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Krillen's ears lost their distracted appearance. "The water is so pure the bottom of the lake can be seen clearly, despite its great depth. There are white calcite deposits on the bottom which resemble the stars at night, resting in the dark embrace of Mother Sky."
"What a beautiful story! Thank you for sharing it with me." Mahree glanced out the window, marveling once more at the massive range of mountains that girdled this world. According to her geological studies, this part of the equatorial range had been formed by the collision of two tectonic plates coming from opposite directions, both meeting at the equator. Other plates on the far side of Ancestor's World had been pushed apart by upwelling magma, causing the rift valley and block upthrusting of the smuggler plateau.
But here, where the northern plate overrode the southern one, that meeting had created an Andeslike range.
Mahree had always liked snow-capped mountains, and it seemed they were heading deep into such an alpine embrace. She looked back to Krillen.
"Well, our discovery today gives us both something to think about. Is that why you're so quiet?"
Krillen fanned his ears negatively. "Just arranging my questions in my mind.
The ones I will ask Ortega, and his human crew boss."
"What do you plan to ask him?" Mahree thought the Na-Dina Investigator was sometimes too tentative when dealing with aliens, including humans.
Though his bland manner and methodical pursuit of evidence could solve and had solved many cases, she was used to faster action.
The Investigator blinked slowly. "You are impatient with me, my colleague.
Have you lost faith in Krillen of the Law?"
"Oh no!" She'd have to be more careful with her expressions. "I'm just used to ... to a human approach to crime-solving."
"Perhaps you are used to relying on devices to solve problems for you?"
Krillen stared at her, taking the sting from his comment. "The mind is always the best device for solving cases. Don't you agree?"
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Mahree nodded. "I do. And you've done wonderfully, tracking down this suspect Nordlund pilot. How can I help?"
"By watching," Krillen said. "When I speak with this human, Ortega's crew chief, a male named Joseph Wozniak, I wish you to observe his
expressions. I search for signs of lying, or truth-telling. Or the hiding of something."
She nodded again. "Sure. I'll keep an eye on him." The seat vibrated under her as the belly-jets came on preparatory to landing. "My, that was fast."
Mahree looked out the window, catching sight of the lake's blue depths and a landform she thought she recognized.
Krillen leaned over to look out the window. "The jumpjet travels swiftly indeed."
She pointed at a long fissure that ran down the middle of the Mountains of Faith. "Changing subjects, that sure looks like a thrust fault-line to me. See how narrow the fissure valley is? Wonder why Nordlund is drilling on a fault?"
Krillen stood. "I will ask that question of Driller Wozniak." Bending down, the Na-Dina removed a bronze writing slate from his supply bag.
Mahree would have said more, but Captain McAllister opened his drape, looked her up and down again, then smiled that perfect white-toothed smile.
"Your carriage has delivered you, Ambassador. Watch your step."
She turned away from the man, tempted to say, "And you watch yours, Captain," but managed to restrain herself. Then she followed after Krillen as her colleague led the way along the aisle, down the stair-ramp, and out into a freezing wind that swept up the narrow valley they'd landed in.
A burly, middle-aged man awaited them. He stood beside a six-wheeled, open-topped crawler, wearing a padded jacket, muddy pants, and steel-toed work shoes. A second jacket was stuffed under his arm. The man, who also wore a construction helmet, walked up to her and Krillen. He offered her the padded jacket. "Ambassador Burroughs? I'm Joe Wozniak, and here's a cold-weather coat for you.
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Can't do anything for the bare legs, though."
Mahree shivered in the brisk mountain wind, cursing her stupidity in not changing into pants. But she'd been so rushed!
First, waking up with Gordon this morning, eating a late breakfast together in his tent, and then making slow, passionate love...
They'd barely finished when Axum had called them on the com unit, demanding that they come and see her "find." Then Mahree had called Krillen ...
Still, she should have remembered that traveling to an elevation of four thousand meters meant it would be cold, even on the equator. She accepted the jacket gratefully. "Thanks, Mr. Wozniak. That was very thoughtful of you."
Pulling it on, she told herself that her knees were not turning blue.
Krillen waited beside her, his only reaction to the freezing wind a lowering of his squat. "You are cold?" His ears showed surprise. "Well, you should have been born with scales. Mother Sky has blessed the People with armor that turns aside this wind."
Wozniak wore a voder earring under his white helmet. The thickly bearded man watched her with pale brown eyes, seeming nervous about something.
What? she wondered, making a mental note to mention this to Krillen.
"You're the crew boss for this drilling operation?" Mahree waved at the pile of metal framework rising in the distance behind Wozniak, a pyramid-shaped enclosure of ribbing that sat atop a rust-red steel support base. Inside it pumps pumped, pipes ran in many directions, alien and human workers walked, climbed and ran, and from it echoed a surging thump, thump, thump as the whole enterprise dril ed.
Their host waited for her to look back, then he nodded. "Sure am. Worked ten years as a mud chemist on a rig in the arctic of Novaya Rossiya, then five years as boss of an oil rig in the jungles of NewAm. Now I'm playing Big Momma to a multispecies crew that misses the bright lights
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of Jolie." Wozniak grinned wider, then turned serious. "How can I help you, Ambassador?"
She nodded at her colleague. "Actually, you can help Investigator Krillen.
He's in charge of the investigation into the murder of the first CLS Interrelator on this world, a former student of mine. Perhaps we can talk while riding down to your drill-site?"
"I don't know anything about the murder," Wozniak said, then turned and bowed to Krillen, one arm slapping his barrel chest. "Investigator Krillen," the man said politely. "My boss the Project Engineer says we are to cooperate with the people of Ancestor's World. If you'll follow me, we'll get this buggy moving and then we can talk."
Krillen rose from his squat. "Excellent. Does this 'buggy' stay affixed to Father Earth, or does it fly through the air?"
Wozniak laughed, a rumbling laugh that Mahree found engaging. "Stays on the ground. Winds are precarious up here. After you, Ambassador?"
She climbed into the rear bench seat of the enclosed crawler, leaving the front to Krillen and the crew boss. The man got in, slapped on the power, grabbed the steering yoke, and wheeled them around toward the gray steel pipes of the drilling rig. "It's a bumpy ride, but not so bad we can't talk,"
Wozniak said. "Investigator? You had questions?"
Krillen nodded human-style. "Yes. Your personnel record indicates you are a pilot, with a Level Two license. And that you know how to fly jumpjets. Is that true?" Mahree watched carefully, her position behind Krillen giving her a clear view of the crew boss's facial expressions. Wozniak looked startled, then puzzled. "That's true. Learned to fly a jumpjet on New Am. The equatorial jungles are tough on ground vehicles. So?"
"Is this unusual?" Krillen asked. "For a crew boss in your position?"
Wozniak pursed his lips. "Not really. The more varied your training, the better your chances for advancement in
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a big construction company. Nordlund Combine is one of the biggest in this sector of space."
The crew boss guided the crawler around the embankment of an earthen holding pond, inside of which lay a brown-streaked gray flui
d. "So why did you ask me about whether I'm a pilot?"
"Actually," Mahree said, "we're more interested in someone who works for you piloting full time. Mario Gonzales Ortega."
Wozniak jammed on the brakes and then turned to face them, his face pale beneath the weathering. "You want to know about Mario?" he asked blankly.
"Yes. We'd like to speak with him, if possible."
"Madame Ambassador, that's going to be real difficult to arrange," Wozniak said grimly. "Mario was found dead day before yesterday. He got drunk, fell into the lake, and drowned, poor guy."
Mahree gasped, and then glanced at Krillen. The alien betrayed no surprise, and she wondered if he'd actually expected to hear this .
"Did you report his death to the planetary authorities?" Krillen asked haughtily, his tail twitching with irritation. "Because I was not informed, and I should have been."
"Of course we did," Wozniak said indignantly. "Liaison Beloran was up here on a site visit, and we informed him immediately. If he didn't tell you about it, Investigator, that's not Nordlund's fault."
"I shal have to speak with Beloran," Kril en said. "Very wel , then, Crew Boss, you did follow proper procedure."
This just gets deeper and deeper! Mahree thought. Was Ortega's death an accident? Or murder? Did Beloran have anything to do with it?
"Did Pilot Ortega have a habit of drinking too much, Mr. Wozniak?" Mahree asked, as the man started up the crawler again.
"Unfortunately, he did. Drinking and gambling were Mario's two weaknesses, though he was a good pilot. Never had any trouble with him piloting under the influence,
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though. He stayed sober when he was working."
So Ortega's death might have been accidental, Mahree thought.
"So," Wozniak continued, "why'd you want to talk to him?"
"Because," Krillen said bluntly, "Interrelator Waterston was found dead in a jumpjet, which the murderer had to fly after killing him. I have checked the records for all the Nordlund pilots, and only Ortega did not have a solid alibi at the time of the murder. So I wished to question him." Wozniak nodded slowly, his tenseness easing. "Well, that makes sense. Anything else?"
Krillen glanced at her, then leaned toward Wozniak. "Yes. Have you ever visited the Blue Pond area? West of the dam site?"
The crew boss thought a moment as he drove the crawler toward the drilling rig. "No," he said finally. "I've traveled around a lot with the mineral surveyors, doing their remote sensing thing, but I haven't been to that part of Ancestor's World. Why?"
Mahree smiled. Krillen was definitely not used to interrogation subjects asking questions in return. The Investigator hissed irritatedly. "Because that is the place where the jumpjet landed!"
"Oh." Wozniak seemed puzzled by Krillen's tone.
"Mr. Wozniak," Mahree said. "We heard that Mario Ortega lost a lot of money gambling here on Ancestor's World. Did he owe you money, by chance?"
A wash of red ran up Wozniak's face, starting from his bull neck. "Hell, no!"
he protested. "And I don't like what you're implying, Ambassador!"
"What is she implying, Crew Boss?" Krillen asked, with deceptive mildness.
"We have heard a great many things about Pilot Ortega. Which of them are you referring to?"
"Well... maybe I spoke out of turn," Wozniak said uneasily. "But you're wrong if you think what I think you're thinking, Ms. Burroughs."
Mahree waited, silent. Krillen had taught her to appreciate the value of silence when trying to obtain information.
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And it paid off. After nearly a minute's silence, Wozniak blurted, "Listen... all I did was pay Mario a little extra for a couple of bottles of vodka he brought in from Main Camp! It gets cold up here, and a little shot every night warms a fellow up. That's all! I swear!"
Mahree could believe that. Krillen seemed content to let her lead the questioning. "Did Ortega do much contraband smuggling?"
They neared the outskirts of the rig site. Wozniak's shoulders eased their tense set. "Smuggling? It's not like that at all, ma'am. He just did some booze peddling, here and on other supply flights. Though he always seemed to have lots of money on him."
Krillen's ears perked up. "More than you would expect from alcohol importing?"
Wozniak rubbed fingers through his beard. "How the hell should I know? I wasn't his accountant."
Mahree frowned. Could Ortega have had a link with the Sorrow Sector artifact-looters? Money in exchange for information about new
archaeological finds? Or could Beloran have been paying him, perhaps for teaching the Liaison to fly a jumpjet? Whatever the connection, it had died with Ortega. Glancing out the crawler's side window, Mahree spotted something strange. "Mr. Wozniak, what are those big tanks for?" She pointed at a group of four giant cylinders that stood on end and were connected to the drilling platform by thick piping. Other pipes connected them with the embankment ponds that flanked one side of the drilling platform.
Wozniak turned tense. "Those tanks are where we mix the chemical 'mud'
we use in drilling. It's a fluid that is pumped down the drill hole, to where the diamond-bit drill heads are cutting. It serves to both cool the heads and to draw off the fragments of drilled rock." They pulled up to a red-and-yellow-striped shack, and the crew boss shut down the crawler. "The fluid returns up the drill shaft, flows into the settling ponds where the debris drops out, runs next through a solid particle filter unit, and is then
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pumped back into the tanks. Our recycling efficiency is very high."
Krillen seemed bored by her question. Mahree would have been too, except for the man's tense reaction. "It's pumped back by those pumps over there?"
She pointed to a series of six pumps that were each as large as a jumpjet.
Now Wozniak looked really worried. "Uh, uh, yes ma'am," he said, stuttering somewhat. He licked his lips. "Uh, inside this shack is where we control the mud mix and monitor the drill head temperatures. Come on inside and I'll show you around."
Krillen followed the crew boss out of the crawler. Mahree started to do so, realized her knees were half frozen, then forced them to flex. Stumbling after the other two, she entered the mud shack. The thumping racket outside moderated to a dull thud indoors. Four technicians--a human male, a Heeyoon female, and two Drnians--sat before a panel of electronic controls that lined one wall of the shack. At least it was warmer inside. Mahree stepped closer to the crew boss. "Uh, Mr. Wozniak, aren't those pumps rather large to just be pumping fluid up and down the drill hole?" At the control panel, one of the Drnian technicians overheard and looked back their way. Her large red eyes caught sight of Mahree's collar speaker, part of her CLS-issue voder. "Oh, they're not, ma'am. They're used primarily for injection fracturing of the ore vein."
Wozniak cursed, then eyed Mahree nervously when she turned to him.
"Sorry, Ambassador. You get used to hard language working at places like this."
Krillen had noticed the man's reaction, and now her own response. Mahree fixed the bearded man with an unblinking stare. "Crew Boss, just what is Nordlund dril ing for here? What are you mining?"
Wozniak's mood grew distinctly uneasy. "Uh, we're drilling for core samples.
There's a vein of beryllium and cesium a thousand meters down and we're testing its purity."
On the far side of the room, the Drnian female technician looked surprised, then turned her attention back to her panel
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when Wozniak glared at her. Mahree had had enough. "Mr. Wozniak, if you do not tell me, fully and completely, exactly what this drilling rig is doing here, in the middle of a thrust fault fissure, I will demand that the Project Engineer tell me. And I shall tell him that you were the one who spilled the beans."
The man shifted from one foot to the other, openly distressed. "Well, yes, ma'am, we are using injection fracturing to open up the ore vein. And we're already doing some side-slant drill-mining of the ore body. L
ater, we'll send down robot miner cars."
Krillen's ears flared widely. "You will send unliving devices down into the chambers of Father Earth?" His tone sounded scandalized.
Wozniak nodded. Mahree pointed at one of the shack's dusty windows, beyond which loomed the rank of giant pumps. "Mr. Wozniak, I studied geology. I've heard of injection fracturing. It was once used on Earth, in old oil and gas fields, to fracture the rock and allow for an easier flow of gas or oil. It extended the life of those fields by decades." She lowered her hand.
"But they pumped steam into the rock strata. You're pumping this 'mud' stuff.
Why? What are you mining?" She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him.
She counted to ten, silently, then said, "All right, fine," and headed for the door.
"Ambassador Burroughs! Wait! Sheesh, I'm sorry!" Wozniak was openly distressed. "Please. We're not doing anything wrong. The Na-Dina sold us the mining rights, and we're just--"
"One more time, Mr. Wozniak," Mahree interrupted. "And then I go and see Mr. Mohapatra and I call for a team of CLS mining experts to come and investigate your entire operation. Tell me."
Wozniak gulped audibly. "Uhhhhh," he said.
Mahree stared at him, waiting. Wozniak looked so upset that she almost felt sorry for the big man. "We're using mud in the fract job to hold down the radiation flux of an adjacent uranium ore body."
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Mahree frowned. "Why is radiation flux damping important?" Again she waited.
The man swal owed. "Because of the radonium."
"What!" Mahree stared at the window above the control panel, where the steel framework of the drilling rig rose up. "You're drilling for radonium?
Here? On a fault line? And next to a uranium ore body!"
"Yes, Ambassador. But there's no danger of it turning into radonium-two and going hypercritical!" Wozniak wrung his hands, his manner agitated. "The mud chemical mix includes a neutron inhibitor. And the radonium ore vein is separate from the nearby uranium body. Uh, the fault line action has mixed beryllium and cesium in with the radonium. So we are mining all three minerals." Mahree felt faint. No wonder the Nordlund Combine had committed to the massive expense of building the giant earthfill dam on the River of Life! They would more than make back their expenses if the radonium vein in the heart of the Mountains of Faith turned out to be commercially viable. They could kiss off the beryllium and just ship casket after casket of stable radonium-one off-planet, each casket neutron-shielded to avoid a runaway hypercritical reaction.
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