"Chess," he said as the scarlet robe of the cyber came near. "A game which should suit you. A matter of sheer prediction. Your color?"
Ardoch yielded the opening and, within six moves, knew how the game would end. Tomir lacked subtlety, seeking to crush and weaken rather than concentrating on the finer nuances of the play. A betrayal of a desire to destroy than merely to conquer yet never would he be able to admit to it as a weakness. A barbarian who would have been in his element leading a blood-crazed horde.
"You've beaten me!" He glared at the board. "In two moves-how do you do it?"
"A knack, my lord."
"As you warned me of the night attack? Was that another knack?" Tomir smiled and shook his head. "Of course not. You are trained to look ahead and to make the future plain. What was the prediction again? There would be an attack and the probability was in the order of eighty-one percent it would come when it did. And," he frowned, "what was the other?"
"The prediction that the attack would be made was ninety-one percent, my lord. The time was a greater variable."
"And the uncertainty was high." Tomir laughed with a harsh, barking sound. "I remember you saying that. High! But then you are never satisfied. Always you search for absolute certainty."
A mistake, no cyber would waste time reaching for the logically unattainable. Nothing was or could be wholly certain, always the unknown factor had to be taken into account remote as it might be. As the corroded wire in the generator of the ship which had carried him from Fralde and which, breaking, had caused delay. An incident which had led him to offer his services to the young conquerer who had snatched at the opportunity.
All that remained now was to capture Dumarest.
"Another game?" Tomir set up the pieces. "Let us look at this board as the field. Now, my troops are here and here. The enemy is there-a rabble hiding in a fortress. I can destroy it with missiles but will that win me the game?"
"The threat of destruction is effective only while it remains a threat, my lord."
"As is the threat of death. But what is the real objective? To conquer? To have the rulers of this world acknowledge me as supreme? Yes, I think so. Now how best to achieve that aim?" He paused as if expecting a reply. "You remain silent, aren't our interests the same?"
"My lord, in return for my help you promised me the man Dumarest."
"He's yours."
"Unharmed."
"How can I promise that? He insists on defying me. If he continues-what is the prediction that the Council will turn against me?"
"Ninety-six percent, my lord."
"So high?" Tomir frowned. "By my bribes and promises-surely they will continue to hold them back?"
For a fool the man had been clever but he had failed to look far enough ahead. Patiently the cyber explained.
"They were united in a common dislike of Dumarest as a stranger who threatened the status quo. That is why they were so eager to accept your claims. Dumarest was willing to sell and, had you been patient, there would have been no war."
"Why should I pay for what is mine?"
"You were not asked to pay but, had you been wise, you would have backed a loan."
"I didn't."
"And so the conflict. Dumarest knew you would attack but was confident he would receive support. He has been patient but that will not last. He will force the Council to give their support."
Tomir laughed. "How? What can he do?"
"He could, for example, dress his men in captured clothing and send them, armed and armored as mercenaries, to burn and pillage. You will get the blame."
"And they will give him-what? Raw retainers and a few inferior weapons." Tomir stared at the board and moved a piece. It landed with a small clicking sound. "Would he really do that?"
"Yes. The prediction-"
"Is high. I know. When? Soon?" Tomir moved another piece, as the cyber nodded. "Even untrained men can be a nuisance," he murmured. "Guards must be maintained and the effective fighting strength diminished. And they could even hire an opposing force. Then we would really have a war."
Together with the waste and misapplication of resources which it would bring. A matter of small concern to the cyber but Dumarest would be involved and how to safeguard a man in the midst of a war?
"My lord, it would be unwise to permit the escalation of this conflict. The expense would be prohibitive and your reputation would suffer."
He was a commander who had failed to win a minor battle against servants armed with primitive weapons when armed with modern equipment and served by trained soldiers. The cyber was right; unless he won and soon his hoped for career as a leader was ended.
Thinking he set up the pieces on the board. How to win? How to force a surrender? There had to be a way and playing the game with its symbolic figures would help him to find it.
"It's your move, Cyber."
"No, my lord, yours."
And, unless he moved correctly, his life would be over.
Chapter Twelve
"My lord, my lady!" The entrepreneur bowed. He was a small, smoothly rounded man with cool eyes and an ingratiating smile. A man of many interests who now dealt in the things of war. "Flame bombs of a new pattern which can be thrown or fired from a light-weight projector. Variable time-set fuses or impact detonation. The radius of effective destruction is thirty feet. The granules are adhesive and will burn through medium body-armor within five seconds. Secondary characteristics are metabolic breakdown of tissue together with the introduction of a nerve-poison. Truly a most effective weapon."
"No!" Lavinia shook her head. "To use such a thing against men!"
"A screaming mob can be a terrifying thing, my lady. And an opposing force, when faced with such devices, quickly lose their taste for combat. Am I not correct, my lord?" He waited a moment then, as Dumarest made no answer, delved again into the case his assistant had lifted on the table. "Miniature mines which can be dropped from a raft or sown from any moving transport. Each is the color of the terrain and will adjust by the action of photosensitive elements to acquire the exact shade on the place in which it lands. You see?"
He held out his hand and, as they watched, the egg-sized object he held took on the color of his palm.
"They can be adjusted for proximity detonation or impact; time-lapse or sonic sensitivity. They can remove the feet and legs up to the knees for an effective range of twenty feet. I can supply ten thousand of them packed in crates of two score dozen for a most reasonable price."
"Delivery?"
"Within a month, my lord." The man beamed at the prospect of a sale. With luck he would be back in town well before dark. "Payment in advance, of course."
Dumarest looked at the case. "Have you anything else?"
A new model laser, a sleeve gun, some mortar shells, a gas, liquids which were light sensitive and would burst into flame when exposed to the suns. Kars Oartok grunted as the man lifted an eyepiece together with its attendant wires and pack.
"Don't waste time showing us that. No one has any use for light intensifiers on Zakym."
"No?" The man shrugged and Dumarest watched the flicker of his eyes.
"A moment." He held out his hand. "I'd like to see that."