“The initial core findings from Bataria have not reached Home yet, Thad,” Dr. De Groet said. “The datapacket is scheduled to arrive next month, Home calendar. Dr. Xian took a copy of the draft.”
“Ah, thank you. That clarifies the matter.” He still didn’t look too happy, Rigi thought. Kor certainly didn’t look happy.
“As I was saying. With the model’s results in mind, the best place to begin a concentrated study of the pre-contact urban areas is here.” An area in the Kenusha Plains flashed twice, and the hologram focused in on that region. Rigi tried to place it and failed.
“Riverhead,” Kor breathed.
“Thank you, sir.” That helped. The headwaters of the Kenusha River? They’d found precisely nothing there, either by remote survey or ground-survey, at least as of the last time Rigi had seen a report.
“The location of the site has all the required elements: access to natural resources, central within the probable geographic borders of the polity, transportation links by water and land and air, and a greater than T of the eight probability of supporting a minimum Phase Six-b cultural site.” Dr. Szabor paused again, but no one moved or spoke. “As is standard procedure, we are initiating remote surveys first, then ground-proofing, then excavation if necessary. Crown permits have been applied for, since this is on the edge of a nature reserve.”
At that Kor and Dr. De Groet both raised forelimbs. Dr. De Groet asked, “Dr. Szabor, when was the boundary of the reserve changed? I ask because my information shows that location still well inside the boundaries.”
“Your maps are in error, sir.” She pointed to Kor. “Yes?”
“Have any attempts been made to discuss this with the regional Elders responsible for the area?” Rigi translated into Common, wondering as she did just who would have jurisdiction. She couldn’t think of anyone, unless it was that small settlement where the Kenusha River entered the woodlands.
“No, that will only be needed if culturally sensitive materials are discovered. Since there is no cultural continuity between the current native and the pre-Contact cultures, such contacts were deemed unnecessary.”
The fur on Kor’s neck rose as Rigi did her best to translate. Kor replied, “Why is it thought that there are no links between pre and post contact cultures?”
“Because there is no cultural memory of the pre-contact sites.” Kor’s ears went flat backwards, even before Rigi translated. “Interviews with natives concerning the find sites have proven that no cultural memory exists of anything resembling urban areas.”
Gasps from the humans and a snarl from Makana met the statement. Dr. Szabor glared at Dr. De Groet. “Legends imperfectly translated are not proof of memory or cultural links. Might I remind you that Graddison’s Universal Origins hypothesis posits the high likelihood of similar origin stories coincident, not convergent, with proposed ethnogenesis. The account summaries from the natives of Shikhari vary so much that they are obviously coincident.”
A brave graduate student raised her hand. “Dr. Szabor, which account summaries are those?”
“Petrason and Smargad, of course. There are no others.”
Rigi felt queasy, then shocked. What in the name of the Greater Magellanic Cloud could she mean? Kor stood, fur on end. He snarled in clear, precise Common, “I and my people will have no dealings with anyone associated with that creature. Micah, good day.” Humans scrambled out of the way as he stalked out, ears still flat, pointedly not puffing any emotion. Makana moaned quietly and waves of //distress/anger// made Rigi’s eyes water. Dr. Szabor stared as he left.
“He spoke Common. I had no idea any of the natives could phonate Common. This is wonderful!”
“She didn’t think your mouth-shape let you speak Common,” Rigi said to Makana.
“Mine does not, Miss Rigi. Not in her presence.”
Rigi winced, then hid her expression, struggling to stay calm and polite. How long would it take before every Staré knew what had just happened? Rigi decided a day and a half. Szabor would have difficulty getting assistance and staff from the Staré of the Kenusha Plain after that statement. And Sogdia, Keralita, NovMerv, and the plantation belt? Oh, Creator and Creatrix save me from ever being that uninformed, Rigi prayed.
“So,” Dr. Szabor began again. “These are the goals for the expedition.” A long list appeared, replacing the map. “As you can see, determining the fate of the peoples associated with the pre-contact urbanization is a priority. There are several theories at the moment, based on four models, one of them the latest from the work on Eta Toliman regarding what used to be called ‘star seeding.’
“Following that, we need to reconstruct at least one site and the lifeway associated with it, with particular attention paid to agriculture and industrial zones. Mal Orban has several ideas that look possible for this setting, although one of them directly conflicts with the M’waiko Microclimate Construction models, so we shall see. After that, you can read for yourself.” Rigi translated the next eight points into Staré, bracing for Makana to explode when she got to the last one, “instruct the natives on proper interpretation of the finds in order to encourage preservation and appreciation.”
Instead she smelled and heard—nothing. His ears remained vertical. His fur neither fluffed nor smoothed. She could have been sitting next to a statue of a Staré. And that scared her. The only time she’d seen or smelled anything like it, ten seconds later the fifth Stamm male had jumped across half the square at Rocky Stream market, landing claws first on another male, and eviscerated him before anyone else could move. Rigi inhaled to call a warning. Makana shook, hard, releasing a small shower of brown fur. His ears relaxed and Rigi smelled the faintest bitter hint of deep disgust. I’m sorry, she apologized silently, I’ll find a way to make up for this insult, I promise I will.
“Now, I have been reviewing the work that Dr. Xian and Dr. De Groet have made available to me. There are some truly excellent things, indeed, and you have done wonders with such primitive conditions and techniques. However . . .”
An hour later, Rigi’s head throbbed, her hands ached from not clenching into fists, and she had almost decided to turn in her credentials, finish her current project, and disavow the Xenoarchaeological Institute forever. Even hearing that her illustrations for the monograph about the Stela, Riverside, and Fountain Sites had received the Royal Xenoarchaeological Institute’s annual award failed to sweeten the bitter taste in her mouth as Dr. Szabor then ripped her work to shreds right down to the materials she’d used to do the initial sketches. Rigi managed to be polite to Dr. De Groet and his associates, and kept her temper until she and her chaperones left the building. “Makana, if it is not an imposition,” she said quietly in formal Staré, “I would like to step into the park for three heart-beats. My fur has been ruffled.”
“It shall be as the Wise One requests.” Makana led the way to one of the small pocket parks scattered around the central government district, this one overgrown with vines and climbing plants that screened it from passers-by. He hopped at racing speed around the park’s inside path, checking for other people, stopped, and bowed. “Will this serve?”
“It serves admirably. My thanks.” She hand-bowed, walked into the center of the park and found a small tree standing by itself and not protected by anti-tumblegnaw fencing. Rigi started kicking the tree. When her toe began to hurt she switched feet and kicked some more until the urge to sob had passed. When she finished, she took a deep, calming breath, smelling the sharp, astringent fragrance of something she’d crushed underfoot. It cleared her head and nose of the stink from the meeting room.
“Wooeef?”
She turned around and saw Martinus holding something in his jaws, head cocked sideways. She crouched, took the object, and smiled to see a bottle of her favorite fizzy fruit drink. Tears came to her eyes and she petted him. “Good dog, very good dog.”
“Wooeef!” Rigi straightened up and went to where Makana stood, looking innocent. Except for the top of a similar b
ottle, Staré style, peeking out of the top of the band of his apron. She opened the cap with great care but nothing bubbled out, and she sipped the tart-sweet, refreshing lemon and ginter fizz.
“Please, join me,” she invited, and Makana quickly opened his bottle and drank as well. Rigi caressed the carnifex-leaper fur cover on Martinus’s tail-rod and wondered if her mother would faint if she went home and announced that she wanted to work for Kor as a pelt hunter. Carnifex-leapers, striped lions, trap lizards, and wombeast stampedes seemed almost soothing compared to being in society and trying to please Dr. Szabor. After she finished the bottle, she said, “I am glad that Master Korkukalya departed early. Explaining to the Elders Council, and to the Crown, that he took an archaeologist’s pelt as an honor claim would exceed my skill and wisdom.”
Makana puffed a combination of scents that stung her nose and that she did not understand. “Difficult indeed, Wise One Rigi, but satisfying to consider.” He paused and his jaw worked from side to side. “I fear the pelt would not tan well, for the owner is too—” he gave her a sideways look, one ear tipping to the side, the way Lexi did when Uncle Eb used one of those “choice words.” Rigi ran through her list of Staré vocabulary that she was not supposed to have heard and found two that he might be considering, including one that described a female of questionable behavior and dreadful nest-keeping. That probably summed up the problem, she decided.
“Thank you, Makana, and Martinus. I believe I am refreshed in self and spirit enough to resume my duties,” she switched to Common, “without being rude.”
Makana bowed. They found the recycling inlets for the bottles and left them there, then returned to the main way. Fewer people and more Staré walked or rode, and Rigi relaxed. Just now, being around humans threatened to bring back her terrible temper. Dr. Szabor had humiliated the Shikhari researchers as well as grossly insulting the Staré, and Rigi thought she understood why Uncle Eb had absented himself from her presence.
“ ‘Zat your beast?” She turned in her seat as a young man in uniform pointed at Martinus.
“Yes, sir.”
“You got a permit?”
Rigi pulled the document out of her main bag and handed it to him. He smelled of musk and pouchling-in-need-of-changing. “I’ve never seen a girl need a m-beast before. I’m going to call this in.” He entered the codes into his comm as Rigi watched the stops. Two more and she had to get off the tram. Something chirped and a green light flashed on his device. “Humph.” He returned the permit. “I still don’t see why you need an m-beast. Those are restricted military.”
Rigi stood as her stop neared. “He is a custom civilian model, sir. I have had him for six years without incident.” The tram slowed. “Excuse me.”
He looked her over, staring at her skirt and the loose trousers under it. “Oh, you’re one of those. I’ve heard about your kind.” He smirked at her. Rigi climbed down as quickly and gracefully as possible, Martinus close behind. They found Makana already on the ground, and Rigi marched past him, head high, clenched fist hidden by her full skirt. She stayed quiet until they reached the two terminals at the landing port. Only then did she trust herself to speak civilly.
“I need to visit the restroom. I will return.” Rigi took care of her needs, glanced at the headlines scrolling on the public news display, paid for Jaihu’s use of the facilities, and returned to find Jaihu and Makana talking.
“ . . . she what?” Jaihu’s ears went flat.
“By the Second World’s waters, she insulted Elder Kor and all the Elders who ever lived, to his muzzle. The female must be the lowest Stamm human I’ve ever seen.”
“Ugh. I smooth your fur for being trapped with such a creature.” Rigi made noise and acted as if she were just arriving. Jaihu bowed and Rigi hand-bowed. “Miss Rigi, we need to leave as soon as possible. Storms are coming.”
Storms are here, Rigi thought. “Of course. I am ready to depart if you are.”
“I am ready,” Makana said.
“Wooeef!”
Jaihu released //amusement// and led the way to the flitter.
They landed ten minutes before the rain started. Makana had packed his rain suit in the locker of the flitter, and somehow managed to put all of it on before he got out, without getting stuck or accidentally kicking or snagging a switch. Rigi was impressed. Jaihu drove them to the house, letting them out prior to returning to her father’s office at the spaceport annex. “Miss Rigi, what is that,” Jaihu asked as they stopped, ears tipped towards a pair of boxes now attached to the outside of the fence beside the gate.
“They are for courting cards, Jaihu. It is complicated to explain.”
“I see. Thank you, Miss Rigi.” Makana wasted no time rushing from the transport to the rear porch, almost vaulting the fence in his haste. Rigi and Martinus followed a touch more slowly. Lonka met them, his forelegs draped with drying cloths for Martinus. Rigi tidied him, cleaning his feet before she sent him inside. She followed, changed shoes and left her coat on the drier, and followed the scent of spicy tea to the dining room and the pass through. Lonka appeared from the kitchen door. “It shall be in the family room, Miss Rigi.”
She dutifully turned around and went to the family room. Lonka brought in a tea service, then a platter of hot savories. “Supper will be delayed, your mother says.”
“Thank you, Lonka.”
He made the sound that he used for “polite throat clearing.” “Your mother has also taken the liberty of inspecting the first of the calling cards left for you. I believe they are on the side table there, Miss Rigi.”
She blushed. “Thank you, Lonka.” After he returned to his office and she’d had a cup of tea and several hot nibbles, she got up and went to the small table. A tray held four stacks of cards. Four already? Surely not. She couldn’t have that many interested potential suitors, could she? A quick glance answered her question and she relaxed.
The first stack came from people who simply wished to acknowledge Rigi’s new status. Those would go into a small book, to be updated and checked when invitations and social events required. The second were from young men whom her mother had already determined were not eligible. Rigi read one name and blinked, then blushed. That man was neither young nor eligible, to put it politely! “Old goat” was the nicest thing she’d heard him called. The other young man was Tarkio Lamar, one of her tormenters from school, one of the boys who’d attacked her several times and who had run with Benin Shaka Petrason. No, Rigi snapped, absolutely not, Mother is quite correct.
The two smaller stacks required more attention. One contained four cards of those already approved to court her, and included Tomás, Lt. Deleon, Mr. Patel, and a Mister Archer Mikasa. He must work with her father, she decided, because the name was not familiar. The other six would need some thought and consideration, and she only recognized one of the names. Him she moved to the “no” stack. He had made his dislike of Shikhari obvious for as long as she’d known him, and he wanted to relocate to LimWorld as soon as circumstances permitted. Rigi wished him well and did not care to go with him. The others?
Rigi sat down again, smoothed her skirt, and refilled her tea cup. This was not the moment to decide. She felt cross and impatient, and cross and impatient young ladies made poor decisions. Hot savories, including cheese rusks with a little peppery red something on top, and more tea came first. Then she would see about the latest news from the author about the rounder wombows, and look at her other comms.
Half an hour later, as she started to log in, a live call from an unfamiliar number appeared. Rigi wondered, but took the call. It was Tomás, in uniform and looking frazzled. “Yes, I am aware of that. No, I do not know when he will return. Thank you.” He turned to face the comm screen. “Rigi! I’m glad you are in.”
“Likewise, Tomás.” What was going on?
“I’m not certain how to phrase this without sounding like something from a bad drama holo,” he started. He licked his lips. “Um, you need to be ready to leave So
gdia on almost no notice, assuming what the Staré remember about the end of the First World is true.”
She stared at him, blinking. “I need to be ready to leave Sogdia on no notice, if what the Staré say about the end of the First World is true.”
“Yes.”
She made a rotating motion with one hand where he could see it. “Captain Prananda, more data please.”
“Ah, yes, well.” He moved the voice pick-up away and cleared his throat. “Sorry. Terribly dry here at the moment.” A bottle of something appeared at the edge of the screen. “Thank you, Kortala. Ah, incoming data transmission. From outside the system. Not ours. The Navy is being stingy with information, but that much I can confirm.”
Now her mouth went dry. Rigi struggled to remember to breathe. “Signals from out-system and they are not ours, and they are not from any of our worlds.”
“Not that we can tell. They don’t make sense, but they are definitely signals, not random star fuzz.”
“Oh shells and broken eggs. So much for convergent legends,” she snarled, bitter even to her own ears.
“Pardon?”
She waved one hand. “I’ll tell you later, if Kor has not blistered your ears beyond usability. If Kor ever has anything to do with humans again. Thank you, Tomás, and I’ll pack a get-away kit. I trust this is not public?”
He blushed. “No, it is not, but when I saw the report, I thought about what we’d heard and seen, and had to warn you.”
“Thank you. I am warned. Now drink before your Subala pours the contents into you, in a polite and respectful way, of course.”
He smiled, a weak little half-grin. “You have spent far too much time around Staré in general and Lexi in particular, Miss Auriga.”
“Guilty as charged.”
He signed off and she closed out the call. She stood up, went to her room, closed the door, laid down on the bed, and started to laugh. Hysterical laughter turned into tears. If Rigi, Uncle Eb, and Tomás had understood what the Elders and the archaeological evidence appeared to describe, a non-human force from outside Shikhari had destroyed the cities of the First World, killing the at least nine-tenths of the Staré in the process. Whatever had happened had been powerful enough to shatter a small continent and leave the Bataria Archipelago in its place. The Indria Plateau Staré believed that the attackers had threatened to return of the Staré ever rediscovered enough technology to make radio transmissions. The idea had scared Rigi when she first heard it, and still terrified her.
Stamme: Shikari Book Three Page 12
