"Yes, my lady." Shamarre hesitated. "Shall I check with the physicians as to their work on a vaccine?"

"Leave that to me. Do as I have ordered. Move!"

Now, at least, she had something to do and an excuse for visiting the laboratories. A genuine one and Gustav would have no reason to think that she was checking up on him, doubting his ability to perform the task they had agreed should be his alone. A wise decision, she hoped, and his arguments had carried weight. But if anything should happen to him. If Dumarest should turn out to be even more violent and savage than she had guessed then his death would not be easy. There were worse things than impalement.

"My lady!" The technician bowed. "You were not expected and the Director is with your consort and his companion. A moment and I will summon her."

"Never mind." The girl was trying too hard to please. "Where are they? The compound? No, don't bother to guide me. I know where it is."

A place set deep within the building and shielded for always against the sun. A circular area some hundred yards across capped with a domed roof now glowing with a soft emerald to emulate the natural sky. The floor was of polished stone patterned in a wild variety of flowers and benches ran around the walls. Mirrors had been set in them, planes of reflective glass graced with pastoral scenes, but Dumarest didn't look at them, guessing them to be more than they seemed. Instead he looked at the creature who shambled in a continuous circle in the center of the compound.

Once he had been young and good looking with strong bones and square-set shoulders and lips which smiled to show flashing teeth and hair which framed a strongly-boned face with an ebon aureole. A tall, lithe athlete proud of his trained and harnessed skills. A man able to run and jump and wrestle.

Now a man without a mind.

A caricature which drooled as it moved and moved as if muscle and bone had been warped and distorted into alien configurations. A thing which had no control over its bodily functions.

"Muhi," said Gustav quietly. "A friend. There are others and some of them are worse than what you see. None is better. Some have died. None have recovered."

"Treatment?"

"The best available. Skilled psychologists and trained practitioners of the mental arts. Even a monk of the Church of Universal Brotherhood. All have failed."

"To treat the symptoms or the cause?" Dumarest stepped toward the shambling figure and halted before it. As it neared he placed both hands on the rounded shoulders and pressed as he stared into the eyes. They were vague, the pupils dilated, the balls rolling, shifting in a continual refusal to focus on any one object. For a moment Dumarest maintained the position then, dropping his hands, he stepped back. "Drugs?"

"We have tried them all. Sedatives, tranquilizers, stimulants, herbs and elaborate compounds. Even charms and spells."

"Alcohol? Have you tried getting him drunk?"

"What good would that do?"

"Alcohol is a depressant. If his condition is due to hyperactivity of the synapses then slowing that activity could show an improvement." Dumarest suddenly swung his fist at the patient's face, halting it a fraction from the skin. "No reaction. He seems to be in a totally different world."

"He is."

Mentally, of course, but that was enough. Watching the shambling movements, Dumarest could sense the alien atmosphere the man emitted, a strangeness as if he were something other than human. That continual flicker of the eyes as if he were impelled to watch the darting motion of a heated molecule or the random flight of an insect. The odor which he exuded. The odd configuration of his limbs.

Muhi, a friend so Gustav had said-what if he had been an enemy?

To the Director he said, "What is your opinion as to the cause?"

"A progressive breakdown of the autonomic functions," she said without hesitation. "As you must be aware, many physical operations are conducted without the need for mental directives. For example we breathe and blink our eyes without conscious direction. Our hearts beat without voluntary directives. Our digestion, liver functions and so on work as a near-automatic unit. This attribute has given rise to the theory that the body has a subconscious life of its own on a basic primeval level. I think this assumption is false and what we have seen tends to prove it. The patient no longer has mental control and his physical body is suffering from accumulated errors which would normally have been corrected by the mental process. Think of a machine," she suggested. "One which runs perfectly for a while without attendance but which, if left too long, will become erratic because minor faults aren't checked early enough."

"Like the flight computer in a ship," said Dumarest. "It bases its program on received information but can deliver some pretty wild figures unless checks are made to erase accumulated garbage. A correct analogy?"

"Yes."

"And you can't erase the garbage?"

She frowned and glanced at Gustav, who shrugged.

"We aren't dealing with a machine," she said stiffly. "The patient is a human being."

"Is he?" Dumarest met her eyes. "How far does he have to go before he ceases to be that? I didn't see a man just then. I saw a lost animal. If anything of the original man remains it is frightened and hiding. Where, Director? Where could it hide? What section of the brain can it run to?" Then, before she could reply he said, "A serious question this time. What would you say is the breaking point of a man like the patient? How far can he be pressed before his mind will snap?"

"I don't know," she said. "I doubt if anyone could answer that with any degree of certainty. There are too many variables. A coward can display unexpected courage in times of stress. An apparently brave person can panic for no obvious cause. Heroines are born of the moment."

"But all are subject to weaknesses?"

"Of course."

"Do the patients have any in common? Did they all have a fear of falling, for example, or of fire?"

"I know what you mean. The answer is not as far as we are aware."

"You checked?"

"No," she admitted. "Not before it was too late to make personal examination in depth. Even then the results could have been negative. Some fears are so deeply buried they only surface beneath the impact of extreme stimuli." To Gustav she said, "Are there any further questions?"

"Earl?"

Dumarest shook his head and watched as the woman left, the patient with her. Quietly he said, "Was Muhi a traveler on that journey you mentioned?"

"Yes."

"And the others?"

"Yes," said Gustav again and felt relief now that it was out. "Volunteers, all of them, heroes each and every one."

"Heroes?"

"You probably think of them as fools. But to me they are heroes. Brave men who took a terrible risk and were willing to pay the price if they failed. Well, they did fail. Somehow they weren't strong enough and now they are dying. Soon they will all be dead." Gustav glanced at the mirrors, wondering behind which Kathryn would be standing. Knowing she had to be there, watching, hoping. Knowledge which prompted him to add, "As you will be dead unless you are willing to cooperate."

Dumarest said dryly, "You offer me a poor choice. Death in one way or death in another. Looking at your friend I think I'd prefer to be your enemy."

"You refuse!"

"To walk blindly into a trap, yes. To take a chance with the prospect of reward is another matter. You offer a reward?"

"Isn't your life-" Gustav broke off then continued, "There will be a reward if you are successful. That I promise. And it will be large. The Matriarch will be generous to the man who restores her daughter to a normal life."

"Her daughter?"

"And mine." Gustav looked at the mirrors. "Our only child."