Juanita Coulson - Children of the Stars 04

by Past of Forever

  Irked by the patronizing tone, he said, “I’m no tourist. I can handle anything but Ulisorian.”

  “Give him time to. acclimate before you lecture him,” Sheila said. Kat glared at her. The blonde winked and went on, “Open the cargo bay and let’s see what you’ve got, McKelvey.” She made that a blatant double entendre.

  Pleasantly flustered, he unlocked the hold. The settlers trooped inside. One of the little shovel-pawed aliens hopped off the truck and loped up the boarding ramp after them. The other e.t.s tagged along, moving much more slowly than their leader.

  Dan, too, moved slowly. Compensation meds could do only so much; it would take time for him to adjust to T-W 593’s nine-tenths Earth gravity and somewhat Oxygen-thin atmosphere.

  “By Kruger’s hills, it is the stuff we ordered last year!” Sheila chortled over the hold’s contents. “Won’t this curdle Feo’s milk?” “Fee's and Hope’s,” Kat Olmsted agreed. “It looks as if everything’s here. Amazing! Right out of the blue, after being missing all that time. Now maybe we can fix the skimmer and get that vacuum dredge back in operation.”

  “Maybe.” Joe Hughes sounded pessimistic. “If we can figure how to install the parts. Well, let’s start unloading...”

  Dan coughed to get their attention. “Before you do, I’ll need a receipt. A palmprint will do, if a signature isn’t convenient. I have to have proof that the delivery was accepted by the correct party, so I can register it with Terran Traffic Central when I return to a main port.”

  Hughes and Sheila smiled slyly, and Sheila said, “Praedar will sign. Why don’t you take McKelvey to camp and take care of that, Olmsted?” Kaatje shot her another glare. Dan suspected he was being dragged into an in-group joke at Kat’s expense. Sheila anticipated his objections. “Don’t worry about your ship while you’re gone, handsome. We’ll leave her so tidy you won’t know we’ve been here.” The blonde’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief. The Whimed couple uttered those wheezing chuckles that passed for felinoid laughter.

  Dan felt ill at ease. He was unhappy at the idea of leaving Fiona in strangers’ hands. After all, she was his livelihood. Could he trust these people?

  That emotion must have shown in his expression. Kat said, “Oh, nobody’s going to damage your spacecraft! How clumsy do you think we are? We use far more complex equipment than this every day!”

  Despite her boast, he doubted the scientists knew as much about a starhopper as they did about test tubes and fancy scanners. But if he said so, he’d have a word brawl on his hands —and there would go his hopes of a tip. Without enthusiasm, he said, “Well, I guess it’s okay.”

  Sheila smirked. “Our guest is all yours, Kat. Do be a gracious hostess, hmm?”

  Kaatje spat a word Dan recognized as a pithy Whimed obscenity; then she trotted down the exitway. Sheila’s grin did nothing to reassure him. He was now certain that the blonde had shoved him headlong into a private squabble, and there was no escape hatch in sight.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Blacklisted

  Sheila yelled, “Kat! Take the N’lacs with you. They’ll get in the way here.” She told the most energetic e.t., “Chuss. You digger fellas go along by Kat and McKelvey, huh huh.”

  Chuss galloped to the two-seater. His companions trailed him, strolling. As the humans climbed aboard the vehicle, red-faced e.t.s swarmed up onto the rover’s hood.

  Joe Hughes backed the now-empty truck into loading position at Fiona’s ramp. Dan winced when the rig groaned in protest. That machine needed repairs. But he couldn’t offer to fix it at the moment; Olmsted was firing up the rover. It roared away, leaving a small sandstorm in its wake.

  The road was unpaved and rutted. Dan grabbed at the safety bar, steadying himself. Kat dodged the worst of the bumps, however, and after a few minutes he began to relax and enjoy the scenery.

  Purple foliage dotted the mesa—brush, grasses, and grotesquely gnarled “trees” with snaky tendrils. The sandy soil was rust-colored. Beyond the plateau, a dark line of jagged mountains boxed the area.

  As Kat drove northwest, Dan cupped his hands over his brow and squinted at the dashboard chronometer. According to that, it was late afternoon on this meridian. The temperature, though, was still murderous. Kat didn’t seem to mind the heat. Neither did the N’lacs. They ignored flying dust, grinning, and clung to the rover’s hood as if their pawlike hands were equipped with adherers.

  Dan studied Kaatje Olmsted sidelong. Her profile was sharp, accented by a pert nose and pointed chin. A form-fitting jumper outlined her slim figure. Girlish pigtails and a smudged face made her look younger than she probably was—about Dan’s age, thirty. She was attractive, under that grime.

  “Well?” she said waspishly, not taking her eyes off the road. “Do I pass inspection?”

  “Top score. But it wasn’t an inspection, only a friendly survey. That’s not permitted?”

  After a pause, Kat shook her head and managed a weak smile. “Sorry. I had a blowup with a colleague shortly before we drove out here, but I shouldn’t take it out on you, McKelvey.” She glanced at him curiously. “McKelvey? What’s someone like you doing piloting an indie starhopper?”

  “Someone rich, you mean?” Kat heard the anger in that and nodded, on guard. Dan said, “I’m not rich. And there are times when I wish I wasn’t a Saunder-McKelvey. It gives me too damned much trouble. As for my piloting Fiona, that’s what I do for a living. I work, instead of wallowing in the lap of luxury like my wealthy relatives.” He described his background briefly and finished on a lighter note. “If you were planning to hit me up for a loan, you might as well save your breath.”

  “Damn,” she said in mock anguish. “And I was counting on you for a hefty grant, too. All right. I promise I won’t make any more cracks about your name. I’ll warn you, though, some members of the team may be very hostile at first, when they learn you’re a Saunder-McKelvey.”

  “Very hostile?” he asked, puzzled by the emphasis.

  Kat pretended she hadn’t heard him. “There’s the complex,” she announced, steering the rover down a slope into a broad, sun-baked valley. They parked near a collection of plasticene insta-cells. The lightweight polygonal structures were popular on the frontier. They were cheap, easy to transport, and could be used as individual housing or linked into community buildings.

  The camp showed a lot of wear and tear. Insta-cells, solar panels, and deep-well windmill pumpers were sand-scoured. Vehicles and metalline hangars were streaked with temperature stress cracks.

  T-W 593’s population was a multispecies mix. Terrans, Whimeds, Vahnajes, a Lannon, and dozens of N’lacs. Dan was surprised that there was so little visible friction, far less than he would have expected from such a disparate bunch.

  In those ed-vids he’d bought, archaeological sites were neat diagrams and pictorials recorded when digging was done. This place was in full operation and it was a mess: piles of dirt and rubble; partially uncovered ruins; a haphazard clutter of tools, vehicles, and unidentifiable stuff; middens of broken storage crates; and labyrinths of stakes and strings.

  One especially large domed edifice caught Dan’s eye. It was half buried, sitting uphill from the insta-cells and dominating the landscape. The thing reminded him of a supersized Asita Hosi Settlement, creepy-crab emerging from its burrow.

  Kat led the way into camp. Chuss loped out in front. His buddies ambled along in the rear, as did Dan. Heavy with fatigue and short of breath, he rubbed his med patches. Even after he got a boost from grav compensation drugs, he made no attempt to match Kat’s stride, not this soon after planetfall. Only a greenie would do that.

  The brunette leaned in the door of an insta-cell and asked where Praedar was. Dan peered over her shoulder, hoping to watch exotic experiments in progress. Instead, he saw a lab full of catnapping Whimeds and a few bored-looking Terrans. One pot-bellied scientist sat at a monitor, his nose nearly touching its screen. He glanced at Kat and chuckled. “Praedar? Up at the dome dig. Say, if you see
the hunting party while you’re there, hurry ’em along. Frank wants to fry something good for supper. I’m hungry for boomer lizard, myself.” Others in the room made disparaging remarks. The paunchy Oriental scratched his groin, gobbled a blue fruit, and produced a spectacular belch.

  Bemused, Kat moved on, telling Dan, “Don’t be impressed by Chen’s little act. He likes to stage that for visitors.”

  “Uh... no... I wasn’t...”

  She was setting a rapid pace. He had to push not to fall behind, stumbling occasionally. The valley floor was uneven, and Kat was leading him through an obstacle course. Dan dodged tools and crates, coming abreast of a trench. He slowed, then halted, gawking. A Terran male and a Vahnaj female were inside the excavation, heaving shovelsful of dirt up and out.

  Dan was astonished. Vahnajes were elegant beings in floaty robes. They never performed grubby manual labor or wore dirty jumpers.

  This one did.

  Her Terran co-worker was shoveling just as hard and getting just as dirty as she was; but, in his case, that was far less shocking.

  Two Terran males caught the soil as it sailed out of the pit. They shook it back and forth on a screened box, now and then picking small objects from the debris. That done, they dumped the contents and readied themselves for the next shovelsful.

  None of the quartet looked at the others. They knew this choreographed routine by heart.

  Dig. Throw. Catch. Sift.

  Dig. Throw. Catch. Sift.

  “I thought you needed proof of delivery.” Dan woke out of a trance. Kat stood arms akimbo a few meters beyond the trench. She tapped her foot impatiently.

  He dragged himself away from the scene. “Uh... what are they doing?”

  “Helping Getz’s students sift for effigy fragments and any potsherds that might have been missed earlier.”

  Dan thought hard, mentally reviewing those ed-vids. “Oh. Potsherds. Pieces of pottery. Right?” Kat nodded and raised her dark eyebrows. “Effigy. That’s related to fetishes, isn’t it? Small representations of humanoids, often with religious or sexual connotations.”

  “Where did you... ? Yes, that’s correct. The potsherds are nothing out of the ordinary. The effigies, though, are unique. Dr. Getz, an expert in that field, has come here solely to analyze them.”

  Dan peered again at the dig-and-sift team. “So you’re working on a primitive culture?”

  “No! A highly developed civilization,” Kat said with heat. He wondered why she was so fiercely defensive. Abruptly she dropped the topic and hurried through another maze of shallow excavations. “These are dud pits. Dead ends,” she explained. “But these ahead did prove out, so watch your step.” Dan dutifully obeyed.

  Each rectangular depression was framed by numbered stakes. Pegs and strings separated them from each other and from the path. Kat threaded her way among them, climbing toward the partially buried dome. A circle of Terrans and aliens stood at the top of the trail. They were engaged in a loud multilingual argument. Chuss and a gaggle of young N’iacs hunkered on the sidelines, enjoying the show.

  “Praedar!” Kat’s bellow momentarily silenced the crowd. As a tall Whimed left the group, noise resumed, full blast. Frowning, the woman said, “We’ll have to find a quieter place to talk. Come on.”

  Dan followed her and the Whimed along the hill’s crest and hastily rearranged his thinking. Why had he subconsciously assumed the expedition’s leader would be a Terran? That was a chauvenistic attitude worthy of Varenka’s New Earth Renaissances, and those hidebound bigots weren’t people he wanted to emulate. He resolved to be more open-minded in the future.

  Reaching a spot out of earshot of the debate, Kat wheeled and said, “Praedar, this is Dan McKelvey, the pilot who brought in ourumissing machinery. Dan, Dr. Praedar Effan luxury.”

  The Whimed regarded him intently. “You are a Saunder-McKelvey?”

  Dan blurted, “Yeah! I’m a son of Reid McKelvey and Fiona Oxford. My grandfather was Morgan McKelvey. And my great-great-grandparents were Ward and Jael Saunder. Anything else about my antecedents you need to know? Or am I automatically a pariah on this planet no matter what I do?”

  Kat spoke up fast. “I’m sure he’s all right, Praedar. He doesn’t strike me as one of Feo’s or Hope’s flunkeys.”

  “You talking about my cousin Feo Saunder?” Dan demanded.

  “None other.” Kat added scornfully, “Your illustrious kinsman.”

  “Damned near all my kinsmen are illustrious,” Dan retorted. “That’s no ID. Feo. Hmm. Haven’t seen him in years. He and I don’t exactly move in the same circles. My sister tells me Feo’s digging somewhere in this sector. He’s in archaeology, too, I hear. Just like you people.”

  “Xenoarchaeology,” Kat corrected, sniffing. “And it’s questionable if the Saunder-Nicholaievs’ project equates with ours Their selectivity is, to say the least, highly tainted. II they'd openn their eyes and actually read what we’ve published concerning out findings here, they’d... oh, what’s the use!”

  “They have faith in their theories,” Praedar said, “as we do in ours.”

  “But ours are correct,” Kat insisted.

  Dan was confused. Weren’t all scientists in the same game— trying to solve the mysteries of the universe? Yet these people and his relatives obviously were involved in a competition, stepping hard on each other’s toes. Because of that, Praedar’s expedition distrusted any kinsman of Feo Saunder. The whole thing seemed self-defeating; wouldn’t both groups accomplish more if they cooperated?

  Kat said, “From what he told me, I can practically guarantee Dan’s not one of their spies.”

  Whoa! All stop!

  Was this a joke? She made it sound like a war, with espionage agents stealing enemy secrets!

  "... and anyway, he wouldn’t be the first person in this camp with a link to the Saunder-McKelveys.”

  Before he could ask about that cryptic comment, Praedar smiled and thrust a calloused hand at him. “Apologies for my rudeness. You are most welcome here, Dan McKelvey.” The alien’s Terran English was impeccable, with only a hint of a Whimed accent.

  “It’s okay. Glad to have been of service, Doctor. That’s what I get paid for.”

  Kat laughed. “Cute! Dan needs a signature on a receipt.” Whiskery hairs at the edges of Praedar’s brows and eyelashes pinched together as he grinned. “Stransir cheleet! We must attend to that obligation at once.” He took the receipt pad from Dan and signed twice—in Whimed characters and in Terran. It was an impressive feat by an impressive being.

  Dr. Praedar Effan luxury was unusually tall and lean for a Whimed. Dan stood a meter and three-quarters, and he had to look up to meet the scientist’s starburst-pupiled eyes. Praedar’s face was strong and bony, framed by striped red and silver hair. A felinoid’s most distinctive feature was the crest, that barometer of its owner’s emotional state. Praedar’s crest was jet black, and at present it flopped limply, showing he was in a mellow mood.

  If he’d been upset, the mane would have been a crown of spikes.

  Signature taken care of, Praedar wanted to chat. What type starcraft did Dan fly? How far had he journeyed to T-W 593? What other planets had he visited recently? Occasionally Kat put in a query, too. Both scientists listened to Dan’s replies with flattering attention. It made him a trifle uncomfortable, as if he were a specimen under examination.

  When there was a break in the small talk, he said, “How about a swap? May I play tourist? Look around? This sort of Settlement is new to me.”

  Praedar’s eyes gleamed. “Aaaaa! You also are an explorer. It is a reasonable request. Kaatje will be your guide, since she has been so kind as to vouch for you.”

  “I didn’t go that far,” Kat protested.

  “An impartial observer would interpret your responses so, Dr. Olmsted.” Praedar laughed silently, then sobered and said, “I must mediate the discussion regarding the temple dig.” He turned on his heel and trotted back to the still-noisy debating circle.
/>
  Obviously envious, Kat watched him go. Dan said, “You needn’t play nursemaid. I can sightsee on my own.”

  “What? Oh, no bother.” Seeing his skepticism, she added, “Honestly, I can’t contribute there. They’re arguing over architectural concepts. Not my discipline at all. I’ll wait till they arrive at a consensus, then read the report. That way, I miss the excitement of yelling myself hoarse at Armilly.”

  One debater was Lannon. The hairy procyonid was louder than anyone else on the hill. Dan pointed at him discreetly. “Armilly?” Kat’s expression confirmed his guess. They listened to the uproar awhile and Dan noted, “Praedar’s not doing much talking.”

  “He’s absorbing. When they’re through, he’ll assemble key decisions into a coherent whole.” Hero worship glowed in her brown eyes. Dan had seen Fleet cadets stare at his brother that way, when Adam had saved 6I Cygni Settlement from civil war. Kat straightened her shoulders, focusing her energy. “All right. To business. The camp rules. First: Time limit. You can stay forty-eight local hours, then you have to leave. That applies to all our guests. It’s a clause in our dig permit. Besides, our funding is tight. We can’t afford to feed and house outsiders longer than that.” Dan said he’d eat and sleep aboard his ship. She brushed that aside. “It won’t change anything. You might as well take potluck with us instead of wasting your time running back and forth to the landing strip.”

  He was disgruntled. These people were awfully damned inhospitable.

  Kat continued, “Second: Until you leave, you have the freedom of camp, barring sensitive areas, which I’ll point out to you. Third: Don’t stand on the backfills, or any other piles of dirt. They may contain valuable artifacts we haven’t extracted yet. Fourth: Don’t walk on marker strings. Fifth: Don’t move anything unless a team member tells you to. Is that understood?” Saluting, Dan said, “Very clear. Further orders, ma’am?”

  She wasn’t amused. “These rules are important. If you break them, you may accidentally destroy years of work. That covers the basics. Let’s go.”