Nectar of Heaven

Chapter Five

Sacaweena was not Earth. Dumarest had known it from the moment of landing, even before, for Earth was a world with empty skies at night and the journey had been too short to have carried them far toward the Rim. The sky, too, was the wrong color, the sun, the lack of a moon. And, at night, there was fire.

He watched it from the window of the room they had taken in an inexpensive hotel set high against the edge of encircling hills. An oddly built place with a rounded roof and thick copper bars flanking the windows-lightning conductors which graced every building and reared high in every street. A defense against the flickering glows in the north, the electrical fury which sent low rumbles through the air as if gods were waging dreadful war with outmoded cannon.

"It's normal," said Vardoon as he came to join Dumarest at the window. "The sun charges the atmosphere during the day and we get the discharge at night. There are peaks to the north which act as conductors. Like the ones in the street," he added. "But storms don't often hit the town."

"How often?"

"It varies. If the solar wind is strong then the charge builds high and all hell lets loose. Three, four times a year, maybe."

"And every night?"

"Usually every night," admitted Vardoon. "But the full impact is far to the north where the rocks have a high mineral content."

He had neglected to mention these details and Dumarest wondered what else he had left out. Wondered too if he had made a mistake, but if he had it was too late to regret it.

He turned back to the window as Vardoon busied himself with the equipment he had bought. The shore was rimmed with lights and, as he watched, a couple of small boats pulled in to dock at a jetty. Fishermen coming in to unload their catch. More lights illuminated the field set far to one side but the area was deserted. Facing it across the town rose the mass of the church.

An odd place to put such a building in such an environment and Dumarest wondered what had motivated the builder. The tower was an invitation to the fury of the elements and must be made of electro-repulsive material strengthened with a conductor inches thick.

"Earl?" Vardoon looked up from the gear he was examining. "You want to check this?"

The suit was of thick, ribbed material holding the feel of insulating plastic. Metal strips covered it ending at plates on the boots and a spike topping the helmet. The helmet itself was of spacesuit design as were the air tanks fitted to the shoulders.

"An adaptation." Vardoon was proud of his work. "The suit is basically scuba gear with additions and the helmet is one used on airless worlds for mining. The whole thing a dielectric, naturally, and the conductors will give added protection."

Dumarest said, "Did you use one like this the last time you were here?"

"I-no."

"Have you ever used one?"

"On Symile," said Vardoon. "A suit, I mean. One sealed and armored against fragments and poisonous vapor. A hell of an engagement. And I did some underwater work on Aquis."

Experience enough if the man told the truth and Dumarest, checking, saw the man had made no mistakes. The tanks were placed where they could be reached, the belt held the right equipment, the filters could be changed and cleaned. He removed one, tapped it, looked at Vardoon.

"To conserve air," the man explained. "We won't need to use the tanks until actually working, but we'll need the suits for protection most of the time we're in the area. The filters will make sure we don't suck in anything we don't want."

"Supplies? Survival tent? Weapons?"

Familiar items to them both and again Dumarest had to admit Vardoon had done well. He checked one of the guns, a primitive slug-thrower, the magazine holding a score of stubby cartridges. Cheap, tough, inaccurate at any range but devastating at close quarters.

Hefting it, he said, "Just what is waiting for us up there?"

"Nothing, I hope." Vardoon rubbed at his face and scowled. "But I like to be sure. We may never need to use them but I don't want to regret their not being at hand. At times a gun can be a man's best friend."

Against the things which could lurk in dark places. The beasts waiting to attack, the predators eager for easy prey. Predators which could walk on two legs and carry guns of their own.

"I was careful," said Vardoon, guessing Dumarest's thoughts. "We're prospectors looking for juscar and heavy oils; rare metals and rich shale. I even got us licenses from the Quale Consortium to cross their land."

"The right land?"

"No."

"Then they aren't worth the paper they're printed on." Dumarest threw down the gun. "What happens if we get caught? A fine for trespass? Imprisonment?"

Vardoon said flatly, "I never promised you it would be easy. If it were, there would be nothing for us to take. It would be all gone by now or locked up or placed beyond reach like all the rest of the good things in life. Grabbed by the bastards who want it all. But the stuffs there, waiting, all we need do is take it."

If they could reach it. If they could find it. If they could get it. If they could keep it.

Dumarest said, "Tell me again how you got those three pearls. All of it. Every detail."

"Again?" Vardoon snorted his irritation. "I told you all that on the way here."

Many times, with enough variation to give it the ring of truth but Dumarest wanted to be certain. If he was to risk his life he didn't want to lose it because of a small, forgotten detail, a point carelessly overlooked.

"Tell me again," he said. "I want to hear it."

A bottle stood among the supplies, raw brandy to give strength and comfort in case of need. Vardoon reached for it, unscrewed the cork, poured three fingers into a glass.

Lifting it he said, "To Emil Velen!"

Dumarest waited as he lowered the glass.

"A fool," said Vardoon. "Young, greedy, impatient to make a killing. One of the Orres-the original residents. They carved this world up between them and handed down the loot and the name. Only Orres can own land or natural resources but they own it all. All-you understand? The land and what's under it and what's on top. Oil and ores and precious stones. Crops and buildings and factories and everything else. You want to build then you do it on the sufferance of the owner. They sell the land and your house goes with it-only it isn't your house. You can build it, sure, live in it if you want but at any time the owner can take it and do as he likes. Burn it. Convert it. Knock it down. And if you don't like it that's just too damned bad."

"And the owner?"

"I keep telling you, Earl, the one who holds the land is the owner." Vardoon swallowed more brandy. "It's a game. They buy and sell and offer for auction and the one who has the largest holding stands highest on the hill." He looked at his empty glass. "Why am I drinking alone?"

A fault rectified as Dumarest poured more brandy. As he lifted his own glass he said, "And Emil?"

"Greedy, as I told you. Young as well. A dangerous combination and I fell for it. He wanted a man to stand at his back and I got the job. So we went hunting." Vardoon stared into his glass, seeing in the rich, warm fluid it contained scenes from another place, another time. "He had the courage of ignorance and that's all he did have. I trusted him to know what he was going up against but he was working on rumor and second-hand reports. Even at that we were lucky. We found what we were looking for. Emil found it, that is. Found it and lost his life."

Dying with a smile even as blood pulsed from the broken skin, the pulped internal organs. His life ended by a fall, the rock which had followed him, the mass which had yielded to the thrust of his passage.

"We had no suits," said Vardoon. "Masks and other protection but no suits. The night came and with it the lightning and all I could do was to find a hole and crawl inside. The rest was a matter of waiting, riding my luck, getting out and away."

To reach the town, get passage on a ship, run from those who would hold him responsible for Emil Velen's death. He had been lucky to escape. Luckier still to leave with the golden pearls.

The level of the brandy left in the bottle was low by the time Dumarest was satisfied he had learned all he could. Emptying it into the glasses, he returned to the window and stared again into the night. It was late, the lights along the shore had gone and those illuminating the field cut to a third. The town itself was asleep, small noises drowned in the distant rumble of thunder. To the north the flashes had gained in fury, jagged tongues casting halos on crumbling peaks, forked and darting spears churning the spaces between them, the area on all sides. Elemental forces turning rock into molten sludge, dirt into smoldering ash, the air itself into a searing vapor.

Emil's grave and the place he had to reach. Facing the violence of hell to gain the nectar of heaven.

Stunned, Fiona looked at the dancing array of signals, the grim story they told of the vicious attack-all the more savage because of its utter unexpectedness. Yet she should have known; the hail which had destroyed the fernesh crop, the ocean surge which had wiped out three undersea farms, the collapse of two galleries in the Omault workings.

Warnings she had ignored, believing herself safe behind cunningly constructed barriers. Defenses which had turned against her and were now even threatening her basic security.

But why? Why her?

A stupid question and she knew it even as she assessed the dancing lights and the message they carried. Arment eager for yet more holdings, Prador, terrified of further hurt, yielding to the other's gain. Helm with his unsuspected interest and Rham Kalova quick to beat them all down to size and, if she was hurt in the maneuver, what was that to him?

No Maximus could afford the luxury of a conscience.

A test which she either met or went under. But what best to do? Judd was involved as was Traske and neither was in a position to risk an alliance. Lobel?

His face smiled as he responded to her signal. Framed in the screen it resembled that of a gnome, old, wise, cunning.

"Fiona, my dear, you have my commiseration."

"I'd prefer your help."

"An arrangement?" He frowned as if considering it. In his eyes she could see the flicker of colors reflected from his own signals. "You are not in a healthy position, my dear."

"I'm being squeezed. If I go down you will be next."

"So?"

"We work in harmony until this crisis is over. Mutual aid to back each other's holdings. As recompense I yield to you sector D 18."

"The land with the church?"

"Yes."

He said dryly, "You are too generous, my dear. A piece of nonproductive land heaped with a building of small return and high maintenance. Sector J 21, now, if you offered that I might be interested."

The bastard had her over a barrel and knew it. Well, her day would come.

"Agreed-if you will apply pressure to Helm."

"Not the Maximus?"

"Helm." Unless she had read the signals correctly she was not worthy of her holdings. "Waste no time, Lobel."

"Nor you, my dear."

Advice she took as his face vanished from the screen to be replaced by more detailed information than shown by the dancing signals. Helm must have allies but what was his main objective? A flanking attack on Arment? On Kalova himself? Each neared his holdings but would either yield? She decided not and quested for other avenues. To halt the progress of a glacier was impossible but maybe she could move a stone to start an avalanche to do the job for her.

Ashem? Reed? Vanderburg?

The names flickered as she checked their holdings. None had what she sensed she needed and others took their place. Lower in the scale now, almost too low to be effective but, if they could be persuaded to act, their very innocuousness would work in her favor. Gnats biting a giant but a gnat could distract and create an opportunity for others to use.

"My lady?"

Her maid at the door, wide-eyed, a mass of shimmering fabrics draped over her arm.

"Get out!"

"But your gown, my lady? For the assembly?"

"Leave me, you stupid bitch!"

The girl fled in tears, forgotten as soon as out of earshot. A distraction Fiona could have done without but the delay, small as it had been, had changed the situation a trifle. An exchange of holdings, an unexpected sale and a sudden withdrawal-the key she had been waiting for.

Ten hours later she was relaxing in her bath.

It had been close and she had been hurt but not as badly as Prador had been nor as deeply as Judd who must be regretting his unwise ambition. Helm had come out the best as she had expected once she had realized his intention. But his victory would give him small pleasure; his new holdings would sap his assets and prove more of a burden than a gain.

And, as usual, the position of the Maximus was firm.

A bubble drifted toward her and she blew at it, watching as it spun to break and blend with the suds coating the water. The act of a god, she thought. Careless, unthinking destruction for no apparent purpose. Would it have mattered had the bubble been allowed to exist? To have completed its natural term?

Did it matter?

Water cascaded as she lifted her arms, to splash as she rose from its embrace. Suds vanished as a shower stung her flesh, the dew it left vanishing in turn beneath the scented air of drying winds.

"My lady?" The maid, fearful but more afraid of losing her position, spoke from the entrance to the bathroom. "Your dress-"

"Later!"

"As you wish, my lady, but the time! I have yet to do your hair and you were most specific as to the style. It will take-"

"As long as is needed." Why was the girl so tiresome? "Hand me my robe."

The precious moment had been lost and could not now be recaptured. The time when she could relax and look at her body and gain pleasure from what she saw. A narcissism echoed in her cosmetics, the style of her coiffure, her gown. Tonight, she decided, it would be gold to match the color of her hair.

Dumarest had set the time for the raft's rising an hour after dawn when the sun had risen to burn away mist and cloud and the lightning had died in the north. He rose high, heading toward the lands they were licensed to search; Vardoon crouched among the equipment in the body.

As they dropped to land he said, "We're wasting time, Earl. If this place held anything of value they would have found it by now. They only issue licenses because they have nothing to lose."

"How many want to prospect out here?"

"At their own expense? None."

"Which might have made some people curious." Deftly Dumarest settled the raft. It was small, cheap, the lift bad and the engine weak. All he could afford. "They might decide to check. If they do I want them to find us. Out, now, and look busy."

A precaution but one which paid when an hour after noon, a speck appeared high in the sky, slowly growing into the shape of a raft manned by a half-dozen uniformed men. Their leader relaxed after he'd checked the licenses.

"Just making sure you've a right to be here," he explained. "There've been changes and the new holder doesn't like trespassers. The licenses hold good, though. Any luck so far?" He pursed his lips at the answer. "No? Well, keep trying. You could stumble on a rich vein or kick up a nugget-it's happened."

Dumarest said, "Have you worked this area yourself, officer? If you have maybe you could give us some advice."

"Not much I can say except to keep looking. One thing, though, watch out for purple streaks in the rock. Set markers if you find any; purple is the sure sign of rich shale."

"Shale?" Vardoon frowned and shook his head. "Alamite, maybe, but never shale."

"Did I say shale?" The officer shrugged. "Well, keep at it and watch out for storms."

"A test," said Vardoon as the raft rose to hover in the sky. "We were being checked out, Earl, just as you suspected. Changes, eh? I wonder who the new holder is."

"Does it make any difference?"

"Not to us, but-" Vardoon shrugged. "Let's move if we're going to. It's getting late."

"They're watching us," said Dumarest. "So we'll stay for a while. Eat and look around. We won't move until they clear the sky."

For an hour they checked the load, lashing it firm before Dumarest sent the vehicle into the air and headed north to where a thin, pale smoke wreathed the distant hills.

He rode low, the ground streaming beneath them: arid soil tufted with sparse vegetation and littered with massive boulders. Once they passed over a cleared area on which grew a straggle of crops. Those working the land didn't raise their heads as the raft swept over them. The houses they lived in were beehives spiked with copper antennae.

Dumarest could guess who and what they were: criminals, debtors, the stranded and those who'd lost out. The unfortunate. The bottom of the heap. Each world solved its own problems but the solution was usually the same.

The terrain changed, became more rugged, a wilderness of bleak expanses split by narrow crevasses, the whole having the appearance of a battleground illuminated by transient gleams of reflected light.

"Idiot gems," said Vardoon as he stared over the side. He sat beside Dumarest, hands on the rail, body laced with the restraints which held them both. "Silica and other minerals fused into a composite mass. Pretty but not worth digging out."

"Is anything?"

"Sometimes you can find a chain of nuggets where lightning has burned away the dross. Alloys, too, and crudely refined metals. During the winter when it's calmer people come out to root around in search of artistic items: stuff fused and shaped into abstract designs. Some of it fetches high prices at market." He looked at the sun, the peaks ahead. "Best to hurry, Earl. We've got to settle well before dark."

This intention was threatened by the delay, for the winds slowed them. Turbulence caught the raft as it neared the edge of the soaring range, lifting it, sending it spinning up and toward seared and pitted stone. Dumarest regained control, riding high and clear before heading back toward the south.

Vardoon said, "Going back to try later?"

It had to be a day, at least-delay he couldn't afford. Not only for the expense but for those who might be too curious as to who and what he was. Sacaweena was a small world with a small population and not an easy place to remain inconspicuous.

The raft lowered as Dumarest swung in a circle. The sun was low, the ground darkening with growing shadows, the peaks bathed in a flood of carmine light. The slopes bore the black mouths of caverns edged and fretted with glistening silicates. Against the darkness they glowed with a dancing luminescence.

"Charged," muttered Vardoon. "Loaded and ready to go." His hands were tight on the rail. "Back off, Earl. Let's go while there's still time."

But time ran out as lightning blazed around them. A discharge left raft and men bathed and haloed with blue-green fire. A glare blinded Dumarest with a dazzle of afterimages. When he could see again he looked at death.

It stared from the hills, filled the air with invisible energies, waited in the distance they had been flung, the height. Heated air rose in a thermal which caught and spun the raft like a leaf in a storm. Fighting the controls, Dumarest rode the wind, managed to veer the raft from a ridge of jagged stone, felt the wrench as a swirling updraft lifted it, the sickening drop as it hit a pocket of less dense air.

Around him a giant stirred, breathing fire, smoke and flame.

"Earl! For-"

Thunder drowned the rest of Vardoon's cry, stabbed at unmuffled ears, seared their eyes again with savage fury. Far to one side a peak glowed and dripped steaming magma as again lightning flashed and again the giant roared, releasing energy which at any moment could turn the raft into falling debris, into smoking vapor.

Where to hide?

The instinct of an animal and Dumarest obeyed it. To find a hole in which to crouch while the storm raged outside. Protection to be gained only in the hills themselves.

As the glare died he saw the dark holes before him; the gaping mouths of caverns now ringed with darting flickers of miniature lightning. To judge which was large enough to take them was not enough-how to tell their depth?

The decision was made for him by a sudden gust of air which rose to tilt the raft and send it hurtling toward the pitted stone.

Dumarest felt the impact and used it even as he fought to maintain control. The raft tilted farther, seemed about to overturn, then straightened a little as, judging time and distance, he adjusted lift and drive. Close to the wall he found the reverse suction he had anticipated, used it, riding it to send the raft into the cavern which gaped before them. It came to rest with a juddering rasp of metal on stone.

"Close." Vardoon sucked in his breath as he looked at the hands he lifted from the rail, the bruises, the blood rimming the nails. "By God, that was close!"

Seventy feet away, beyond the mouth of the cave, thunder roared and reflected lightning illuminated the corpselike pallor of his face.