"And three?" Makwen asked.
"Three is that one person, working from Base Camp, is responsible for everything that has happened. Most likely a Na-Dina, either Axum or Beloran."
"Krillen, have you found anything in your forensic analysis from the information we collected?" Mahree asked.
"I have made progress," Krillen said. "The analysis of the murder weapon makes me tend toward possibility two or three."
Mitchell leaned forward. "What did you find?"
185
"With the help of the off-world magnifiers, I was able to study the steel bar very closely. The stress marks on it were illuminating. Then I made some tests, using some of the Nordlund pilots who had flown into Spirit this past week, as volunteers. The pressure-grip of a human compared to one of the People is different. The kilograms per square centimeter of force that can be exerted by humans is less than that exerted by the People."
"So the whorl patterns showed that a Na-Dina had gripped the bar to do the killing?" Mitchell asked excitedly. "Almost certainly."
"Beloran," Gordon said. "It's got to be Beloran."
"Gordon, you're jumping to conclusions," Mahree said. "Just because he's a cranky old cuss doesn't mean he's guilty. There's not one shred of evidence that isn't circumstantial to link him to either crime."
Krillen gazed at her, fluttering his fan-ears approvingly. "Very good, my colleague," he said. "You have learned well."
"But a Na-Dina killed Bill!" Mitchell made a frustrated gesture. "You just said so!"
"Correct," Makwen said. "But, Philosopher Mitchell, you are on a world full of millions of Na-Dina. The People work at Nordlund as well as your Base Camp. Personally, I favor the number two choice--that a Na-Dina, working with an off-worlder, committed the crimes. How else would the Na-Dina have been able to land the ship, unless a human or other alien pilot was also aboard?"
"Have you interviewed every off-world pilot, Kril en?" Mahree asked.
"Yes. The chief suspect at this time is one Mario Gonzales Ortega. His regular jumpjet run is to a drilling rig camp in the Mountains of Faith, near the Lake of Stars. On the day of Interrelator Waterston's death, he was logged in as making a run to the Base Camp. He was also the pilot who brought me to Base Camp the day after the smuggler raid."
"So he could have sabotaged the batteries!"
"Perhaps," Krillen agreed. "It is certainly possible.
186
Some of my inquiries about Infidel Ortega have been interesting. He is apparently constantly short of funds. He engages in what you off-worlders call 'games of chance.' "
"So that's a motive," Mahree said. "Money. If we consider that a Na-Dina could have been paying him."
"Yes, that is a motive. But what, my friends, could be the motive for our unknown Na-Dina killer?"
Mahree and Gordon looked at each other and shrugged. "Can you think of anything, Investigator?" Gordon asked after a moment.
Krillen shrugged with his tail. "Possibly. I have been tracking reports of unusual activities all along the River of Life, and your smuggler raid is by no means the first time someone has looted, or attempted to loot, one of our ancient tombs. The villages report that looting has increased dramatically since the off-worlders came to Ancestor's World--but that it has been going on for a long time."
"That makes sense," Gordon said. "There's a big market for illegal antiquities." He thought for a moment. "Maybe that so-called 'First Contact'
months ago wasn't the first. Maybe Sorrow Sector made earlier contacts long ago, and kept them very, very secret. This could have been going on for decades."
"For decades!" Mahree felt sudden surprise, then told herself it fit in with the likelihood of a Sorrow Sector smuggler as one of the plotters. If artifact-looting had been confined to the hinterlands of Ancestor's World, so as to avoid official Na-Dina attention, that would explain how the smugglers had known where to raid. The murderer in their midst explained how they'd known when to attempt the raid at Base Camp.
"I hate looters!" Gordon said angrily. "They're always there, and we archaeologists are always just a half-step ahead of them--if we're lucky."
"Have you ever caught any Na-Dina looting the tombs of the Revered Ancestors?" Mahree asked.
"Yes," Krillen said grimly. "And when we do, our penalties are very, very harsh. So looting is rare, among our
187
people. But, of late, there has been a tremendous upsurge in their activity."
"Catching the thieves is very hard," Makwen said. "They strike, and then are gone quickly. Almost like the Disappearances."
Gordon looked at Makwen, his expression puzzled. "Disappearances? What disappearances?"
Krillen's ears fluttered, as though the Investigator was embarrassed. "They are widely believed to be a rural fable."
"Not so!" Makwen protested, flaring her ears. "They are real!"
"Tell us about them," Mahree said quietly. "Please?" Krillen sipped his tea, then cleared his throat. "From time to time we receive reports from the backcountry of individuals, a caravan group, sometimes even a small village, suddenly disappearing--just vanishing with no trace." The Investigator put down his cup. "The Ministry of Justice investigated the first few reports very thoroughly, some forty years ago. Nothing was found, except an empty village or inn, always in a very remote area."
"Well, why?'' Mahree asked. "What happened to them?"
The alien blinked. "You must realize that our world is very changeable.
Floods. Thunderstorms. The Ash of Sorrow. Whole villages are sometimes wiped out by these events, or by the jolt of Father's Snoring when it quakes enough to bring down even a Temple. That is enough to account for the Disappearances."
"I do not believe that," Makwen insisted stubbornly. "I am from the backcountry, and I saw a village not far from my own where there had been a Disappearance. Food was left on the tables, partially eaten. Yet there had been no earthquake, no flood, no ashfall. But every person--male, female and small scaly--in Talon village was gone. We never saw them again."
Gordon looked to Krillen. "Disease? Plague? Investigator, could they explain what she describes?"
"No," Kril en said bluntly. "But the occurrences are 188
few in number. They are greatly outnumbered by the natural loss of life caused by flood, earth quaking, storm or volcanic eruption."
Mahree glanced at her wristwatch. It was time to leave for her report to the Council of Elders. "Investigator, we must leave for our appointment with the Council," she said. "But it occurs to me that now would be a good time for us to take that trip to visit the Nordlund sites and talk to Project Engineer Mohapatra. I'll arrange for a jumpjet to come and get you tomorrow or the day after. Will that be satisfactory?"
Krillen hesitated. "We have nowhere near the evidence to link any Nordlund employee to these deaths," he said finally.
"Yes," Gordon said, "But, Krillen, don't forget that Bill was talking about finding some evidence of wrongdoing, and then he died. Do you think that's pure coincidence?"
"Possibly," Krillen said. "However, I agree that a discussion with the Project Engineer and a tour of the Nordlund sites is in order. I will be ready when your jumpjet arrives."
Gordon nodded. "And we can regain the use of our jumpjet out on the mesa, Investigator?"
"Certainly," Krillen said. "I will put through the paperwork today. You may take your shuttle out to the site and retrieve it immediately."
"Great. We really need it. Thanks, Krillen."
This time, the Investigator did not accompany them as they left the office and walked the corridors of the Ministry of Justice. "We've given him a lot to think about," Mahree said to Gordon as their footsteps resounded on the stone steps.
"And vice versa," the archaeologist agreed.
Ninety minutes later, Gordon sat in the shadows of the meeting chamber of the Council of Elders, high on the uppermost floor of the Temple of Administration. He listened as Mahree presented her report to the six
teen Na-Dina elders, who squatted in a circle. They rested on the brown 189
stone floor of the dome-roofed chamber, a pile of salt tablets lying in front of each elder. The white pile was flanked on the right by a pot of tea, on the left by a pitcher of water. And in the center of the circle, clean brown sand filled a sunken pool area. The sand showed dark stains from water devotions, tossed salt lay atop it, and stuck into the sand was something he'd never before seen. Effigy sticks carved from red porphyry, in the shape of a Na-Dina. Each one represented a clan of the Na-Dina.
He mentally counted them. Sixty-two!
The effigy sticks crowded the middle of the sand disk, their beautifully carved faces flickering with shadows cast by wall sconces that illuminated the chamber. This was a very, very old part of the Temple, easily a thousand years in age, and polychrome paintings covered the wall behind him. The chamber was almost unique--a round sand disk occupied the room's center, with a ring of Elders encircling it, while behind them curved the walls of this circular room. Most Na-Dina structures were rectangular, square, or triangular in geometry, except for the tombs of the Royal House and those of some commoners. Clearly, this was a room dedicated to the Ancestors, not to the living.
Mahree had been talking now for almost forty-five minutes, giving a full report on the CLS support to Gordon's dig, the work begun by the new researchers, the smuggler raid, and the investigation into Bill's murder. She had not mentioned, however, the attempts on her own and Krillen's life. Now she was attempting to caution the Na- Dina about their dealings with Nordlund, and the dangers of too-rapid industrialization.
The representative of the Temple of the River tossed a salt tablet into the sand pit, interrupting Mahree. By protocol, she had to squat and listen.
Which she did.
"Interrelator," hiss-clicked the rather young female Elder. "We have heard all these arguments about too-fast industrialization and the damage to our culture from your predecessor, Interrelator Waterston." Mahree showed respect by staring directly at the speaker, a member of the Modernist faction on the Council. "What would you have
190
us do? Would you sell us uranium reactors, so as to generate power from the Wailing of the Ancestors?" she asked, using a new Na-Dina term for nuclear fission.
What? Gordon felt shock. He hadn't realized the Council's technical advisors had picked up the basics of nucleonics. From their dealings with Nordlund?
Mahree seemed equally surprised. She stood to reply. "Elder Renzees, we prefer not to do so. They are an old technology, and the waste products they create are deadly." The Temple representative flared her solid blue ears in a strange gesture. "Then will you sell us fusion reactors? I hear that the power which fuels Mother's Eye is the greatest in all Creation."
Gordon could tell that, despite her fifteen years of interstellar diplomacy, the Na-Dina's bluntness had rattled Mahree. "I'm sorry, no," she said. "The Cooperative League of Systems has a rule that prohibits the transfer of such advanced technology to worlds where it has not been developed by the native species. Such power is--"
"Best kept from people whom you treat as new-hatched from the egg,"
interrupted the representative from the Temple of A-Um Rakt, a younger male who also belonged to the Modernist faction. The alien tossed a salt tablet into the sand pit, then flared his ears at the speaker he'd interrupted.
Mahree bowed to the Na-Dina woman who'd first asked about alternative power sources. "Your pardon, Elder Renzees, but in this matter I am not a free agent. I must follow the rules of my Council of Elders, just as your people must heed your decisions."
Looking to the male who'd interrupted her, Mahree slapped the black fabric of her blouse. "Elder Sashoon, we of the CLS have high respect for the Royal House, the Ancestors, and all the people of Ancestor's World. That is why we have spent scarce funds to support Doctor Mitchell's study of Ancestor's Valley, and the Tomb of A-Um Rakt."
She paused, glanced back at Gordon, then continued. "I wish there were another way, but we of the CLS have found that things usually work best when a world makes its own
191
decisions and choices. Whether in technology development or in cultural change."
Another Na-Dina tossed a tablet onto the sand disk, this one a female showing the silvery-blue ears of advanced old age. "Interrelator, it is because some of us agree with that statement that we have supported others on this Council"--her ears flared at the two Modernist members-- "who desired to build the Great Dam at the First Cataract. We sorrow over the loss of Ancestral remains, but the rise and fall of the River of Life is a constant.
Some ancient places have always been lost to Father's Anger or Mother's Tears. At least this loss is in service to the People, for new farmlands and the energy to power factories that will... make us and your CLS more equal."
Gordon blinked, surprised to hear such a statement from Elder Salween of the Temple of Earth Quaking. The elderly Seismologist was the leader of the Traditionalist faction, a firm backer of his efforts, and someone who never spoke in haste. Mahree looked troubled, then bowed to Salween. "Elder Salween, I too wish there were some other way. But think! You are a great people, with six millennia of reflection. Surely, in all that time, you have learned the value of a slow and measured approach to making major decisions. True?"
A different Elder, the representative of the King and the Royal House, tossed out his own salt. "Interrelator, that is indeed our practice, and so it has been from the time of the First Dynasty. But." The alien, a middle-aged male whom Gordon had been told was often the swing vote in the Council, flared his ears at Mahree, then offset that gesture with a direct stare. "But never before have Infidels descended from Mother Sky. Never before have the People considered such a marvel. And never before have we had to weigh in the balance the entire future of the People. If we do not progress, and quickly, our heritage might be lost anyway. Through the influence of the New Marvel, you off- worlders. Is that not true, Philosopher Mitchell?"
Mahree sat down, then looked back at him. "Gordon?" Damn. He'd been squatting behind her, trying to avoid
192
notice. Gordon stood and bowed low to the representative of the Royal House. "Elder Hakeem, it is true that, in Earth's history, when one culture met another, the result was often great damage to the weaker of the two.
He thought of the European colonists who'd come to OldAm and Polynesia, of the Muslim culture in North Africa after the fall of Rome, and of Imperial China invading early Korea. However, the CLS is not Earth. Their peoples have histories both similar to, and different from, my own Earth. Most importantly, the CLS has a group of Sky-flying Marshals, the League Irenics, who can usually prevent unauthorized visits to a world that is in protected status. The Council could choose to make Ancestor's World such a planet."
Silence fell in the Council chamber.
Gordon squatted back down, hoping he'd helped Mahree. But when the female Elder representing the Queen's Household tossed her own salt into the sand pit, he was thrown for a loss. That Elder, though a Traditionalist whose ears were just starting to show silver, had never before spoken during his prior meetings with the Council.
Mahree rose and bowed. "Elder Alasoo? You have a question?" She then squatted back down.
"No," the alien said bluntly, then looked around the circle. "Some observations and a statement. I observe that despite this offer of help from your Irenics, an off-world craft attacked the Royal Tomb of the First Dynasty and attempted to steal our Ancestor's remains. That is sacrilege." The other Elders, of both factions, fanned their ears and thumped their tails, loudly agreeing. "I observe that only off-worlder weapons, and your bravery, drove them from our sacred soil. I further observe--"
"But, Elder Alasoo," Mahree broke in hotly, "the Tomb is now protected by forty Sisters of the Queen's Own Guard, armed with rifles and--"
Realizing that she'd interrupted the representative of the Queen's Household, Mahree squatted abjectly. "My
apologies, Elder." She tossed two salt tablets into the sand pit. Alasoo sighed. "Accepted. You are young still, you believe
193
strongly, and you mean us well. We all understand that." Gordon leaned closer to Mahree's hunched-over back, as anxious as she to learn where the Elder was heading. "But facts are facts. Power is power. And one thing the Royal House has learned through the ages is to never rely on the promises of strangers when matters of state are at risk." The female looked at Mahree, her manner direct and firm. "Your CLS may, or may not, be able to do all that you say. But we live here. We hold this world in trust for the Revered Ancestors. It is our duty to strengthen and defend our world!"
Alasoo's statement echoed off the chamber's dome.
Elder Sashoon tossed salt onto the sand pit. The young Modernist stood up, his tail lifted, his ears flaring. "Elder Alasoo, our devotion to Mother Sky is boundless. I am pleased to advise you that the Temple of A-Um Rakt, always known for inventiveness in Weather Cannons and Rain Rockets, has developed a long-range cannon. The barrel is rifled, it is quite portable, and the shell it fires can reach far into Mother Sky."
Everyone, including the humans, crouched in stunned silence. "With this weapon, the Queen's Own Guard can defend the Sky over all our Royal Tombs. And... one of our Senior Electricians tells me that it may soon be possible to throw artificial balls of Mother's Touch at any Sky Infidel!"
Gordon's heart sank. Had the Na-Dina developed some kind of pulse-gun?
Or cannon? God, he hoped not. But the males who ran the Temple of A-Um Rakt had the benefit of six millennia of weapons design. And the female Honorary Members of the Temple--who followed in the steps of the Sister who had invented the electric battery centuries ago--seemed to have forged an unholy alliance with this world's munitions manufacturers. Mahree looked over her shoulder at Gordon, her face drawn, her dark eyes troubled. The last thing they needed on Ancestor's World was an arms race!
"What?" An elderly male surged to his taloned feet.
Ancestor's World Page 20
