The subject lasted exactly four and a half minutes.

* * *

The chemist was a round, middle-aged man with tired eyes and manner. He pursed his lips at Dumarest's order. "Something to keep you awake? Sure I can supply it. Have you got an order?"

"No."

The man shook his head. "That makes it difficult. All drugs are under strict control or didn't you know that?"

"Of course I know it. All I want is something to give me a lift." Dumarest lowered his voice. "You're a professional man and I'd appreciate your advice. I've got some important work to do and I was on a binge last night. Didn't get a wink. If I fall asleep on the job I'll get canned for sure." He displayed a folded bill, "It's worth this if you can help."

"Studying, eh? You up for exams?"

"That's right." Dumarest didn't know what the man was talking about but rode along. "It's my last chance and I don't want to spoil it."

"I know how you feel." The chemist was abruptly sympathetic. "I had to sweat to get my degree. We had neighbors, dumb swine who stayed up late and the noise was really something. At times I thought I'd go out of my mind trying to memorize formulae." He reached for a jar and poured tablets into an envelope.

"These should do it. Take three at a time and repeat as you need." He exchanged the envelope for the bill. "Good luck!"

Luck, thought Dumarest as he left the just opened druggist's. How long could it last? He'd had more than his share when he'd met the woman. She had obviously been someone of importance, a member of some high family perhaps, and he had walked from the train under the shield of her authority. An all night restaurant had provided food and shelter, and he'd stayed there until the dawn had awakened Technos to life. Now, armed with the tablets, he faced another day.

He took three with a cup of savory liquid at another restaurant. The fatigue of constant strain was beginning to catch up, but it was important that he stay alert. With care it should be possible to lose himself among the teeming population of the capital.

But how to find Elaine Delmayer?

On a small, primitive world it would have been easy. Everyone would know everyone else. On a medium civilized planet it would have been impossible without the expenditure of money and time. On Technos it shouldn't be hard. A society in which everyone carried identification cards was one in which everyone would be registered in a central index. All he had to do was to find it.

The waitress was young and obviously impressed. She frowned as he asked the question.

"You want to find someone and you don't know her address?"

"That's right." He smiled at her. "An old friend. We lost touch and I'd like to meet her again."

The hint of romance won her cooperation. "I should try the library. It's over in the palace. They should be able to tell you what you want to know."

The library was busy with a stream of youngsters passing through the doors; students intermixed with older people, most carrying books. Dumarest guessed that advancement on Technos was based on intellectual achievement, the gaining of degrees giving a higher status. It made things easier. In such a society information should not be hard to obtain.

The reference section was lined with machines, each facing a chair, all with space for the taking of notes. The attendant was brusque.

"Insert your card, type out your question and wait for the answer. If you want a photographic copy press the red lever. The charges are listed above each machine."

And would be charged against the credit number on the card, Dumarest guessed. Keren's card. It would leave a trail but it was a chance he had to take.

Early though it was the place was crowded. Dumarest waited his turn and moved forward as the place fell vacant. As an experiment he touched the keys. Nothing happened. Inserting the stolen card he sat down. On impulse he typed EARTH.

Above the keyboard a screen brightened to life. On it flashed words.

EARTH; soil, dirt, loam, ground. A general term depicting planetary mass.

EARTH; the name of a mythical planet held as an object of veneration by The Original People.

Dumarest typed THE ORIGINAL PEOPLE.

The screen blanked then brightened to new life.

THE ORIGINAL PEOPLE; a religious sect of minor importance to be found on various backward planets scattered throughout the galaxy. The sect is a secret one and neither seeks nor welcomes converts, fresh adherents being obtained from the natural increase of existing worshipers. The main tenet of their belief is that Mankind originated on a single world, the mythical planet Earth, and that, after cleansing by tribulation, Mankind will return to this supposed world of origin, at which time the universe will cease to exist and the cleansed race be transformed into a higher form of life. This belief, founded on an obvious fallacy, is surrounded by esoteric ritual and elaborate ceremonies which are based on a primitive cult of fertility. There are no grounds supporting the truth of their contention which must remain as one of the more illogical religious creeds.

Dumarest typed TERRA.

TERRA: no information available.

It had been worth the chance but he knew nothing he had not known before and had just proved that the library knew less. Terra was another name for Earth but knowing it did not help him in his search. Perhaps Elaine Delmayer could.

He typed ELAINE DELMAYER.

There were three hundred and thirty eight of them. He sat looking at the closely packed list of names and professions. No addresses were shown and it would take another question to get them. But so many? He frowned, thinking. Quendis had said that he'd known her as a little girl so she could not now be very old. She had left Loame before the start of the war and she would not have done that as a child. Put her age at, say, thirty and allow ten years to either side.

He typed ELAINE DELMAYER AGE BETWEEN 20 AND 40.

This time there were only a hundred and eighteen. He asked for the addresses, hit the red lever and waited for the sheet to roll from the side of the machine. It would be possible, he supposed, to go through them all one by one but perhaps there was a quicker way. The girl had originated on Loame. Specifying it would, if the information was registered, cut down the list even more.

It did.

To one.

* * *

The address was in Technos, a building a mile from the palace, a soaring block capped by a transparent dome and obviously the home of the rich and influential. Inside were thick carpets and scented air, warm after the outside chill. An attendant moved forward as Dumarest thrust his way through the glass doors. He pursed his lips at the stated business.

"It's very early," he pointed out. "I am not sure that the person concerned would welcome a visit at this hour."

Dumarest was curt. "Then find out. Tell her it is important. Hurry!"

The attendant bridled. "Your name?"

"Keron." Dumarest flashed the stolen card. "Of Security. Now move!"

She lived on the twenty-second floor in an apartment furnished with excellent taste and unabashed luxury. And she was beautiful.

Dumarest looked at her, at the smooth contours of her face and the glowing olive of her skin. There was a familiarity about her which he found strange, and then she spoke and the illusion was shattered. This was not the mysterious woman he had met on the train. The voice was too mellifluous for that.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, my lady." He could lose nothing by being polite. "This may sound strange to you but I have traveled a long way to find you. From Loame. You were born there, I understand."

"That is so."

"You are the daughter of Grower Delmayer?"

"Yes. You have news of him?"

"I regret to tell you, my lady," said Dumarest quietly. "Your father is dead."