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( Dumarest of Terra - 29 ) E. C. Tubb

Chapter One

Once, the place had been bright with the froth of make-believe; domes, minarets, spires, towers, soaring arches and sweeping promenades all blazing with variegated colors-a skillful illusion created with paint and plastic, lying like a jewel in the cup of rounded hills. The circus of Chen Wei was gone now, leaving only an expanse of torn and barren ground, a scatter of debris, the crusted surface of a fetid lagoon.

A monument to emotional waste, which Avro pondered as his raft circled the area. How many work-hours had been poured into its construction, operation and maintenance? How many more had been squandered by those visiting the circus for the sake of transient thrills? Time, effort, resources, skills all dissipated to the wind. Leaving nothing but a raw devastation. Time would heal the wound and soon the hills would seem as if they had never been touched. More waste. Under correct guidance things of lasting worth could have been constructed for the benefit of humanity. Testimonials to the efficiency of the Cyclan.

Instead the place was evidence as to its failure.

"Master?" The acolyte was deferential, the title more than an acknowledgment of Avro's superiority. "Would you care to go lower?"

"No. " Avro had seen enough. "When did they leave?"

"Five days ago. " Cardor added, "A week after the accident. "

When Tron had died, and Valaban, and most important of all, Dumarest. Avro looked again at the place where it had happened, assessing, extrapolating, knowing the mental bitterness of defeat. Too late. He had arrived too late. A matter of days and his search would have been over, his mission accomplished.

The cyber leaned back as the raft headed toward town. High above, a winged shape glided, others wheeling close. Small birds feeding on airborne seeds, mindless creatures operating on a plane of sheer instinct but, for a moment, he envied them. Remembering the freedom of the skies, the rush of wind, the thrum of pinions, the surging impact of alien emotions. Then he had known hate and fear and anger and, yes, even concern. He had known the burning flame of passion and, at the end, he had experienced death.

Watching him, Cardor felt a mounting unease. He was young, taken and trained by the Cyclan, yet still to don the scarlet robe which was the mark of a cyber. He might never wear it. Not all acolytes made the grade. Some continued to work in subordinate capacities but the majority quietly vanished from sight, erased by the touch of oblivion.

He said, "I did what I could, master. As I was ordered to do. "

By Tron who had demonstrated his inefficiency. Who had escaped his punishment by extinction.

"Tell me again what happened. "

Unnecessary repetition, every detail was clear in Avro's mind as the acolyte knew. As he also knew that, in making the demand, the cyber had put him on trial. The next few minutes would decide his fate.