Pressure on Helm, awake but slow to respond. More on Chargel to strengthen the distraction and then to make a direct attack on poor, bruised Prador who would yield and so make way for the flank attack.

A neat, well-contrived, well-considered plan no matter what Zao might think. A demonstration of the skill which had gained him the position he held. Further proof that he deserved the title and retained the power to hold on to it. The Maximus now and the Maximus for always-or for as long as he should live.

A sobering thought and he banished it-there was no time for anything other than total concentration once an attack had been launched. Yet it crept back with its insidious promptings, with wakened fears and aching regrets. How to retain his awareness? His individuality? How to stave off the inevitable?

How to remain alive?

No-how to extend the life he had?

Lights danced on the display before him, a flickering kaleidoscope which reported every aspect of the changing situation. One which, as yet, followed the pattern he had predicted and, again, he felt a resurgence of confidence. Could the cyber have done better? Could the entire Cyclan? A man could do no more than win and, doing that, he showed he was as good as anything they could provide. Demonstrated, too, that he needed nothing he did not already possess.

Thoughts broken as new lights flashed; Lobel joining the fray and eager for gain. Attacking Ashen who, in turn, allowed Reed to gain an advantage. Skirmishing which did not affect the main issue and there was cause for amusement in their snapping like hungry dogs at the edges of a feast. Scavengers eager to gain by another's efforts but, should they transgress, their punishment would be swift.

The hum of the phone and Arment's face on the screen.

"An exchange, Maximus? Sector E 17 for L 98?"

An interruption, which he could have done without but such were part of the struggle. Swiftly he calculated the display; the exchange would do him no harm and, while giving Arment a slight advantage it would be against Traske.

"A hundredth?"

"Agreed."

One percent of the holding's registered worth now added to Kalova's assets. An easy gain and proof that the sector must be more valuable to Arment than was readily apparent. A move in some elaborate plan of his own? A diversion? A shift of attack or, odd though it seemed, a retreat? Facts he should consider but the lights were dancing too fast, the various moves too complicated for him to waste time on wild speculation.

The phone again and Zao's image.

"My lord, if you require my services I am available."

Waiting in his room, watching the lights, resenting Kalova's skill. But, not; resentment was an emotion the cyber could not feel-yet surely the man must have a remnant of pride?

"My lord?"

"I don't need you. But remain available-that is what you are paid for."

An insult but one Kalova felt he could afford. The cyber, despite his talent, the strength of the association he represented, was basically a servant. On Sacaweena the Maximus was almost a king.

Did the king have to die?

A lull in the action and time for his drug-stimulated brain to turn back to the nagging problem. Life could be extended; on various worlds techniques had been developed to replace worn tissue with fresh. New parts, grafts, organs, implants; weapons in the battle against encroaching years. And, on Pane so he had heard, a brain could be transplanted into a new body-for a price.

One he would pay even if it was the value of a world.

The phone and Helm's face, strained, dewed with sweat.

"Maximus! Sectors T 35 and F 82-your offer?"

"Not interested." Kalova paused, mind racing. "I'll pay twenty percent over the price for sector D 32."

"Twenty-five?"

"Done!"

A pause then Vanderburg, followed by Myra Lancing, Barracola, Judd, Cran-the faces began to blur as did their offers. Fish drawn into his net as he had anticipated, holders frightened at the threat they saw brewing, wanting to erect barriers, make safeguards against a probable turn of events. But his main opponent remained silent-was Fiona Velen still asleep?

Dumarest said, "Wait!"

"But-"

"Wait!" He looked at the dancing lights, the shifts and blurs of changing fortunes; details of exchanges, sales, auctions, the flow of assets, gains and losses due to revised valuations, the status of holders, their holdings and revenues. "Just wait!"

The signals were too complex for him to follow; data received and relayed by the computer, the bank which alone made such fast trading possible. The flickers alone were enough to tire the eyes, to induce a near-hypnotic state in which judgment could be distorted and action delayed. Factors which had to be taken into account as did so many others. Seated before the panel, stilled by his command, Fiona chafed and was the victim of surging fears.

Wait-but what if she waited too long? How to sit and do nothing while under attack? To watch as situations changed to develop into others, to ignore opportunities and incipient threats. To obey the harsh voice of a man who could know nothing of the complexities involved. "Earl! I-"

"Wait!" He softened his tone. "I'll admit you are more expert than I, but even so things follow a regular pattern. In the arena it pays to take time to assess the opposition. To study the opponent in order to plan your own defense, your own attack. To hurry without decisive action is to ask for disaster." Pausing he added, "And you gain simply because others expect you to act. Your lack of response can upset their own plans."

Good advice-but this was not an arena with men facing each other with naked blades. Fighters held in a ring and surrounded by watching faces. And yet was it so different? The pain and death would be metaphorical but the tension was the same. The hurt. The disgrace. The sweet taste of success, the sour bile of failure. But to go against the conditioning of a lifetime was hard; every instinct urged her to take an active part in what was happening.

"Here!" Vardoon had made tisane and she took the steaming cup as he offered it. As it left his hand their eyes met and she saw a common understanding, a mutual sympathy. "Drink this," he urged. "And relax. Earl knows what he's doing."

She wished she could share his conviction. Already she had yielded too much; to bathe and dress and come fully awake before answering the alarm. To resist the initial impulse to buy and sell and share in the trading. To wait in a room lined with mirrors which caught the glow of flashing lights and splintered them into dancing rainbows.

Watching, Dumarest admired her calm even as he noted her mounting tension, which he could understand. To fight was one thing and that held basic similarity but the game she played was not that simple. Simulated war fought on a planetary board with three thousand counters of constantly shifting values against a hundred and forty-six opponents.

No wonder she could win at chess!

Vardoon joined him, handed him tisane. The steam held a pungent perfume, the flavor was that of honey and spice. A fluid which yielded a comfort and a mild stimulation.

"She's like a ship on the field with engines running and the drive ready to go." Vardoon looked at the woman's reflected likeness. "She won't wait much longer, Earl."

Dumarest said, "Read me the board."

"Kalova's buying holdings and pressuring others into forced auctions. That means a shift in assets and he's using others' weaknesses to his advantage. Against him are strong blocks; Arment, Chargel and Helm have the largest holdings. But if he's after Fiona why the hell doesn't he make a direct attack?"

"Change the situation-would you?"

"A fort on a hill," mused Vardoon. "I want it but if I concentrate all my forces I leave myself open to attack from flanks and rear. It's strong so it will take time to wear down and, if it costs me too much, I'll be liable to injury from those waiting to pounce. I see what you're getting at."