"No! How can I remember this?"

"Just keep looking."

At the cards, the symbols he had drawn on them, the components of the affinity twin. The discovery the Cyclan hunted him to regain, for with it they would have the means to dominate the galaxy. But Kusche did not share the secret; the cards he studied had been laid out at random. The symbols they carried were known to the Cyclan but the all-important sequence remained with Dumarest alone.

Something Kusche couldn't know. As he turned, his face beaded with sweat, Dumarest said, "Now we're really partners, Nubar. If I'm caught and handed over to the Cyclan I'll give them just five words. I'll say, 'Nubar Kusche knows the secret.' Can you guess what will happen then?"

He would be hunted in turn, taken, put to the question. He had seen the symbols and could never honestly deny it, and the Cyclan would ruin his body and brain to learn the order in which they had been displayed. And, even if they had gained the secret, still he would be destroyed.

"You bastard! You've given me nothing and put my head in a noose! Why do this to me?" Kusche reached for wine, his hand trembling. "Why?"

Dumarest said flatly, "Because I need your help."

Chapter Eleven

Zabul was a world of spaces and each space was a world. Realms of diverse color: blue and green and burning crimson. Gold and white and soft lavender. In a bubble of emerald and azure Byrnne Vole sat and scowled at depictions of fish and weed, of tentacled shapes blurred by artistry and shells which rested like jewels on stones and gritty sand. A scene meant to give peace, but he was far from calm.

"It must be stopped!" His hand beat a soft tattoo on the table at which he sat. "This talk is dangerous! The man must be controlled. Althea Hesford-you are failing in your duty!"

She stood before the table, looking down at Vole, Logan, Gouzh and others. Demich, to one side, had smiled a greeting as she had entered the chamber and Volodya had worn his usual mask. Haren was absent, running back to the snug comfort of his casket, but the man who had taken his place could have been his twin.

Now Rhion said. "I have been briefed on the situation. To cast blame at this time would be useless but the handling of the matter leaves much to be desired. The responsibility is yours, Urich Volodya."

"To murder without trial?"

"What? You are insolent!"

"The question was put according to custom. It was answered in a way which made it impossible for me to act on my own. The Council would have been the first to condemn me had Dumarest been executed without a hearing. You made the decision as to his fate, not I."

"He is spreading dissension," said Vole. "Instead of being grateful to us for having allowed him to live, he sows the seed of discord." His eyes moved, settled on Althea. "And you are to blame."

An accusation which once would have filled her with trepidation but now she looked at Vole with new eyes. An old man, spiteful in his physical weakness, clinging to power for the sake of pride. An arrogant fool who stormed and threatened but who could be broken like a twig by any man with the courage to defy him. And she had just such a man. One who had taught the hollowness of her previous fears.

"I deny that!"

"What? You dare-"

"To question? Yes. Are you above error? Can you never be wrong?"

"Be silent!" Lelia Logan spoke from where she sat. Her face was ugly with rage. "Are you mad, girl? Have you forgotten who we are? What we are? The destiny of the Terridae lies in our hands. Would you have us forget our duty as you seem to have forgotten yours?"

A blast meant to crush and one which would have done but now Althea saw her as she saw Vole: small, waspish, vicious, reacting to personal fear instead of taking a broad view. As Dumarest had predicted she would act. As he had predicted the reactions of others.

But not of Volodya. He was an unknown quality, sitting calmly behind his mask of detachment; yet his eyes were never still, moving from one to the other, and the hand he had rested on the table was clenched into a fist.

Now he said, "The problem seems to be that Dumarest continues to insist he originated on Earth. Naturally this has made him the object of attention, especially among the young. They are curious and want to learn more. Some even believe that Dumarest was sent to herald the Event."

"Nonsense!"

"Perhaps." Volodya did not look at Vole. "But how can we be certain? The man was barely questioned and never tested."

"For reasons which were explained," snapped Logan. "The Council has no need to justify its actions. Even less to justify its decisions. The man must be silenced!"

The voice of established authority spoke as Dumarest had predicted when, lying in his arms, she had snuggled close to him during the hours of rest. The fear which now she could recognize. How right he had been! Power corrupted and was insidious in its attraction. Back in her chair she leaned back, half-closing her eyes, feeling again the touch of his body, hearing again the whisper of his voice.

"You see it on a thousand worlds and the pattern is always the same. Some begin to issue the orders and find others to help them enforce them. The rest follow like sheep and soon the habit of obedience is instilled. It becomes a conditioned reflex. The voice of authority becomes the voice of God, and those who rule begin to think of themselves as something superior to the rest. A delusion-they are just the same. Only obedience keeps them in power. Remove it and they are helpless."

As Vole would be helpless, as Logan and Gouzh and all who sat on the Council. Althea looked at them from beneath her lowered lids, despising what she saw.

Watching her, Volodya recognized her expression and guessed its cause. Dumarest had been more clever than he'd thought. He'd taken the woman and manipulated her mind as, lost in passion, she had yielded him her body. As even now he and his companion were manipulating the minds of others. Demich? A possibility but the man had always held a wry and cynical attitude toward the Council. A man who took a delight in the breaking of puffed egos; using words as swords to cut inflated pride down to size. Not liked by Vole and the others of his kind; tolerated only because they had no choice.

Would he be ordered to silence him too?

Would he obey such an order?

Volodya looked at his hand, the fist it made, and deliberately opened his fingers. Such a stance was a warning to the observant and he had long learned to reveal nothing of his innermost feelings. To guard the Terridae, to obey the Council, to be efficient at all times-the rules which had governed his life.

Rules sufficient for the small world of Zabul but Dumarest had arrived and with him brought something new. A concept which meant the end of stability as he knew it. A change the Council wanted to resist-and it was becoming obvious why.

Demich summed up the problem. "You talk of silencing a voice which has come among us to herald truth. After that, what? More murders to silence those who listened to what he had to say? And even more to silence those who listened to those who listened? Where will it end?"

"Not the truth!" Logan was adamant. "He lied!"

"And continues to lie!" Vole joined her protest. "He weakens our authority!"

"One man?" Demich shook his head and glanced at Volodya. "I think, Urich, we had better see this monster again."

Dumarest was busy examining Zabul. His guide was a young man more eager to ask questions than to answer them. As he led the way down a long corridor he said, "And, at summer, do the fish rise to the surface to carry people over the waves?"

"It could happen."

"But then it is never really summer, is it?" Medwin had barely paused for the answer. "The climate is always warm, with cooling breezes and stimulating showers which hold sweet scents. For snow and ice and tall peaks you move to another part of Earth. As you do to enjoy forests and wide expanses of soft sand on which to hold games and to manipulate craft made of wood with winged sails."