E. Tubb - Eloise

There was nothing soft about the office. It was a vast chamber designed on functional lines, bleak in its Spartan simplicity; the sound-proofing which covered the walls, floor and roof a dull, neutral grey, devoid of distracting color or decoration. Only the blazing simulacrum which hung suspended in the air at the center of the room gave a richness to the place; a depiction of the galaxy at which Master Nequal, Cyber Prime, stared with thoughtful interest.

It was a masterpiece of electronic ingenuity; tiny motes of light held in a mesh of invisible forces, the entire lens constrained within three hundred cubic feet of space. With such compression, detail had to be lost; the billions of individual worlds, the comets, asteroidal matter, satellites, minor regions of dust, all swallowed in the glowing depiction of countless stars. Nequal touched a control and red flecks appeared in scattered profusion, irregularly spaced but extending throughout most of the area. Each fleck represented a cyber, a trained and dedicated servant of the Cyclan of which Nequal was now the accepted head.

An ancient emperor would have felt gratification at the extent of his rule, but Nequal could feel no such emotion. And there was no need of personal ambition. To be Cyber Prime was to be at the very apex of his world. Even to be a part of the Cyclan was to be a part of a near-invisible empire which would, in time, dominate every known fragment of space.

Softly he walked beside the simulacrum, concentrating; noting gaps, the proximity of concentrations, the blank regions in which no red glimmers showed, turning as the door opened to admit his aide.

"What is it?"

Cyber Yandron bowed. "Those for processing. Master. They await your attention in the reception chamber."

"A moment." Nequal continued his examination, then again touched the control. The projection faded to dissolve in splintered shards of luminescence; the brilliant glow replaced by a more subdued illumination, a blue-white actinic light which gave maximum visibility, rich in ultraviolet for reasons of hygiene. "I am ready."

Outside the office the passages were a hive of controlled activity. Cybers, alike in their scarlet robes, moved soundlessly about their tasks. The air was chill and Nequal almost decided to raise his cowl. He resisted the temptation. The body was a weak and irritating thing; to pander to it was foolish for it grew on what it was fed. And yet the air did strike chill. Perhaps he should order the diet increased a little. Every machine needed fuel, and energy lost in combating cold was energy lost to the efficient working of the brain. He would have the dietitians look into the matter.

A decision made in the time it had taken to walk three paces, another made in the time it took to walk seven.

"Action to be taken on report 237582EM," he said to Yandron. "Have the laboratories concentrate on a cheap and simple method of manufacturing churgol by synthesis from easily available products. The resultant information to be disseminated on the worlds of Sargolle, Semipolis and Sojol."

Churgol was the major export of Churan, a proud and independent world; the others, the main customers for the medicinal compound. Once their major source of income had vanished, the Ghuranese would be less independent and not as proud. They would be eager to seek helpful advice in order to restore their fortunes and be willing to pay for the guidance of a cyber. The thin end of the wedge which would place yet another world under Cyclan domination.

A decision made, a problem solved! he wished that all were as simple.

A small group waited in the reception chamber; the scarlet of their robes wanning the bleakness, the material rustling a little as they moved aside to allow the Cyber Prime a clear passage to where five men rose painfully from a bench.

"Be seated." Nequal stepped towards them, his thin hand extended in greeting. Two were old, two diseased, their bodies bloated in grotesque proportions; the other twitched with an uncontrollable affliction of the nerves. Nequal studied him for a moment, but the eyes were clear and the man would never have been passed by the physicians had his mind been affected. "You, all of you, are welcome."

They bowed where they sat, brief inclinations of their heads, then straightened as they looked at the tall figure of their master. He was old, for men do not achieve great power without waiting, and lean, for a thin body was more efficient than one soft with killing tissue. His face was set in a mask of impassivity; the head hairless, skull like. the contours relieved only by the glowing intelligence of his deep-set eyes. On his breast, as on the breasts of them all, the great seal of the Cyclan glowed with reflected light. Like them all, he had long ago accepted the truth of the creed which dominated their lives.

The body was nothing but a receptacle for intelligence. Emotion was to be decried, eliminated by training and surgery; the severance of certain nerves leading to the thalamus when young, the operation which left every cyber the living equivalent of a machine, able to find pleasure only in mental achievement. But none counted it as a loss. Only the mind counted, the sharpening of the intelligence, the cultivation of the pure light of reason and inexorable logic.

Traits which made every cyber able to take a handful of facts and build from them the most probable sequence of events. To extrapolate the result of every action and course of conduct. To make predictions so accurate that, at times, it seemed they could actually read the future. A service for which rulers and worlds were willing to pay far more than they guessed.

"You have worked well," said Nequal in his trained modulation. A voice carefully devoid of all irritating factors. "Your dedication, skill and application have earned you the highest reward it is possible for any of us to know. I shall not keep you from it." He gestured at the attendants. "Go now. Almost I envy you."

But there was no need for envy, even if he could have felt the emotion. He, all of them, every cyber who reached old age or imminent death, all who had proved themselves; all would take the same path as the attendants now prepared for the five.

First they would be shown the great halls, the endless passages and vaulted chambers gouged from the living rock far beneath the planetary surface; the entire complex buttressed and reinforced to withstand even the fury of thermonuclear attack. They would see the serried rows of vats, the laboratories, the hydroponic farms; the whole tremendous installation which was the headquarters of the Cyclan.

And then, assured, their gestalt finned, they would become a part of it.

They would be taken and drugged. Trepans would bite into their skulls and expose the living brains. Attachments would keep them alive, as they were lifted from their natural housings and placed into containers of nutrient and that the intelligences would remain awake and ever aware. And then, finally, the living, thinking brains would be incorporated into the gigantic organic computer which was Central Intelligence.

To live forever. To share in the complete domination of the universe. To solve all the mysteries of creation.

The aim and object of the Cyclan.

* * * * *

Nequal watched them go, wondering if they would have been so eager had they known what he knew; the problem which threatened to overshadow all others. As yet it was a minor incident; but he would not have been a cyber if he had not known where it must invariably lead if unchecked.

A passage led to the laboratories; the office of Cyber Quendis, the papers and graphs lying thick on his desk.

"Master!"

"Report on the decay of the older intelligences."