Ancestor's World

by T. Jackson King

  Gordon nodded. "Think OldAm technology circa a.d. 1910. Electric lights.

  Dynamos. Telephones. Steam- powered factories and ships. Marconi-style radios. And coal-fired steel foundries. Everything except free-flying balloons and Wright brothers-style aircraft. There are historical accounts that long ago, the Na-Dina males used to fly through Mother Sky on giant wings--hang gliders of some sort. But then the Royal House and the priests decided that was a profanation--and that ended flight on this world until we came here."

  Mahree gazed in wonder as a large balloon lifted up from a flat platform atop one of the temples. A land-line held it tethered to the yellow sandstone pile, a building easily

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  thirty stories tall, and one pockmarked with windows, balconies, and garden areas that splashed green across the great pile. "What's that building? The one with the balloon?"

  Gordon squinted. "The Temple of Storms. Where the meteorologists hang out. Next to it is the Temple of the River, home base for some of the smartest hydrologists you're likely to find anywhere. On the far side is the Temple of Earth Quaking, where seismology studies dominate. Beyond them is the Temple of A-Um Rakt, where electricity and lightning are studied."

  "And there?" she pointed.

  "That's the Royal House, which we'll probably never get inside. Next to it is the Temple of Administration, site of all the government Ministries--and our destination."

  As he finished speaking, Gordon halted the skimmer by the Temple entrance and parked it.

  The two humans went into the building, after showing the seal Beloran had given them to the guard at the door.

  Inside the temple it was mercifully cool. The ground floor's high ceiling was supported by massive pillars, all of it made of stone. As Mahree started across the polished surface, the floor trembled beneath her feet. She stopped dead, heart thudding, until the shaking and rumbling subsided. She glanced at Gordon. "Earthquake?"

  He nodded. "Get used to it. Three, maybe four or more on an average day.

  Sometimes even more."

  Mahree cast an apprehensive glance around her at the massive temple, picturing what would happen if those stone pillars fell. Guessing her thought, Mitchell grinned wryly. "Don't worry. The Na-Dina know all about baseplate isolation of structures. It takes a hell of a lot to knock down one of these temples."

  "I hope so." As he indicated the way, Mahree started up the stairs.

  Ten floors up, Gordon turned to the right, walked past several doorless entryways, and stopped before one. He pointed at the hieroglyphs carved into the stone lintel over

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  the doorway. "Ministry of Justice, Division of Investigation. Krillen's office."

  Mahree paused in the doorway. The office was lit with electric lights, and a cluster of crescent-shaped desks occupied the middle of the high-ceilinged room. Private offices lined the opposite wall. A squat, bright blue Na-Dina hurried toward them. "We seek Krillen, of the clan Moon Bright," Mahree hiss-clicked in High Na-Dina.

  The official stopped dead, then bowed. "I am Makwen, of the clan Hard Clay, of the trade Ancestor's Law, Mother of six eggs, Prosecutor for this office.

  And you are?"

  "I am Mahree Burroughs, of the clan Human, of the trade Interrelator, Mother of one egg," Mahree replied. "And this is Gordon Mitchell." She hesitated.

  Mitchell's file had mentioned an ex-wife and children, but she couldn't remember how many.

  "Krillen of the Law is expecting you. Please follow me."

  They followed Makwen across the room and down the line of offices. The Prosecutor stopped before a stone door. She pushed at the bottom half of the door and it swung inward, suspended by a shoulder-high beam that ran horizontally to either side of the entryway. A giant cat door, Mahree thought, amused, as she bent low and followed Gordon and the Na-Dina into the office.

  Behind them, the weight-balanced door finished its rotation, slowing to a stop against wooden floor bumpers. Before them was a blue-scaled Na-Dina who wore a sash across his chest. Dozens of tiny gold chevrons studded the sash, and Mahree guessed that it denoted rank of some kind. The alien was squatting behind a stone desk cluttered with a pot, a bronze ruler, ink-bowl, writing styluses and a battery-driven Na-Dina clock. An open window loomed behind him. The Investigator looked up from reading a sheaf- scroll, and his clear eyelids blinked sideways. "Yes, Prosecutor Makwen?"

  Bowing deeply, the Prosecutor introduced the newcomers. The humans bowed in turn. Mahree noted that Gordon introduced himself as:

  "Philosopher Mitchell, of the clan

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  Human, trade Archaeologist, and Father of two daughters."

  The Na-Dina Investigator bowed in his turn. "And I am Krillen of the Law, Elder of the clan Moon Bright, Investigator of the Ministry of Justice, and Father of three children."

  They all stared at each other for a moment, then Krillen gestured to Makwen.

  "You may return to your duties, Prosecutor."

  She scurried out the swinging cat door, and Mahree noticed that her long tail barely made it out of the way in time. She repressed a smile. What an interesting species the Na-Dina are! Glancing around the office, she saw that Gordon was leaning against a shelf stacked high with bronze measuring tools, a microscope, and other devices she didn't immediately recognize.

  Since there were no chairs for visitors--Na-Dina weren't configured to sit--

  she returned her attention to Krillen, who was studying both humans interestedly.

  "Philosopher Mitchell, Interrelator Burroughs," the alien said after a moment.

  "Please squat and share tea with me.

  Mahree hunkered down as well as she could, noting, with annoyance, that Gordon seemed able to squat and maintain that position effortlessly. Too much desk work, she thought, sipping the cool, bitter tea. It was so astringent it made her teeth ache, but she knew from her studies that humans could eat and drink most Na-Dina foods and beverages. This must be kalant-tea.

  "Tell me, Interrelator Burroughs," Krillen said, his bright eyes fixed on her,

  "do you demand the dead body of a now-living Na-Dina as reparation for the loss of your student?"

  "What?" Mahree choked on her tea, and her legs gave out. She sat down hard on the floor, sputtering. Gordon reached over and patted her back gently, steadying her.

  Finally she was able to draw breath again, and began to apologize. "Not necessary," Krillen said, waving a taloned hand dismissively. "I should not have been so blunt, per

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  haps. It is plain that you still have much to learn of our ways, Interrelator."

  She drew a deep breath, suddenly aware of Mitchell's hand steadying her.

  She straightened up, and Gordon let her go. "I certainly do, Investigator Krillen," she said. "But I am a quick student. Do I understand you correctly?

  You would kill a Na-Dina citizen if I demanded blood reparation for Bill's death on your world?"

  "Of course." Krillen reached out to the metal ruler lying on his desktop, tracing its markings with a sharp talon. "Our most ancient Tradition calls for repayment in kind. A tail for a tail, a limb for a limb, an eye for an eye, a life for a Me."

  Mahree shook her head. "No, of course I don't demand that a Na-Dina be put to death. Besides, we don't even know that one of your people did the killing.

  It is just as likely that the murderer was a human."

  "It is far more likely," Krillen told her. "Our Justice is harsh to some, but clear and swift, and our people respect our laws. We have very little theft, less assault, and perhaps ten murders a year."

  "For the entire planet?" Mahree raised her eyebrows. Talk about civilized!

  Even the Mizari, who had been civilized space travelers since the time when humans were living in caves, had more crime than that. Though not much more. And their population was far higher, she reminded herself, especially considering all the Mizari colony worlds....

  Krillen nodded, human-style, something he must hav
e picked up from Gordon during his initial visit to the Base Camp. "Yes, for the whole world.

  Though many die each year from flood, earthquake, or storm. But that is the way of things."

  Krillen poured more tea into a cup and pushed it across his desk toward her.

  "More tea?" Mahree was fascinated to see him use his tail at the same time to curl around a bound scroll and place it into a floor slot. "I have been studying the information on your species. This sweat-thing

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  you do. It is not healthy. You must be careful to replenish your body's loss."

  She took the tea and sipped, grateful for the coolness. She was getting used to the taste.

  "Here," Krillen said, watching her drink. "Have one of these, too." He offered her a large white pill.

  Mahree took the pill, glanced covertly at Gordon, who nodded slightly. She popped it into her mouth. "Oh... salt!"

  "Salt," Kril en agreed approvingly. "The Rock of Life. My readings indicate that humans waste both water and salt in their sweating."

  "You are correct."

  Gordon Mitchell took out a packet, removed a round pill, put it in his mouth, and chased it down with some of the bitter tea. "Krillen? Care to try some alien salt?"

  Krillen looked to Gordon. "Free-will trade? No obligation? One of mine for one of yours?"

  "Of course." As Mahree watched, Mitchell handed over one of his round pills, took back one of Krillen's oblong pills, and placed it in his packet.

  Krillen popped the salt tablet in his mouth, and sat there for a minute, evidently savoring it as it dissolved.

  Mahree smiled. "All part of Tradition," she guessed. Gordon nodded. "The Na-Dina value Tradition, and have for six thousand recorded years, I've learned. They are not a people to take change casually."

  She nodded. That jibed with her own studies of the culture. "Investigator Krillen, if your people value Tradition so much, why then have you invited so much change lately by selling your mineral rights to Nordlund in exchange for the massive changes they're making on the face of your planet? I mean, they're planning to dam the River of Life." Krillen put down his teacup.

  "Ambassador Burroughs, when the first Sky Infidels came, they met a family clan of Merchants in the foothills of the Mountains of Faith. They traded for jewels, gold, and salt. The Merchants received back wondrous devices, and the Horn That Calls To The Stars. They presented the Horn to the Royal Family, who

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  directed that the Horn be used to communicate with other worlds. The Elders among the Priesthood decided that it would please our Revered Ancestors to have strangers come and marvel at our world."

  Krillen picked up another scroll in the end of his tail, and filed it away.

  "Nordlund came instead. And then the Modernists, the party in power, argued that the only way to gain respect from your CLS was to speed up our industrialization. Building more factories. Making more tools. There has even been talk that one day the Temple will permit the Na-Dina to pilot ships through the sky, the way our Ancestors were said to have done. The Priests have already created dispensations to allow Na-Dina to be passengers aboard the Infidel vehicles."

  Krillen paused, then looked over his shoulder as the afternoon sunlight flooded in through the open window.

  "Ambassador, we must control our own destiny. We must not be the plaything of off-worlders. The Modernists rule the Royal House, as they do the other government Temples. I, however, am a Traditionalist. I fear the effects you Sky Infidels are having upon my world. I fear our heritage will be thrown away in the name of modernization."

  Mahree frowned. "But Krillen, the CLS can interdict this world, can prevent ships from visiting without your permission. There is no need to sacrifice your heritage for... for--'

  "Power? Technological marvels?" Krillen said, his tone neutral. The alien gazed sadly at Mahree and shook his head. "There is no way to step back from this precipice we face. There is no way to unlearn what we have learned so recently, O Mother of a daughter. Could you unbecome a Mother?

  Could the River of Life not flood each spring?" Mahree glanced at Gordon Mitchell. "When Nordlund finishes with it, the annual floods will probably cease, Investigator Krillen. "

  The alien blinked at her, his consternation evident even to a human. "If you are correct, Ambassador... my people must change their way of life even more than I realized." He made a little dismissive flick with the end of his tail.

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  "However, that is not my responsibility, thank the Revered Ancestors. But the murder of your student is. Shall we turn our attention to what I have discovered during my investigation?"

  Mahree nodded. "If you please, Investigator."

  "I have discovered very little that is definitive, Ambassador. The jumpjet was found south of the Western Wastes, atop a mesa far from any village, with only the human's body inside. Interrelator Waterston's skull was crushed-- by a metal bar we found beside the body. There were no footprints outside, no signs of tracked or wheeled vehicles, nothing to prove that anyone but your student was inside the craft when it landed."

  Mahree turned to Gordon. "You were there, correct?" He nodded.

  "Did Bill land the craft himself?"

  Mitchell hesitated. "It's hard to say. We couldn't fix the time of death exactly, since several days had gone by. Dehydration ... and ... you know. Bill could have been killed while in flight, I suppose."

  "Gordon, how did the jumpjet land? Was it set on automatic?"

  The archaeologist shook his head slowly. "No. It was set on manual. The computer log showed that Bill set the ship on automatic, but that the landing was made manually." He shrugged. "I didn't do a complete check of the controls, I'm afraid. For one thing, we were all... well, kind of unhinged by what we found. And we knew we shouldn't disturb anything until the authorities could see it."

  "The jumpjet landed in the middle of nowhere."

  "Right."

  Mahree turned back to Krillen. "Leaving no tracks or traces of how the killer either entered or left the ship."

  "Correct, Ambassador."

  "So we don't know whether Bill or his murderer landed the ship." She considered for a moment, then added, "Why would Bill land in the middle of nowhere?"

  Gordon shook his head. "Maybe the murderer forced

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  him to land. If we knew whether Bill landed the ship or not, we could at least narrow it down that we're looking for a human."

  Mahree's eyebrows went up. "Why?"

  "Because, Ambassador, no Na-Dina may fly through Mother Sky," Krillen explained patiently. "Special dispensation must be given for one of the People to even ride as a passenger on one of your craft. My people do not have the knowledge or the motivation to pilot your jumpjet. To do so would mean they had committed an unforgivable sin against Mother Sky."

  She frowned, chagrined. "Oh, of course. Sorry, I'm not always this dense. It must be the heat."

  Krillen's tail lashed in anger. "And this is not your profession, Ambassador, but it is mine, and I am angry that I have made so little progress toward solving this case!"

  "Well, what about fingerprints?" she asked. "On the murder weapon?" She glanced at Krillen. "You know about fingerprints?"

  "Yes, though we Na-Dina do not have them," he said, holding up his taloned hands to demonstrate. "Our palms are scaled, and we do not sweat." His tail switched back and forth. "To answer your question... no. No fingerprints."

  "Anywhere?"

  "Except where one would expect to find them. On the controls of the jumpjet, yes. Professor Mitchell's, Interrelator Waterston's, as well as other human prints that I have yet to identify."

  "Most likely they belong to the Nordlund pilots," Gordon said.

  "Wasn't there any clue?" Mahree cried, frustrated. "Just one," Krillen said, unblinking. "I discovered several scale impressions in the pilot's seat cushion."

  "A Na-Dina was in the seat?"

  "Axum," Gordon said heavily. "Our crew boss. She
frequently rode back and forth in the jumpjet when they were transporting the crew from dig sites. She admitted that she was fascinated by the jumpjet controls, and that several 64

  times she sat in the pilot's seat while the Nordlund pilot had the jet placed on automatic." Mitchell grimaced. "Not that a Na-Dina can really sit very well.

  She sort of perched on her butt, using her tail to balance. Hence the scale impressions."

  "Are scale impressions like fingerprints?" Mahree asked. "Unique to a particular Na-Dina?"

  "No," Krillen replied, as though he hadn't thought of such an idea before.

  "Scale patterns are unique. But all scales are very much alike, depending on where on our bodies they come from." He opened his palm again to show her the tiny scales on his palm, then waved a hand at his chest, demonstrating the obvious difference in size.

  Krillen's fan-ears pricked up. "I photographed the mesa top. There is only the narrowest and most dangerous of animal tracks leading to the top. No way to take a skimmer up or down. No evidence of any other craft--even a village cart. The nearest village is fifty of your kilometers away, and the villagers have not seen a stranger in half a year." Mahree sipped more tea, frowning thoughtfully. "I've read a lot of mysteries. They always say to focus on method, motive, and opportunity."

  Krillen hissed approvingly. "Yes, we have a similar dictum. The method is obvious--bludgeoning to death. Who would have a motive?"

  "Well, there was the argument Bill had with Project Engineer Mohapatra the day before he was killed," Gordon said. "I told you about it, Investigator."

  "What was it about?" Mahree asked.

  "I'm not sure. Bill mentioned it to Khuharkk'. Said that something wasn't right about one of the Nordlund sites. But he was very vague. Told Khuharkk' he'd tell him when he returned from Spirit." Mitchell spread his hands in a final gesture.

  Mahree eyed him. "Something? What something?" Gordon shrugged. "No idea. I haven't been over to the Nordlund dam site for a while now. Last time I was there, everything seemed to be going along right on schedule."