"Well, if Bill argued with Mohapatra, seems to me that
65
he could be a suspect," Mahree said. "Have you questioned him, Investigator?"
Krillen tapped his ruler on his desktop. "I tried to gain an appointment with him, but the Project Engineer has many allies within the Temple of Administration, the Temple of the River, and even on the Council of Elders.
He did not respond to my request."
Mahree's mouth tightened. "Well, he'll talk to me. And to you. I'll see to it."
"Take it easy, Mahree," Gordon counseled. "One argument doesn't constitute a motive for murder! If I had a buck for every argument I've ever had, I wouldn't need the Mizari Archaeological Society to finance this dig.
Besides, don't forget opportunity as well as motive. Project Engineer Mohapatra is so recognizable that I can't picture him sneaking aboard Bill's craft unnoticed. He probably has a simon- pure alibi that stretches clear back to Shassiszss!"
"Alibi?" Krillen asked.
Hastily, Mahree defined the alien word. "Well," she said after a moment,
"who else might have had a motive?" Gordon shrugged. Krillen's fan-ears twitched. "Young Waterston, from all accounts I have heard, was well liked and respected," the Na-Dina said. "However, it is possible that his murder was not done for personal reasons--rather, for ideological or profit motives.
There are humans and Na- Dina who resent the presence of your CLS on my world."
"By humans you mean Nordlund, of course," Mahree said. "If it weren't for the CLS, they could do whatever they liked here, with no one to make them observe proper safety codes. By Na-Dina ... you mean, one of the Traditionalist party? Someone who doesn't want change on Ancestor's World?"
Krillen turned the ruler over in his taloned hands. "Possibly. I believe we should forgo motive for the moment, and concentrate on opportunity. I have been intending to take more advanced equipment out to the murder site, for a lengthier examination. Would you be interested in joining me, Ambassador?"
Mahree nodded. "I was going to ask if I could go. I
66
brought along some forensic science equipment that might lend itself to a reexamination of the murder scene." Krillen's fan-ears perked up.
"Equipment? What kind of equipment?"
"Infrared scanners. Biomolecule sensors. Gene-typing instruments." She was pleased to see that Krillen's eyes brightened as she named each item.
"And a large-field microscope able to detect the smallest markings on that murder weapon. Interested?"
The Na-Dina stood up quickly, his long tail quivering. "Interested? Of course!
When shall we make this journey?"
"As soon as we can arrange for transport," Mahree said. "Can I contact you from the Base Camp?"
"Yes, by relay to our communications radio in the Ministry," Krillen said. "We will speak soon, then."
Mahree, recognizing the end of the discussion, nodded and scrambled to her feet. Gordon stood up from his squatting position with such boneless grace that she envied him as she tried not to rub her posterior, which had gone numb from sitting on the stone floor.
"Just let me get settled in at the Base Camp," Mahree said, as she and Gordon headed for the huge cat door, "and we'll make the trip right after that."
"Very well," Krillen said. "I will accompany you back to where your vehicle awaits."
Mahree ducked under the cat door, thinking of the heat outside, and wondering how long it would take to get back to the landing field and the air-conditioned jumpjet....
Krillen of the Law walked beside the two aliens along the corridors of the Ministry, aware of covert glances from every doorway. Most Na-Dina had still not gotten a close look at one of the Sky Infidels.
The Investigator told himself the Ancestors would have been proud of how he had interacted with the Soft Faces. The male and female Infidels looked like unformed yolks spilled from the egg, so soft was their skin and so malleable were their faces. But despite their extreme ugliness, their 67
spirits were recognizably those of civilized beings. They spoke the High Speech with respect, they offered the Rock of Life in return for hospitality.
Krillen found himself respecting them, and was pleased that they appeared to have respect for him, for his position.
Gently, he smoothed his Sash of Rank. It was studded with tiny gold chevron pins, so many that they nearly covered its surface. They represented Cases Solved. One hundred and twelve, with one pin for each case. Years and years of devoted work. Few of his fellow Investigators reached a hundred before retiring to their home compound and luxuriating in their private ponds.
Krillen thought of the tools he used in his investigations, and wondered what it would be like to use tools invented by the Sky Infidels. Would such sophisticated technology eliminate the need for slow, painstaking, and relentless investigation? He had founded his life on such investigation, and he had never failed to solve a case.
But never before had he faced a challenge such as this....
The trio reached the stairway and started down, with Krillen in the rear. The Na-Dina watched in fascination as the humans negotiated the steps designed for taloned Na- Dina feet with no sign of uncertainty or distress.
"Most engaging!" he hissed softly.
The female Infidel, Mahree, paused and turned back to ask, "What's engaging?"
Krillen wasn't sure he should say, but falsehood was not in his nature. He found himself replying honestly. "The way you negotiate these stairs--even level surfaces! How in the name of the Revered Ancestors do you people manage to keep from falling over?"
Mahree's teeth showed suddenly, and she made a soft gurgling type sound.
"You mean, how do we balance?" she asked.
"Yes," Krillen replied. "How can you possibly balance, with no tail?"
The male, Gordon, showed teeth also. "Krillen, we just
68
grew up walking without tails. I guess it's a case of learning to make do with what you've got."
"Maybe we receive a dispensation from the forces of gravity," Mahree said, and Krillen could tell she was vastly amused--but not in a mean or hurtful way. "Actually, Krillen, you are not the first species to wonder why we don't fall flat on our faces."
They started down the stairs again, with Mitchell leading the way. His tall body moved so effortlessly, so fluidly, that Krillen wondered again about the ways of the universe. "When I'm drunk," Mitchell called back, "I do a good imitation of falling over."
"Drunk?" This was a word new to Krillen, a "made- word" recently adopted into their language since they'd lacked word-images for many of the customs practiced by the Sky Infidels. This word combination meant, literally, "salt hysteria."
"He means drunk from imbibing too much liquor," Mahree said, and Krillen thought he caught a faint edge of distaste in her voice. "An alkaloid-based liquid called ethanol, a chemical compound that disturbs human
biochemistry, causing disorientation, and impairs the user's judgment. But it also produces a temporary state of euphoria, which is why some people are unwise enough to overindulge in it."
"Ah, I understand you now," Krillen said. "We experience something similar when we eat too much of the Rock of Life. But that is rare. Only the rich can afford to indulge in such habits."
"Philosopher Mitchell," he added, as they reached the bottom of the stairway and started across the huge, columned hall, "when I was at your Base Camp before, when Interrelator Waterston had just been discovered, you would permit me only a brief glimpse of the tomb of A-Um Rakt. During my next visit, may I see the sarcophagus? Possibly touch it?"
"He didn't let you see it?" Mahree glanced quickly at Gordon. "That doesn't sound fair!"
"My record-keeping wasn't done," Mitchell said. "I'm 69
just doing things by the book, dammit! Howard Carter didn't enter Tutankhamun's tomb for weeks after his discovery. You have to measure everything, draw it, photograph it, make sure it's recorded down to
the millimeter, Mahree."
"Well, how is all of that progressing?" she asked. "Yesterday we removed the funerary offerings from the front half of the chamber."
"What about the Mizari relics?"
"Still in situ."
"I'm glad about that. I want to see them right away," she said.
Mitchell showed teeth again. "Why am I not surprised?" The human turned to' Krillen as they all halted before the alien vehicle that hovered there on its fans, obediently awaiting the return of its driver. "And, Investigator Krillen, I promise you that I will personally conduct you on an up- close tour of the tomb when you come out to the Base Camp. You can touch the
sarcophagus ... promise." Krillen bowed. "May the Spirits of the Revered Ancestors smile upon us all, then, until we meet on that day," he said, returning to formality, and the High Speech. Then he relapsed into regular speech. "Your vehicle ... it travels quickly?"
Mahree nodded. "Yes, it does."
"Would you like a ride?" Mitchell asked, waving a hand at the interior.
Such a simple offering to inspire such terror!
Krillen swayed, as if he had eaten too much Rock of Life, but recovered swiftly. He was curious, he found. "Uh, yes. Thank you." Lifting his tail he climbed over the metal rim of the self-propelled craft, settled down in the rear storage box, and composed his soul for death. It was said by the priests at the Temple of A-Um Rakt that, each time one of The People took flight through Mother Sky, they risked death for such defiance of Ancestral wishes.
He knew better than that. He understood radio, when his rural cousins would have run from it. He even comprehended the round world, and the suns that lay beyond it,
70
though that image felt like a nightmare. But he had grown up in a world where only The People, and the Revered Ancestors, roamed the land. No one else. And though his temple education whispered in his ear "You are safe! Safe as a new-born scaly in the curl of his parents tails," Krillen found it hard to believe.
The skimmer vibrated, the fans howled loudly, and the craft... it lifted up into the air.
He flew.
Krillen, of the Clan Moon Bright, partook of the blessings reserved to the Ancestors.
71
CHAPTER 4 Attack!
The jumpjet landed at Base Camp just before sunset, and Mahree waited until everyone had offloaded before she followed Gordon out of the passenger cabin. The archaeologist stopped at the top of the ramp and waved at the enclosing canyon walls. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
"Incredible," she whispered, seeing up close what she'd marveled at during the jumpjet's descent. She looked to her right, where the valley widened out.
"Oh! Is that the City of White Stone?"
Gordon nodded. The evening breeze ruffled his sandy hair, and Mahree, who had changed during the trip into the shorts and sleeveless top she'd craved, felt a touch of coolness dispel the baking heat. "That's it. Six thousand years old, and parts of it look almost new. No one lives there now, though. It was King A-Um Rakt's capital."
"Have you excavated there?"
"We've barely touched it," Gordon admitted. "There's so much to do here that I wake up in the middle of the night worrying about how we'll even scratch the surface before this all floods."
"It's gorgeous," Mahree said, letting her gaze sweep over the outer wall of the city. Behind the wall rose flat-72
topped pyramid temples, similar to what she'd seen in Spirit. The high white wall enclosed the city, but in her mind's eye she saw what she knew from Mitchell's report lay there: massive temples, small, boxy homes, plazas, and open markets. A great stone causeway speared out from the western city gate, then marched down to the valley center, where it crumbled off into a deep arroyo. At the bottom of the arroyo ran the River of Life, its waters shallow this time of year. Mahree saw that a fallen pylon had gouged out part of the red stone causeway and thought of the earthquakes. She repressed a shiver. "I can almost hear the voices from the past, Gordon."
"I know. I hear them, too. Especially at night. You should see this place by moonlight. Talk about romantic ..."
Mahree glanced at him quickly, then away again, as she fiddled with the strap of her duffel bag. How long had it been since she'd been anywhere or done anything that could be construed as romantic? Years, probably.
She drank in the dry air as another cooling breeze touched her face. They were surrounded by wild canyon country. Flat mesa tops towered high above their heads, reaching into the pale indigo sky. A volcano flamed in the western distance, and even where she stood on the elevated ramp, Mahree could feel the vibration of a microquake. It was as if this land, this world, was alive, stirring and rumbling like some great, immensely old animal.
"They were right to call it 'Ancestor's World,' " she whispered. "It even smells ancient."
He squinted at the setting sun as it lowered on the western horizon. "Hazy sky. Dust's thick in the air. We might get ashfall tonight."
Mahree had wondered about that when she sighted the distant volcano spewing forth its orange flames and black clouds. "Should I wear a filter-mask?"
"Not unless you have some sort of respiratory condition." Gordon leaned back against the ramp railing and folded his arms, regarding her intently. "It's pretty far away. The rainstorms wash most of the ash out of the air."
73
His eyes were light, hazel or blue-gray... Mahree couldn't tell for sure. She glanced away, breaking the eye contact, and pointed, almost at random, to a giant earthen ramp that lay downvalley, on the opposite side of the City of White Stone. "That rampway. What's it for?"
Gordon straightened up. "It's the access to the Royal Road. Starts up top on the mesa. Runs all the way back to Spirit."
Mahree's eyes widened in amazement. "But... but, how could the Na-Dina have known where to run the road? You told me on the trip down here that Spirit was founded three thousand years ago, and this is twice that old! Why build a road when--"
"When you don't know where you'll end up?" Mitchell grinned, then crossed deeply tanned arms over his sweat- darkened shirt. "The Na-Dina, or the People as they call themselves, have always trusted their fate to the dead Ancestors. Yes, the Royal Road was begun six thousand years ago, when Spirit didn't exist." He gestured at the arroyo. "As Na-Dina civilization expanded downriver, following the River of Life, so too did the Royal Roads reach out, arriving in the Delta millennia ago. Apparently one of the dead kings, the Revered Ancestors, told 'em to build a road into the wilderness, and by God they did. They had faith that it would go somewhere someday, so they built it. And eventually, it did go somewhere."
Mahree shivered, despite the baking heat that reflected back from the beige-banded canyon walls. This sense of the ages, of a history that stretched back into a misty past, was strange to her, alien in a way that the Na-Dina people themselves were not. She was used to aliens. But she wasn't used to six-thousand-year-old cities, or earthquakes, or volcanoes..
She glanced at Gordon, who was staring north, where a mesa top glowed red-orange in the light of the setting sun. "Gordon ... what made you choose archaeology--especially archaeology on alien worlds?"
He turned to look at her. "When I was a kid I read a lot of old books about exotic alien cities." A faint smile
74
touched his mouth. "Some of 'em were by a guy named Burroughs. Any relation?"
Mahree smiled back. "No. But of course I read his books, too."
"Then you know what it was like, reading about places like Helium and Gathol. I used to lie in bed at night in the Tennessee mountains, imagining ancient cities on alien worlds. As I got older, I was drawn to studying the past. I wanted to understand how long-ago people made their choices.
Whether they proved to be good choices or bad." Mahree nodded encouragingly. "Historians always like to think that learning about the past will provide a key to understanding the present."
"As I studied history and archaeology back on Earth, I kept wondering about alien worlds. I
wondered about their past. Whether it had anything to teach us. So in grad school, I concentrated on xeno-archaeology. Got my doctorate, and went out to dig." Gordon grinned self-deprecatingly. "But I never found any answers, I'm afraid. Just a helluva lot more questions."
Mahree felt the air still between them as the sun disappeared behind the mesa. She could feel the temperature drop immediately.
Gordon was looking at her, and suddenly the moment had grown far too personal. She cleared her throat. "So, how about a tour? Is that your Base Camp?" She pointed to a cluster of tents and buildings.
Mitchell nodded. "The dome is the Refectory, where we eat potluck style.
Behind it is the Lab, where we analyze the artifacts, store them, and give thanks for the interior air- conditioning."
Mahree laughed softly. "I'll bet." The cool evening breeze brushed against her once more. "And the smaller domes encircling them?
"Dome-tents," Gordon replied. "Enough for private quarters, or double-up roomies, as people desire. Beyond them is our supply depot, and beyond that"--he pointed at a narrow sandstone canyon that led deep into the highlands--"is the Royal Tomb of A-Um Rakt, King of the
75
First Dynasty, founder of the City of White Stone. He's a personage revered by the Na-Dina as kind of a combination Galileo, Archimedes, and Quetzalcoatl."
Mahree gazed at the purple-shadowed canyon. "Why so?"
Gordon shrugged. "He gave his people monumental architecture. He gave them agriculture. And he was the first Na-Dina King to prevent a civil war--as best we can tell from the records of later Dynasties." He sighed. "As Etsane may have told you, the records of the first seven Dynasties are written in ideoglyphs quite different from the hieroglyphs of Classical High Na-Dina.
So we don't know what the first Na-Dina said about themselves. And the Revered Ancestors."
Mahree noticed her compatriots had all moved into the silvery dome of the Refectory. "Is it dinnertime?"
Gordon nodded. "Probably. I usually eat in my tent, while I read the daily reports, but tonight is different. We got back here early, thanks to your ship's arriving a day ahead of schedule. Sumiko will probably scold me for bringing you all back before she had a chance to prepare a six-course Japanese dinner."
Ancestor's World Page 8
