Thirg gave a quick nod. "Groork. Yes. He came to join me in Carthogia."

Elmon laid a hand on Thirg's arm. "Groork is back in Perga.s.sos now, Thirg, even as we speak, and in grave danger."

Thirg jerked around, knocking a dish off the table in his astonishment. "Here?" he blurted out aloud at the same time that the clash rang around the room. Everybody nearby turned and looked. He lowered his voice again. "Groork, here? It's not possible. Somebody is surely mistaken."

Elmon shook his head. "I saw him myself not an hour ago, two streets from here. He is drawing attention with inquiries concerning priests that he says travel to Carthogia to a.s.sist the Lumians inunknown arts. But there are agents everywhere who still spy for Frennelech. Indeed, a rumor is abroad that both he and Eskenderom are secretly back in the city."

Thirg planted both palms on the table and looked from Elmon to Brongyd, bracing himself to rise and leave right then. "These are not matters that command Groork's better judgment. He is at risk. We must go to him."

At that moment Mordran came back. " 'Allo, who's this, then?" he inquired, eyeing Elmon up and down questioningly. Thirg drew him close into the s.p.a.ce beneath the stairs and briefly explained the situation. Mordran looked at Elmon and nodded. "Go an' get 'is brother in off t' street before 'e gets 'isself done in or arrested," he said. "I've got ter wait fer a chap who's comin' back in 'alf an hour to talk about 'orses. So I'll see yers back 'ere then."

"Shall I come with you?" Brongyd asked Thirg. Thirg nodded.

Elmon stood up. "I'll take you to Groork," he said.

35.

"Sorry, n.o.body here right now. Leave message after beep."

Groork called frantically with his inner voice, but still the Lumians didn't answer. The leader of the group that had trailed him from the marketplace and accosted him in a narrow alley on the edge of the Thieves' Quarter, an ugly-faced rob in a shabby cloak of rusted platelets, pushed him back against the wall while the others closed around him.

"Wot we want to know, Mr. Inquisitive, is why yer goes pokin' yer nose into other folks' business, arstin' peculiar question abaht 'is Majesty an' the priests all the time."

"Sounds like a spy for somebody," another voice said from behind.

"Spy. He's a spy," others repeated.

"Yes, look at them clothes," a woman shouted, pointing. "Not from around here, he's not."

"There are many from other parts come into the city of late," Groork protested desperately.

The large rob in the rusted cloak moved a step nearer and fingered the clasp of the bag hanging from Groork's shoulder. He smiled evilly, and his voice took on a deceptively soft note. "Oh, yes, there's many in Perga.s.sos from all over, on all kinds o' business, true enough. But I'd say that this little item 'ere looks like a piece ofCarthogian workmanship."

"Didj'ear that? 'E's a Carthogian!"

"A spy for Kleippur!"

The rob went on. "And right now Carthogia isn't a very popular word arahnd 'ere. In fact, a lot o'

people are sayin' that it's Carthogia and their Lumian friends who are behind all these troubles we've got everywhere." He pulled out a carbide-tipped stiletto and pressed the point against the slide joints below Groork's chin. "Now,you wouldn't 'appen to 'ave any Lumian friends, would yer?" he whispered menacingly into Groork's face.

"Go on, stick 'im! Don't muck abaht!" someone called out.

Groork's thermal patterns fluctuated wildly. He shook his head. "Me? No. I've never seen a Lumian. I found the bag washed up by the river."

"Oh, fahnd it, did yer? Well, let's just 'ave a look inside, out of curiosity."

Just then another voice rang out. "That's enough of that. Leave him be. We'll take care of it now."

The crowd turned to find three figures approaching from the end of the alley. Although dressed in rough farmer's garb, the speaker was striding forward confidently. Another, similarly clad, was close behind him. The third, lean in build and looking as if he hailed from the town, followed more warily a short distance back.

The mob around Groork parted to make way. Rusted Cloak stood his ground but wavered. " 'Oo are you?" he demanded uncertainly."Officers of the state. This person is an enemy who has been under observation for some time. We are taking him in officially. Unhand him."

Groork could only stare speechlessly, which was probably just as well. The speaker was none other than his lost brother, Thirg, who had disappeared into Kroaxia some ten brights earlier.

Rusted Cloak was not overly impressed. "Officers of the state, eh? Well, I don't see that there's much to choose between this state that your Nogarech 'as landed us wiv and Carthogia. A pox of oxidation on both, I sez. We wants no officers of Nogarech 'ere. On yer way. We'll take care o' this un an' make proper sure 'e gets wot's comin' to 'im."

Groork despaired, convinced that all was over for him. But Thirg moved a step closer to the rob in the cloak and nudged him meaningfully with an elbow. "Not Nogarech," he muttered. "Have you not heard that Eskenderom and Frennelech are secretly returned to the city? We come as servants of the realm that shall soon be restored."

"Thou art their agents?"

Thirg nodded. "And our mission is crucial. Now hand over the Carthogian spy. Thy work will be generously remembered."

The rob bowed, making a supplicatory gesture. "Please, sirs, it is our honor. No payment is necessary. Our pleasure is to serve the king and the holiness."

The crowd moved aside, awed. "May the Lifemaker preserve 'em," somebody intoned.

Groork looked from one rescuer to the other in bewilderment as they hustled him away between them. His brother, gone for ten brights, now a disguised agent for Eskenderom? It made no sense.

"Thirg, I don't understand. What-"

"Shut up, you fool," Thirg hissed, keeping a tight grasp on his arm, while Brongyd steered the other and Elmon hurried ahead of them, anxious to get away. "You don't know me. Just walk."

It all went fine until they got to the end of the alley. But as they came out onto the square, a carriage that had been approaching at a fast pace lurched to a halt in front of them. Robs m.u.f.fled in dark cloaks with hoods or wide hats enveloping their faces leapt out, producing swords and daggers, and surrounded them. Another who was with them pointed to Groork. "That's the one. He's the heretic who came back, calling himself Enlightener."

" 'E is!" one of the mob exclaimed as they came up behind. "The Enlightener. I knew I'd seen that face!" Groork was seized and bundled toward the open door of the carriage.

"Then 'oo be you gents?" Rusted Cloak demanded, stepping forward to rea.s.sert himself after his lapse. Conscious, however, that the newcomers obviously meant business and weren't likely to be interested in his opinions, he added deferentially, "If I might be so bold."

The one who appeared to be in charge looked at him for a second as if deliberating whether to bother replying or run him through. Then he reached inside his cloak and produced a badge of office bearing the archprelate's seal. "There's no harm in your knowing," he murmured. "The High Holiness will be back in his palace by the next bright."

Rusted Cloak frowned and pointed a puzzled finger at Thirg. "But 'e said that 'ewas workin' for Frennelech.They just took that Enlightener away fromus. So wot's a-goin' on arahnd 'ere, then, eh?"

The one in charge of the high priest's henchmen looked at Thirg and Brongyd. He had no intention of conducting a public interrogation in the market square before a pack of imbeciles. "Seize both of them," he ordered.

Rusted Cloak looked from side to side. "There was three of 'em," he said. But Elmon had prudently vanished.

Bystanders were starting to approach curiously from around the square. "Make haste with these two. Never mind the other," the leader told his robs impatiently.

Minutes later the carriage clattered into the courtyard at the rear of the friary adjoining the former Palace of the High Holy One, and the heavy steel gates swung shut behind it.

* * *Thirg and Brongyd were taken straight up to a room where Eskenderom and Frennelech were waiting with several of their aides. So the rumors of their being back in the city were true. Evidently the move to overthrow Nogarech was not far off.

After establishing who Thirg and Brongyd were and questioning them on their reasons for being in Perga.s.sos, the chief counselor, Mormorel, asked them the true intentions of the Lumians. "I would not advise attempts at deviousness," he warned. "We have artisans well skilled in methods of persuasion."

"If your wish is but to hear that which you have already decided, then it would be a simpler matter to merely advise me of it, and I will gladly comply," Thirg replied. "It cannot affect the truth for which you have no ear."

"Of course we want the truth," Mormorel retorted impatiently.

Thirg nodded his head toward the high priest and the king. "The truth is that I shall remain free however heavily you weigh this body with irons and chains, while both these eminences stand captives of their own delusions," he told Mormorel. "For whatever words this mouth may be induced to say, who can force me to believe that which I choose not to? No person can. Their treasures, lying buried and useless in guarded vaults, produce only anguish for fear of their loss. But can anyone steal the knowledge that is wealth to me, that I share openly with any yet am not a jot the poorer for parting with? It is impossible.

"There are those Lumians who, like thee, measure their worth by their possessions and can prosper only by the coerced labor of others. And there are Lumians like I, who would see all of Robia follow Carthogia into freedom. And there the matter rests. The former seek only the expedience of Kroaxia's tyranny reinstated; the private jealousies of robeings are of no concern to them. They contrive no plot with king or priest, for what care they which Lifemaker's servant shall trample his brother? Whereas the latter would exalt or persecute neither one nor the other, any the more or the less than they would any other robeing. Now call thy inquisitors if thou wilt. There is nothing more that can be added."

Eskenderom was radiating purple. "What manner of impudence impels such to speak thus of a monarch! To the acid vats with them!" he raged.

But a thoughtful gleam had come into Frennelech's imagers. He raised a cautioning hand. "Perhaps a little less haste," he suggested. "Methinks the Lifemaker has consigned these three into our hands for a purpose. Behold, we have the Enlightener who was harbinger of our previous misfortune; his brother, who from Carthogia has contributed to our tribulations since; and, to boot, another of these accursed inquirers who subverts even within the borders of thy realm. Surely it is a sign that the time has come.

We will have our vengeance, yes. But not confined in private dungeons. Let it be a public spectacle that will unite Kroaxia and mark the moment that begins the triumph of our reascendance!"

Mormorel took up the theme. "Yes! A sign to the nation that the Lifemaker has delivered to thee thine enemies. Consign them to the reduction furnaces. Then shall the people see the Enlightener's false faith perish in the same ignominy as their Enlightener."

Eskenderom looked at them, remembering the chaos that the last attempt to execute the Enlightener had precipitated. "Do it now, then, and let's get rid of them without delay," he ordered.

"Before any miracle workers from the sky can intervene this time."

Thirg stood straight, bracing himself steadfastly. Brongyd, standing beside him, was doing his best not to rattle audibly. Groork's knees were almost buckling. There was only one hope now. He sent out once again the signal to alert the listening Lumian ears. And received once again: "SORRY, n.o.bODY HERE RIGHT NOW . . .".

36.

The candelabra-shaped building branching upward into slender, bright-colored turrets didn't really exist, of course. But with their improving skills at manipulating their environment of code configurations and data structures, the Borijans could render it as anything they liked. It was something familiar in aworld where nothing else was, bringing a flavor of home.

Sarvik One arrived on a synchronous transmission channel that projected him straight into the conference room, which was already crowded. The way the Borijans appeared to each other now bore more resemblance to the originals they remembered, but that was only a partial help to identification, since there were multiple copies of each of them. Worse, the copies had by now learned how to copy themselves, so there were more copies than ever. They had begun to use unique combinations of clothing color to differentiate themselves.

After getting off to a fine start, work on constructing factories at the original sites selected had bogged down and then come to a halt as more Borijans got in on the act and every decision arrived at by one group was overturned by dissent and counterproposals from others. One faction didn't like the main location because it was too close to centers of Terran activity and therefore p.r.o.ne to interference.

Some didn't consider the area's power resources sufficient for projected expansion; others objected to the distances that some of the raw materials would need to be brought in from. In the end, it was abandoned and two alternative areas were chosen for development instead, both remote from Taloid populations and situated on opposite sides of t.i.tan. But Sarvik One didn't think that this project would fare any better than the first.

"I say the Mark 3 body will lead to a dead end," Kalazin Four told the a.s.sembly. "You need active power distribution at least two levels farther down. It throws away the whole point of the design concept."

"But it complicates production, which will delay start-up," Indrigon Six said for the fifth time. "Why wait now for benefits that won't come until the next phase, anyway? I say we should go with Mark 5."

Now they had a dozen different teams of Robocon specialists all unable to agree which design of body to settle on, and of course all the other Borijans had ideas of their own to stir into the confusion.

"I agree with Kalazin Four," Alifrenz Eight declared. "That was how we conceived it on Turle."

"Things have changed a bit since Turle-or haven't you noticed?" Dorn Nine said sarcastically.

"Getting out of here and into some real bodies on the surface has to be the main priority," Dorn Five agreed. The Dorns tended to side with the Indrigons, Sarvik One had noticed.

"So what's wrong with Mark 7?" Kalazin Six demanded. "One-level extension added modularly. A compromise. Should keep you all happy."

"What's the point of worrying about it at this stage when we still don't have the plan for the factory finished?" Greel Two asked.

"I thought itwas finished," someone else responded. "Indrigon told us it was."

"No, I didn't," a chorus of Indrigons protested.

"Which Indrigon?" Gulaw Ten asked.

"How do I know?"

"It was the one who produced the layout proposal with Sarvik Four."

"That was Sarvik Five," Sarvik Four told them.

"That report is having to be revised," Sarvik Five said, looking pointedly at Sarvik Seven. "My ill.u.s.trious alter ego ran an error in the simulation."

"Are you suggesting thatyou couldn't make the same mistake?" Sarvik Seven said, and cackled.

"It would have been ready now if we'd had the allocation figures," Leradil Jindriss Three said. She always defended Sarvik Five.

"Anyone can make an error," Leradil Jindriss One retorted. "It would have been different if whoever was supposed to have checked it had done so." This Leradil always sided with Sarvik Seven.

The two pairs of Sarviks and Leradils glared at each other.

The problem was that Borijans weren't used to working like this, Sarvik One told himself. Because Turle was long gone and their new circ.u.mstances seemed suited to a changed way of doing things, they were all trying to cooperate as one group and be open with everybody. But none of them knew how. Itjust wasn't the Borijan style. Borijans did better conspiring in smaller numbers, where intrigue provided stimulus and the need for secrecy conserved energies and attention.

So Sarvik One went through the motions of partic.i.p.ating in the proceedings for another hour without anybody's getting an inch closer to achieving anything, which was all as he had expected. When it was over, he returned to the private sanctuary that only he and his handful of chosen collaborators knew about. They called it Pygal, after the Turlean city of long ago. In fact, it formed an enlarged version of the a.s.sembly complex that Sarvik One had first found himself occupying out on the surface in the region the Terrans called Padua. It was situated away from the settled areas and the prying eyes of inquisitive natives, yet was in a densely mechanized region, obscuring the Borijan activity from Terran surveillance.

The progress of the small team concentrated there was very different from the circus he had just come from. Kalazin Seven, working just with Meyad Three, Creesh Eleven, and Leradil One, had come up with a body design that had gained acceptance fairly easily without other Kalazins, Meyads, Creeshes, and Leradils to complicate the issue. The factory was laid out, in the process of being equipped, and almost ready to start making parts.

There was the problem, though, Sarvik One had ascertained, of Alifrenz Ten and Greel Four communicating secretly with other enumerations of their kind elsewhere. He was pretty certain that they were dealing to trade Pygal's body design for some advantage in return, but he hadn't managed to figure out yet exactly what. He wasn't too worried, though, because to protect himself he had worked out a deal with Queezt Five that Alifrenz and Greel didn't know about whereby the Sarvik and Queezt bodies would have enhanced neural abilities, and so they would be able to better any offers based on the standard design, anyway.

Unless, of course, the redesigned outer brain Sarvik Fourteen had surrept.i.tiously approached him with from the group working up north somewhere turned out to be better, in which case he'd be able to pull one over on Queezt-maybe.

A cuboid with a face materialized in the virtual s.p.a.ce of his contemplations. "Getting used to life in the real world yet?" GENIUS asked. "A lot better than having to heave all that dead ma.s.s around against gravity and friction to do anything, eh?"

"Hmph.Doing anything is where your world leaves off," Sarvik retorted. "What do you want?"

For some time GENIUS had been mapping t.i.tan's web of intertangled networks. By tracing the routings and constructing logic tables, it was trying to make sense of what the signals flying this way and that way through cables and optical fibers meant and what operations they seemed to correlate with.

Unraveling t.i.tan's labyrinth was necessarily the first step toward controlling it.

"I've made a discovery," GENIUS said. "There are radio sources operating out there. They're weak and scattered but potentially functional-probably relics left over from the early days. But it seems that some of the Taloids still have a sensitivity to it. It could give a basis for a way of communicating with them."

"Interesting," Sarvik agreed. "That could be useful later. How's the rest of it doing meanwhile?"