Nectar of Heaven

Chapter Eight

Vardoon groaned, coughed, groaned again. His eyes, bleared, looked at Dumarest through the opened helmet. As he moved to sit upright he winced.

"You were hit," said Dumarest, anticipating the question. "A bolt from the vrek. I warned you not to fire."

"I tried to get it first," Vardoon grunted as he leaned back against the side of the raft. "I remember the flash but that's about all. I guess the suit saved me."

"It did."

"More proof that you're worth listening to." Vardoon coughed again; smoke from burned insulation had irritated his lungs. "Has it gone?"

"The vrek? Yes."

"So let's get back to work." Vardoon reared, swayed and clutched at Dumarest's shoulder to steady himself. His voice rose as he failed to see the hill. "What's happening? Where the hell are we?"

"Heading north." Dumarest returned to the controls. He said, "Strip off the suit and dump it. Rafts are after us and we want all the speed and lift this thing can give us."

His own suit had gone over the side together with everything else aside from the eggs and gun, clothes and his knife. Now, as Vardoon threw the seared weight of plastic and metal over the side, he said, "How are they coming?"

"Close," said Vardoon. "Too damned close. One on our tail and two not far behind. Others to either side and the rear." He counted. "Two one side, three the other but one is lagging way back."

"Why are they after us?"

"I explained all that. All this," his hand gestured at the hills, "is a part of someone's holding. Trespassers aren't wanted."

"So they send an armada to catch us?"

"That's unusual," admitted Vardoon. "A patrol, maybe, but only one raft like we saw before. Even then they don't come out often. No one likes traversing the hills."

Unless they had good reason to find someone among them. Dumarest sensed the closing jaws of a trap. Did the Cyclan have agents on this world? Did they know he was here?

"If they catch us," he said, "they'll take the eggs. You know that."

"I know it." Vardoon tightened his hands. "I'll see them dead first. Earl, we've got to get away."

Cooperation won, for what it was worth, but a faster raft would have been a greater asset. Dumarest nursed the controls, balancing what he had to gain the greatest advantage, knowing even as he worked it wasn't enough. The raft behind would soon draw level-even now they were an easy target should the men inside decide to open fire. And he had seen sunlight reflected from the barrels of guns.

And they were heading in the wrong direction.

Ahead lay nothing but the marching hills, the crevasses, the ragged expanses of shattered stone. Safety lay to the south and if he hoped to reach it they had to head for it soon.

"You there!" The voice boomed from a loud-hailer. "Halt and hover or I'll burn you down!"

Chan Kline smiled as they did not obey. The search had been long, tiresome, and worrying toward the end when Zao had mentioned his disappointment that it was taking so long. Now he could enjoy the sweet taste of success, heightened by playing cat and mouse for a while. Let the fools run for a few more miles. They were helpless to escape.

"Shall I fire, sir?"

"No!" The man was a good marksman and could bring down the raft without touching its occupants but mistakes could always happen and Zao had made it clear that he would tolerate no mistakes. "Let them run for a bit longer," said Kline. "I'll tell you when to shoot."

Until then he could sit and dream of his promotion now firmly secure. A new house, extra servants, an extra wife, even. Irene was getting tiresome and needed to be put in her place. It was time she learned that the one who paid the bills dictated the service.

"Captain!" The observer didn't lower his binoculars as he spoke. "Rafts ahead, sir."

"Ours?"

"No, Captain. They bear the markings of the Maximus."

"How many? Never mind!" Kline could count. He frowned as he searched the sky. Three and more rising from a point ahead where copper made flashing glints against the brown of stone. Others coming from either side. Numbers to more than equal his own. Rafts which bore men bearing guns. He swore as the ruby guide beam of a laser settled on his prow. "The fools! What the hell are they doing?"

"Halt!" The command answered his question. "Back away or I fire!"

"Captain?"

"Do as he says." Kline snatched up his own loud-hailer as the driver obeyed. "This is Captain Chan Kline. I have a commission to search this area. Full permission has been obtained from the Maximus."

"By whom?"

"Cyber Zao."

"When I see it I'll let you pass."

"I haven't got it with me, you fool! Haven't you been notified?"

The voice said coldly, "I am Major Bran Mellia in full command of security appertaining to Rham Kalova's holdings. If you hope for cooperation, Captain, you had better change your attitude. As things stand you are trespassing. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly." To his marksman Kline said, "Can you see who's behind that laser trained on us? Could you get him?"

"Not before he burns us, Captain. It takes time to draw a bead."

‹›He would be seen doing it and some trigger-happy fool would fire. A single shot could start a battle he would lose; he was outgunned and outmanned and if it came to an inquiry the major was in the right. Why hadn't he been notified of the gained permission? How the hell did Zao expect him to find and capture those men unless he had free access to all areas?

The man!

What had happened to the raft?

Dumarest had sent it diving fast and low, adding the pull of gravity to the pulse of the engine so that air whined thinly past the vehicle. A chance created by the confrontation of the opposing forces and one he had taken advantage of. Too busy arguing, Kline had forgotten them; precious seconds gained in which to reach a pass winding between ragged hills, to follow it as it looped south, to gain another and to move on beneath a narrow band of clear sky.

A rat scuttling frantically through a tortuous maze.

"Neat," said Vardoon. "Think we'll make it?"

"We'd better."

"If we don't we lose it all." Vardoon glanced at the pouches of eggs. His face was hard with ridged scar tissue; a determination evident in the hands clamped on the gun he held before him, muzzle pointed upward. "If that happens we won't go alone. I'll take some of those so-called soldiers with us. Did you hear them talk? They wouldn't last five minutes in any real conflict. I could have taken them all with a couple of rafts and a dozen men who know their business."

Talk, but if it gave him consolation there was no harm in it. There could even be gain, a man needing to talk often said more than he intended. As Dumarest chose another pass down which to send the raft he said casually, "Did you catch the names? The Maxim… Maxom…"

"The Maximus." Vardoon took the bait. "Rham Kulova- well, he was ripe for the job and it was only a matter of time before he won it. A hard bastard, greedy, too. I guess that's why he's after us. If we get away he could have reason to regret it."

"You know him?"

"Sure, I-" Vardoon broke off, added, "When I was here before I heard of him. Emil had no cause to love him."

"And the other? The cyber?"

"Zao? Never heard of him. He must be a recent arrival."

But established long enough to have gained influence and power. The implication of what Kline had said was plain and had removed any doubt as to why they were being chased. Why he was being chased-Vardoon had been unlucky enough to choose the wrong partner.

Now he said, "Can't you go faster, Earl?"

"No."

"If we're caught in the hills at night we're dead. If we lift they'll spot us and catch us before we clear the area. Willing to take a chance?" He explained as Dumarest nodded. "There's a trick I learned with models of this type. A way to short the engine so as to boost the output. It wrecks the plant but I guess we don't have to worry about that. You want me to try it?"

Dumarest said, "How long will the extra power last?"

"It depends on the engine and how greedy you are. Maybe a few hours, maybe less. It's a gamble but what can we lose?"

All they had if the engine burned out too soon. The same if Vardoon overestimated his skill. Dumarest looked at the sky and tried to guess the position of the sun. Already shadows dusted the bottoms of the passes and peaked silhouettes softened the walls of the hills. It was past noon, then, but how long until night?

How far did they have to go?

"Earl?" Vardoon was impatient to get busy. "What'll it be?"

"Go ahead. Just get everything ready to trigger the boost."

"Why not finish the job?"

Dumarest said patiently, "We'll save it until we need it. It's a long walk back even after we leave the hills and I'd rather ride slow than do it the hard way. Need any help?"

"No." Vardoon swung from the seat and produced a short-bladed knife. "Just keep this thing steady and yell if you see our friends."

A warning for him to get the gun into action, something Dumarest wanted to avoid. He steadied the raft as it bucked beneath him, felt it drop to touch stone, bouncing as it lifted to ride evenly down the pass. Mounded rock lay ahead, a thermal catching the vehicle as it swung past the heap and lifting it high. Too high, another updraft of heated air caught it, lifted it like a scrap of thistledown to reveal a glimpse of the sun, a dark fleck uncomfortably close.

It vanished as he sent the raft diving into the shelter of a pass, solid rock blocking it from sight as it shielded them from any observer. But if they had been spotted the raft would follow and it had the advantage of height.

Behind him Dumarest heard scrapings, a grunt of satisfaction as Vardoon ripped away panels to expose leads and conduits. Within minutes he was ready.

"When you give the word, Earl."

They had time to spare and the longer they could stay hidden the better their chances. Dumarest swung to the left, glided along a defile, turned to the right and into a narrow gap masked from above by jutting outcrops of stone. One path wended, dipped, rose to reveal open sky at the far end, deceptive in its apparent innocence.

"Earl!"

Dumarest saw the thing as Vardoon yelled a warning. It dropped from where it had clung to the underside of the rock, a flattened disc two feet in diameter, fringed with tendrils, more rising in a spined frond from its center. Sparks flashed from it, numbing Dumarest's arm as he knocked it to one side. Another burst as he kicked at it, a third hit the side of the raft as it scraped against stone. From it, from the rock itself, the very air, came a sudden, acrid vapor.

"Hart! Hold your breath!"

Dumarest felt the sting of acrid gases catch at eyes and throat as he voided his lungs. Behind him, slower, Vardoon retched from the invisible fumes. Exudations from the creatures or a part of their environment-unless they could win free they would die.

The raft scraped against more stone, veered as Dumarest adjusted their flight, hit again as tears fogged his vision. Ahead the clear expanse of sky seemed to shimmer, to become ringed with a contracting ring of darkness. Within his chest his empty lungs demanded air.

A pain he ignored as, blinking, he sent the raft arrowing along the narrow passage to the clear air ahead. Reaching it, he aimed for height, blasting the craft with manufactured winds before gulping air into his starved lungs. The inhalations cleared his head. Behind him Vardoon retched again, coughed, drew in air with a moist rattling.

"Hart?"

"I'm all right." Vardoon coughed again. "That damned stink got at me. Burned my throat a little, I guess, but I'll manage. How are we?"

Up and riding away from the hills. Ahead lay the rugged wilderness leading toward the south, the sea and the town. The sun was halfway toward the horizon; a ruby ball ahead and to the west. The sky was touched with puffs of white and flecks of darkness. Cloud-and the rafts hanging like vultures ready to strike.

As they closed in Dumarest said, "Now, Hart! Now!"

He felt the raft surge beneath him, the rush of air a whip lashing at his eyes, his face. Below, the ground blurred, fell away as they climbed, the hills diminishing behind them, the dark flecks of the rafts lost in the distance. Power-robbed from the whining engine-fed to the propulsion units as Vardoon boosted the transmission.

He swore as the raft faltered.

"My knife-the damned thing's burned out! Earl, pass me yours!"

The raft slowed as Dumarest reached for his boot, dropped, sluggishly rose again as he manipulated the controls. Turning he saw Vardoon's back, the hand he lifted, the haft of his knife with the blade reduced to a nub of fused metal.

Saw too the raft which lanced at them from the eye of the ruby sun.

It had been a textbook maneuver and Kline had cause to congratulate himself. To calculate they would head for the south required little intelligence; without protective clothing the men had been left with no other choice. To guess, too, they would seek the protection of narrow passes was equally simple. The hard part in being able to determine where they would emerge and what path they would take. Possibilities countered by having his rafts sweep the hills and form station at the edge of the wilderness. Faster, able to move directly through unhampered air, they had been certain to beat the fugitives. But, as an insurance, he had gone on ahead to wait.

Now he headed in for the kill.

"Halt!" His voice echoed from the loud-hailer. "Halt and hover! Obey or I'll blast you from the sky!"

An empty threat but they wouldn't know that and this time there were no stubborn fools to interfere. No chance of another abortive escape.

His observer said, "They are continuing as before, sir."

Slow, juddering, the raft lifted to drop to lift again as if it had been a crippled moth riding on torn and tattered wings.

Burned out, thought Kline. Power gone, a crash inevitable unless the vehicle grounded soon. Why didn't the fools yield?

"Land! I order you to land immediately! Land or I fire." To the marksman Kline said, "Show yourself. Let them see you taking aim. If I order you to fire make certain you miss." The threat should be enough. As the man took up his position he lifted the loud-hailer. "You in the raft! Land or I'll shoot you down! You have five seconds in which to head downward!"

From the body of the raft Vardoon said, "Give me your knife, Earl. I might be able to get us away."

A surge of power could fail, to leave them wrecked in the wilderness. A gamble with the cards stacked against them- but what else to do?

Dumarest looked back at the flecks of the other rafts, closer now, streaming wide in order to encircle and enclose. Kline was riding high and to one side; a position from which he commanded the immediate area.

Vardoon said impatiently, "Earl, your knife!" He lunged forward to snatch up the gun. "Never mind-this will do it!"

The movement sent the raft veering, which caused the marksman to close his finger in automatic reaction.

Flame jetted from the muzzle of his weapon, bullets whining to hit the raft, the rail, to cut the air with a lethal hail. Dumarest felt the shock as one glanced from his shoulder, the vivid flash as another gouged a bloody path over his left ear. The blow sent him doubled, almost unconscious over the controls as, snarling, Vardoon returned the fire.

A short burst sent the marksman back from the rail. Kline took his place, shouting, face contorted with rage and anxiety as he saw the figure slumped over the controls, but the emotions vanished as bullets churned his face to a pulp of blood and bone.

"Earl!" Vardoon lifted his voice over the snarl of gunfire. "Earl!"

Dumarest stirred as again the gun yammered, lacing shots into the raft, hitting the driver and sending the vehicle spinning toward the ground far below.

"For God's sake! Earl! Get with it, man!"

They were falling, air droning past with feral anticipation. A drone which faded as, sluggishly, the vehicle came under control and headed again toward the south.

Dumarest rose from the seat, swaying, fighting a sudden vertigo. The left side of his face was sticky with blood oozing from the throbbing ache of his wounded temple; one to match the minor hurt of his shoulder. Near misses, but Vardoon hadn't been so lucky.

He groaned as Dumarest knelt beside him to move his bulk, easing limbs, propping his head on a pouch of eggs. Blood ringed his mouth and made dark stains on his tunic; some old, others with a scarlet wetness. The first from lungs seared with corrosive vapors, the other from the damage done by the bullets which had pierced his stomach and chest.

"They down, Earl?" His lips twisted at Dumarest's nod. "I thought we were going to follow the swine. Crazy them opening fire like that. What harm could we do? I didn't intend-" He coughed, lifting a hand to wipe his lips clear of bloody froth. "Bad, Earl?"

"Bad enough."

"Then give me an egg." His mouth tried to smile as Dumarest shook his head. "Greedy?"

"You're lying on a pouch of them-help yourself if you want. I'm getting back to the controls."

"Wait! I-" Vardoon broke off, sweating. "The pain! God, the pain!"

Raw agony from broken ribs, their jagged ends tearing at delicate tissue like saw-edged knives. From punctured intestines and mangled bowels. Pain which distorted the universe and made extinction a welcome blessing.

Dumarest leaned forward, fingers hard as he rested them on Vardoon's throat, finding the pulsing carotid arteries and pressing so as to cut off the blood supply to the brain. The reaction was immediate. Vardoon sighed, relaxing as his eyes closed and he embraced the mercy of unconsciousness. Dumarest waited, counting seconds, releasing the pressure before the induced oblivion edged into the final tranquility of death.

Back at the controls he fought a mounting vertigo. Ahead the sky shimmered with lambent emerald laced with streaks and swaths of carmine; colors reflected from the mirror of the ocean to form an all-encompassing swirl of engulfing deception, which he fought with a barrage of pertinent questions. How high was he? How far did he have to go? Where was his target?

Where were the other rafts?

Behind him the sky was clear and, dully, he wondered why. The sudden engagement which had sent their commander down? An order from some higher authority? A trap lying ahead from which they wanted to keep clear? Or were they playing cat and mouse, riding high, waiting and watching in detached comfort? Studying the veering progress of his raft, the path it took, the meandering passage. Gambling that he wouldn't make it. That he would crash before reaching the coast, the spired building resting on the fringe of hills encircling the town.

A gamble lost as he hit dirt, sending the raft to plow to a halt before the church, the startled monks, the woman with golden hair.