Ancestor's World

by T. Jackson King

  Etsane laughed. "Not nearly as much as I enjoyed the

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  one you made for me. You're a good cook, Natual."

  He shifted closer to her, until his bare shoulder nearly brushed hers. "I'm pleased. Your happiness is important to me."

  "I'm really glad we've become friends," she said. "Your happiness is important to me, too."

  He gazed at her intently. "Friends... yes, we value friendship, Etsane. But...

  is it only friends? Could it ever be more?"

  She took a deep breath and slid her feet into her boots, concentrating on lacing them up while she struggled to find an answer. He kept silent, and she knew his eyes had not left her. Finally, she looked up. "I don't know, Natual. Maybe. That's an honest answer. It would take ... time. And patience.

  This is all very new to me."

  He nodded. "I know. It is new to me, too. But I know that I want to try to see if our friendship could grow into something more." Natual tried his smile on her again. He was getting better at moving his mouth into an upward curve. "Did you know that we Drnians are a patient people?"

  Reaching toward her, he held out his hand. Slowly, hesitantly, Etsane placed her fingers into his, noticing how different his body temperature was from her own. He was warmer, his skin textured differently from human skin.

  She smiled at him. "Patience is a virtue on my planet," she said softly.

  As they reached the ridgeline crest, Gordon motioned to Mahree to drop to the ground. She did so. Together they adjusted their scanner eyeshades, setting them to telescopic, and then spied on the long tube of the smuggler transport. He noticed the ship had landed beside a group of corrals, but there was no livestock nearby. Just a stone building that resembled a herder's hut, though it was big enough for six people.

  As they watched, the ship's cargo hatch opened and an offloading ramp extruded. Four coveralled crew members marched out, each armed with repulsor wards, and took up

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  positions on either side of the ramp. Where the ramp met the grassy floor of the valley, one of the corrals stood with its gate open. Figures moved inside the shadowy cargo hold.

  "Gordon?" Mahree said, sounding puzzled. "If these are smugglers, where are the ruins?"

  He sweated in the midday sun, feeling it strange to so suddenly jump from the middle of the night at the mesa, to midday here on the opposite side of the world. "I know. It's weird. Almost as if this place is--"

  "Gordon!"

  The pain in Mahree's voice matched that in his heart. "Oh, God," he said.

  "No, not that. I thought we were rid of that."

  "Slaves!" she cried out, then lowered her voice as she pointed to the line of captives being herded out of the hold and down the ramp. "Oh, God! Several Heeyoons, a Vardi, a dozen Drnians, a Shadgui, some Elspind, a dozen Na-Dina, three humans, and--"

  "No Simiu," Gordon whispered. "They're too aggressive to make good slaves. No Apis. No one that can fly." He watched the ugly scene, feeling nauseated. "Look at the way they're moving. What's the matter with them?"

  "Bastards!" Mahree reached out, gripping his arm. Her nails dug painfully into his skin. "They've drugged them! To make them more controllable. And when they try to wander off, they get the rods. Those must be stun-prods, not repulsors. Look at the way that woman went into convulsions!"

  "I see." Gordon wanted to turn away ... but instead he watched as over sixty intelligent people from half a dozen species were roughly shoved, prodded, and herded into the first corral.

  He squinted at the slaver crew. They appeared to be two Heeyoons, a Dmian, and a heavyset human male. Suddenly a fifth slaver appeared in the cargo lock, standing as if overseeing the operation.

  Gordon peered at the alien, who was still standing in the shadows. He--or she, or it, it was impossible to tell--appeared

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  to be directing the operation. "Who the hell is that guy?" he muttered.

  "Gordon, that's an Anuran down there, standing in the cargo lock," Mahree whispered.

  Mitchel had heard of the warlike race of slave-owning amphibians when they'd invaded Trinity a year or so ago. He'd thought the Anuran worlds were under interdiction by the CLS. At least one of the amphibian people appeared to have escaped that fate.

  Mahree flipped up the eyeshade with her other hand and looked at him.

  "Think he's the leader?"

  "He could be. But he could also just be the trademaster. Look down at the first corral and tell me--what is the common denominator among all those captives?"

  He felt her trembling beside him, and took her hand, squeezing her fingers, as much for his comfort as hers. "They're all in pain," she whispered, in response to his question. "They're all captives. And they're all going to a living hell if we don't do something to stop this!"

  He shook his head at her warningly. "Shhhhhh!"

  The fury in her eyes eased. "I'll be quieter," she mumbled.

  Gordon touched her face gently. "Hey. Please don't hurt so much. I... it hurts me to see you like this."

  She blinked, and tears slid down her face. "Slavery. Never again, Gordon.

  Never again. We wiped it out in Mali, in Sudan, in Arabia and in South Asia by 2020. The CLS makes sure it doesn't reoccur on their worlds." She rubbed her hands against her eyes, then looked to him. "So how do we stop this?"

  Gordon looked away, his own vision blurred. He nodded down at the corral, now full with offloaded captives. "What I meant by common denominator is that all those folks belong to species with outposts in this part of space. Near Sorrow Sector. There's no one from Trinity here, nor any oceanic or flyer types. No one with special environmental needs."

  He took a deep breath. "Mahree, slaves are taken for work. For hard labor.

  For doing things that are cheap to do

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  even with robot factories. And for... other things. More personal services."

  "No!" she protested, not missing his meaning. "We can't let them get away.

  They don't look like they're getting ready to go anytime soon. Maybe we can get help, rescue them!"

  Something else had just occurred to Gordon Mitchell. He stared at Mahree as a light dawned inside his brain. "Mahree, what if the artifact smuggling is incidental to the presence of slavers here on Ancestor's World? What if...

  what if this explains the Disappearances?" She gasped. "Sorrow Sector landed here, just as they may have done at other remote outposts or frontier worlds, to grab slaves. At first. Then they heard rumors about the ruins and, as a sideline, the ship's crew does a little looting of artifacts."

  Her face was tense, pale, beneath the tan. "You're probably right, but, so?

  What does that mean to us?"

  Gordon licked his lips. "It means this is part of a long- organized operation.

  They stop here to sort their captives. See how they're moving a few into other corrals now? Maybe for pickup by another transport, one that goes on into Sorrow Sector. Or maybe they've already done a Disappearance raid elsewhere on Ancestor's World, and are stopping here to process their wares."

  "Wares!" She looked as though she might be sick, but managed to control herself. "We have to do something, Gordon."

  "I agree. But they're too well armed for us to take them by ourselves. See those blasters they're wearing?"

  Mahree trembled next to him, her body touching his. "I see. But we must stop this!"

  "You're right." Swallowing thickly, he looked to her. "Mahree, take the shuttle back to camp, ask Pokeel to come here with some of her people, along with any researchers who volunteer to fight, and return to me. Then we'll free the captives."

  Mahree faced him, her eyes dry, her expression grim. "No. You go back to camp and do that. You're a better pilot than I am. You know where your two blasters are

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  stored, I don't. You're the organizer around here, I'm not. And"--she turned her gaze back to the abomination below--"I'm the Interrelator for this world. />
  The Na-Dina are my responsibility. This must be stopped now, and I will not leave these Na-Dina, or the others, to an uncertain fate."

  "I don't want to leave you, Mahree." Fear swept over him. Fear that she would be hurt. Fear that she might be captured by the slavers.

  Fear that he would lose her, as he'd lost everyone else he'd ever cared about.

  Gordon realized he was gripping her shoulder tightly. She smiled at him, a brave, heartbreaking smile, and in that moment, he realized that he loved her.

  "Mahree ..." he whispered hoarsely.

  She nodded at him, as though she understood. "Gordon, there will be time for us later. I promise." He lifted his hand from her. "But now, we must use our brains. I'm the one who speaks six alien languages. I'm the one with a responsibility to the CLS. And I'm armed with a pulse-gun. Go now." The expression in her dark eyes made his heart lurch. "But hurry back to me."

  Gordon nodded. "All right. You win, I'll be back in an hour, okay? While I'm gone, you stay safe, understand? Swear to me on Claire's life that you won't do anything brave or foolhardy. You'll just watch, okay?"

  She nodded. "I swear it on Claire's life, Gordon. Hurry!"

  Gordon Mitchell slithered back until he was safely out of sight, then got up and ran for the shuttle.

  The trail to the creek dipped as the ground changed from sandy to gravelly, and Khuharkk' dropped to all fours to negotiate it more easily. He broke into a lope, knowing from the scent she'd left on the trail that his friend Etsane was just ahead.

  Moments later, he caught sight of her, sitting by the flat rock. She was not alone. The Drnian male, Natual, was sitting next to her. They were holding hands.

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  Khuharkk' reared back on his haunches to consider the implications of this, and decided that the best thing he could do was to leave before they saw him.

  He turned to do so, but was halted a second later by Etsane's voice.

  "Khuharkk'! We're down here! Come on!" The Simiu ambled down the trail until he reached the couple. He couldn't help noticing that, while Etsane seemed genuinely glad to see him, Natual didn't.

  "I am sorry if I disturbed you," he began. "But I--" He broke off, ears pricking up. "Someone is approaching at a high-speed trajectory," he said, his Simiu pilot training coming to the fore.

  Etsane jumped to her feet, looking around wildly. "Smugglers?"

  "It is not the camp jumpjet," Khuharkk' said. "That landed an hour ago.

  Possibly it is the shuttle Honored MahreeBurroughs mentioned bringing back to camp. But why the excessive speed?"

  Now they were all on their feet, staring. They could make out the lights of the approaching vehicle now. There was no doubt that it was coming in very, very fast. The retro-blast it made boomed in their ears, making them all flinch. "Something is wrong," Khuharkk' said. "I am heading for the landing field."

  "Me, too," Etsane said.

  Natual did not bother to reply, simply broke into a surprisingly fast run.

  They were all panting by the time they reached the field. Khuharkk' could see the shuttle's door was already open, and the ramp was moving out.

  Etsane drew even with him, then pointed. "Look! It's Doctor Mitchell, there in the passenger section airlock." Khuharkk' narrowed his pupils against the strobing glare of the shuttle's running lights. "Doctor Mitchell?" he yelled. "Is there a problem? Where's Honored Mahree?" Mitchell jumped to the ground, not waiting for the loading ramp to finish extruding. The man ran toward them. "Damn! It's good to see you three here. You can save me some time. I need help."

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  Mitchell skidded to a stop in a spray of gravel. Khuharkk' thumped his chest.

  "By my Honor Scars, I will help however I can. What do you need?"

  "Combat," the archaeologist said bluntly to them. "Mahree and I tracked a smuggler transport coming in for a landing on the day side of Ancestor's World. Thought it was just coming in to loot some tomb. It wasn't." He tried to catch his breath. "They're slavers! They brought in a group of sixty slaves, from half a dozen species. Mahree is still there, keeping watch in case they try to leave before we get back. I'm here to get Pokeel's help. There are a dozen or more Na-Dina in the group."

  Khuharkk' felt dark fury. What an insult to this world! What a wound to the heritage of the Na-Dina! Thanks to language lessons from Axum, he had grown to respect her people, even to understand somewhat their way of Honor and their devotion to dead Ancestors. He snarled out his offer. "I will return to fight and free these captives! Take me!"

  Mitchell looked away from Etsane, whose face had grown hard and stiff. The older man nodded abruptly. "Your Honor Challenge on behalf of the Na-Dina is accepted." Their leader looked back to Etsane and Natual. "You two don't have to come. This is all-volunteer. But anyone who comes must carry a weapon. Except for Khuharkk', of course."

  Etsane was already nodding. "Count me in! I'll get my sling!"

  Natual raised a thin arm. "Me. Count me in. I may be a researcher, but I know when it is time to fight for what is right." The Drnian mimed aiming. "I know how to handle a pulse-gun."

  "Good." Mitchell unbuckled his holstered gun and handed it to Natual. "Take this one. I'll get my two blasters from inside the Lab." The man pointed at Khuharkk'. "My Simiu friend, you go wake up Chief Marshal Pokeel--

  assuming my retro-blast hasn't already done the job! Ask her to bring ten of her people."

  "Why so few?" Etsane asked.

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  "Because we've got to save room for sixty passengers. It'll be damned tight."

  He made shooing motions. "Now get going! Run! We've got ten minutes!"

  By the time they all gathered back at the ship, they had more than enough volunteers. Gordon weeded them out, making sure he took only those who were best armed, and the most experienced.

  As he was sending them up the ramp into the ship, someone tugged on his sleeve. Mitchell whirled to find Axum there. "Doctor Mitchell! I found something!"

  His temper flared. "Axum, now is not the time for archaeological dis--"

  Axum flared her ears in the sign Mahree had said meant contrition. "Doctor, what we found today was not old, but new. You must see it for yourself. I... I believe it relates to Bill's murder."

  Gordon paused for a half-second, staring at her. "All right," he said. "Keep this to yourself. I'll see it tomorrow, I promise. In the meantime--Axum, I'm trusting you with the safety of the camp. Don't fail me, okay?"

  She drew herself up. "I will not, Doctor Mitchell. You have my word."

  "Good."

  Etsane sat in the front section of the shuttle, just behind the open pilot cabin, and struggled for control. Slavery. The very word made her go cold with anger. She rubbed her bare arms briskly, trying to restore circulation. Then she checked her supply of quartz stones, and the suppleness and readiness of her sling.

  Ready, yes. She was ready.

  Her mind kept presenting her with instances out of her world's past, in which people with skin the color of her own had been victimized in just that way.

  And the slave- traders had not just been whites. No, they had included people from rival tribes who'd ruthlessly captured their neighbors and sold them like cattle. The same had happened in Arabia and South India.

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  She licked dry lips. Slavery. How can it be happening again?

  Across the aisle, Doctor Strongheart looked her way. "Etsane, this must be painful for you." The female Heeyoon's gaze carried deep sympathy. Of course, Etsane thought. Greyshine and his mate, alone among the aliens in camp, had probably done extensive reading about Earth's bloody history.

  Marshal Pokeel's Guards were checking their rifles, their bandoleers of ammunition, and the hand-to-hand knives they wore strapped to their waists.

  A number of the researchers had chosen to come along, including little cream-colored Ttalatha, who was sitting between the Heeyoons and the Na-Dina warriors. The Paleoenvironmental specialist was staring down at the pulse-
gun she held in her six-fingered, claw-tipped hands.

  Gordon's voice echoed back from the pilot's compartment over the intercom.

  "Chief Marshal, do you have suggestions on how we should carry out this raid?"

  "You have described to me the layout of this slave camp, Philosopher Mitchell," she replied. "But seeing it firsthand is essential to planning any small-unit action."

  "Here." Mitchell touched the middle of the control panel, lighting up a holo-tank lying between their seats. "Marshal, if you will examine this screen, I'll give you an aerial view of the layout."

  Moments later, Pokeel looked up, her long snout showing sharp white teeth.

  "The plateau is isolated, and that valley is grassy, with much open ground.

  Not good. I will have to consider this."

  Etsane gulped and clutched her sling so tightly her hands hurt.

  Gordon went to a-grav support when they got within fifty kilometers of the slaver camp. Besides being less noisy than the main drive, the a-gravs allowed them to hover. And he could use the attitude-control chemical jets when they needed to maneuver to a final landing. Until then, they coasted in on widespread delta wings, holding altitude two

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  hundred meters below the ridgeline that encircled the highland plateau.

  Moving the yoke carefully, his feet pressing the aileron pedals delicately, Gordon added down-flaps as they came up on the ridgeline. He landed a few hundred feet from where he'd left Mahree.

  "We're landing," he said tersely over the intercom to the passenger compartment. "No one leaves until I do. Keep the chatter low, and no one fires on anything without an order."

  The shuttle grounded on the rock bench where he'd landed the first time.

  Glancing through the nose-window, he searched for the black of Mahree's StarBridge uniform, but did not see it. Damn! He turned to the Na-Dina Guard leader. "Pokeel, I suggest we share command on attack planning, since I'm familiar with our weapons. But you should be in full command on the ground. This is your land, your people are captive, and frankly, I've never led a raiding party." He got up.

  Pokeel hissed her approval, then followed him out into the aisleway. "A good recommendation. I accept." Flaring her ears, she addressed her soldiers. "Sisters, heads low. Tails flat to the ground. Maqueen, you stay behind to guard our transport. Bites-Hard, you are second in command to me. Now move!"