E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 12 - Eloise

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Eloise

#12 in the Dumarest series

E.C Tubb

Chapter One

There was nothing soft about the office. It was a vast chamber

designed on functional lines, bleak in its Spartan simplicity; the

sound-proofing which covered the walls, floor and roof a dull,

neutral grey, devoid of distracting color or decoration. Only the

blazing simulacrum which hung suspended in the air at the

center of the room gave a richness to the place; a depiction of the

galaxy at which Master Nequal, Cyber Prime, stared with

thoughtful interest.

It was a masterpiece of electronic ingenuity; tiny motes of

light held in a mesh of invisible forces, the entire lens

constrained within three hundred cubic feet of space. With such

compression, detail had to be lost; the billions of individual

worlds, the comets, asteroidal matter, satellites, minor regions of

dust, all swallowed in the glowing depiction of countless stars.

Nequal touched a control and red flecks appeared in scattered

profusion, irregularly spaced but extending throughout most of

the area. Each fleck represented a cyber, a trained and dedicated

servant of the Cyclan of which Nequal was now the accepted

head.

An ancient emperor would have felt gratification at the extent

of his rule, but Nequal could feel no such emotion. And there was

no need of personal ambition. To be Cyber Prime was to be at

the very apex of his world. Even to be a part of the Cyclan was to

be a part of a near-invisible empire which would, in time,

dominate every known fragment of space.

Softly he walked beside the simulacrum, concentrating;

noting gaps, the proximity of concentrations, the blank regions

in which no red glimmers showed, turning as the door opened to

admit his aide.

"What is it?"

Cyber Yandron bowed. "Those for processing. Master. They

await your attention in the reception chamber."

"A moment." Nequal continued his examination, then again

touched the control. The projection faded to dissolve in

splintered shards of luminescence; the brilliant glow replaced by

a more subdued illumination, a blue-white actinic light which

gave maximum visibility, rich in ultraviolet for reasons of

hygiene. "I am ready."

Outside the office the passages were a hive of controlled

activity. Cybers, alike in their scarlet robes, moved soundlessly

about their tasks. The air was chill and Nequal almost decided to

raise his cowl. He resisted the temptation. The body was a weak

and irritating thing; to pander to it was foolish for it grew on

what it was fed. And yet the air did strike chill. Perhaps he

should order the diet increased a little. Every machine needed

fuel, and energy lost in combating cold was energy lost to the

efficient working of the brain. He would have the dietitians look

into the matter.

A decision made in the time it had taken to walk three paces,

another made in the time it took to walk seven.

"Action to be taken on report 237582EM," he said to

Yandron. "Have the laboratories concentrate on a cheap and

simple method of manufacturing churgol by synthesis from

easily available products. The resultant information to be

disseminated on the worlds of Sargolle, Semipolis and Sojol."

Churgol was the major export of Churan, a proud and

independent world; the others, the main customers for the

medicinal compound. Once their major source of income had

vanished, the Ghuranese would be less independent and not as

proud. They would be eager to seek helpful advice in order to

restore their fortunes and be willing to pay for the guidance of a

cyber. The thin end of the wedge which would place yet another

world under Cyclan domination.

A decision made, a problem solved!—he wished that all were

as simple.

A small group waited in the reception chamber; the scarlet of

their robes wanning the bleakness, the material rustling a little

as they moved aside to allow the Cyber Prime a clear passage to

where five men rose painfully from a bench.

"Be seated." Nequal stepped towards them, his thin hand

extended in greeting. Two were old, two diseased, their bodies

bloated in grotesque proportions; the other twitched with an

uncontrollable affliction of the nerves. Nequal studied him for a

moment, but the eyes were clear and the man would never have

been passed by the physicians had his mind been affected. "You,

all of you, are welcome."

They bowed where they sat, brief inclinations of their heads,

then straightened as they looked at the tall figure of their master.

He was old, for men do not achieve great power without waiting,

and lean, for a thin body was more efficient than one soft with

killing tissue. His face was set in a mask of impassivity; the head

hairless, skull like. the contours relieved only by the glowing

intelligence of his deep-set eyes. On his breast, as on the breasts

of them all, the great seal of the Cyclan glowed with reflected

light. Like them all, he had long ago accepted the truth of the

creed which dominated their lives.

The body was nothing but a receptacle for intelligence.

Emotion was to be decried, eliminated by training and surgery;

the severance of certain nerves leading to the thalamus when

young, the operation which left every cyber the living equivalent

of a machine, able to find pleasure only in mental achievement.

But none counted it as a loss. Only the mind counted, the

sharpening of the intelligence, the cultivation of the pure light of

reason and inexorable logic.

Traits which made every cyber able to take a handful of facts

and build from them the most probable sequence of events. To

extrapolate the result of every action and course of conduct. To

make predictions so accurate that, at times, it seemed they could

actually read the future. A service for which rulers and worlds

were willing to pay far more than they guessed.

"You have worked well," said Nequal in his trained

modulation. A voice carefully devoid of all irritating factors.

"Your dedication, skill and application have earned you the

highest reward it is possible for any of us to know. I shall not

keep you from it." He gestured at the attendants. "Go now.

Almost I envy you."

But there was no need for envy, even if he could have felt the

emotion. He, all of them, every cyber who reached old age or

imminent death, all who had proved themselves; all would take

the same path as the attendants now prepared for the five.

First they would be shown the great halls, the endless

passages and vaulted chambers gouged from the living rock far

beneath the planetary surface; the entire complex buttressed and

reinforced to withstand even the fury of thermonuclear attack.

They would see the serried rows of vats, the laboratories, the

hydroponic farms; the whole tremendous installation which was

the headquarters of the Cyclan.

And then, assured, their gestalt finned, they would become a

part of it.

They would be taken and drugged. Trepans would bite into

their skulls and expose the living brains. Attachments would

keep them alive, as they were lifted from their natural housings

and placed into containers of nutrient and that the intelligences

would remain awake and ever aware. And then, finally, the

living, thinking brains would be incorporated into the gigantic

organic computer which was Central Intelligence.

To live forever. To share in the complete domination of the

universe. To solve all the mysteries of creation.

The aim and object of the Cyclan.

* * *

Nequal watched them go, wondering if they would have been

so eager had they known what he knew; the problem which

threatened to overshadow all others. As yet it was a minor

incident; but he would not have been a cyber if he had not

known where it must invariably lead if unchecked.

A passage led to the laboratories; the office of Cyber Quendis,

the papers and graphs lying thick on his desk.

"Master!"

"Report on the decay of the older intelligences."

Quendis was direct. "There is no improvement. The

deterioration previously noticed is progressing into all increasing

decay."

"Action taken?"

The affected part of the computer has been removed from all

contact with the main banks. A totally separate life support and

communications system has been installed, and tests made to

discover the cause of decay. Results to date show that there is no

apparent protoplasmic degeneration, the condition was not

induced by defective maintenance and there is no trace of any

external infection."

From where he stood at one end of the Desk Yandron said,

"How did you arrive at your conclusions?"

"Ten units were detached, dismantled and inspected. I chose

those showing most signs of aberration."

Ten brains destroyed. Ten intelligences, the seat and

repositories of accumulated knowledge, totally eliminated. Yet,

thought Nequal dispassionately, it was a thing which had to be

done. Again Yandron anticipated his question.

"Your suggestion as to the cause of the decay?"

"Psychological." Quendis touched a sheet of paper covered

with fine markings. "The conclusions of three different lines of

investigation. The cause could be based on the necessity for the

brains to rid themselves of programming, by the means of

paradoxical sleep. The need to dream."

"That is easily arranged," said Nequal. "There are drugs

which can achieve the desired effect. Have they been used?"

"Yes, Master. The results were negative. To use the term

paradoxical sleep in its widest sense. It could well be that the

affected units have lost all touch with reality. This could be due

to their extreme age, in which case the maintenance of units is

limited by a time factor of which we have been unaware. If this is

correct the decay of all units is, in time, inevitable."

"But manageable," said Yandron. "New units can replace the

old."

"That is so," agreed Quendis. "Once we determine the efficient

life-expectancy of the encapsulated brains, arrangements can be

made for routine elimination. However the present danger lies in

the possibility that the paraphysical emanations of the

deteriorated units could spread the contamination."

Nequal said, "Has the affected bank been questioned?"

"Yes, Master. On seven occasions. Each time the response was

sheer gibberish. The units seem to lack all coordination."

Yandron said, "Cannot something be done? The units

separated and placed in cyborg mechanisms?"

"Separation has no effect." Again Quendis touched his papers,

as if to reassure himself that all had been done. An odd gesture

for a cyber to make and Nequal noted it. The man was more

concerned than he appeared. "Rehousing the unit had no effect

on the decayed intelligence. If anything it showed a marked

decline. Three attempts were made. On the last the unit did

nothing but scream."

Alone, distracted, terrified perhaps; torn from the close

association with other minds which it had known for years. A

great many years, longer by far than any normal lifetime. And

yet why should any cyber scream? Certainly not from reasons of

emotion. But from what else?

"Destroy the bank," ordered Nequal. "Total extinction."

"Master!"

Nequal ignored Yandron's voice, his gesture.

"Continue your investigations," he said to Quendis. "Test the

entire installation down to atomic level and conduct molecular

examinations of all units."

A thousand dead brains to be ripped apart and probed with

electron microscopes. Tons of metal to be checked for any wild

radioactivity or unsuspected crystallization. Every drop of

nutrient fluid to be scanned for random chemical combinations

which could have occurred, despite the monitoring devices.

And still, perhaps, they would find nothing.

As they left the office Yandron said, "Master, it could be that

the decay is not from the cause Cyber Quendis suspects. The

aberration could be due to the units using different frames of

reference. The intelligences, old as they are, could have

progressed to a higher order of relationship, using mental

concepts of a type we cannot understand."

"You are saying that I may have destroyed a superior

intelligence," said Nequal. "I had considered the possibility."

"Naturally, Master, but—"

"Why did I order the destruction? The answer should be

obvious. If ancient brains could progress to that point then

others, growing old, will reach it also. Therefore, we have lost

nothing. If, however, the decay is not of that nature, then we

have avoided the risk of contamination."

"Yes, Master."

Was there a hint of doubt in the carefully modulated voice?

Nequal looked keenly at his aide. A man remained at the apex of

the Cyclan only as long as he was efficient enough to do so. Was

his aide already searching for signs of mental weakness?

Questioning the destruction only after it had been ordered, so as

to build evidence?

Nequal said, "There is one point which you appear to have

forgotten. The affected brains were questioned and responded

only with gibberish. It may be that they were using unfamiliar

forms of reference, but of what use is that to the Cydan? We deal

in a world of men and must work within familiar boundaries."

Men and the problems they could cause; the normal

inefficiency which grated on his desire for regulated order and

logical patterns of thought.

He said, "I am returning to my office. Find Cyber Wain and

join me there."

* * *

The simulacrum was in full life when they arrived, the

chamber full of color, flaring greens, blues, reds and yellows; the

depiction expanded so as to show a region of space in which

worlds now could be revealed in multi-hued array.

Nequal stood facing it, his thin, aesthetic features painted

with shifting color; the brightness accentuating the skull-like

contours of his head, the mask of his face. Without turning he

said, "Cyber Wain, report on your progress."

"It is slow, Master."

"Too slow."

"Agreed, but in this case time cannot be accelerated. The

affinity-twin developed in the laboratory on Riano is composed

of fifteen molecular units, the reversal of one unit determining

whether or not it will be subjective or dominant. This we know.

We also know the nature of the units. What we lack is the

knowledge of the correct sequence in which they must be

joined."

"And the number of possible combinations is very high,"

interjected Yandron. "If it were possible to try one new

combination each second, still it would take four thousand years

to cover them all."

"It cannot be done in a second," said Wain. He was shorter

than the others, but aside from that could have been their twin.

"It takes a minimum of eight hours to assemble and test a

chain."

The figures were numbing. Nequal considered them as he

studied the depiction. Allowing for the possibility that only half

the possible sequences needed to be investigated before success

was achieved, it would still take close to sixty million years. For

one team, of course; more workers would reduce the figure, but

still the amount was staggering.

He felt again the impatience which gripped him each time he

recalled the stupidity of the guards at Riano; the willful neglect

of the cybers in charge of the laboratory concerned. They had

paid for their inefficiency but the damage remained. The secret

of the sequence chain had been lost.

Lost, but not destroyed; of that he was certain. And what had

been lost could be found again.

He said, "With the decay affecting the older brains of Central

Intelligence, the matter must be moved to a higher order of

priority. I have advocated this before, but my predecessor did

not agree." One of the factors which had led to his replacement,

but Nequal did not mention that. "The secret must be regained."

Wain made a small, helpless gesture.

"Agreed, Master, but as yet all efforts towards that end have

failed. We know that the secret was stolen by Brasque, who took

it to the woman Kalin. We know too that she passed it on before

she died."

"To the man Dumarest," said Yandron. "Earl Dumarest. How

could one man have eluded us for so long?"

For answer Nequal gestured towards the depiction, the host of

glowing worlds.

"One man," he said. "Moving as a molecule would move in a

heated gas. One man among billions, moving from world to

world, and he has been warned. At first, when unaware he held

the secret he could have been taken, had due importance been

given to the matter. Now, warned, he is on his guard."

And dead cybers proved it. Cybers and agents both; those who

had come close, those who had been careless. They had paid the

price for underestimating the man they sought.

"The secret was used on Dradea," said Yandron evenly. "We

have proof of that. It seemed that we had him fast and then he

vanished."

"To appear on Paiyar and, later, on Chard." Wain was acid.

"Once again we learned of his movements too late. He left on a

trading vessel and now we can do nothing but wait."

"Nothing?"

Wain blinked. Engrossed in his laboratory duties he had lost

the razor-keenness of his brain; the one great attribute of every

cyber had become dull through disuse.

"Master?"

"We know where he was last seen," said Nequal. "We know on

which ship he left. Yandron, what is your prediction as to his

present whereabouts?"

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E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 12 - Eloise

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