Infidel Burroughs stepped away from her dome-tent. She followed the trail around the Refectory, along the far side of the Lab building, then entered by the side door next to Mitchell's office. Pressing his ear against the still-warm metal of the building, Beloran heard her footsteps turn toward the far end of the building, and then proceed on, in the direction of the SSC.
Good ... good!
No one else was inside the Lab. No one would be likely to visit until morning. And the vault door operated on a time lock. Once closed, it would not open until morning. Beloran knew the code to open the door, and had made sure that it was already open, standing slightly ajar. The Infidel female would think that Infidel Mitchell awaited her.
He would not have dared to be so bold in his trap if Infidel Mitchell had not been so arrogant as to open the time lock within full view of the assembled research crew, plus the diggers. Mitchell was not expecting trouble from within the camp--his only precautions were directed toward preserving the treasure from the smugglers.
Beloran heard her steps slow and halt as she neared the partly open door to the SSC. Slowly, making not a sound, he crept around the building and waited, poised, by the side door. She was there, before the vault.
Yes, he told her silently. Go in. Go in and die, despoiler of my world....
As Beloran watched, the Burroughs female poked her head around the vault door. "Gordon?" he heard her call.
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Then ... it was going to work! She was stepping inside!
Beloran threw himself forward with the speed of a hunting long-neck.
Through the Lab he raced, tail up, light- footed, quick. In a second he was at the door, both taloned hands outstretched. They met steel, and with his entire weight behind his hands, the heavy door swung closed with a crash.
Yes!
Quickly, Beloran altered the setting on the time lock, spinning the timing dial randomly and then setting it with a final click. From within he could hear muffled shouts and thumps as Infidel Burroughs beat on the steel door.
The Liaison headed back out of the lab almost as fast as he'd come in. Now he would go to her dome-tent, and, if she had left it there, he would find and destroy the message flimsy.
Then... then he would wait. He would not be able to rest until he was sure she was dead. He would watch the lab, and count the minutes. When he was sure she would never trouble him again, then he would seek his own sleeping place.
In a way, Beloran thought, it was ironically fitting. The off-worlder female would suffocate in the vault, accompanied to her death by the body of the First Dynasty King. Perhaps A-Um Rakt would bless Beloran for his piety in bringing him a grave offering after so long in his tomb. Perhaps the favor of this Revered Ancestor would help to offset the sacrilege that he, Beloran, had committed when he'd flown the alien ship through Mother Sky.
Beloran scurried through the camp, moving through the shadows with practiced ease....
"Gordon?" Mahree stepped inside the steel vault of the Secure Storage Chamber, and was momentarily distracted by the glory of the golden sarcophagus of King A-Um Rakt. Was he hiding behind it, planning to jump out and scare her, or do something equally idiotic?
No, Gordon wouldn't do that.
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Mahree hesitated for a second, then decided she didn't like this, not at all.
She turned around, heading back for the half-open door.
Wham!
Before her eyes, the vault door crashed shut.
Her mouth dropped open; then her heart slammed in fear. Oh, shit!
Silence.
Not even the sound of footsteps outside penetrated the thick metal of the vault door. Maybe it was some kind of mistake?
She rushed over to the door, pushed on it, then cried out and pounded with her fists. "Hey! I'm in here! Let me out!"
Her only answer was the snick as the sealing bolts slid into place.
Oh, God.
She gasped for breath, her chest tight, and thought of how Gordon had told her that the chamber was sealed--no ventilation shafts, no vents, nothing.
Panic nibbled along the edge of her mind.
"No!" she told herself firmly; then she turned and inspected the vault chamber by the glow of its ceiling lights. No shadows here. No darkness.
Just her, the shining gold casket of the King, and ... the radio!
"Yes!" she yelled with relief, rushing to the far side of the vault and throwing open the metal casing.
Inside lay broken plastic, smashed chips, a deformed battery.
Turning around, Mahree pressed her back against the cold metal wall of the vault and sank slowly to the floor. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she hugged herself tight.
She was alone.
Obviously, the message from Gordon had been faked. Someone had
planned this trap as a way to get rid of her. Someone wanted her dead.
How much time did she have before all the air in the sealed vault was gone?
Hours ... probably. Until morning?
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Doubtful. All too soon ... she'd know for sure ...
Panic surged up again, and this time, it won. Surrounded by four metric tons of titanium-steel, Mahree Burroughs began to weep. She cried softly, knowing this was the end--and that she'd broken her promise to her daughter to stay safe and return to her.
"Claire ... oh, Claire. I'm so sorry."
Up on the canyon rim, Khuharkk' paused in his night guard duty. His scanner eyeshade had been set to infrared, the better to detect the presence of new Long-Necks.
His companion over on the other ridge tonight was Axum, head of the digging crew. She was armed with one of Doctor Mitchell's pulse-guns, and Khuharkk' was under strict orders from the boss that if he detected any sign of a Long-Neck, he was to call Axum immediately, and let her deal with it with her weapon.
The thought of doing so disgusted him--but orders were orders, and Khuharkk' had to admit that he didn't think he could bring down an adult Long-Neck by himself. They were just too big and too fast.
Khuharkk' had volunteered to take the first guard shift tonight, because he could tell that Doctor Mitchell needed the extra rest. The human had been working himself constantly, and he wasn't a young man.
Besides, he'd welcomed this chance for an outing in the cool night air. He peered around him, searching through his eyeshade for any other moving thing. Though Axum held the upstream end of the canyon rim, he had not seen her blood-red scanner image since they'd split apart upon arriving atop the mesa. No doubt she hunted the night like a Na-Dina, using her sense of smell to warn her of a Long- Neck's approach. Simiu could smell well too, but he was sensible enough--or corrupted enough, his brothers would say--
to accept technological help in defense of others.
Red light flashed.
A blob of something glowed down in the Camp. A fairly large blob that seemed to have just exited from the dark red oblong of the Lab. He'd thought everyone was asleep
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long ago. Who could that be? Someone who needed the sanitary unit at this hour?
Khuharkk' blinked, enlarging the remote sensing image. The blob tripled in size on his scanner eyeshade, and grew in detail.
The Simiu knew instantly that the blob was a Na-Dina.
The heat signature of a Na-Dina was distinct from that of a human, or that of any of the other aliens in Camp. For one thing, their body mass was one-third larger than humans. For another, the red blob showed a curlicue streak that had to be the long tail of a Na-Dina. Khuharkk' watched the blob, waiting to see it go into the sanitary unit, but instead it just stayed in one place, outside the Lab.
Why?
The ground of the mesa rumbled under his feet as a distant volcano belched, and microquakes added in their multipart harmony. Were the Revered Ancestors trying to give him some kind of answer?
Khuharkk' watched, and, eventually, the blob disappeared among the string of round dome-tent blobs, going into one of t
hem. It could have been any of the individual tents, or even one of the barracks tents of the dig crew. It was impossible to tell because residual heat still glowed from the tent fabrics, veiling fine detail.
Growling low in his throat, Khuharkk' decided to check in with Axum, ask her opinion on whether they should rouse Dr. Mitchell to report this. "Axum," he said, triggering the intercom unit. "Axum, come in."
The speaker button in his ear remained silent. Where was she? It was possible that she was out of line-of-sight comunit contact, hidden perhaps below a rolling foothill. Perhaps she had retired into an arroyo to attend a call of nature.
Khuharkk' watched for several minutes more, trying Axum at intervals, before he decided just to forget the Na- Dina wandering around the camp. Probably one of the workers had indigestion and had gone out for a walk before retiring.
He decided to continue his patrol. Time enough in the morning to mention what he'd seen to Doctor Mitchell. His
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assignment, after all, was to watch the surrounding mesa top for any sign of an approaching predator--or a smuggler. The comings and goings of the people in the camp were not his concern.
Khuharkk' walked away, scanning for any sign of predators.
Hours had passed, and Mahree Burroughs knew her time was truly running out. The air in the vault was growing bad, so bad she was beginning to gasp.
Her head pounded, and she was sweating.
Her mind whirled as she reviewed her predicament for the thousandth time.
How to get out? She had no weapon. She had no plasma-torch. She had nothing, nothing that would punch through four metric tons of metal. And with the radio dead, and the vault door time-locked from the outside, nothing short of an earthquake would crack open her prison.
In a way, it was almost funny. Like one of those bad romance novels where the heroine, who was always as dumb as a box of rocks, got herself shut up in the tomb with the mummy.
Except that she wasn't in a tomb. She was in a place that was a lot more secure, and far more airtight.
She lay down on the floor, hoping to conserve her air by not expending energy. It was all she could do.
But she knew already it wouldn't be enough.
Soon she would find out what lay on the other side of life. Mahree thought of Rob and Claire, her parents, her uncle Raoul, her friends. Was there an afterlife? Would she see them again?
Soon enough, she'd know....
On his return swing past the camp from the interior of the mesa, Khuharkk'
stopped again at the canyon rim. He'd been unable to raise Axum for all this time, and he was getting very worried. She'd been out of contact for several hours. What if she was injured somewhere? Perhaps she'd fallen down a night-shadowed crevice. The patrol rules
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were for them to operate as a pair, in regular contact. Like he'd done the other night, with Etsane. That contact had saved her life.
Khuharkk' double-tapped the com unit hanging from his neck. It was Doctor Strongheart's turn to be Security Chief tonight. The frequency band changed.
"Doctor Strongheart?"
The radio buzzed as lightning crackled on the western horizon, then cleared.
"Wha--who's calling?"
He smiled at the sleepy sound in the elderly Heeyoon's voice. "Sorry to disturb you. Khuharkk' here. Axum has disappeared from com unit contact."
"Blast!" Strongheart sounded irritated. "How long without contact?"
Khuharkk' glanced at the chrono on his night visor. "Three hours. Maybe a little more."
"What!" The Heeyoon now sounded fully awake. "You should have called me earlier. Any sign of predators?"
He paused. Should he mention the Na-Dina heat signature down in the Camp? "No. Not up here."
"What about anywhere else? Don't make me drag this out of you!"
Strongheart snarled. "Give me a complete report!"
Khuharkk's tufted tail raised straight up, as if in salute to a Clan Leader. "I have not seen Crew Boss Axum since we arrived on patrol duty," he began.
"She went south, upstream, along the canyon rim. I went north, then came back, then inland, and now I am returned to the canyon rim." He paused.
"Earlier, I saw the heat signature of a Na-Dina loitering outside the Lab. After several minutes, it disappeared into one of the tents. That is all."
"All!" Strongheart sounded both distracted and upset. "Could this heat sign have been Axum?"
He thought of how she'd appeared when first they'd gone on patrol. "It is possible."
The com unit radio held silent a moment. Then it rasped. "Return to Base Camp. Immediately. I'm going over to the Lab to check on the SSC.
Strongheart out."
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"Out." Khuharkk' tapped off the com unit, turned, and ran for the rockpile and the way down.
Now he was really worried.
When Strongheart's call came in, Gordon was enjoying his first night of sound, peaceful sleep in weeks. He was, however, one of those individuals who can pass from sleep into complete alertness in a matter of seconds.
"Mitchell here," he snapped, hitting the "send" button on the intercom.
"This is Strongheart. Meet me at the Lab. Now!"
Yanking on his shorts, he shoved his feet into his boots, and ran out into the night. The Lab was ablaze with lights. He opened the door, wishing he'd come armed, and called out, "Strongheart?"
"Back here!"
The SSC? Gordon felt cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. Had someone made another attempt to steal the golden sarcophagus? "Coming!"
He ran down between the rows of metal shelving on which rested thousands of artifacts and field samples, reached the end, and turned right. Strongheart stood in front of the time-locked vault door, her gray tail fluffed out, her paw-hands resting on the steel of the door, her entire manner one of intense concentration. Her medical kit rested at her feet.
"What?"
"Shut up." The alien female closed her amber eyes, then laid her head against the thick vault door. One ear pressed against the metal.
Gordon looked at his watch. It was long after midnight. What in the name of the Revered Ancestors was going on?
"Strongheart, what in hell is going on?"
She snarled at him, then stood back. "The time lock has been reset. The digital readout is different from how I left it, just before we went to dinner. And there is a scent trail that leads up to here, then stops."
Gordon swallowed hard. "Lots of us went in there today."
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Strongheart stepped back and went down on all fours. She paced slowly back and forth, her nose almost brushing the floor. "This trail is fresh. I scent two trails. One human. One Na-Dina."
"Human!
Amber eyes stared at him. "Female."
"Mahree!" He raced forward, banging against the metal. "That won't do any good," Strongheart said gruffly. She rose up to her usual two-footed stance and blinked at the digital time lock readout. "I've tried to cycle it back. To undo the new time lock. It won't recycle and open. Someone has reset it, and then randomized the algorithm."
Cold chil s raced down his back. "Mahree's inside! I know it."
Strongheart eyed him. "Or Etsane. Or Sumiko. Whoever is in there will not last much longer. The vault is airtight. She's suffocating, Gordon."
"No!" He turned, raced back to his tent, unlocked his chest, and grabbed his blaster. On his way back to the lab, he stopped and checked Mahree's tent.
The light was on, but it was empty. Just as he'd expected. Obviously, the unknown killer had tried again. But you won't succeed, Gordon promised silently, as he ran back to the vault.
When he reached the SSC, the archaeologist stood panting, steadying himself until he could aim safely with the blaster. "Stand back, Doc. Don't look."
The Heeyoon stepped back and closed her eyes. "This will ruin the door, you know ..."
"Do you think I care about that?" he cried in anguish, imagining
what was going on inside. He assumed the correct firing stance, feet apart and balanced, then aimed the blaster, steadying it by bracing his wrist with his other hand. He'd have to fire in short bursts and check his progress, or there was a chance he'd bum right through and vaporize the treasures--or Mahree--inside.
Breathing slowly and lightly, Gordon Mitchell leveled the blaster, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger. He heard the screee of the beam and the hiss of vaporized metal. Gordon counted slowly to three, released the trigger, and 163
squinted at the smoking, red-hot hole he'd bored in the vault door around the time lock. Nearly halfway through...
Hurry, hurry! his mind screamed, but he forced himself to stay calm as he triggered the weapon again.
This time he kept his left eye closed, and squinted with the right as the beam erupted. Despite the sunlike glare, he kept the narrow beam pointed at the center of the lock.
Scriiiiiieeeeee!
The fumes from the vaporizing metal made him want to gag. The whole area around the lock glowed red-hot, yellow, then edged up toward white ...
Suddenly there was no metal left--Gordon's finger seemed to recognize that even before his eye did. Hastily, he stopped firing, praying that Mahree wasn't pressed up against the glowing door.
Laying down the blaster, he opened both eyes. His right eye was filled with yellow dazzle, but he could still see through the one he'd kept closed.
Gordon sprang forward, snatching up a pry bar from a nearby lab table.
Thrusting the bar into the hole he'd made in the steel, he pulled, feeling the bar sink deep into the still-molten metal of the door. The locking mechanism, made of tougher plas-steel, was still partly intact, but the door around the lock was gone. He yanked the entire locking mechanism free, and it crashed to the floor.
The door swung open.
As the fresh air rushed into the smoke-filled vault, he heard someone coughing inside, and felt relief so strong that he nearly staggered. "Mahree!"
The smoke was so thick that he nearly tripped over her before he saw her.
She was not burned, thank all the stars in the heavens. Gordon bent down, slid his hands beneath her knees and her back, and scooped her up. He was so charged with adrenaline that she seemed nearly weightless as he carried her out into the clean, fresh air.
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