Nectar of Heaven

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 again 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 fear 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."

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 own 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.