher when some people I knew staged a rebellion. I didn't take part but I was taken in for questioning. They weren't gentle." She lifted her hands so as to display the livid blotches. "I told them everything they wanted to know."
"You can't be blamed for that."
"You are kind to say so. Not everyone would be so understanding. But I dare not go into the Temple and risk discovery by the priests. I learned from Karlene what will happen."
"Bad?" As she nodded, Dumarest added, "Is that the real reason Ahmed stopped you? Was he afraid you'd tell us what we'd face if we were caught?"
"Possibly. But, as I said, he can be trusted."
As the assassin, the fighter, the mercenary- all trusted to be hungry to make their fortunes. All united by greed. Not the best of motivations.
Ellen said, as if reading his thoughts, "Rauch had to take what he could get, Earl. That's why he wants you to take command."
Dumarest said, dryly, "Because I've guts, courage and intelligence?"
"You've got all that," she admitted. "But so have the others. What makes you special is that you have something else. A greater motivation." Halting, she turned to face him, to look up into his eyes. "They just want loot-but you want to find a world."
* * *
The air of Driest was far more salubrious than that of Erkalt and, instead of snow and ice, the window gave a view of rolling plains and distant hills all covered in a rich brown and green. A difference Clarge noted and dismissed as unimportant as he had the comfort of the room, the furnishings, the cool air vented through decorated grills. The room, the planet meant nothing.
Dumarest was gone.
The data lay before him: a mass of facts, reports, observations-the results of time-consuming but essential verification of statements made by those willing to help the Cyclan.
Again he checked them, feeling the mental glow of achievement which was the only real pleasure he could ever experience. His prediction had been correct-finding the woman had guided him to the man. Had he arrived a week earlier the hunt would now be over.
He rose from the desk, banishing thought of what might have been. To speculate in such a manner was a waste of mental direction and as useless as regretting the past. And all was not lost; when Dumarest had moved on he had not gone alone.
Mentally he reviewed the data he had obtained. An agent of Rauch Ishikari had chartered a vessel, the Argonne, and none knew where it was bound. Dumarest and the woman had resided with Ishikari. Investigation had shown they no longer occupied their quarters. A party had left in the chartered ship; a score of persons all muffled in masking robes but one of them, caught in a sudden gust of wind, had revealed a mass of shimmering white hair.
A genuine mistake or a deliberate diversion? A moment of accident or a false clue planted to lead any followers astray?
The former, he decided, the woman had left on the ship.
But where would it land?
Dumarest was on it; Clarge set the probability as high as 99.9 percent. As near as any cyber would go to predicting certainty. The woman also-but why was he still with her? What had she to offer?
The acolyte came at his signal, bowed as Clarge said, "Total seal."
Within his own quarters Clarge lay supine on the bed. A touch activated the wide band circling his left wrist, the device ensuring that no electronic scanner could focus on his vicinity. Relaxing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the Samatchazi formulae. Gradually he lost the use of his senses; had he opened his eyes he would have been blind. Locked within his skull his brain ceased to be irritated by external stimuli. It became a thing of pure intellect, its reasoning awareness its only connection with normal life. Only then did the grafted Homochon elements become active. Rapport followed.
Clarge blossomed into a new dimension of existence.
Each cyber had a different experience. For him it was as if he were a point of expanding parameters; rings which widened to the end of the universe, renewed and replenished by further rings. A point which pulsed and moved through realms of scintillating brilliance, connecting, interchanging, embracing everything in a composite whole. The living part of an organism which had transcended the limitations of flesh and moved with the freedom of unrestricted thought.