Another picture joined the first; a depiction of wavering lines traced by delicate points. The wave pattern of the subject's brain, which all could read.
"Total disorientation was achieved in a remarkably short space of time," continued the voice. "Hallucinations followed leading to a complete catatonic withdrawal. Note the zeta and lunbda lines." A pause, then, "Three hours later." A flick and the figure could be seen with knees drawn up to its chin, arms wrapped around the knees. "The classic fetal position. Twelve hours later when removed from the tank."
They looked at an idiot.
"Enough." Elge had no wish to stare at the drooling, vacuous-eyed, blank-faced vegetable. The point, surely, had been made. "The subject was of low intelligence," he explained. "Run as a comparison with others of a higher level of capability. The greater the intelligence the longer was individual awareness maintained."
Dekal said, "Your conclusion?"
"The derangement affecting the units has some relation to sensory deprivation."
After a moment Boule said, "We are talking of minds accustomed to a degree of sensory deprivation for the major part of their lives. And need I remind you that when sealed in their units they are provided with external stimuli in the form of communication with others of their kind together with cybers in rapport? I find the conclusion lacking in conviction."
Theme said, "If the matter is one of the need for external stimuli I agree there remains a doubt as to the validity of the conclusion. As sanity is being maintained the cause must lie elsewhere."
"Sanity is not being maintained," reminded Elge. "Not in all units at all times. If so there would be no problem. You have studied the recordings made of communication with affected units-what did you find?"
"Delusion," admitted Theme. "Ravings. Systems of logic built on false premises."
"Withdrawal; Intelligences disoriented and drifting in a void of speculation. A denial of accepted fact." Elge looked from one to the other. "I stand by my conclusion."
"That the aberrations are induced by sensory deprivation?"
"That a relationship could exist." Elge was precise. "If so it may be necessary to reaffirm established frameworks of reference. With this in mind I have taken steps to investigate the value of certain methods." Again he activated the communicator. "Continue."
This time the room didn't turn black but color and movement shone where there had been emptiness. The chamber was equipped, like an operating theater, with muted greens and sterile whites, with metal and plastic and the sheen of crystal. To one side lay an opened ovoid, the brain clearly visible. In the foreground stood a squat machine in the shape of a man. A grotesque parody with a domed head, rounded torso and oddly fashioned limbs. Around it, both robot and brain technicians worked in smooth coordination.
"Attempts to provide units with separate, operational vehicles have been made several times," explained the accompanying voice. "All have led to failure. A direct brain transplant to a human body is impossible because of the enlargement of the engrafted Homochon elements which takes place after the unit has been sealed into its container. The use of substitute physical hosts was tried and abandoned because of the low-return anticipated against the high-effort such attempts entailed. We are now attempting to couple the brain to a mechanical analogue of the human shape. Once the attachments have been made and activated the analogue will become an extension of the unit's intelligence. As yet we have had little success in this line of experimentation."
In the glowing depiction figures moved in accelerated tempo, wires and pipes and terminals meshing to form a complex web. A moment later the scene slowed to show the robot now standing alone. As they watched, it stirred, one arm lifting, to lower, to lift again. Then it paused like a child who has made a discovery and now broods over what it has found.
"The first reaction. Two hours later we had this." The arm again, moving like a hammer, up and down, up and down. The dome of the head moved a little, the body tilting to allow the scanners set in the parody of eyes to stare upward at a brightly polished surface. "Thirty-two minutes later."
A man hurtled through the air as a steel arm smashed into his chest and filled his lungs with splintered bone. Spewing blood he fell, tripping another, joined by a third with an oddly twisted neck. A fourth, head pulped, dropped like a stone as the robot moved. It swayed, turned, lurched forward, the massive arm lifting to slam down with crushing force, pulping the exposed brain, sending it to spatter in all directions.
In his office Elge touched a control and watched as a galaxy was born. The air filled with the cold glitter of countless points of radiance interspersed with sheets and curtains of luminescence, the ebon smudges of interstellar dust. A masterpiece of electronic wizardry; each mote of light held in a mesh of electromagnetic forces, the whole forming a compressed depiction of the galactic lens.
With such diminution details had to be lost; the billions of individual worlds, comets, asteroids, satellites, rogue planets, meteors, the drifting hail of broken suns. But the stars were present and, as he watched, scarlet flecks appeared in scattered profusion.
The power of the Cyclan.
A power vast and yet almost invisible. Each fleck represented a world which had lost self-determination in its reliance on the services provided by the Cyclan, though the planets were unaware of the trap into which they had fallen. It did not take an army to move a mountain when a touch could shift the stone which led to an avalanche. One touch could exert pressure where it would achieve the greatest gain, use persuasion and play on lust and greed, envy and hatred, anger and fear-all the weapons forged by emotion-cursed humanity against itself. The Cyclan stood aloof as it manipulated the destiny of captive worlds.
His power was hidden, unsuspected by most, but nonetheless real.
"Master." Jarvet had entered the office to stand beside the Cyber Prime, the blazing depiction illuminating his face, dotting it with rainbow patches. "The reports from Siguri and Guptua?"
These details could not be ignored. On Siguri a drunken young fool had threatened a cyber and had slapped him in the face, the act compounded in its folly by having been done in public. The physical injury was slight, but the man had committed an unpardonable crime.
Elge said, "From a check of his background it is obvious the culprit fears ridicule more than death. Order the failure of the crops on Heght. They provide the basis of his Family's income. At the same time seduce him into making heavy investments in the Chan-Pen Enterprise. It will fail and his House be ruined. He, himself, will be ostracized and vilified."
This was using a hammer to crack a nut and yet no insult to any cyber could be allowed to pass unpunished. The fool would pay with ridicule and dishonor and final death by his own or another's hand. His Family would be disgraced and their power lost-payment for having given birth to the one who had struck the blow. All would know the details and, knowing, would fear the Cyclan. And with that fear would come enhanced respect.
"And Guptua?"
A world torn by internecine war as two brothers fought for a decaying throne. Elge gave orders which would ruin them both and place the future prosperity of the planet firmly in the grasp of the Cyclan. Details would be attended to by local cybers; he plotted the main strategies, but some things demanded his personal attention.
The mania of the brains.
His own fate should he fail to provide the solution.
Nequal had failed and now Nequal was dead and he occupied the vacated position. That position was determined by the vote of the Council and they would be watching for the slightest trace of inefficiency. Who would take his place should he fail? Icelus? No, the man was too circumscribed by his devotion to science. Jarvet? He was a good aide but lacked the subtle attribute which made a leader. Avro? A possibility, as was Marie.