"Sumiko Nobunaga? She's your Lab Chief, isn't she?" He nodded, beckoning to Mahree to follow him, and started down the remainder of the ramp. "She keeps this operation on track."
Shouldering her duffel bag, Mahree followed. "Actually," Gordon added,
"Sumiko organizes the data reporting. Axum runs the City of White Stone survey and excavations almost by herself."
"Axum?" Mahree felt her feet sink into the loose sand of the landing field.
"Oh, yes, the crew boss."
Ahead of her, Gordon nodded quickly. "She supervises the best crew I've ever seen."
"Krillen seemed nice, and so have the others I've met." Mahree made a face.
"Except for Beloran, of course."
"Sometimes he can be interesting to chat with," Gordon said. "We had a good discussion about the history of the Ninth Dynasty on the way over in the jumpjet. He's quite
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an expert on Na-Dina history, languages, and traditions."
"Really? I wonder if he'd help advise Etsane about those ideoglyphs."
"Hard to say. Maybe if he was in a good mood." Gordon pointed at a prefab shed lying beside the trail. "Sanitary unit. Multispecies equipped. Big enough for four people at a time."
"Really?" she said, chuckling at the thought. "So you spent the Mizari Archaeological Society's first grant on a state-of-the-art toilet?"
Gordon glanced back at her, his eyebrows raised, as if he thought she faulted his judgment. "Well, this is the backcountry. Little luxuries help people endure the isolation."
"Hey, I'm all for it," Mahree hastened to add. "I've used enough exotic johns on different planets to be an expert, but that doesn't mean I like doing it."
The archaeologist shrugged, and resumed walking. "Actually, most of the money went into buying that monster of a warehouse for our Lab. I can sleep on a cot, but the artifacts and samples must be properly stored in a climate-controlled environment. Especially the perishable stuff."
"Perishable?"
"Burials."
"Oh." Mahree wondered at that, then remembered there were many more Royal Tombs lining the other side canyons that fingered out from this end of Ancestor's Valley. "Which tunnel-tomb is A-Um Rakt's?"
Gordon stopped just outside the circle of dome-tents. He pointed beyond the camp to an inclined rampway of stone and dirt that lay on the left side of the nearest canyon. "That one. The one with the biggest rampway. You can see five or six others beyond it. See the smaller ramps? The tombs are cut into the canyon walls, and the ramps provide access."
"Will you show us the Royal Tomb tonight?" Mahree hoped so, even though she felt worn out by the trip and the heat.
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Gordon shook his head. "Not tonight. You and the other new folks need to get settled first, and the equipment inventoried and added to our stores, before we take that tour." Noting her disappointment, he added, "Cheer up.
Schliemann searched for years before he found Troy. One more day won't spoil the experience. Believe me." He smiled reassuringly.
Mahree smiled back. "You're the boss, Gordon. And I can be patient. They train diplomats in that, too."
He chuckled. "After watching you with Beloran today, I can believe that!"
She glanced around at the stark countryside. "You said that you wore that pulse-gun because of predators. What kinds of predators?"
"There's one big bastard whose Na-Dina name translates to 'long-neck.' It's reptilian, but, like the Na-Dina, warmblooded. Which makes it very, very fast."
Mahree took a firmer grip on her duffel. "What do they look like?"
"Long necks, armor-scales, teeth as long as your fingers. Think of a tiger-lizard combo. One of 'em attacked and killed one of the Na-Dina diggers the first week here."
"Don't you use repulsor wards?"
Gordon sighed. "Hey, give me credit for some common sense. Of course we have repulsor wards. But their ultrasonic wards don't seem to work on the larger life-forms hereabouts. Sumiko said something about reptilian hearing being lower than ours. If we went strictly by your book, more people would be dead."
Mahree felt uncomfortable, as if she'd spoiled the earlier mood of shared concern for Na-Dina history. "Sorry. I didn't know. You sure seem to have a thing about regulations and bureaucrats."
Gordon resumed walking. "Why not? Their regs, rules, and procedures are just like the crap I've put up with in academia. Hierarchies are not my favorite expression of human culture."
She had guessed that already. Would he lump her in with the worst of those bureaucrats? "Let me explain something
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to you, Gordon. I'm not trying to be a prig. It's just that I've seen, close up and personal, how incredibly destructive the indiscriminate use of a weapon can be while trying to establish good relations with aliens."
He gave her a sharp look. "Mahree, I'm older than you. I was an adult when the Desirée First Contact was made. I remember it very well. You lost a crew member when that guy Viorst went berserk and pulled a gun."
"Jerry," she said, softly, with a flash of remembered pain. "It was awful.
Gordon... I'm not anti-weapon. I learned to shoot on Jolie one summer when there was an epidemic of neo-rabies among some of the small predators."
He shrugged, but remained silent.
Mahree sighed and gave up, turning toward the Refectory dome. "Is there something cold to drink in there?"
Gordon nodded, heading for a dome-tent on the edge of camp. "Sure is. You go on. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Mahree wondered at that, then chose politeness. "Of course. See you soon."
In the privacy of his tent, Gordon Mitchell sank down onto his bunk, wiping his forehead in the heat. By morning, the air in the tent would be chilly, but at the moment it was still stuffy and hot. For a moment he considered turning on his fan, but he wasn't planning on staying long enough.
Reaching under his cot, he pulled out a wooden toolbox. Opening it, he grabbed the flask of Kentucky bourbon, screwed off the top, put it to his lips, and swigged down a long gulp.
Liquid fire ran down his throat, settling like a giant ember in his belly.
Warmth and numbness spread to all parts of his body. He let out a long, gusty sigh as his muscles relaxed.
I wonder if she'll try to confiscate my blasters, he thought, eying the locked chest that held the two proscribed weapons, then he shook his head. No way, he thought sourly, remembering the long-neck crouched over the 79
blood-spattered corpse of the digger. He didn't want any more deaths.
Gordon sighed, eying the bottle, then decided against a second drink.
Not tonight.
Tonight he'd have people to talk to, other archaeologists. He wouldn't have to drink to relax and try to forget how lonely he was. He could talk to Greyshine, to Etsane, to the Mizari or the Chhhh-kk-tu. Maybe they'd have a game of poker or something.
Maybe he'd talk to Mahree again.
Or maybe not....
She made him uneasy, and not just because she didn't approve of his weapons. He thought briefly about the picture she'd made, standing there in her sleeveless top and shorts, her long hair swinging in the night breeze.
She was an attractive woman.
It had been a long, long time since he'd been attracted to any woman.
Gordon frowned as he put the bottle away. Out here, in the remote backcountry, he couldn't afford to indulge in romantic fantasies. He was a grown man, a divorced man, the leader of this entire crew. He'd spent a long time building up walls, and he wasn't about to let them down for anyone.
Still, as he walked back to the Refectory, her image stayed before him, her dark hair and eyes, her smile ...
Cursing softly under his breath, he tried to banish the image--only to find that he couldn't.
And that scared him.
Mahree dreamed of volcanoes spewing ash, rivers flooding, and a hot yellow sun that made her feel shriveled up like a prune, stripped of all fluids.
> Investigator Krillen was in her dream, as was Beloran. And another shadowy figure, who at times looked like "the Mummy" in one of Rob's treasured antique films, and at times appeared like a robed and crowned Na-Dina.
She was walking through a canyon, and sometimes the
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canyon became a tunnel. Sometimes she was herself, and sometimes she had talons and a tail.
It grew darker ... darker...
Mahree realized she was in a tomb, and it was lit only by the setting sun, its yellow rays penetrating deep into the tomb. Red, green, and yellow images lined the walls of the tunnel, painted images of Na-Dina priestesses, Royal Ministers, and river barges that transported the King on his annual pilgrimage upriver, to the headwaters of the River of Life. They were bowing, and then she was kneeling, ready to pray for the annual flood--
--when suddenly, the tunnel floor beneath her feet rumbled sullenly, as if voices spoke to her from the wall paintings.
Earthquake?
Ka-blam!
Mahree jerked awake, blinking away the dream. What the--
Booml
Explosions? She jumped to her feet, yanked her shorts on over the sleeveless leotard she slept in, and rushed barefoot out into the chill of night.
"Gordon! Etsane!"
No reply, though sleepy voices shouted in alarm from nearby dome-tents.
The moonlit night's chill stung her bare arms and legs.
Whap! A yellow flare dazzled her eyes.
She realized that the disturbance was up by the Royal Tomb. What was happening? It wasn't a storm; the night was clear.
"Gordon!" she yelled.
He rushed out of his dome-tent, clad only in shorts and boots, but there were two holster belts slung over his bare shoulder. "They must be trying to blow the armored door to get at the gold! Here!" Mitchell tossed her one of the belts.
Mahree caught it, then almost dropped it when she realized it was one of the highly illegal blasters. Just then, the whine of a pulse-gun broke the stillness.
The blue energy bolt hummed past, so close she could smell it. The 81
shot had come from the entrance to the Royal Tomb, just upstream from the Camp. "Gordon!" she yelled, half in appeal, half in protest as he raced past, heading directly for the site of the explosions.
"Protect the lab!" he shouted back. "Get Khuharkk' and Greyshine to set up a defensive perimeter with the repulsor wards!"
"Wait!" Mahree yelled. "Don't--" Her cry was cut off, and she fell flat as another pulse-bolt slashed randomly into camp, hitting the edge of Sumiko Nobunaga's dome-tent. The Japanese woman's cry of pain shocked her.
Anger flared, and Mahree found herself on her hands and knees, scrabbling forward, after Gordon.
Moments later, she was running barefoot through the night, the heavy holster belt slung over her shoulder. Another pulse-bolt ripped through the night.
"I'm coming too!" she shouted at the figure she could barely see running through the moonlight.
"Head for the supply dump!" Mahree heard him yell.
She did, swerving to follow him as another pulse-bolt hit the canyon wall to her left, unleashing a shower of small rocks. Her feet stung, but Mahree ran silently, unwilling to give the unseen shooter the chance to aim at her voice.
Behind her the camp erupted with Heeyoon snarls, Simiu growls, human screams and yells, plus the quick chatter of Drnian as people demanded to know what was happening.
She was panting as she reached the supply dump. "Gordon?" she whispered, halting. A hand clamped onto her arm, dragging her down, pulling her behind the metal boxes of the dump.
"Stay down!" he hissed.
Whap! A blue pulse-bolt passed just over her head, hitting the ground with a spurt of electrical flame.
They huddled together. Mahree's ears still rang from the explosions that had first awakened her. Her heart beat frantically, and for a second, she remembered Claire's worry.
"What's happening?" she whispered. "Who's doing this?"
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"Smugglers, it's got to be. From Sorrow Sector, I'll bet," he hissed.
Of course, Mahree realized. The treasure would draw them like flies. Aloud she said, "We've got to get up there, stop them from getting into the Tomb!"
"Too dangerous," Gordon growled, breathing heavily. "They've got nightscopes. Infrared trackers. You're a glowing target whenever you leave shelter. So stay low!"
"And you?" She felt new anger at him for having the contraband blasters, furious anger at the unseen shooter, and sick worry for Sumiko and anyone else hurt by the random firing. "What are you going to do?"
"You lay down a series of quick blaster shots at the shooter's position." His shadowed form rose, crouching, preparing to spring forward. "I'll make a run for the canyon rockface, and try to flank him. It's in moon-shadow there and the rock is still warm with the heat of day. It'll mask my body heat. Ready?"
She thumbed off the safety on the blaster. "Ready," she whispered, sick with fear.
"Now!" he yelled, sprinting away.
Mahree stood up quickly and snapped off four blaster shots at the earth ramp that led up to the Royal Tomb's entrance. Four yellow beams slashed along the ramp-line, blinding her with their light. Something alien howled with pain.
She had aimed where her memory said the dusty path ran, using the slant of the ramp as a guide.
Claws scrabbled behind her. She whirled, blaster ready, squinting as she tried to focus her dazzled eyes. "Halt!"
"It's me," snarled Professor Greyshine, his voice panting as the Heeyoon surged up beside her, moving on all fours. Another four-footed figure scampered after him, and her nose caught a familiar, musky scent. "And Khuharkk'."
"Honored MahreeBurroughs!" the Simiu growled in his own language, plainly shocked. "You are holding a weapon! How could you?"
Mahree's temper snapped, and she snarled back at him in perfect Simiu, "Do not presume to judge me, youngling!
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It is not for youngsters to judge the honor of their elders! Look to your own honor, O impudent one!"
Khuharkk' whined, then ducked his head. "A thousand pardons, Honored MahreeBurroughs."
The memory of that agonized howl she'd heard was haunting her. Did I kill someone? Who? Oh, God!
"What's happening back at camp?" she whispered at Greyshine, switching to Heeyoon. "Is Sumiko all right?"
"For the moment," Greyshine replied. "Strongheart got Sumiko to safety in the Lab, along with the others. Etsane is setting up repulsor-ward poles.
What do we face here?" She told them as much as she knew. "Gordon should be almost to the Tomb entrance by now. There's been no more pulse-gun bolts. But I heard the sounds of several people moving on the ramp slope, just before you arrived."
"They're after the sarcophagus?" Khuharkk' growled. "And the Mizari relics,"
Greyshine said angrily. "No! They shall not have them! Khuharkk', come with me to the creek. Gordon approaches on the left, the Ambassador holds the center, and we will flank on the right, moving up canyon. Come!"
"They've got nightscopes," Mahree warned.
"The water will cool our body heat," Greyshine promised. "And we shall be cautious, and smell them before they can see us."
In seconds, they had vanished into the night.
Scrieee!
A yellow blaster beam reached out toward the creek, striking rubble and sand. No one cried out. Mahree cursed under her breath. That had come from a new position on the ramp, from lower down. Gordon? Or someone else? How many smugglers were there?
Voices cried out near the Tomb entrance. She recognized a Heeyoon curse and a Drnian scream. Gordon was right, she thought. Only Sorrow Sector could bring together so many diverse species all bent on theft.
Human footsteps approached from the Camp. Mahree dropped below the crate rim and looked back. The tall, lanky form of Etsane Mwarka, blackness within blackness,
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gestured at her. "Where are they?" she calle
d softly, her deep voice filled with rage.
"Sumiko? How is she?"
"Wounded, but Strongheart says she'll be okay." Etsane joined her behind the pile of metal crates. On the ramp slope, the sound of a body falling shocked Mahree's ears. "Where are the jackals who attacked us?"
Mahree levered herself into a crouch, peering over the pile of crates. "Up there. On the ramp to the Tomb. But they've got infrared scopes, pulse-guns set for kill, and at least one blaster. Gordon is trying for the Tomb entrance.
Khuharkk' and Greyshine are moving up the creek."
"Good. We'll take the ramp!" Etsane stood up and started around the pile of crates.
"Wait! You're unarmed!"
"I'm armed," Etsane said harshly. "I've got the oldest and best weapon humans ever created. A sling. I used it to guard my father's goat herd from leopards."
"You what?" Mahree was incredulous.
"He was a an old-fashioned guy who believed in the traditional weapons, and taught me to use them." Etsane's teeth flashed white in her dark countenance. "Trust me, I can handle myself. Come on, cover me!"
As Etsane darted away, Mahree stood up, assumed a wide-footed stance, and snapped off a couple of shots at the ramp, careful to close her eyes as she squeezed the trigger this time.
Scrieee! Scrieee! shrieked the coherent energy beams as they leaped out in an angry wash of pure energy.
Mahree began to run after Etsane as the young woman dived for cover behind a boulder lying near the bottom of the earth ramp. Her feet protested.
"Ow! Etsane, wait up! We can fight from here."
Just as Mahree reached the boulder, a yellow blaster beam screamed over her head, hitting the metal crates of the supply dump. Boxes blew apart.
From the Tomb entrance at the top of the rampway, Gordon's voice rang out.
"Surrender!"
In the moonlight, Mahree could only make out the vague
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shapes of two people struggling at the top of the ramp. Gordon and someone else. Etsane pointed suddenly at the rampway bottom. "There's the sniper.
Get him!"
Mahree froze, her finger on the trigger. Could she really kill like this?
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