"One you can resolve." Dumarest waited as Gourvich sipped more tisane. "When you were young Earth must have been very close. The Event was to happen soon. Am I right?"

"There were difficulties," said Gourvich. "Expenses. Things had to be settled before the search could begin. It was decided to wait a little."

The delay had stretched on the grounds of expediency and compromise. The urgency forgotten in a mass of petty detail. Slowed by those in authority who had been reluctant to disturb the status quo.

Dumarest explained this as if to a child, Gourvich nodding his agreement.

"You could be right," he said. "I cannot remember now. There were arguments and passions and insults and, once, a killing. It is all in the Archives." He looked at the woman. "In data bank 153/239. Or is it 235/879? Or did the Council decide to expunge the record?" He looked at his cup. "This is very good tisane."

"Would you like some more?"

"Lynne makes good tisane. You must meet her and try it sometime. Bring your friend." He blinked at Dumarest. "Do I know you?"

"We're old friends," said Dumarest. "And you're going to help me. Now think of the time when you were custodian. I'll bet you knew everything in the Archives. All the data on Earth-you would have to know. When they asked your advice you could give them a calculated report. Details as to the distance to be traveled and the direction. Things like that." He paused to let Gourvich grasp what he was saying. "Earth, Shiro. Think of Earth."

"One day," said Gourvich. "One day we'll find it and when we do we'll find all we could ever hope for. I'll be with Lynne again and Graham and Claude and Hilda. We'll reform the group. Maybe you could join. You and your lady-she makes good tisane."

"It happens," whispered Vera. "Earl, it happens!" Dumarest looked down at his hand, clenched now into a fist, the knuckles white with strain. He forced himself to ease the fingers, flexing them, conscious of the sweat on his face, the perspiration stinging his eyes. To be so close! So close! "Degeneration?"

She nodded then explained, "It happens when a person gets too old or has lived too long in dreams. For a while he seems to be rational, then physical stress causes a mental relapse. For him, now, this is just another fantasy. He doesn't know where he is or what you are saying. He might even believe that he's answered your question-if he ever had the answer at all. If it exists here in Zabul."

An entire culture dedicated to the finding of Earth-it was against all logic they had met with nothing but failure. But if they hadn't the entire answer then they must have clues. He could piece together fragments with his own, hard-won information, and that data could give him the coordinates.

"Think!" he said to the old man. "Think, damn you think! Talk to me of Earth. Earth, man! Earth!"

"Earl!"

"Be quiet, woman!" he heard the sharp intake of her breath and realized she thought he might strike the old man with something more solid than words. The fear was groundless but he expressed it as Gourvich stared blankly into his cup. "I won't hurt him. I'm just trying to guide the direction of his thoughts. To do that I must claim his attention. Have you more tisane? Good. Fill his cup. Touch him as you do it. Caress his hair, his cheek, his hand. Anything to make him aware of your presence." As she obeyed, steam rising from the cup, her fingers trailing over the bird-claw of his hand, Dumarest said, "Drink your tisane, Shiro. Lynne made it for you."

"Lynne?"

"She's here. Didn't you feel her touch you? She's waiting for you to tell us about Earth. The floating cities and towers of sparkling crystal. The pools of eternal youth and the mountains clothed in singing rainbows. The plains and seas and the Shining Ones. Far out, you said. Somewhere close to the Rim."

"Did I?"

"That's what you said. A place where the stars are few and the nights dark."

Gourvich shook his head. "Not when there's a moon."

"Of course. The moon. Silver, isn't it? Big. A fit companion for Earth. And you're going to take us there. Show us the way. It's a secret but you can tell Lynne. You love each other." Dumarest's voice became a pulsing susurration holding the hammering impact of a drum. "Tell, Lynne, Shiro. Tell her about Earth. Tell her. Tell her how to find Earth. Tell her. Tell her. Tell her, Shiro. Tell her."

On and on as Gourvich stared blankly into his cup. Dumarest falling silent as, abruptly, the old man lifted his head.

In a thin, cracked voice, his mouth twisted into a vacuous grin he chanted, "Thirty-two, forty, sixty-seven-that's the way to get to heaven. Seventy-nine, sixty, forty-three-are you following me? Forty-six, seventy, ninety-five-up good people, live and thrive!"

Madness?

The babblings of a deranged mind?

Dumarest reached forward and touched the old man's throat. The skin was flaccid, clammy beneath his touch, the pulse slow, turgid in its barely discoverable beat. The eyes were closed and spittle ran from the corner of the mouth tracing a glistening smear over the chin. Pushed too hard he had withdrawn into a catatonic safety.

"Is he dead, Earl?"

"No. In shock. I made him think of something he preferred to forget." Rising, Dumarest looked at the woman. "That chant-have you heard it before? Does it mean anything to you?"

"No." Vera frowned, thinking. "It sounded like a childish numbers game of some kind. I haven't heard it myself. Maybe if-"

She broke off as her face turned red. Her hair, her clothes, the entire interior of the Archives were dyed with a flood of scarlet light as the alarms tore the air with their demanding clangor.

CHAPTER FIVE

Medwin met Dumarest in the corridor, halting, snapping a salute. "An attack, Commander! Your orders?"

He was keen, eager for action, face glowing with a new vibrancy. His uniform, modified to Dumarest's suggestion, was neat, looking less like a fancy dress than an outfit intended for serious use. The helmet, crested, perforated over the ears, supported a transparent visor, now raised. The belt at his waist supported a yard-long club.

"Commander?"

Dumarest said, "At ease, Captain. Has the attack been verified?"

"As an attack, no," admitted the young man. "But objects have been spotted approaching Zabul."

Which meant Volodya had acted with unnecessary precipitation and Dumarest wondered as to his motive. Althea would have reported the resurrecting of the old custodian- had Volodya been afraid of what he might reveal? The man himself was beyond further questioning and would shortly be back in his casket there, most likely, to dream until he died.

Medwin, impatient, said, "What are your orders, Commander?"

"Place the entire Corps on full combat-alert. Have the trained units stand by for external operation. Once you have made your dispositions let me know. I shall be in Command."

These were orders Medwin wanted to hear. "Do you expect a fight, Commander?"

"I'd prefer to avoid one."

"But-"

"A soldier's job is to fight, is that it?" Dumarest saw the other's nod of agreement. "People get killed in battle," he reminded. "It could be you or me or a mutual friend. A good officer remembers that. The correct way to conduct a fight is to win it with the minimum amount of casualties and damage. Your men expect you to take good care of them and so do I."

"But, sir, what if we can't avoid a fight and can't avoid getting hurt?"

"Then you go in to win and to hell with the cost. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

Dumarest returned Medwin's snapped salute and watched him move at a run down the passage before making his way to Command. The flashing red glare and strident noise of the alarm had ended, leaving the passages and halls filled with men and women scurrying like ants blindly racing through a disturbed nest. A false impression; Urich Volodya had imposed a strict discipline of survival, backed by his guards. Two of them, stationed outside the chamber, stared at Dumarest but made no attempt to bar his entrance. Inside, the place hummed with controlled activity.