by E. C. Tubb
"Master?"
"Bring me all relevant data accumulated since my last assessment."
A test and one he was sure Risan would pass. All data was relevant but much of it could be condensed and evaluated prior to presentation. A necessity on worlds of high technology and vast habitations but here more of an exercise. Sacaweena was small, limited, the flow of data minimal in comparison to other planets. The reason why he had but a single acolyte.
"Master!" Risan bowed after placing the sheaf of papers on the desk before Zao. A tall, thin young man eager to pass his final tests and become a cyber with acolytes of his own.
Zao studied the papers as he left.
The data was set in chronological order, neatly subdivided, bare facts for the most part with attendant detail if a point needed further illumination. Sheets which rippled in his hands, pausing as he checked, moving on as he scanned with trained observation. Much was as he'd anticipated; scraps of gossip gathered from the baths, the gymnasium, the small parties at which hosts entertained selected guests. Information gathered and passed on by informants and spies. Other data; Bulem's threats, Reed's boasting, and application from Myra Lancing for his services. This request he refused though he would keep it in mind. Should Kalova become too independent it might serve the Cyclan's interest for another to become Maximus, but the woman would not be a good alternative. Even so, her eagerness would make her amicable and so a useful tool which could be used to manipulate another.
A list of reports from the undersea installations.
More from the Quale Consortium.
An oddity.
Zao halted the movement of the papers and studied the report. Licenses issued to two prospectors to inspect the Quale holdings in search of valuable ores. A common enough practice; a fee gathered and an investigation made at no cost to the holder. But how often were such licenses issued?
A check gave the answer and he sensed an inconsistency. People wishing to waste their time and money on such a search were rare to the point of nonexistence. Strangers, then, new arrivals-the date confirmed the probability. Had they been checked?
The routine patrol report confirmed they had. Two men together with a raft and other equipment had been spotted on land belonging to the Consortium. Their licenses had been in order. They had shown knowledge of ores and geology.
Why should such men be interested in worthless land?
Zao reached for the communicator. To Risan he said, "Bring me detailed maps of the area mentioned in report K57. Ask the officer commanding the patrol to report to me here personally as soon as possible."
Chan Kline came within the hour; eager to extend every courtesy to someone so close to the Maximus. A lieutenant, smart in his uniform of brown and olive, the crimson insignia of rank bright on breast and shoulders. A man young enough to be ambitious, old enough to be wise.
He nodded as he read the report. "Yes, sir, these are the facts. I thought it odd that men should want to prospect that area and paid them a visit. They seemed genuine enough. I tested them and the response was positive."
"Explain." Zao listened, said, "When you made the remark about shale did both correct you or only one?"
"One. The man with the scarred face. The other made no comment."
From reasons of ignorance or contempt? Or had there been no need? The latter, Zao decided, the officer had been too superficial in his examination but could hardly be blamed for that. The fact he had checked at all was proof of his efficiency.
"Their names?" The report had lacked that detail. Zao tensed as he heard the answer. "Vardoon and Dumarest? Are you sure? Describe them."
Kline obeyed, adding, "They probably arrived on the last ship to land here. Do you want me to check on them in town?"
Zao made no immediate answer. Dumarest on Sacaweena? It seemed incredible and yet nothing was beyond the bounds of probability. Nothing-including a name which could be copied and an appearance which could be deceptive. On a matter of such importance there must be no doubt.
"Sir?" Kline broke the silence. "The check?"
"That will not be necessary." The past was dead and could do no more than add confirmation to established fact. And time, now, must not be wasted. Zao said, "Those men must be found and held without delay. You will be in charge of the operation. Gather every available raft and man and search until they are found. If it is necessary for you to progress beyond the Consortium lands do not hesitate; I will arrange for all needed permission. As I will arrange for your rank to be changed to that of captain. Find them and you will become a major."
High and rapid promotion for success and Kline could guess the penalty of failure. Ignominy-but he would not fail.
"One other point," said Zao. "A matter of prime importance which you must impress on all under your command. Those men are to be taken but not harmed. You understand? Use only the minimum amount of force required. Should they be killed or badly hurt you will answer for it."
A complication and there was another. Kline said, "You spoke of extending the search if necessary. To the north?"
"You object?"
"No, but others might and the Maximus will protest."
"The men are your concern but I assure you all permissions will be obtained. I shall be with Rham Kalova before you reach the hills." The cyber touched the map, his finger tracing ragged outlines. "Start the search here and extend rafts in line from here to here. Use a grid pattern and overlap individual areas. Use infrared detectors if you have them to locate the men by their radiated body heat. Keep me informed of your progress."
Kline said, "And you will give me a signed order authorizing the operation?"
"Of course. Now please waste no more time."
Zao returned to the map, as, saluting, the officer left. Seated, he studied the depicted terrain; the harsh ground of the Quale Consortium, the wilderness reaching north to the hills, the hills themselves. An area filled with wild guesses, assumptions, speculations. Even photographs taken from space could not be relied on-each storm changed detail, triggered violent changes.
An inferno in which the most glittering prize the Cyclan could hope to win could be hopelessly lost.
Chapter Seven
Lightning had struck a vein of silicate ore; vaporizing the metallic content and fusing the rest to be exploded out to firm into elaborate configurations of multicolored crystal. An expanse of blues and greens, reds and umbers, streaked lavender and rich purple all trapped and blended in sprays and leaves and twining pillars of adamantine substance. A bizarre yet beautiful wood made of lace and spines, trunks and saw-edged fronds, of glinting daggers and jagged barbs.
Vardoon swore as one dug into his shoulder, swore again as the tough material ripped as he tried to back away.
His voice snarled from the diaphragm of his helmet. "This is crazy, Earl. We're wasting time."
A man too impatient for his own good. Vardoon had led the way into the area, the path into the artificial forest, losing his temper when meeting anticipated obstacles. The rage which sometimes possessed him now threatening to break free.
"Relax." Dumarest, at the rear, studied the trap in which Vadoon was caught. The barb digging into his suit prevented forward movement as it blocked an easy retreat. "Roll," he ordered. "Turn over to your left. That's it." Translucent lace shattered with the sound of chimes as Vardoon obeyed. "Now edge back toward me. To your right a little. That's it."
Dumarest backed, rising as he reached open space, waiting until his companion, grunting, stood beside him.
"A bust," said Vardoon. "I was sure-but I was wrong."
Another failure to add to the rest but Dumarest made no comment. Vardoon was the guide, the one with the local knowledge and, if as yet he hadn't delivered the promised wealth, he had never promised it would be easy. Now as he jerked open his helmet to reveal a sweating face Dumarest said, "Is this the place where you found the stuff before?"
"No." Vardoon sniffed, scowled, coughed before he hastily sealed the helmet a
gain against the noxious fumes rising from the sun-heated ground. "It was just a place, Earl, I've told you that. In the hills they all look the same. We have to find the right spots and I figured they could be in there." He gestured at the twists and spires of the crystalline maze. "I still think so."
An error Dumarest didn't share. The congealed mass provided almost perfect cover but the very forces which had created it could convert it into molten slag with equal ease.
"We could try the far side," suggested Vardoon. "Break a path and make a quick search."
"No."
"Why not, Earl? Now that we're here let's check it out."
"It's getting late." Dumarest glanced at the sun, the long shadows at their feet. "We need to find cover."
Another cave in which to crouch while fury raged about them. To sit locked in the stifling confines of the suits, standing guard, watching and waiting for what might come. To eat and restrain a growing thirst. To maintain hope that tomorrow they would find the golden pearls.
Hope which was measured by the amount of food they carried, the water, the tanked air.
"Give it another hour," urged Vardoon. "I've a feeling about this place. We could hit lucky at any moment but if we leave now and the storm rips up the area it'll be hopeless. Let's just give it a last try."
Gambler's talk and Dumarest knew how it would end. The last try would lead to another, a chance taken once too often and there would be no others to follow.
He said, "I'm leaving. If you want to stay that's your business."
"Earl!"
Dumarest walked on, ignoring the shout, the muted thud of feet running behind. The raft lay in the shadow on a level place under an overhanging ledge. Repairing it had taken half a day and now it was sluggish, unreliable, which was the reason they had to camp in the hills instead of well away from the area of storms. Even as it was, the working period was far too short a part of the sunlit day.
A gamble; the odds set by physical limitations and natural forces. They had to win quickly or not at all and it seemed luck was against them. Dumarest halted, rearing back to stare at the higher slope of the hill rising above the raft, eyes searching the fissures and crannies, the splotched darkness of caves, the fretted traceries of lightning impact areas. Bolts which had seared and fused and blasted-but in a seemingly random distribution. Yet was it wholly random? Did the naked fury of released energies follow some elaborate pattern?
"What's on your mind, Earl?" Vardoon was at his side, breathing deeply, voice edged with frustrated anger. "Looking for a place to camp?" He added, after a moment, "All those caves look too small."
Blotches revealing the mouths of vents, craters gouged in harder stone, narrow pipes now void of the ores and silicates, the veins and seams of material which had attracted the fury of electronic energy. Again Dumarest studied the area, seeing the shift of somber colors, the tints and hues born of chemical combinations. A patch which seemed to be something else.
"Earl!" Vardoon had seen it also. His fingers clamped hard on Dumarest's arm. "By, God, Earl! A vrek!"
It moved again, a subtle shift which revealed lambent flashes, hues, sparkles, lifting to take form, to rise and hang for a moment suspended in the air. A thing which looked like an angel.
An angel of death.
There was beauty in it, in line and function, in the wings which made a blur, the slender body tipped with huge, glinting eyes; bulbous mosaics which reflected the sun in shimmering glory. The antennae were wands of gilded and tapered flexibility, the mouth parts bearing the sheen of polished steel, the limbs delicate, jointed appendages ended in spatulate pads. The posterior, rounded, carried a slender, sting-like appendage.
"A female!" Vardoon's fingers dug harder. "A female, Earl-pray God it's voided!"
Eggs vented to be held by natural adhesion to the rock. The golden pearls of ardeel contained within the outer membrane.
Dumarest eased Vardoon's hand from his arm as he studied the creature now fanning the stone with shimmering wings. The vrek was as long as a man was tall; the product of a harsh environment and so that it must have its own means of defense and attack-natural weaponry revealed in tiny scintillations; lambent flashes betraying the electronic energy stored within its body. Miniature lightning which could burn and destroy.
"It's voided!" Vardoon's voice held a gloating satisfaction. "Earl, there's a fortune waiting for us up there! A fortune."
One stuck high on a fretted wall of stone, buried in narrow cracks and fissures, firmly held now the adhesive had dried. Eggs needing to be pried from their seating, each taking time. More time needed to climb and settle so as to work. Dumarest glanced again at the sun.
"We've got to try it, Earl." Vardoon had seen the gesture and guessed its implication. "At least let's take up the raft and see what's there."
Perhaps nothing; many life-forms pretended to lay eggs in several places in order to deceive suspected predators. The spot could be an empty decoy.
"No!" Vardoon was emphatic when Dumarest mentioned the possibility. "Vreks don't act that way."
"Then how do they act? What about the males? Do they mate in midair on a nuptial flight? Once at the beginning of a season? Several times? Tell me."
"I don't know." Vardoon's voice was rigid in its determination, his face hard as he glowered through the faceplate of his helmet., "What difference does it make? Up there's what we came for and I'm getting it."
"Tomorrow," said Dumarest. "We'll find a place to camp and use the tent. We'll eat well and have a decent rest. When it's safe we'll work all-out to gather what we can."
"I'm not leaving here, Earl."
"We have to. There's no cave large enough to take the raft."
"I'm not leaving here!" Vardoon made an effort to control himself. "Once we go we need never find it again. Things change at night; landmarks vanish, places alter-you know how it is. A small risk, maybe, but one I'm not taking. One I daren't take. I've worked too hard for this, waited too long. If-" He broke off, panting, shaking his head. "No, Earl! No!"
Dumarest looked at the man's face, saw the sweat, the wild eyes and recognized the near-hysterical condition he was in. Saw too the tension of the hands clamped on the gun slung from one shoulder, the direction of the muzzle. If he walked away nothing might happen but if he tried to take the raft the result would be certain; to kill Vardoon would be the only way to save his life.
He said quietly, "Relax, Hart. You win."
That night again was spent in thunder but this time it seemed less savage than before. Usage, perhaps, or the jagged flashes did not strike so often or so near. Looking at the mouth of the narrow opening Dumarest saw a facing hill crawling with electronic fire, heard the roar, the echoes.
As they faded Vardoon called from the tent, "Come and get it, Earl!"
He squatted, stripped to shorts in the inflated sac; tubes supporting curtains of plastic to create an enclosed space large enough for them both. One fitted with an air-lock, lights, a pneumatic floor serving as a mattress. A place in which to remove the burden of the suits, to breathe clean, tanked air, to eat and wash and sleep in relative comfort.
"Here!" He handed Dumarest a steaming cup as he took his place. Fans whined to cool the heat induced by the suit, to clear the stink of sweat. "Yurva." Vardoon sipped and reached for a bottle. "A good tisane but better with brandy. Earl?"
Dumarest extended his cup and sat trying to relax. An impossibility in their present condition and he lacked the euphoria which fueled Vardoon's cheerfulness. Faced with an impossible situation, he had compromised and now wondered if he had chosen the worse of both alternatives. If so he was stuck with it as was Vardoon.
The man poured himself more tisane, added more brandy.
"Neat," he said. "Your idea, Earl. To unload the raft and make camp up here close to the ardeel. A chance to relax and rest, as you said. What made you change your mind?"
‹›The threat of death and the need of killing. Dumarest said, "Two things. One was your f
ear of losing the place and the other an idea I had about the vrek. That female wouldn't have voided her eggs unless she felt they had a chance." He added, as Vardoon frowned, "They are native to the hills and to survive at all they must have an instinctive knowledge of storm patterns. Maybe it's the stress fields in the air or something radiated from the rock but I guessed this area would be relatively safe for a while."
A guess, but one based on observation and certainly no lightning had struck close to the opening of the cave, for they had checked for lurking predators or fissures through which they could travel. Dumarest had kept the raft hovering while Vardoon had unloaded, taking it back under the ledge and grounding it with thick strands of protective copper before climbing up to the cave on a suspended rope. The only precaution he could take and he hoped it would be enough.
"Tomorrow," said Vardoon. "Well start as soon as it's safe and work all-out. A fresh void means lots of eggs and we can go back to town for more supplies and a new raft. Then back again for more!"
Greed reflected itself in Vardoon's voice, his eyes, but left Dumarest unaffected. Once back in town and the ardeel converted to money he would be on the next ship to leave Sacaweena,
"What are you going to do with it, Earl? Your share, I mean. How are you going to use the money?"
"Keeping snug," said Dumarest. "Keeping fed. Keeping cool!"
"A planet of solid ice. Right?"
Dumarest nodded and drained his cup. "Any of that brandy left?" As Vardoon poured he said, "And you, Hart? How are you going to spend a fortune?"
"On a game." Vardoon smiled as he met Dumarest's eyes. "The best and biggest game I know."
"One that takes money?"
"All the damn money I can get. And we'll get it, Earl, you and me. You're lucky and it rubs off. I knew that back on Polis when we both survived. You've proved it here on Sacaweena. You know how many have seen a female vrek void? You could count them on one hand. Can you guess how many eggs are out there? What they will bring? Luck, Earl, you can't beat it. Here, drink to luck."
Dumarest watched as brandy slopped into his cup, more into Vardoon's. He said, "Luck? I'll drink to that."
