"With reason, my lord."

"You fear me? You should. As I told you, I intend to make this a personal matter as far as you are concerned. In fact, I leave you no choice but to do as I ask. You see, I am plain."

Dumarest doubted if he could ever be that. Quietly he said, "As a matter of interest, what would you do should I refuse?"

"Nothing." Chan Parect was bland. "Of course, there is the matter of the debt you mentioned. Ten thousand cran, which you gave to the monks. And there is the question of payment for the treatment you received. Even when deducting the sum which Zenya and I owe you, there is a residue of fifty thousand cran. Need I remind you of what will happen if you cannot pay?"

Sold into bondage at the public auction. Doomed to spend the rest of his life in abject slavery. With the Aihult owning the field, there could be no escape.

A neat plan, cunningly devised, bearing the stamp of an elaborate madness. Zenya, of course, had been primed and given permission to pledge her jewelry. The monks had deliberately been attacked in order to force his hand. But how had the man known he would be generous? And the guard who had shot him-had he also followed orders?

Chan Parect shrugged as he asked the question. "Does it matter, Earl? The thing is over and done with. A mistake, I assure you, but a fortunate one, as it turned out."

Too fortunate. And how had the guards known when to arrive? Zavor had made no sound, no cry for help, yet they must have been waiting. Monitors, perhaps, but there must have been anticipation. And who had adjusted the laser?

Who had wanted him dead?

No, not dead, thought Dumarest. The beam had seared but not killed. Whoever had adjusted it had seen to that. And if that someone had known of his protective clothing, it would have been a fair gamble that even though hurt, he would have survived. Had the whole plan been designed simply to get him into debt, or was there another, deeper reason?

Chan Parect reached again for his wine. "Let us leave unpleasant matters, Earl. I have made you a part of my design, and you will not refuse to obey. You cannot. You have no choice."

Dumarest said harshly, "There is always a choice, my lord."

"There is an unpleasant alternative, I agree. Shall we discuss it?" Chan Parect paused, looking at the goblet, the rainbow hues. "I do not believe in fate, but at times it seems as if destiny shapes our ends. Or call it pure coincidence, the end is the same. Of all the worlds you could have landed on, you chose to reach Paiyar. A lucky accident, Earl, for you and me. Have you never wondered how I knew your name? Why the order was placed at the archives? The reason is obvious when you think about it. You were expected."

Dumarest had no need to answer by whom; he knew. The Cyclan, of course; it could be nothing else. A similar order must have been placed at every library, museum, and archive on every world in this sector. Traps baited and set for him to make an appearance. His movements predicted from fragments of information painstakingly gathered and extrapolated with the skill of which each cyber was a master. All they had to do was to make arrangements, to wait and then to reach out their hand. And, once it closed around him, it would never let go.

"You spoke of luck, my lord," he said tightly. "Yours and mine."

"Yes." Chan Parect was bland, a man confident in his supremacy. "Luck that you chose to come here, that I was immediately notified, that you followed Zenya. A simple girl-who would note such an incident? To those outside, you simply vanished. And more luck," he added. "The greatest of all. The fact that I needed such a man as you appeared to be. A hard man, desperate, ruthless, skilled in evasion, trained to kill."

The unknown, thought Dumarest. The one factor no cyber could wholly control, and which made it impossible for them ever to predict with a hundred percent probability. The tortuous workings of an insane mind that had negated their plan.

But the Cyclan was not easily deluded. Dumarest thought of the silhouette he had seen, the cowled figure bathed in ruby light.

"Tell me, my lord, have you a cyber in the citadel?"

"One came; he has gone."

"And he said?"

"Little. To be frank, Earl, I have no love for those who wear the scarlet robe. They are too much like machines, unfeeling, always calculating, manipulating, offering advice, but advice which benefits their organization, not those whom they pretend to serve." Chan Parect sipped at his wine. "I was, however, a little intrigued at the value they set on you. Their services offered free for ten years if I should deliver you into their charge."

And cheap at the price if they could obtain the secret he had been given, the one stolen from their secret laboratory by a man now long dead. Dumarest leaned back, remembering a mane of flame-red hair, a woman who had loved him and who had given him her dying gift. Kalin- he would never forget her.

And the Cyclan would never cease trying to regain the secret, the correct sequence of the fifteen molecular units which comprised the affinity twin. A chain of biological fragments which would give them the universe. Reversing the end of the chain would cause it to become either subjective or dominant. Inject the dominant part into the cortex, the subjective into a host, and complete unity was achieved. The dominant factor would see, feel, sense, and experience everything applying to the host. He would have a new body, with all that implied. A temptation no aging ruler could resist, a bribe no woman could refuse.

And with a cyber mind dominating a ruling host, the Cyclan would rule the galaxy within a lifetime.

"The cyber," said Dumarest. "He will come again?"

"Perhaps." Chan Parect was casual. "What does it matter if he does? Obey me, and you have nothing to fear."

The blind arrogance of a tiny despot unable to comprehend the power he defied. The Cyclan stretched throughout the galaxy; cybers wherever influence was to be obtained. And, all unknowingly, he had missed the greatest opportunity he would ever know. Renewed life itself, his old body resting while his mind dominated that of a young and virile man.

Luck, thought Dumarest. He had walked into a trap and been saved despite his own lack of caution. Luck that had saved him so often before. How long would it last?

He said formally, "I am willing to serve you, my lord. Where is your son?"

"On Chard."

The name meant nothing, a world among countless others, but it would need a ship to get there and a means of escape from Paiyar.

"And when will I be able to leave?"

"A ship is waiting at the field-the arrangements were made while you were under treatment."

Dumarest relaxed a little. At least there would be no delay, no time for his host to change his mind or the Cyclan to offer a higher bribe.

He said, "There is no point in waiting. I would like to leave at once."

"You are eager, Earl, and I am glad. Natural enough, when you think of the alternative. I do not think the Cyclan would be gentle with you, should you fall into their hands. Now, you are quite clear as to your duty? You are to find Salek and bring him to me."

"I understand."

"Yes." Chan Parect picked up the knife and turned the blade, so that it caught and reflected the light. "I am sure that you do. As you understand the penalties and rewards. Find and deliver my son, and you could learn where Earth is to be found. If not, a wife and all that I have mentioned. You see, I am fair, and you will not blame me for having taken a small precaution. An insurance in case your natural desire for escape should be stronger than your given word. If you fail me in any way, I shall inform the Cyclan exactly where you are to be found. You understand?"

Dumarest nodded, unworried. He had run before, and could do so again if the necessity arose.