And if some came only for the wafer of concentrate it didn't matter. Each, while under the light, was conditioned never to kill. Potential murder prevented for the cost of a little food-it was a fair exchange.

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."