line blocked?"
"Because," the housekeeper replied, "there is an incoming call on the Horn That Calls The Stars for you, Ambassador. From a Robert Gable of StarBridge. Do you accept?"
In spite of her surprise, she said, "Of course."
Mahree watched the air above the tank shiver, then deepened
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into a three-dimensional image of Rob's office. He sat with his cat Bast in his lap, his legs crossed, his manner casual and friendly. He looked terrific, she thought, and she realized--for the first time--how much she'd missed him.
"Hi, beautiful!" he said cheerily, even as Bast meowed, blinking warily at the image they were watching at their end. "Thought I'd surprise you! You haven't been that easy to reach lately."
Her face burned. "It's a wonderful surprise, Rob. It's good to see you."
Some of the cheer left him as he studied her expression. She felt her color deepen. "I've gotten a brief communique from Khuharkk', so I've got some idea of the magnitude of your task there--and I've heard about the attacks on you." He leaned forward. "Honey, I'm worried. Of course, you've faced tougher problems than this and walked away grinning, but"--he shrugged self-deprecatingly--"I can't help worrying. So I thought I'd give you some moral support, anyway."
That was Rob, always supportive, always there for her. She felt a flush of guilt and confusion.
"So, how bad is it, Mahree?" he asked solicitously. "You look real y flustered. Did I call at the worst possible moment?"
"No!" she said too quickly. "No, really. You just surprised me, that's all. I was getting psyched up to call Shassiszss--and that call won't be much fun. My mind was involved with that--" She took a deep breath and tried to collect herself. They hadn't spoken in weeks. She was happy to hear from him, happy to see him. She was just feeling a little ... conflicted.
"In some ways, things are much better," she told him in a steadier voice,
"now that the smugglers are gone. The murder investigation is progressing, and Gord--Doctor Mitchell and the salvage archaeology team are doing wonders despite having to deal with hundreds, maybe thousands of sites."
She grinned and held out her arms. "And I'm getting a great tan!"
Rob eyed her, his mood thoughtful. Bast grew impatient
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and left his lap, disappearing from the hologram. "Things working out okay between you and Mitchell?"
She felt the color returning to her cheeks and opened her mouth, then thought twice about her answer. "What do you mean?"
His eyes never left her face, giving her what she always called his psychologist's stare. "The two of you are poles apart philosophically, politically, culturally. About the only thing you might have in common is your work ethics. Gordon can be difficult in the best situation, and you're not in the best situation now. I know you're the quintessential diplomat, but you've never suffered hardheads easily. So, I guess that's what I meant."
It was her turn to give him the stare. She raised an eyebrow. "Is it?"
One comer of his mouth turned up in a sheepish grin. "Maybe not completely. He's a pretty romantic figure. He's there. I'm here. We've been apart a long time."
Without answering his original question, she offered, "When I'm done here, I'll come for a long visit with you and Claire." It hung there between them, unsaid. "Then we can talk."
Rob blinked, then brushed at his dark, wavy hair. "Okay," he agreed, without pushing on the other topic. He flashed her an easy grin. "Claire's adjusting well to StarBridge. But she misses you. We both do."
"I miss you, too. Both of you." She felt confused, frustrated, and upset. What am I doing? This is awful!
As if he could read her confusion across the light-years, Rob nodded and said evenly, "Sounds good, Mahree. I'll look forward to that long visit. Stay safe. And always remember---I'm here for you."
"I know that, Rob," she said sincerely. "That's always been my one constant in life."
She waved as the connection ended and his image popped out of existence.
As soon as it did, she felt more confused than ever. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she'd never felt lonelier. Over the years and the months and light-years of distance between them, Rob and Mahree had lived
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separate lives together. They'd both had affairs, and they'd both tolerated those interludes--most of which had occurred during their longest and most painful separations.
But in all that time, Mahree had never before come close to actually falling in love with anyone else. Her heart felt leaden with the choices before her. She loved Rob--seeing him, hearing him had confirmed that in the most graphic way possible. But Gordon fulfilled her in a way she hadn't experienced in a long, long time. Somehow, their affair had passed from a pleasant liaison into something much more serious. And this time, she was afraid that focusing on work--her usual method for dealing with her separations from Rob--wasn't going to make the need in her heart go away.
Clenching her teeth, she turned back to the console and prepared to let work take her mind from her more personal conflicts. She punched in her code for the call to Shassiszss.
Inside the City of White Stone, Etsane followed Beloran and Khuharkk' as they picked their way down a steep stone stairwell. The stairway led beneath the Great Plaza of the city. To either side, white limestone walls rose over her head, enclosing her. They followed the stairs deeper below ground, passing into dark shadows as daylight disappeared. Their hand torches cast cones of yellow light ahead of them.
Khuharkk' had been directing the excavation of a nearby temple building when one of the Na-Dina dig crew called to him. The female digger reported that the ground- penetrating radar probe had detected hollow spaces underneath the Plaza--perhaps a series of tunnels. When they pried up a paving stone half as tall as Etsane, they found the stairwell. With hand torches, record slates, brushes, and pry-bars, the three of them were the first to go down.
Khuharkk' called out, "I'm at the bottom of the stairwell. There's a tunnel ahead."
"Is it blocked by debris?" Beloran hiss-clicked.
"No," said Khuharkk', sounding pleased. "It's just a 256
long tunnel that leads out toward the center of the Plaza. Come on."
Etsane wished Mahree were with them. In the week since the diplomat had returned from her conference with the Project Engineer, the two women had spent many hours together going over Mizari Four lexicons, doing comparative analysis of the Royal Tomb ideoglyphs, and making good headway in translating isolated First Dynasty Na-Dina glyphs. The translations, when linked to Etsane's own iconographic analysis of architectural styles and image symbology, were forming an understandable history of this first temple-city of the Na-Dina.
Suddenly, Beloran turned and glared at her, and she realized with horror that she had accidentally stepped on his tail. "Oh! I'm so sorry!"
The beady black eyes of the alien glowered at her, until he turned away and followed Khuharkk'.
The unfriendly Liaison always made her feel awkward, and Etsane wondered if all Modernist Na-Dina were like him.
They continued after Khuharkk', following the twisting turns of the mazelike tunnel. Finally they turned one last comer; then the three stopped abruptly.
They stood in a small rectangular chamber; in it stood the open entrances to eight new tunnels. Etsane thought they must be under the center of the Plaza now. "Khuharkk', which one do we check first?"
The Simiu's tufted tail lowered. He aimed his light at the dusty floor of white limestone blocks. "Remember how the steps in the stairwell had that notch in the middle of each riser? That's abrasion from Na-Dina tails. Now, look."
Etsane stood beside Khuharkk' while Beloran moved to one side. "I see it."
Though each of the tunnels had a thin film of dust on the floor, tail scrape-marks showed through the film. The fourth tunnel from the left had a deeper gouge running down the middle of the darkened hall. "That tunnel's had the most use."
Khuharkk' laid h
is pry bar and light to one side. "Beloran, 257
do you agree that this tunnel was the most active?" The alien's ears flared in a manner Etsane didn't understand. "I agree. But that was six millennia ago.
I am more curious as to why the Revered Ancestors chose to build with limestone. They had to quarry this stone in the Mountains of Faith, then transport it here by cart and river barge. Why not use the local sandstone?"
That put a talon on the question they'd all wondered about. Perhaps these tunnels held the answer.
The Simiu hefted the pry bar and torch, his vest jangling with its various instruments, then led the way once more.
They passed into the black depths of the well-used tunnel.
Etsane noticed its difference immediately. "Khuharkk'! There are niches on either side--with bones inside them!" Beloran hissed, then swung his torch, illuminating the ghostly piles of destructured skeletons. "A catacomb! This is a burial site for commoners. And"--the alien's torch stopped at one niche, illuminating a rectangular piece of clay--"also for scribes and administrators.
That is the recording tablet of a scribe, from when our people pressed styluses against wet clay to record taxes and property transactions."
Etsane felt thrilled. Maybe these tablets would hold the key to deciphering the ideoglyphs of First Dynasty Na- Dina. "Beloran, do you recognize the writing style?"
His ears perked up. "I--yes! That looks like Temple Na- Dina hieroglyphs, but in an archaic form."
Etsane agreed, judging by what she could see in the reflected light. She looked for Khuharkk'. His torch glowed dimly far down the tunnel.
"I've found something wonderful!" the Simiu yelled. Beloran hissed and hurried down the dark tunnel.
When Etsane reached the end of the catacomb tunnel, she followed the others into a small square room. Khuharkk' stood to one side, his torch sweeping back and forth across a white stone wall. On it were carved a series of glyphs.
"Etsane!" Khuharkk' growled. "That inscription seems 258
to be in several different languages. Can you recognize them?"
She stepped closer to the carved bas-relief ideoglyphs. The room's entire back wall was covered by the unpainted glyphs, the text arranged in three blocks, one to the left, one centered, and one to the right. The reading pattern seemed to be from top to bottom within each block.
She peered closely, completely absorbed with this latest discovery. Then she recognized it.
"This middle passage--it's identical to the First Dynasty ideoglyphs covering the wall of the Royal Tomb." She squinted in the dim yellow light. "The section on the right is Temple Na-Dina. It's an archaic form, like that on the tablets we just saw, but definitely the same language used in the Temples today."
A chill ran up her back as she moved over to the section on the left and touched it ever so lightly with her fingertips. She could barely allow herself to believe what she was seeing. "This one--this one is--Mizari Four!"
Beside her, Beloran stared in shocked horror.
"Etsane!" Khuharkk' moved closer, his fur tickling her bare arm. "Are you certain?"
She clutched his furry shoulder. "That's the key!" Wide-eyed, she raised her torch, pointed it at the Mizari Four she had learned from Mahree, and began translating.
"In the year when Father's Snoring had stilled and the crops--the crops were tall and green, during the reign of-- of King A-Um Rakt, Father to his people, Builder of the Great Pond at Shir-Li, Reader of the stars in Mother Sky, and priest to the Ancestors of Faith,--there came --" She paused, then nearly danced with joy. "I can read it! I can read it!" She scanned the inscription, then pointed at a section. "There! It talks about the people that came from the sky! From the description, they're unmistakably Mizari!"
Etsane turned to Khuharkk'. "The Mizari Lost Colony did stop here! Finally, we have proof."
"You are mistaken!" Beloran hissed angrily.
Etsane blinked with shock, then tried to reassure the Na-
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Dina. "Beloran, it's clear that your civilization, and your worship of the Revered Ancestors, was well underway before the Mizari arrived. Your people are the ones who created Na-Dina civilization--not the Mizari."
Beloran moved back into the shadows of the room. "You are young.
Inexperienced. Your translation is incorrect. Our people were never visited by Sky Spirits. Our First Contact came in the Modem Age." Then he walked back the way they'd come, leaving Etsane and Khuharkk' alone.
"I don't understand why he's upset," Etsane said. She used her torch to light up the three blocks of glyphs. "This is just like Jean-Francois Champol ion's translation of the Rosetta stone in 1822, or the translation of the Decree of Canopus stones. With this native inscription in Mizari Four, we can link it, glyph for glyph, with the undeciphered First Dynasty Na-Dina, and with the archaic form of Temple Na- Dina." She met Khuharkk's gaze. "For the first time in five thousand years the Na-Dina can translate records from the first seven dynasties!"
Khuharkk' patted her back, his touch reassuring. "I know, Etsane. I know."
Her friend glanced after Beloran. "But for some reason, that frightens the Liaison. I don't know why, but he's afraid to learn what really happened at the beginning of Na-Dina civilization. Perhaps he fears cultural ramifications that we cannot understand."
Etsane shook her head, unable to fathom it. She felt only joy and the honor of being the first person to read the earliest records of a great people. That honor came only because she had been in the right place at the right time, with the right knowledge. And that knowledge had been the hard gift of her father, Mefume--and her good friend, Mahree Burroughs.
In the darkness, she thought she heard a ghostly chuckle.
On his way back to the Lab--after showing the catacomb glyph-wall to Dr.
Mitchell--Khuharkk' chose the trail between the landing field and the cone-tents of the Guard encampment. Normally, he didn't come this way, preferring to keep his distance from a place overrun with weapons.
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But after the exhilarating discoveries beneath the Great Plaza, he felt he could magnanimously ignore the metallic gleam of the rifles that stood outside the tents of the Sisters.
What mattered, Khuharkk' had come to realize, was that these females were people of great Honor, who had shown their bravery during many times.
Earlier, he'd been saddened to see Bites-Hard burned so badly, so he decided to ask after her.
Pokeel looked up when he stopped in front of her cone- tent. A scroll of papers lay before her, sitting atop her low wooden desk. "Are you Khuharkk', of the clan Red Claw?"
The young Simiu felt honored by the elder female's knowledge of his clan.
"Yes, I am the youngest son to the mother of clan Red Claw," he said, speaking slowly in High Na-Dina, determined to show Honor to this commander of forty fighters. "And you are Pokeel, of the clan Sharp Teeth, of the Trade Fighter, Chief Marshal of the Queen's Own Guard." He shifted his stance, feeling somewhat anxious. "Your Sister Bites-Hard was kind to me when the Guard first came here. I wished to ask about her recovery."
Pokeel laid down her flat topographic map and looked directly at him. "You speak the words of the People, rather than relying on the device of the Sky Infidels. Why?" Khuharkk' sat back on his haunches primly, gazing up at the Na-Dina female. "Because I seek to show Honor to a people I respect."
Pokeel's ears fluttered curiously. She stared at him a long moment and he remembered not to avert his eyes, as his own customs dictated, but to respect hers. Finally, Pokeel glanced at a pot lying in the shade of the tent's awning. "And so you do, Khuharkk'. You show us honor in speaking our language. May I offer you cold tea?"
"Thank you. I am honored to share water with you." He reached into a pocket of his vest and pulled out some pills. "May I offer you some of my salt?"
"Ahhhh." Pokeel's ears fluttered again, this time in pleasure. "My salt is your salt, my water yours." She pulled
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sp; out two cups from under her table, poured tea into each, and handed him one.
Khuharkk' sipped the bitter liquid and found it refreshing. "This is delicious."
His mane rose as he drank. "Is Bites-Hard still in her tent?"
Pokeel sipped her own tea. "She is, but she sleeps now. The doctor from the Temple of Medicine and your own Doctor Strongheart both say she is making a fine recovery. The scales will grow back, though the pattern will be irregular."
"An Honor Scar? Surely, she will be honored by her Sisters, and perhaps the Queen herself."
Pokeel laid down her cup and folded her hands over her chest. "Perhaps.
But that is not why the Sisters of the Guard fight so fiercely. We fight to show solidarity with our Sisters, so that the strength of each helps the fierceness of all. And we fight to honor the Revered Ancestors."
"So I've been told," he said in High Na-Dina, even though the hisses and clicks were far different from his language. "But I'm not sure I understand why all that you do must be done for the Ancestors?"
Pokeel looked toward the Base Camp, then to the earthen rampway that led to the Royal Tomb of A-Um Rakt. "We believe there is no separation between the world of the living and that of the dead. When we die, we remain on this world. So, of course, this is Ancestor's World." Her ears fluttered with reverence. "It is hard to see the Revered Ancestors, but they see everything, know everything, and, when we join them, they will weigh our lives on the Balance of Souls. If the Balance is good, then we join the Revered Ancestors in watching over the People. If not--" She glanced down.
"If not, then we are reborn into a new egg, fated to repeat the lessons of life all over again. And again. Until they are finally learned."
"I see how our ways of Honor are similar," Khuharkk' said, ignoring the slight ground tremor. "You live before the gaze of the Revered Ancestors, showing them honor by your devotions and your honorable actions. We live our 262
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