"A half million?" Natual fell back into his chair.
Gordon understood the younger alien's dismay. The Drnian had never before dealt with a project of this size.
The Esteemed Lorezzzs, their Project Ceramicist, lifted her triangular head.
"Professor, your estimate for ceramics?"
"Two million, from whole pots to shards."
And so it went, from specialty to specialty.
As Gordon sat back in his chair, Mahree caught his eye. She shook her head slowly, her expression supportive. He appreciated her understanding. He suspected her work with the interstellar diplomatic corps of the CLS was the closest approximation to the research program he was responsible for.
He found himself looking forward to being alone with her. Was there any chance she felt the same way? All he could do was hope that she did....
On board the rising Nordlund jumpjet, Mahree watched as Gordon stored his overnight bag behind the seat that faced hers. She wondered when he'd notice the great view visible through the side window.
She'd been a bit surprised to find that the jet diverted by Nordlund was the one dedicated to the Project Engineer, who'd refitted the craft with pale brown carpets, overstuffed recliner seats, two couches, a wet bar, an in-flight kitchen, a tub bath, and even a bedroom at the rear of the craft. It was one more sign of the massive financial investment Nordlund had made on Ancestor's World. Why? Why invest so much money up front? The drill-mining sites in the
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Mountains of Faith would not yield commercial quantities of ore for another year or more. If then.
Up front, the Nordlund pilot pushed aside the drape blocking her view of the pilot cabin. He offered Mahree his best professional smile. "Ambassador Burroughs," he called. "Would you and Doctor Mitchell mind if I took the long way to Spirit? Along the river?"
The pilot's smooth manner and calm air of authority might go over well with the Project Engineer, but she found it irritating. Mahree looked to her guest, who watched her as attentively as any Na-Dina. "Gordon?"
He turned in his seat to glance back at the pilot. "Captain McAllister, is it?"
The man nodded rather patronizingly. Gordon smiled tightly. "That sounds fine with me, Captain. Guess you'd like to show off the dam site, huh?"
"Yes." Captain McAllister's deep-tanned face tensed, but the smile held. "It's a perfect opportunity to get an aerial overview of the diversion dam, the main axis trench excavation, and the diversion tunnel. They're making the river diversion today." The pilot showed perfect teeth. "We could see a real gusher as the river changes course." Gordon looked back to her, his eyebrows lifting. "Mahree?"
After Professor Greyshine's sobering report, she had all too good an idea of what the Nordlund engineers and earth- movers were doing to the River of Life. But she was obligated to learn their side of the situation. She nodded.
"Sure. It's not every day you see a three-kilometer-wide river shoved off its course and forced through a tunnel." Captain McAllister's smile wavered.
"But, ma'am, that's the only way we can excavate down to bedrock. So we can get the best footing for the earthfill of the dam."
Gordon turned back to the pilot. "Captain, please do take the long way to Spirit. The river route. Why don't you call us on the intercom when we arrive at the dam?"
McAllister nodded and vanished without another word. Gordon turned around in his seat, touched the recliner arm-control, and lifted his eyebrows again. "Do you mind if I rest my boots on the lounge table?"
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Mahree felt bemused. "Gordon, if there's one thing I've noticed since coming to camp, you always put your boots atop any place you wish. Of course. Go ahead." She smiled to convince him she was only teasing.
He returned the smile. Then he put his boots on the table between them, his manner that of a small boy getting away with something. "Thanks. I think best when my boots are propped up on something."
She grew serious. "No, I must thank you. And this is the first chance I've gotten. For saving my life in the vault. Thank you."
"Hey ..." His eyes met hers. Their gazes locked and held. "Any time. I've never gotten the chance to save a fair lady before." He gave her a boyish, lopsided grin that made her heart turn over. "Though it was a shame to ruin that time lock."
Mahree felt herself blushing, as she realized he meant what he said. For a moment she thought he might lean across the table and touch her--and she wanted him to, she discovered, frightened by the strength of her own reaction. But he didn't.
Instead he looked away, out the window. "Fantastic view, isn't it?"
She eyed his boots, resting atop the small wooden table. Her gaze ran up his long legs to his narrow hips, then to his khaki-shirted chest. A dark tan showed at his neck and on his arms, where he'd rolled up his sleeves. His squarish face had been freshly shaved. And his sun-streaked hair lay in fresh-combed sandy curls. But the squint lines around his light eyes seemed tense. As if he were aware of her examination.
"There you go, changing the subject," she teased, realizing that she was flirting--and that she was enjoying it. She hadn't felt so alive in years. "What were you real y going to say?"
His cheeks hollowed a bit, then he faced her, and it was obvious that he was not having fun. She sensed pain, and confusion. "Mahree... I'm starting to feel that...
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maybe..He floundered for a second, then rallied. "That you're a very special woman. To me."
She found that she couldn't think of anything to say to that. As she mulled over possible replies, Gordon looked up, his manner veiled once more. "Did you ever wonder why Nordlund is investing so damned much venture capital in such a longshot contract?"
Mahree licked her lips. "I was wondering. This jumpjet is rather luxurious."
He scowled, then glanced aside, staring darkly out the window. "Yeah. But these appointments are petty funding to Nordlund. The big money is three years' worth of construction crew salaries, several freighter fulls of earthmoving equipment, at least three full-size drill-mining rigs, and prefab accommodations for over six hundred alien and human workers." Gordon looked back to her, his manner professional. "Ambassador, no company invests that kind of venture capital without some damned good reason. And Nordlund ain't in the trade of 'lift up our poor brethren on far stars.' "
"I agree."
He inspected her now, looking from her boots up her bare legs to her shorts, her belt holster with pulse-gun snugged into it, then on up to her lime-green blouse, her neck--her eyes.
She blinked. "So. What riches abound on this planet? Other than arky ruins?"
Gordon grinned sardonically. "You're right. This is a gold mine for my career.
But even I'm small chips to Nord- blund." His mood sobered. "They've got enough money to buy lots of help. Including local help. What do you think?
Did Axum shut you in the vault?"
She broke eye contact to look out the window. Long kilometers below, the cobalt River of Life undulated over sand bars, around sandstone cliffs and over rapids, tracing a series of S-curves east to the horizon. It was midday, and Ancestor's World shone like a brass lamp, the only green lying in narrow strips along the river course.
Mahree turned back to Gordon. "I should suspect her,
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after what happened. After all, she's a Na-Dina, and Krillen and I found evidence that a Na-Dina was aboard Bill's jet, during--and after--it landed."
With each word, his face grew more grim.
"And a Na-Dina closed the vault door on me the other night. So"--she looked down at his scuffed boots--"tell me why I shouldn't suspect Axum."
The boots did not move. Finally, he sighed. "I like her. I trust her. She's never betrayed me, or done anything other than what I asked."
Mahree looked up, seeing new pain in his hazel eyes. "That's all? Her story about following the Long-Neck; that doesn't sound weak to you?"
Gordon crossed rough-knuckled hands over his waist, covering th
e turquoise belt buckle he wore. He lifted sandy eyebrows. "Sounds dumb, doesn't it? Yeah, she could have doubled back on Khuharkk', climbed down to the Camp, locked you in, and gone back up to the mesa. I don't believe she did. Otherwise, why call for digging help from her Clan? Why would she take my side against Beloran?" He lifted his hands, laced his fingers together, and rested his chin on them, staring curiously at her. "I just trust her. Do you?"
Mahree sighed her relief. "Yes, I do. I wondered if I was crazy to do it, after all that's happened. If so, I'm glad I'm not the only one."
"You aren't. But, Mahree... I wish to hell so many people didn't have reason to want you--and the CLS oversight that you represent--out of the way."
Gordon counted on his fingers. "First there's Nordlund. Then there are the Modernists, especially Beloran. Then there are the smugglers. You have too many enemies, my dear."
She heard the endearment, and wondered if he'd meant it, or if it was just a figure of speech. "Gordon, besides helping with my report to the Council of Elders, I could use your assistance another way."
"Oh? How?" He watched her very directly.
Facing him steadily, she said, "The jumpjet out at the murder site. I'm sure we can get it released, after I talk to
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Krillen, but I also want to borrow the ship's shuttle from the S.V. Emerald Scales. I don't want to offend the Na- Dina by flying it myself, so... would you be my shuttle pilot?"
He relaxed. "Of course. That will give us two long-range transports at Base Camp, including one that can make orbit." Gordon paused. "You're concerned the smugglers might return?"
She nodded, noting that it was nice to work with someone as sharp as this man.
Gordon nodded back, then changed the subject back to more personal matters. "Mahree ... would you show me that holo of your daughter? I think I'm the only one in camp who hasn't seen it."
He had two daughters of his own; she'd read that in the job file on the way out from StarBridge. And though they were grown, he must miss them as she missed Claire. Mahree dug through her bag and found the holo-cube. In it, her tall, slim, chestnut-haired daughter looked up with oh-too- serious blue eyes. "This is Claire." Mahree handed him the cube.
Gordon took it, his scarred fingers cradling the image. "She's beautiful. And smart-looking. Takes after her mother." He handed the cube back.
Mahree felt... warm. She realized she was blushing again. Putting the cube on the table between them, she pointed at his hands. "Lots of scars. How did they happen?"
Gordon leaned forward, chuckling as he lifted one hand and inspected it.
"Trowel-sharpening scars. Archaeologists religiously sharpen the edges of their trowels. Makes for a clean scrape in an excavation unit, so you don't smudge the soil layers in the profile." He blinked owlishly. "Twenty-five years of trowel scars." He lowered his hand.
She took a chance. "Could I see pictures of your daughters?"
His jaw clenched. Then he smiled, though she saw the pain behind it.
"Sure." Reaching into his overnight bag,
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he turned back, holding two color flats preserved in clear plastic.
Mahree took the flat image pictures. One showed a young woman perhaps eighteen, with red hair and green eyes. The background of the picture resembled a college dorm room.
Gordon spoke quietly. "That's Moira. She's the oldest. Eighteen. The other one is Casey. She's fifteen."
Mahree looked carefully at the second girl. She had red hair too, teeth that were a bit oversized, and a freckled grin that reminded her of Gordon in his unguarded moments. She wore a uniform. She handed the plates back.
"They're beautiful young women."
Gordon took the photo plates from her and put them back into his bag.
"Those photos are three years old. I haven't seen them since their mother took them off to some family business on Nishto, in the Apis System. That was right after the divorce." He faced her again.
She hated seeing the pain in his eyes. "Gordon, I'm sorry." Mahree reached out and touched his hand.
He watched her small, smooth hand that so sharply contrasted with his own gnarly one. The moment grew intense--too much so. Gordon stirred, removing his hand gently. "You know, I'll bet Project Engineer Mohapatra has got a private stash of decent liquor somewhere in here. Think I'll help myself."
He busied himself for a moment, then returned with two glasses.
Mahree raised her glass in a toast. "Let's give 'em hell, Gordon."
He grinned suddenly. "I'll drink to that." He clinked his glass against hers, then drained half of the potent golden- brown brew.
Mahree sipped the fiery liquid, savoring its smoky flavor, then placed the glass on the table. "I'll drink to anyone who saves my life." She heard the ice settle in her glass. "And I think you're pretty special, too."
The moment was interrupted by Captain McAllister's voice coming over the intercom. "We're coming up on the
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dam site now. If you'll look out your window, I'll explain what you're seeing."
Mahree sat back in her chair, both irritated and amused, as Gordon's boots returned to the table, carefully avoiding her still-full glass. "Proceed, Captain." She met Gordon's gaze once again. A different look shone there now. A look of patience.
Together, they marveled at the River of Life, and how its curving course could match their own lives.
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CHAPTER 11 Smuggler's Luck
Mahree sat on the hard floor of Krillen's office and watched as the Investigator poured cold tea for her, for Gordon, and for Prosecutor Makwen, who'd been invited to sit in on their meeting. The afternoon heat was stifling, and the coolness of the office felt like a dash of mint.
Gordon noticed her glance and gave her a warm smile. Mahree returned it, sensing again that tenderness, that caring that she wasn't sure how to deal with--it both excited her and made her nervous. By now she could no longer pretend she wasn't attracted to him. She was. And yet... she was only here on Ancestor's World for a few weeks-- perhaps a month or two at the most.
Did she want to start anything under those circumstances?
Especial y since she knew, instinctively, that any relationship with Gordon Mitchell would be far more than just a casual fling between two lonely humans far from home.
"So," Krillen said, after taking a sip of tea, "tell me, please, all about this second attempt on the life of Ambassador Burroughs."
Mahree opened her mouth to do so, then closed it, and gestured at Gordon.
"You go ahead," she said. "I stil
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can't talk about it without getting the shakes."
Mitchell nodded, and proceeded to fill the Investigator in on what had happened the other night.
Krillen and Makwen both listened intently. "And you say a Na-Dina was wandering around the Camp?" the Prosecutor said, when Gordon was finished. "Was the Simiu sure of his identification?"
"Yes, he was."
"And where was Axum all this time?" Krillen asked. "She told us that she'd picked up on the trail of a Long- Neck, and followed it, to make sure it wasn't trying to get near the camp. She'd accidentally shut off her com unit, so she couldn't hear Khuharkk' calling her."
Krillen fixed Gordon with an intent gaze. "And, Philosopher Mitchell, do you believe her?"
Gordon took a deep breath. "Krillen... I do. I'm not sure why, exactly, except that my instincts tell me that Axum was telling the truth. Dammit, I like her.
She's worked hard for me. She's dedicated to what we're doing. I can't believe she'd try to hurt one of us."
The Investigator listened carefully, then turned to Mahree. "And what about you, Ambassador? You who have had dealings with so many species other than your own. Were you present when Philosopher Mitchell spoke with Axum?"
"Yes, I was," Mahree said. "And, Krillen, I believed her, too. Axum seemed genuinely horrified to realize how close I came to death, and even more horrified that on
e of her own people might have been involved."
Krillen picked up his bronze ruler and sat turning it over in his taloned hands as he thought. "It is true that any evidence against a Na-Dina in this instance is purely circumstantial. The would-be murderer may not have had anything to do with the heat sign the Simiu saw on his night-visor."
"That's true enough," Gordon said.
"What of the faked message Mahree found in her tent?"
"It was gone when we looked for it," Mahree said. "Not surprising, I guess."
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"And who besides Doctor Strongheart might have overheard your conversation about asking Philosopher Mitchell for a private tour of the treasures?"
"The SSC was so crowded we could barely move," Mahree said. "It could have been literally anyone." Makwen fixed them all with a level stare. "I believe it is time for Investigator Krillen to interrogate Liaison Beloran," she said.
"He will be insulted," Krillen said, obviously not relishing the idea. "And he has powerful allies in the ruling party. Allies that go as high as the Royal Family, Makwen."
"This would not be the first time a highly ranked official has been involved in a crime," Makwen pointed out.
"True," Krillen admitted, with an audible sigh. "I have been reaching the same conclusion, Prosecutor. I am not looking forward to that interview, however. I had hoped to finish all of my review of the evidence before tackling the Liaison." The Investigator held up a taloned finger. "As I see it, there are still three possibilities. One: someone from offworld, but unrelated to your Base Camp, killed Bill Waterston and tried to kill the Ambassador, after failing in an attempt to kill both the Ambassador and myself."
"Unrelated to the Base Camp..." Gordon considered for a moment. "You mean from Nordlund."
"Or the smugglers," Mahree added.
"Correct." Krillen held up another talon. "Two: the murderer is actually two people working in concert. One from Base Camp, the other an Off-worlder from outside."
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