Dying with a smile even as blood pulsed from the broken skin, the pulped internal organs. His life ended by a fall, the rock which had followed him, the mass which had yielded to the thrust of his passage.

"We had no suits," said Vardoon. "Masks and other protection but no suits. The night came and with it the lightning and all I could do was to find a hole and crawl inside. The rest was a matter of waiting, riding my luck, getting out and away."

To reach the town, get passage on a ship, run from those who would hold him responsible for Emil Velen's death. He had been lucky to escape. Luckier still to leave with the golden pearls.

The level of the brandy left in the bottle was low by the time Dumarest was satisfied he had learned all he could. Emptying it into the glasses, he returned to the window and stared again into the night. It was late, the lights along the shore had gone and those illuminating the field cut to a third. The town itself was asleep, small noises drowned in the distant rumble of thunder. To the north the flashes had gained in fury, jagged tongues casting halos on crumbling peaks, forked and darting spears churning the spaces between them, the area on all sides. Elemental forces turning rock into molten sludge, dirt into smoldering ash, the air itself into a searing vapor.

Emil's grave and the place he had to reach. Facing the violence of hell to gain the nectar of heaven.

Stunned, Fiona looked at the dancing array of signals, the grim story they told of the vicious attack-all the more savage because of its utter unexpectedness. Yet she should have known; the hail which had destroyed the fernesh crop, the ocean surge which had wiped out three undersea farms, the collapse of two galleries in the Omault workings.

Warnings she had ignored, believing herself safe behind cunningly constructed barriers. Defenses which had turned against her and were now even threatening her basic security.

But why? Why her?

A stupid question and she knew it even as she assessed the dancing lights and the message they carried. Arment eager for yet more holdings, Prador, terrified of further hurt, yielding to the other's gain. Helm with his unsuspected interest and Rham Kalova quick to beat them all down to size and, if she was hurt in the maneuver, what was that to him?

No Maximus could afford the luxury of a conscience.

A test which she either met or went under. But what best to do? Judd was involved as was Traske and neither was in a position to risk an alliance. Lobel?

His face smiled as he responded to her signal. Framed in the screen it resembled that of a gnome, old, wise, cunning.

"Fiona, my dear, you have my commiseration."

"I'd prefer your help."

"An arrangement?" He frowned as if considering it. In his eyes she could see the flicker of colors reflected from his own signals. "You are not in a healthy position, my dear."

"I'm being squeezed. If I go down you will be next."

"So?"

"We work in harmony until this crisis is over. Mutual aid to back each other's holdings. As recompense I yield to you sector D 18."

"The land with the church?"

"Yes."

He said dryly, "You are too generous, my dear. A piece of nonproductive land heaped with a building of small return and high maintenance. Sector J 21, now, if you offered that I might be interested."

The bastard had her over a barrel and knew it. Well, her day would come.

"Agreed-if you will apply pressure to Helm."

"Not the Maximus?"

"Helm." Unless she had read the signals correctly she was not worthy of her holdings. "Waste no time, Lobel."

"Nor you, my dear."

Advice she took as his face vanished from the screen to be replaced by more detailed information than shown by the dancing signals. Helm must have allies but what was his main objective? A flanking attack on Arment? On Kalova himself? Each neared his holdings but would either yield? She decided not and quested for other avenues. To halt the progress of a glacier was impossible but maybe she could move a stone to start an avalanche to do the job for her.

Ashem? Reed? Vanderburg?

The names flickered as she checked their holdings. None had what she sensed she needed and others took their place. Lower in the scale now, almost too low to be effective but, if they could be persuaded to act, their very innocuousness would work in her favor. Gnats biting a giant but a gnat could distract and create an opportunity for others to use.

"My lady?"

Her maid at the door, wide-eyed, a mass of shimmering fabrics draped over her arm.

"Get out!"

"But your gown, my lady? For the assembly?"

"Leave me, you stupid bitch!"

The girl fled in tears, forgotten as soon as out of earshot. A distraction Fiona could have done without but the delay, small as it had been, had changed the situation a trifle. An exchange of holdings, an unexpected sale and a sudden withdrawal-the key she had been waiting for.

Ten hours later she was relaxing in her bath.

It had been close and she had been hurt but not as badly as Prador had been nor as deeply as Judd who must be regretting his unwise ambition. Helm had come out the best as she had expected once she had realized his intention. But his victory would give him small pleasure; his new holdings would sap his assets and prove more of a burden than a gain.

And, as usual, the position of the Maximus was firm.

A bubble drifted toward her and she blew at it, watching as it spun to break and blend with the suds coating the water. The act of a god, she thought. Careless, unthinking destruction for no apparent purpose. Would it have mattered had the bubble been allowed to exist? To have completed its natural term?

Did it matter?

Water cascaded as she lifted her arms, to splash as she rose from its embrace. Suds vanished as a shower stung her flesh, the dew it left vanishing in turn beneath the scented air of drying winds.

"My lady?" The maid, fearful but more afraid of losing her position, spoke from the entrance to the bathroom. "Your dress-"

"Later!"

"As you wish, my lady, but the time! I have yet to do your hair and you were most specific as to the style. It will take-"

"As long as is needed." Why was the girl so tiresome? "Hand me my robe."

The precious moment had been lost and could not now be recaptured. The time when she could relax and look at her body and gain pleasure from what she saw. A narcissism echoed in her cosmetics, the style of her coiffure, her gown. Tonight, she decided, it would be gold to match the color of her hair.

Dumarest had set the time for the raft's rising an hour after dawn when the sun had risen to burn away mist and cloud and the lightning had died in the north. He rose high, heading toward the lands they were licensed to search; Vardoon crouched among the equipment in the body.

As they dropped to land he said, "We're wasting time, Earl. If this place held anything of value they would have found it by now. They only issue licenses because they have nothing to lose."

"How many want to prospect out here?"

"At their own expense? None."

"Which might have made some people curious." Deftly Dumarest settled the raft. It was small, cheap, the lift bad and the engine weak. All he could afford. "They might decide to check. If they do I want them to find us. Out, now, and look busy."

A precaution but one which paid when an hour after noon, a speck appeared high in the sky, slowly growing into the shape of a raft manned by a half-dozen uniformed men. Their leader relaxed after he'd checked the licenses.

"Just making sure you've a right to be here," he explained. "There've been changes and the new holder doesn't like trespassers. The licenses hold good, though. Any luck so far?" He pursed his lips at the answer. "No? Well, keep trying. You could stumble on a rich vein or kick up a nugget-it's happened."