by E. C. Tubb
The spirit burned as he sipped, worked fast on Vardoon as he gulped. Euphoria accentuated by intoxication; emotion which yielded a growing relaxation and overwhelming sense of achievement. He was safe, the ardeel as good as won, fortune his together with all it meant. He drank to celebrate, nerves relaxing even more, voice thick with a mounting lassitude, the inevitable reaction from tension maintained too long, fears harbored too deep.
"Luck," he said, "Luck and money, Earl, you ever think how the two run together? Have one and you have both. Luck and money and all it can buy and there's damned little it can't. We'll cash in and come back for another load and another until we have it all. All the ardeel and all the money anyone could ever want." Lifting the bottle he blinked at what was left. "That all? What the hell-let's finish it!"
As the last drained into his cup Dumarest said, "What do you want all that money for, Hart? You want a planet too? One of solid ice?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"I told you." Vardoon swayed where he squatted, eyes filmed, suddenly dull. "I need it to play a game. A game- and the more I have the better my chances. I need it, Earl! Damn you, I need it!"
"Easy, Hart. You'll get it."
"We'll get it, Earl. You and me. Together."
"That's right."
"Let's drink to it." Vardoon tilted his cup over his mouth. "Tired," he muttered as, empty, he lowered it. "Too tired to argue. Sleep, Earl. I must have sleep."
Dumarest watched as he slid to one side, legs straightening, eyes closing, one arm lifting to pillow his head as if he had been a child. Within seconds his breathing became even, shallow, eyelids twitching to signal his dreams.
The bottle lay at hand and Dumarest lifted it, poured the contents of his cup back into the container. A draught for Vardoon in the morning when he would need it. Rising, he left the tent and prowled the narrow confines of the cave, nostrils twitching to acid, acrid odors but missing any trace of insect stench. Back within the tent it was a joy to fill his lungs, a pleasure to sit and pour himself a cup of cold tisane. Vardoon moved as he finished it, muttering, turning, restless in his sleep. A man dangerous in his greed.
Luck still rode with them; the raft was undamaged. Vardoon gusted his relief as he saw the ring of shattered stone blotched with shining copper; debris torn from the hill above the ledge which had remained intact at the cost of the metal.
"It's our day, Earl. Nothing can go wrong now. Let's get at it!"
Together they rode up the slope of the hill, Dumarest handling the controls, frowning at the poor response. The spot where the vrek had voided her eggs was high, seamed with cracks too narrow to provide safe holds. A row of pitons hammered into the wall above provided anchors for suspended ropes, more holding the raft close to the rock. An uneasy union with the craft lifting and dropping as the compensators overreacted.
"No point in eating," said Vardoon. "If we vomit it'll be a waste of good food." He studied the wall from his seat in the raft. "How do we handle it? From the inside out or from the edges in?"
"Inside out," said Dumarest. "We don't know just where the edges are."
"And, inside, we're certain of a good crop." Vardoon, reached for one of the ropes. "I'll take the upper region while you take the lower. Keep at it, Earl-and don't miss any."
They were thick in the cracks and on the rock itself. Suspended from a rope, Dumarest inched his way over the sheer wall of stone, sweating, cramped in the hampering confines of his suit. Each egg had to be carefully pried free with the tip of his knife and placed in the pouch at his waist. Small, little larger than a pea, the yoke forming the actual pearl. When stripped of its outer membrane the inner skin would harden and contract to form a golden sphere.
Potential life, clinging to the sun-warmed stone, stimulated by electronic discharges to grow and take shape and hatch from the egg. Larvae of some kind which would follow the metamorphoses leading to the creation of fully grown adult vreks. How many would survive?
Few, he knew, but that was the way of nature; to be wastefully liberal with life-seed. As a human male gushed millions of spermatozoa at ejaculation to fertilize a single egg.
Had these been fertilized?
Dumarest paused, looking up to where Vardoon had moved a little to one side. His helmet was open and his hands worked with mechanical precision as he freed eggs to thrust into his pouch.
"Hart!"
"What is it?" Vardoon didn't look down. "If you're worried about my helmet being open, forget it. The air's clean."
Sweet, free of chemical odors and metallic taints, the wind blew gently from the south. Dumarest opened his own helmet and felt the sweat dry on his face.
"Hart, what happens if these aren't stripped?"
"The eggs? They'd hatch, I guess. Why?" He ceased work to answer his own question. "There's no point in thinking of breeding them, Earl. It's been tried. You need special conditions-hell, we're wasting time!"
"One more thing; how do you tell if they're fertile?"
"You can't." Vardoon scrabbled a boot on the stone as he swung to a new position. "But why worry about it? Come on, Earl, quit wasting time!"
When the sun was halfway to zenith Dumarest called a halt, insisting the other man join him in the raft for rest and water. Vardoon drank greedily, face mottled, streaked with sweat.
"A dream," he said as he lowered the canteen. "A fortune lying right before our very eyes. How the hell can you just sit here, Earl?"
"How many eggs did you ruin in the past fifteen minutes?"
"What?" Vardoon scowled, then shrugged. "Too many, but does it matter? There're plenty more."
"And if you get careless, slip and fall, what then?" Dumarest leaned back against the side of the raft. Its motion was like that of a ship at sea. "It's a long way to the bottom but maybe the eggs will cushion the impact."
"I get it." Vardoon rubbed his chin, squinted up at the sky. "Move slower, take things easier-that it?"
"Pace yourself," said Dumarest. "We've a lot of rock to cover before noon."
"Noon?"
"That's right."
"You thinking of leaving at noon? No way, Earl. Hell, man, we stay until the rock is stripped clean."
Vardoon's decision but if he stayed he would be alone. Dumarest said, "Let's not argue about it. Want to sponge down in the tent?"
"No, but I'm getting out of this damned suit!" Vardoon looked at the hand Dumarest clamped on his arm. "Earl?"
"Keep the suit on."
"But-"
"Keep it on!" snapped Dumarest. "If you want to act the fool then do it when I'm not around. What if the wind should change? A freak storm blow up?" His anger was genuine, relayed by his eyes, the tone of his voice. "If you want to end our partnership just say the word. If not do as I say."
A small battle and a victory won as Vardoon swung himself back to work. But there would be another and Dumarest took care he would win it. Before leaving the raft he checked one of the guns, slinging it over a shoulder. The other, Vardoon's, remained in the raft.
An hour before noon the wind changed, shifting to blow strongly from the north, carrying with it a harsh acridity which seared nostrils and doubled Vardoon in a fit of coughing. Twisting on his rope, he sealed his helmet, fed clean air from the tanks to flush out the poison. With streaming eyes he looked at Dumarest working to the right and below. At the peaks to the north. At something which moved in a blur of shimmering wings.
"Earl!"
Dumarest spun, bending his knees and ramming the soles of his boots against the rock. A stance which gave him enough stability to move his arms, to lift the gun in an instinctive reaction. The muzzle followed the darting shape.
A vrek-but a male.
A thing as beautiful as its mate but thicker, smaller, spined like a mythical dragon and keening like a nail drawn over slate. The sound of the wind thrumming past its wings, the protrusions. The sound of energy being generated for an obvious purpose.
"Down!" Dumarest tore at his ow
n fastenings, freed them, dropped toward the raft. "Hart, damn you! Down!"
He came like a rag doll, spinning, bumping, landing heavily, to snatch up the gun and lift it toward the vrek.
"No!" Dumarest swung his hand at the weapon. "No, you fool!"
Fog engulfed them, a mist of swirling, darting particles suddenly illuminated by the snarling roar of the gun as Vardoon fired blindly into the milky cloud, composed of countless fragments of life; spawn vented by the male vrek to fertilize the deposited eggs. Gunfire returned by lightning.
The cloud split in a blue-green flash which threw Dumarest to one side, nerves jarred, muscles knotted. Another and he saw Vardoon standing wreathed in fire, coruscations which traced the metallic protection of his suit and limned the helmet spike with a scintillant halo. The gun glowed red, smoking as it fell to the deck. Dumarest snatched it up, threw it over the side, turned to slash at the holding ropes and, as they parted, sprang to the controls.
A moment and the raft was rising up through the settling cloud and into the clear sky, which was cut by the shimmer of the vrek now far distant, by the dark flecks of nearing rafts.
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."
