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.'
Dumarest said, 'Have you worked this area yourself, officer? If you have maybe you could give us some advice.'
'Not much I can say except to keep looking. One thing, though, watch out for purple streaks in the rock. Set markers if you find any; purple is the sure sign of rich shale.'
'Shale?' Vardoon frowned and shook his head. 'Alamite, maybe, but never shale.'
'Did I say shale?' The officer shrugged. 'Well, keep at it and watch out for storms.'
'A test,' said Vardoon as the raft rose to hover in the sky. 'We were being checked out, Earl, just as you suspected. Changes, eh? I wonder who the new holder is.'
'Does it make any difference?'
'Not to us, but-' Vardoon shrugged. 'Let's move if we're going to. It's getting late.'
'They're watching us,' said Dumarest. 'So we'll stay for a while. Eat and look around. We won't move until they clear the sky.'
For an hour they checked the load, lashing it firm before Dumarest sent the vehicle into the air and headed north to where a thin, pale smoke wreathed the distant hills.
He rode low, the ground streaming beneath them: arid soil tufted with sparse vegetation and littered with massive boulders. Once they passed over a cleared area on which grew a straggle of crops. Those working the land didn't raise their heads as the raft swept over them. The houses they lived in were beehives spiked with copper antennae.
Dumarest could guess who and what they were: criminals, debtors, the stranded and those who'd lost out. The unfortunate. The bottom of the heap. Each world solved its own problems but the solution was usually the same.
