"Dammit!" Etsane was on her feet. Her sling whirled, then her shoulder snapped forward as she launched her missile. A human scream rang out.
The Iconographer hissed with triumph.
"Gordon?" Mahree yelled. "You okay?"
"They're running!" he yel ed back. "The gold's safe!"
"Let's go after them!" Etsane was panting and shaking with excitement. "We can't let them get away!"
"There are too many!" Mahree said, grabbing the young woman's arm. "Let them go. They didn't get what they came for."
The Ethiopian settled back on her heels, grumbling under her breath.
Suddenly, up canyon, on the opposite side of the creek, rocket engines flared redly and something that resembled a ship's lifeboat lifted out of the night shadows. It hovered close to the ground for a moment as a running figure reached it and jumped to make it onboard; then its belly jets flared blinding bright against the darkness. The roar of its takeoff filled the close-set canyon walls. Mahree and Etsane huddled together, hands clamped over their ears, as the thieves made their escape.
Seconds later, the ship was just a rapidly moving star in the night sky.
Gordon called down to her, his voice overlaid with the tremor of pain. "Come on up, Mahree. The Tomb's safe. The smugglers are gone. And ... and I need help."
Mahree got to her feet, wincing as a sharp stone stabbed her foot, then stumbled forward, forcing Etsane to walk, rather than run, up the night-darkened rampway. Before they could even start up it, Greyshine and Khuharkk' joined them from the creek, their fur dripping. Mahree felt a moment's pang for Khuharkk', knowing how Simiu hated to get wet.
"Honor was served!" growled Khuharkk' in a shaky
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voice. "I fought one Simiu, and Greyshine knocked down a Dmian. They ran off when they lost their weapons." Etsane grinned wildly. "I got one too!
Filthy jackals ... I hate tomb robbers!"
Mahree's shock at hearing that the smuggler Simiu had chosen to use weapons was only exceeded by her shock at Etsane's wild exultation at having caused bodily injury-- perhaps even death. She took a deep breath as she holstered the blaster, trying to steady herself.
From the top of the rampway, she could hear someone-- it must be Gordon--
being wretchedly sick. "Gordon? You okay?"
Worriedly, she broke into a shaky run, ignoring the pain of sharp stones against her bare feet. Greyshine followed with the light-globe.
Gordon was sitting back on his heels, wiping his mouth, by the time Mahree reached him. There was a body lying near him, in the shadows.
Mahree looked down at it. "Is he--?"
Gordon nodded weakly. "Dead. Knocked my blaster out of my hand and was on me before I knew he was even there. We wrestled, and then I... I..."
As Greyshine arrived with the lamp, she could see--and wished she hadn't.
The smuggler was a Heeyoon male. He lay on his back. There was no sign of a blaster wound, but the neck lolled at an unnatural angle. Broken.
"Gordon," she said quietly, "It was self-defense. There was nothing else you could have done."
"I know," he muttered. In the harsh light of the lamp, his face was gray beneath the tan.
Mahree took a deep breath--and promptly gagged. The dry night air was full of the smell of Gordon's vomit, and another, even stronger smell. Roasted meat, charred fur.
Clapping a hand over her mouth, she swallowed bile. "What happened?"
Mitchell gestured wearily at the armored door that had been placed over the opening to the tunnel. It sagged to one side, and there was a gaping hole where its locking mechanism had been. "They blasted the security door, 87
which was the explosions we heard. But the Tomb chamber itself was protected by a stasis field, which delayed them long enough for me to get here. When the Heeyoon jumped me, the Simiu went in. He must've tried to short-circuit the time lock on the field ..."
Mahree and Greyshine moved over to peer inside the door. When she saw what lay inside, in a charred puddle of fur, meat, and blood, Mahree staggered back, retching.
Etsane put a steadying arm around her shoulders as she heaved. Finally, wiping her streaming eyes, she straightened up.
In the hard-breathing silence afterward, Greyshine's calm, measured words sounded incredibly routine and ordinary. "One of my people led them, I see.
He carries the dye-mark of a Pack Leader. Khuharkk', please go and ask Strongheart to bring live flame. We must cremate the Pack Leader."
"Yes, Professor," the Simiu youth rumbled softly. Mahree noticed blood streaking his coat, and realized that he'd been bitten on the shoulder--
probably during his fight with the other Simiu. He turned and headed down the ramp, limping slightly.
Gordon looked over at Greyshine. "Professor, I suggest cremating him where the smugglers' lifeboat took off. I don't think this fellow deserves to have his ashes mingled with royal dust."
"Agreed," Greyshine said.
Etsane glanced briefly at the body of the Heeyoon smuggler, then eyed Gordon. "Is the Tomb chamber safe? Did they damage anything?"
Gordon gave up on standing and slid down to sit on the stone sill of the Tomb entrance, his knees drawn up, his arms crossed over them, his whole posture one of exhaustion and recent nausea. "No," he said wearily. "They didn't get inside. Thank god."
"I can't believe this happened," Mahree said, sitting down beside him. It felt heavenly to get her weight off her feet. "One moment I was asleep, dreaming about the ancient
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Na-Dina, the next--" She gestured weakly at the carnage around them.
"I'm glad you people came in a day early," Gordon said. "If it hadn't been for you, Ambassador, and Etsane and Greyshine ... no way we could have fought them off." He glanced at Etsane, seeming to focus on her for the first time. "A sling!"
"She wounded one of the smugglers with it," Mahree said. "I never saw anything like it."
Gordon gave the Ethiopian woman a weak grin. "Trust an archaeologist to know how to use ancient weapons. I've done some slinging myself. Took a course in ancient weapons and how to use 'em." He turned back to Mahree and added, "And, Ambassador, you weren't kidding when you said you can shoot. You wounded two of them on the ramp."
Thank god I didn't kill anyone! was Mahree's first thought; then, suddenly, she was fighting back tears and shaking all over. Gordon reached out and took her hand, while Etsane put an arm around her trembling shoulders. "It's okay now. We're safe," the Ethiopian woman whispered.
After a moment Mahree regained control, and, looking up, she saw the approaching figure of Doctor Strongheart. The Heeyoon female carried two burning torches and her med-kit.
It's over, Mahree thought. Really over. She looked at the corpse of the dead Heeyoon, then closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of the body, of the moon the Na-Dina called "Mother's Daughter," and of Gordon's face peering at her.
"Mahree ..." he whispered. "C'mon. Let's get you back to your tent. You look like you've had enough."
"I have," she admitted. "Okay, just give me a hand. I'll..."
With his help, she tried to get up, but subsided with a cry of pain. "My feet!"
Strongheart was there, and she took in the situation at a glance.
"Ambassador, you're not walking anywhere tonight. Rest a moment, and we'll bring a lifter to get you
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back down. Some of those cuts are serious," she said.
Mahree leaned back, and Gordon's arm came around her, supporting her.
His body was blessedly warm. "Relax," he told her. "You heard the doctor."
For once, Mahree was glad to take orders.
Beloran stood at the edge of the dome-tents, watching the lights and voices move about on the Tomb rampway. He'd been awakened by the explosions, and had rushed to the Lab building, thinking something had blown up inside.
Only when the blue bolts of sky-fire had come down from the rampway had he realized what was happening. By then, the Bu
rroughs female was armed and fighting, while Mitchell had disappeared.
Too bad.
This raid by off-world smugglers would have been the perfect time for him to grab one of Mitchell's energy weapons and kill them both.
It would have easier and quicker than the steel bar he'd used to slay the Interrelator. And easily blamed on the smugglers.
Of course, it was frequently a mistake to act in haste. By the time he'd killed Waterston, Beloran had been planning the Interrelator's death for some time.
The discovery of the off-worlder Mizari relics had just provided him with a catalyst, convincing the Liaison that it was time to act. And act he had, convinced that if he killed their Interrelator, the CLS would cease its meddling intervention in the affairs of Halish meg a-tum.
So he'd killed Waterston ...
... and even more Infidels had come.
Turning away from the shouts and movements up on the rampway, Beloran shuffled away into the darkness, seeking the solitude of the City of White Stone. No one would go there tonight. No one would miss him in the confusion of the smuggler raid aftermath.
He needed silence, and solitude. Time to think, to plan. To consider all sides of the question. Should he kill this Burroughs female? The Infidel Mitchell had said that she
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was famous throughout the CLS worlds. If she died, would that serve as a warning to the CLS? Or a challenge?
Today the Infidels had talked with Krillen of clan Moon Bright. The Investigator had an impressive record. Beloran knew he had covered his trail thoroughly, perhaps perfectly ... but still...
What if this Krillen became a danger? Perhaps he should consider eliminating him, too.
Would the death of Mahree Burroughs be the cause of further delay in the completion of the Great Dam? That was the last thing he wanted. But he sensed that she and Krillen would not rest until they discovered who had killed Waterston. And that kind of determination was a danger to him.
Beloran considered. If off-worlders died now, it must appear like an accident.
A rockslide, perhaps. A flood death. A poisoning from strange food. Anything but an obvious murder, which had brought only more Infidels from the sky, and focused more unwelcome attention on his world. The Ancestors would not forgive him a second mistake.
The white walls of Segor A-mun rose up before him.
Beloran passed inside, therein to make penance for his arrogance.
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CHAPTER 5 The Royal Tomb
Just after lunch the next day, Etsane sat cross-legged on the floor of the metal-roofed Lab building. She wore only boots, shorts, and sleeveless blouse, in preparation for the heat outdoors. The Lab itself was cool, thanks to its climate-control unit. She watched as people wandered in and sat down on a crate or a chair. They'd been called there by Gordon Mitchell, their astamari , or Teacher, for a planning conference in the wake of the smuggler attack. Everyone was there, except Esteemed Lorezzzs, who had come down with a case of native "sand fever."
What would Mefume, her father, have thought of her behavior last night?
Etsane could tell that she'd shocked Am bassador Burroughs with her actions. The Ethiopian woman grimaced. Well, so be it. She came from a people who fought to protect themselves, who shed the blood of those who would harm them.
One of the Drnian specialists, Natual, walked up and sat down beside her.
Drnians were the most human-looking aliens she had ever met, though Natual couldn't pass for one of her people even in a very dim light. Still, he had two arms, two legs, and one head and wore clothing, even
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though his limbs were so thin they appeared almost sticklike.
Etsane had exchanged casual conversation with him aboard Emerald Scales, and recalled his cheerful, friendly nature.
As she hesitated, wondering whether to speak first, Natual blinked at her. He had huge, red eyes that had nictitating membranes, and no nose, only a depression where one would be on a human, with two small slits that were his nostrils. His flattened head bulged fore and aft, and was covered with hair that resembled coiled black wire. His tiny, round mouth wasn't capable of smiling, but his expression was affable as he asked, "Etsane, were you injured last night?"
"Not really," she said. "I scraped a knee, but that's nothing in comparison to what happened to Khuharkk' or Ambassador Burroughs--or Sumiko."
Natual nodded, for a moment seeming very human, despite his features and reddish skin.
"How about you?" she added.
Natual nodded, his species' sign of negation. "I slept deeply, as did Eloiss.
We awoke after the battle had ended." The alien rubbed at his bulging forehead, the look in his large eyes calm and reflective.
"Eloiss?" Etsane remembered the Drnian female. "She's your mate?"
Natual made a low sound that she instinctively knew denoted amusement.
"Nooo, she isn't. Just a fellow researcher. We Drnians don't necessarily associate sleeping companions with sexual partners, the way you humans do. What about you? Are you mated?"
The Ethiopian was taken aback at the question. If it had come from a human male, it might have meant he was interested in her romantically. Was it possible that Natual was coming on to her? Confused, she shook her head.
"No, I'm not married," she said, then laughed self-consciously. "Except maybe to my work."
"What is your specialty?"
"I'm here to help with the iconography and linguistic
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analysis decipherment of First Dynasty Na-Dina."
"Ah, the Tomb walls with their undeciphered treasure of knowledge!" Natual said. "I wish you the best of fortune in your decipherment."
Etsane smiled at him, enjoying his company. Well, why not? she thought.
"Thanks! What are you--"
She broke off as Gordon Mitchell, followed by Mahree Burroughs, Greyshine, and two Na-Dina, entered the room. Obviously, the meeting was beginning.
Mitchell rapped a trowel against the tabletop, and all conversation ceased.
"Your attention, please." The archaeologist spoke English. His voice echoed through the cavernous hall, accompanied by tiny whispers as voders translated his words into each listener's own language.
Silence fell. Etsane glanced around and caught the quick smile of Sumiko Nobunaga, the Lab Chief and Khuharkk's Star Bridge pair partner. Then the young woman winced when the Shadgui named Hrashoi accidentally
bumped her bandaged arm. Beyond them, a score of Na-Dina squatted off to one side, forming a double line of blue-scaled, longtailed people. She'd met their crew chief, a female named Axum, last night.
Mahree Burroughs spoke first. "Friends, colleagues, l am quite concerned by last night's attack. Preliminary investigation indicates artifact smugglers had hoped to steal the sarcophagus, the grave goods, and the Mizari relics from King A-Um Rakt's tomb. Since they struck on the last day before Emerald Scales was due to arrive--and, of course, our ship reached Ancestor's World early--it is possible that they've been monitoring some of our transmissions.
Luckily, they failed. But we suspect major Sorrow Sector involvement."
The Ambassador paused, crossing her arms over her formal black
StarBridge uniform. "We are going to notify the CLS, of course, and ask that the League Irenics increase patrols and surveillance in this sector. But we all know how big space is, and thus how daunting a task that is."
She gazed intently out at the group. "We're also informing the Na-Dina Council of Elders. Investigator Krillen flew
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into camp this morning to confer with us about security measures. With all of this in mind, Doctor Mitchell and I feel that it is only fair that we offer any who wish the opportunity to leave this camp. You volunteered to help excavate the find of the century--not to be targets of armed smugglers. Anyone who wishes to leave may go back to Spirit and take a cabin aboard Emerald Scales until we can arrange for transport back to Shassiszss. Is there anyone
who wishes to leave?"
Off to the side by the Lab Chief's enclosed office, the Vardi alien who'd offered to be the project Chronologist shuffled forward. Etsane watched as the two-meter-tall alien, who resembled a purple-green stalk of broccoli, fluttered its mid-body tendrils, releasing a peppery scent. Her voder translated the alien's scent-language.
"This one, the heat oppresses," the Vardi "said," the mechanical voice translation flat and emotionless on her voder. "This one, violence abhors.
Return to Spirit, depart the planet, this one desires."
Mahree did not seem surprised. "Of course, Honored One. Our Liaison, Beloran of the clan Flooding Waters, is leaving shortly to consult with the Council of Elders. He used the camp radio and called for a Nordlund jumpjet to come back here. You may return with him."
The Vardi fluttered its tendril-leaves. An astringent mint smell tickled Etsane's nose. "This one, your offer accepts."
"And now I'd like to introduce Investigator Krillen of the Law," Mahree continued.
The Na-Dina walked up to stand beside her, and spoke to the assembly.
"Helpers to the spirits of the Ancestors, we regret that your introduction to our world was so unpleasant. This morning, Liaison Beloran and I conferred as to how best to protect you while you carry out your task of helping our people to preserve our ancient heritage. We have decided to request that a unit of the Queen's Own Guard be deployed here for the duration of the dig."
Dr. Mitchell smiled. "Great!"
Etsane felt relief. Guarding the many Royal Tombs that
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had been cut into the canyon walls of Ancestor's Valley was a job for professionals, not for a mixed bag of alien archaeologists and researchers.
She knew a little about the Queen's Guard from studying Na-Dina culture and history on the trip here. The Guard Sisters were unbred females who'd pledged themselves to the service of Be-Oun, Queen of the Forty-Sixth Dynasty, and a power in the land equal to that of her husband, the King.
As Krillen stepped back, Doctor Mitchell took his place. "Investigator Krillen and Liaison Beloran, we all thank you. And now, I'd like to formally welcome all of you who responded so promptly to my request for help. I guarantee we'll keep you busy!"
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