"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 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.