Vargas was thoughtful. "Would you say he was unique?"
"I would."
"Isn't it possible to get him to volunteer information?"
"No, sire, not under the present conditions. Lying is a form of preservation, and he will lie if given the chance. As it is his monosyllabic answers are a form of protection. He will answer each question truthfully but will volunteer no truth. Our job is to make certain that we ask the right questions. I'm afraid that it will take some time."
* * *
A weak sun had thawed the snow turning the slush into water and filling the air with a damp chill. Huddled in her furs Mada stepped from the cab, dismissed the driver and stood looking down the street as it drove away.
It was an uninviting place. A quick-teach palace blazed with light and the promise to quick-feed education by means of the latest techniques. A store displayed shoddy goods from the occupied worlds together with an invitation to step inside and learn about the wonderful new settlement offers now available. A toyshop offered the latest in educational pastimes. A child, crying, was dragged from the window by its harassed mother.
"I keep telling you we can't afford it," she scolded. "With your father in the army it's all I can afford to put food on the table. Now shut up before I give you something to howl about!"
A man called softly from where he leaned against a wall. "Help a man with a limited wife, lady? She can't do better than the fourth level."
Another approached, limping. "Spare a few coins for study, madam? One more degree and I'll be able to get my leg fixed."
Mada glared her dislike. "How did you get hurt?"
"In ambush on Hardish, madam. A bunch of us got jumped by some locals one night."
"You're lying. If you were in the army you can get free medical attention."
He shrugged, unabashed. "Sure, but you know how it is. A man likes to get the best that's going."
Dirt, she thought as she pushed past him. Scum. The dregs of Technos and a disgrace to the planet. Why didn't they get themselves some education and find decent jobs?
The irritation was misplaced; she had more important things to do than worry about beggars and slums. With quick strides she walked down the street into a place selling educational tapes and out of a rear door. A narrow alley opened on a wide boulevard. Two hundred yards along a soaring sheet of glass and metal protected a display of gold and jewels. A uniformed attendant glanced at her, at the bulky bag she carried, then stepped forward to open the door. Inside, a wave of scented air warmed away her chill.
"Madam?" A man, sleek and well groomed, rose at her side.
"I wish to sell some items."
"Certainly, madam." He led the way toward an inner door. "If you will be so good as to wait inside?"
The buyer was a plump man with a pink scalp and veiled eyes. He looked at the contents of the bag, resting his fingers on scaled miniatures, an elaborate clock, a set of chessmen carved from solid crystal, two statuettes, a handful of cameos, some filigree work of silver and gold, a fragment of tapestry, a meditation light of skilled workmanship and historical interest.
Quietly he said, "You will pardon the question, madam, but can you give me proof that these things are yours to dispose of?"
For answer she held out her left wrist. Gravely he studied the engraving on the bracelet.
"My apologies, madam, but you can appreciate our concern. There has been a great deal of theft in the city recently."
"I understand. Can you accommodate me?"
"Certainly, madam. If you will permit me to make a closer study of these items?"
She nodded, relaxing as he produced a jeweler's glass and fitted it to his eye. Her precautions, though simple, should have been good enough. She had used three different vehicles and had walked the last few yards. Had anyone been following her, he must have lost the trail.
Removing his glass the buyer said, "You have excellent taste, madam. These items are truly works of art."
"You will take them?"
"Naturally." He mentioned a price. "It is not as high as you may have expected but the market is slow and the cost of storage high. If you would prefer us to sell them on commission you would probably get more but it would take time."
"I accept your valuation. Can you give it to me now?"
"Of course, madam. I will arrange for a check immediately."
"Not a check, jewels. Small stones easily negotiable. I will shortly be traveling to various primitive worlds," she explained. "I want something I can use to purchase local products."
He was too polite to display surprise. "In that case I suggest unmounted gems. The tax is lower and they should meet your requirements."
For travel, for bribes, for escape. She still retained enough influence in the palace to be able to get information. Dumarest had been captured and was being questioned. Vargas would not be gentle and would learn everything he knew.
And she had asked him to assassinate the Technarch!
If nothing else, his testimony would damn her. Without support she wouldn't stand a chance. Even with it the crime was enough to send her to trial as an enemy of the state.
Her only hope lay in flight.
Chapter Eleven
DUMAREST WOKE to the sting of minor irritation, hearing the click of metal on glass, the regular breathing of a person very close. Opening his eyes he stared at a white ceiling barred with stripes of shadow. His mouth was dry and he had a throbbing ache behind his temples. Trying to rise, he felt the pressure of a hand on his bare shoulder.
"Be still," warned a voice. It was female and vaguely familiar. "I haven't finished yet."
"What are you doing?"
"Taking a series of samples. Your sweat, blood, lymph, spinal and seminal fluids-there are exactly fifty-eight of them. Do you want me to list them all?"
"No."
"You had a set taken when you were carried from the questioning. Now I'm taking another." Dumarest felt a slight prick at the lobe of his ear. "You've had slow-time therapy giving you the equivalent of thirty hours of sleep. How do you feel?"
"I'm thirsty and I've a headache."
"It's probably a hangover from visual strain. I'll give you something for it in a minute."
Instruments made small noises and Dumarest heard the sharp hiss of a hypogun as it blasted drugs through his skin and into his bloodstream. The pounding ache eased a little though the thirst remained.
"Can I get up now?"
"You'd do better to rest." He heard the rattle of movement as if vials were being shaken in a holder. "You recovered sooner than I expected. You must have strong powers of recuperation."
Quietly he said, "Yes, Elaine. I have."
He heard the soft intake of breath and sat upright, turning to look at the woman where she sat beside a medical trolley beyond the head of the bed. Elaine Delmayer was dressed all in white, the rich olive of her skin accentuated by the sterile fabric, the warm tones deepened by lack of contrast.
"Coincidence," she said calmly. "Well, it happens."
Dumarest rose. He was in a cube seven feet square, one wall completely barred. The cell contained the bed, a toilet and washbasin. He crossed over to it, turned on the tap, drank from the running faucet and then laved his face and neck. He was completely naked, droplets of water gleaming like pearls on the hard whiteness of his skin.
Turning, he looked at the woman. "Why?"
"Why did I drug you?"
"We can start with that, yes."