Why?

Opening his eyes, Okos stared up at the reflection in the mirrored ceiling. Lying on the bed he looked a corpse dressed in the scarlet of his robe, the shaven head framed by the cowl, gaunt, smooth, skull-like, only the deep-set eyes revealing life and intelligence. A man dedicated to an organization whose seal was blazoned on the breast of the garment he wore. A living, breathing, emotionless machine. One with the ability to take a handful of facts and from them extrapolate a whole. Of taking a situation and predicting the logical outcome of any course of action. Now, looking at his reflection, he assessed what he had just learned.

Some of the associated brains which formed central intelligence had shown signs of aberration.

Elge, the Cyber Prime, would never have released this information, and to Okos it was plain why. Once hint at the possibility of incipient madness and the one great reward every cyber worked to obtain, the assimilation of his brain at the end of his working life into the giant complex, would lose its appeal. And what could replace it?

For some, Okos among them, the work itself was enough-the striving to replace error with reasoned calculation, to eliminate the vagaries of emotional dictates with the cold logic of assessed benefit. To spread the domination of the Cyclan until it embraced every world in the known galaxy. An end desired by all who wore the scarlet robe, augmented by the conviction that, even after physical termination, the intelligence would live on in the brain which, removed from the body, would rest in a vat filled with nutrients, kept alive and aware by the magic of science, locked in series with the others which had gone before to become a part of the gestalt of central intelligence.

But, if some of the brains had gone insane?

Okos rose, touching the wide band of golden metal at his left wrist, ending the zone of silence which had added to the security of locked and guarded doors. A precaution against electronic spies while he had been in communication with the heart of the Cyclan. As he opened the door an acolyte bowed in respectful deference; a young man dedicated to serve his master, still in training, one who need never gain the coveted distinction Okos had achieved.

"Master?"

"Have Chan and Elcar check all ship movements and arrivals during the past two days. Send word to Corcyn for data on the Fenilman Project. Gather all agents reports and have them on my desk in an hour."

"All, master?" Ashir looked doubtful. "The mass of data is great and much must be valueless."

This attitude would keep him a acolyte and would cost him dear if maintained. No data was ever without value. Each small fact, trifling as it might appear, could provide the essential key to unlock a puzzle, provide the answer to an apparently insoluble problem,

"Obey." Okos did not raise his voice and the smooth modulation of his tone remained unaltered but the acolyte bowed and seemed to cringe a little. "Do any wait?"

"Two, master. The manager of the Vard Federation and Professor Pell of the Paraphysical Laboratory of the Higham University."

Men who wanted the services the Cyclan offered and Okos would see them both-there would be time while the data was assembled, and the business of the Cyclan never hesitated.

"Show in the manager. His name?"

"Mahill Shad."

He was round, plump, sweating a little and radiating anxiety. A typical product of a culture which thought that to consume was to progress. He came directly to the point.

"I am here on business, Cyber Okos, and it's possible you could help me. I will, naturally, pay for any advice you see fit to give."

"Is that all you want? Advice?"

"Well-" Shad hesitated, suddenly conscious of his crudity, suddenly aware of what the tall, calm man at the desk represented. Cybers were not hired as common workmen and not all could gain their services. To forget the power of their organization was to invite disaster in more ways than one. He tried again. "I've come to Ascelius to recruit graduates for our interests on Lemos; we have an extensive mining project there with associated developments in bacteriological culture farms. The problem is how many to hire for how long and in just what fields. Our computer has provided an analogue, of course, but-" The spread of his hands completed the sentence. A computer was only as good as the data it contained, the operators in charge, the programmers who made up the schedules. "A form of insurance," he ended. "A mistake could be costly in contract terms, voidances and compensation for work shifts."

"I understand." Okos knew more than the other guessed but said nothing. The mines on Lemos would run into trouble in a matter of months when the shafts hit a strata of geological instability. The bacteriological farms would be faced with competition from a new process already proved on a nearby planet. Men hired now would be a liability. "I will forward your request for the services of the Cyclan," he said smoothly. "If you are accepted and the fees can be agreed then the matter can be resolved."

"But-" Shad was impatient. "Can't you give me the answer now?"

"No. Leave details of how you can be contacted." Then, as the man still hesitated, Okos added, "Or am I to understand you are no longer interested?"

A hint taken as the veiled threat it was and Shad left, protesting his interest. Impatience would drive him to hire the men and time would ruin him. The Vard Federation, driven desperate, would beg the help of the Cyclan which would be provided at a price. The advice, followed, would be of value and a foothold would have been gained in the company and on its world. A foothold was all the Cyclan needed. Once established the organization would be in demand and in a matter of years would be the true power behind the fagade.

Professor Pell had a different problem.

"It's a matter of academic values," he said as he plumped into a chair. "The Higham University is in the process of reorganization and my department is regarded as of small value. I wondered if-that is-well…"

He was begging but connected to the scholastic establishment and of potential use.

Okos said, "The paraphysical sciences have recently gained an impetus from the discoveries of Doctor Ahmed Rafiq of the University of Zabouch. His report on a hundred sensitives tested under stringent laboratory conditions is a telling document. I could get you a copy."

"Would you?" Pell had succeeded beyond his wildest hopes. "If you could I would be grateful. If at any time I could serve you please ask." He left, protesting his gratitude, not guessing that he would be asked to pay and, having paid, would continue to do so.

The Cyclan always had a use for agents.

Alone Okos studied the data Ashir had provided. A mass of items which the cyber checked, valued, assessed, assimilated, fed into the computer which was his brain. Facts to build a pattern. Data to forge a trap for a man.

Dumarest had been on Elysius, that was a fact established beyond all doubt. He had left on the Mercador. The ship had touched on several worlds on a regular schedule-on which had Dumarest left it? To which had he gone?

Okos had narrowed the choice down to two, working on a basis of pure logic adapted to local conditions and associated factors. If Dumarest was aware that he was being hunted, and the probability of that was in the order of ninety-three percent, then his actions would be influenced by that knowledge. The region was one of poor worlds with limited economies among which a ship would need to work hard to earn a profit. For such ships the exodus of scholars from Podesta would provide a welcome source of revenue. And how better to hide than among a crowd?

On the other hand, guessing that he was being searched for, knowing the power of the Cyclan he could have made for Quen there to wait for the hunting season to open and the tourists to arrive with the increase in shipping such trade would entail.