"Result negative." The voice of the technician held strain.
"Flight path?" Volodya snapped the question. "Is it on a collision course?"
"Yes."
"Sound red alert! No! Wait!" In the projection the blue nimbus had flared to die, to wink out. "Check present position in relation to Zabul."
"Ship has moved into the seventh decant. Still on direct heading."
"Velocity?"
"One third of original and falling." A pause, then, "Contact established."
"An accident." Cade gusted his relief. "Some trader who plotted a bad flight pattern and has just realized it."
Dumarest said, "Are you equipped with warning beacons?"
"No." Volodya glanced at him then back at the depiction. "We don't advertise our presence," he explained. "Zabul is in a location well away from normal shipping routes and we aren't listed in any almanac. This is a private world and we want to keep it that way."
"The Huag-Chi-Tsacowa? Don't they know where you are?"
"No." Volodya saw Dumarest's frown. "You're thinking of deliveries," he said. "They send sealed cargo containers on given courses and we pick them up in space. The courses vary."
But could be plotted to a common point, given enough data and a sharp enough mind to evaluate it. Dumarest looked at the growing fleck on the screen, knowing what it had to be.
To Althea he said, "Zabul isn't a self-sufficient economy. You receive supplies, luxuries, imports, but produce nothing to sell. How do you manage?"
"We own world-based industries."
"Managed by the Vosburgh Consortium?"
"No." It was information she was reluctant to give or did not know. "The first Elders made the arrangements and they've been continued," she said. "Much was sold in order to build Zabul but enough was kept to maintain it. Why, Earl? Is it important?"
For him more than that. He looked at the others assembled in the chamber, all now united in the face of a common threat. Though they had yet to realize its strength, it was easy to predict how they would react. For them Zabul and the Terridae would come first. They would have no hesitation in handing him over.
The voice of the technician accompanied the blue haze, which now returned and brighter than before, drifted close.
"The vessel is the Saito and belongs to the Cyclan. It carries Cyber Lim who requests permission to land."
Chapter Twelve
He was tall and thin, his robe like flame, a scarlet envelope masking the gaunt lines of a body devoid of fat and unessential tissue. He kept himself at the height of metabolic efficiency by deliberate privation. The skull was smooth, hairless, the cheeks sunken, the eyes burning pits of intelligence beneath thrusting brows. The man had dedicated his life to the pursuit of logic and reason, had lost the capacity of emotion and had willingly become a living robot of flesh and blood.
Automatically he had been given the high place at the table and now, as he sat, light reflected from the sigil blazoned on the breast of his robe. The sigil was the Seal of the Cyclan and enriched the scarlet as, somehow, it diminished the man. A calculated effect: the organization was everything, those who served it merely cogs in the vast machine. Yet, even so, Lim was impressive.
"My apologies for having intruded on your privacy," he began. "And my congratulations at having hidden your world so well. I find it a place of intense interest and would appreciate the opportunity of a closer examination."
"Perhaps that could be arranged," said Logan.
"You are kind, my lady." The burning eyes held her own for a moment before moving on. A brief glance which had told Lim all he needed to know. She was vain, proud, afraid, eager to please one who could bolster her position. The product of emotional disorder which cursed all who did not wear the scarlet robe. "It may be that I could be of help."
"We have no need of help." Volodya was curt. "What is your business with us?"
"I want the man Dumarest." He heard the sharp intake of the woman's breath, a grunt, saw the looks passed one to the other and felt the glow of mental achievement, which was the only pleasure he could know. The prediction that Dumarest would be on Zabul had been high, but even so nothing was certain. "He is here?"
Volodya dodged the question. "Why do you want him?"
"For reasons which do not concern you."
"I think they do."
"I suggest that what you think need not be of importance." Lim turned to the others, to Logan and Vole. The smooth, even modulation of his voice did not change but they were aware of a subtle menace. "Supplies are delivered to you by the Huag-Chi-Tsacowa and you have arranged a novel form of handling. If, however, the carriers were to be persuaded to end their contract with you, the situation could be difficult." He continued without waiting for comment. "The lands to the south of the Great Water on Legault are devoted to the growing of piksen. The pods are of high medicinal value, yet their active ingredient could be synthesized in factories closer to their market. If that were done the income from the crop would fall drastically. The prediction that within three seasons the land would be more a liability than an asset is of eighty-nine percent probability."
Logan swallowed. "The lands he spoke of were a source of Zabul's income."
"There are also mines on Bruzac," said Lim. "They need water which is purchased from the Willcox-Linden Company. They depend on a dam. If that dam should be breached the mines would be bereft of water and would cease production. The prediction of total ruin is ninety-nine percent."
So close to certainty as to make no difference and the message was plain. Cooperate or suffer the consequences and he had made it plain what they would be.
"Threats," said Demich. "I had thought better of the Cyclan."
"We do not threaten," corrected Lim. "We do not take sides or give advice. For those who hire the service of the Cyclan we merely predict the logical outcome of events. Each action must have a reaction and to extrapolate the most probable sequence of events is the talent of every cyber. Have I threatened? I merely pointed out the logical outcome of certain actions if those actions should be taken. I could, with equal ease, illustrate the steps it would be wise to take to avoid those consequences."
"Which are?"
Lim glanced at Logan. "As yet you have not hired my services, my lady."
"But if we should? Can't you give us a clue?"
"If you apply and are accepted then a cyber will give you the use of his skill. If you do not then no help can be obtained. Of course," he added, "there is no obligation on you to make use of the predictions once they are given."
But they would be used, for to ignore them was to invite disaster and, once used, they would be impossible to reject. To have the knowledge of what would happen if certain actions were taken. To foresee difficulties. To be able to predict the future-a lure hard to withstand and, dazzled by the possibilities, few reckoned the price.
To hire the services of the Cyclan was to yield power to the organization. A fact rarely displayed and mostly unsuspected but which worked to meld each gained world into a part of the Great Plan. The aim and object of the Cyclan: to achieve total domination over all the galaxy.
Against that design Zabul was of no importance. An artificial world housing those lost in emotional dreams, it could contribute nothing of advantage. It held no financial influence, controlled no affiliated planets, was associated with no strong allies. A world alone that could be treated with disdain.
But Lim knew better than to voice the obvious. Devoid of pride himself, yet he could appreciate how the emotional poison affected others. Knew, also, how to manipulate those prone to longings of grandeur.
"One man," he said. "A single individual against the welfare of your world. Have the Terridae worked so hard and waited so long for one man to bring them ruin?" He paused, waiting for the words to register. Then added the other half of the idea. "The Cyclan is generous to those aiding its servants. Help me and, in turn, you will be helped."