Serpent's Gift

by A. C. Crispin

  But the hairs below .. . fine, golden, and perfect. . Suddenly Serge's hands froze on the controls, and Heather looked up to find his eyes fixed on her face. She'd been caught staring--there was no point in denying it. "Serge,"

  she said quietly, "what--what happened to your hands?" < ¦ "I had an accident when I was a little older than you," he replied tersely. "I was working on my parents' aircar--the timing was a bit off--and I made a mistake.

  A big mistake." "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," she whispered. Usually, she couldn't have cared less about other people's tragedies, but Serge had been so nice-- and he was so handsome. It hurt her to think of how it must have been, but she could see it wouldn't be a good idea to ask. Instead, Heather reached--

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  --and encountered his pain, as raw and fresh as the day it had happened, the pain that lay buried in his mind, far below the conscious level. For a moment she was there, on that fateful day, she was Serge, hearing the hissing sputter, then seeing the sudden white-hot flare from the engine. A heartbeat later she/he was staring with disbelieving horror at two charred, oozing horrors that had replaced her/his hands. Pain seared along the deepest fibers of her/his mind, pain that was every bit as white-hot and blazing as the original blast.

  Pain .. .

  As the echo of that agony resonated in Serge's mind, Heather quickly withdrew, not wanting to share any more of that particular memory. Despite her inward wince, she was experienced at keeping knowledge gained by telepathic snooping off her face.

  But Serge was staring at her, startled. Did he feel that? she wondered, but no. Touching the surface of his mind lightly, she was reassured--and amused--to find that it was her language that had startled him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been staring," she amended.

  "That's okay." Serge shrugged. "I should have warned you."

  I know why you didn't, Heather thought. You can't stand to talk about it, any more than you can stand to think about it...

  As she cast about for a way to change the subject, the viewscreen suddenly lighted up. A heartbeat later a ship burst out of metaspace in a rainbow blossom of colors. Heather gasped in astonished delight. "That's beautiful!"

  "When I first came to StarBridge, one of the things I missed most about Earth was sunsets," Serge confided, setting their course and speed. He smiled reminiscently. "I still miss them, but now I would miss that sight even more if I went back to Earth."

  "Where are you from?" Heather asked, sitting up a little straighter. Never in her short life had an eligible male paid this much attention to her, much less anyone like Serge. He was different. . . older, polite. Real class. His faint continental accent was exotic, charming, especial y in light of his mel ow baritone. Not to mention his looks .. .

  "Eurostate. Belgium province," he said, then glanced over at Heather as he completed the last of his navigational checks, then switched on the automatic. "And you?"

  "OldAm."

  "Which metroplex or city?"

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  Now it was Heather's turn to shrug. "I was born in Baltimore. After that, it was Kaycee, Deecee, Seattle . .. then New York, just before I left for Melbourne."

  He glanced over at her quickly, and without even extending her telepathic sense, Heather could read his surprise, then a surge of pity. The emotion angered her, though her expression remained neutral. I don't want your pity, she thought, and you can take your bleeding heart and shove it up your--

  "Look!" Serge was pointing. "There is StarBridge in the center of the viewport. That is your new home, Heather."

  The girl stared in fascination, forgetting her irritation. Star- Bridge Academy showed as several large lighted circles in the middle of a dark, irregular mass whose shape was only discernible because it blotted out the

  background stars.

  Home, she thought, could it be? She bit her lip, then smiled without humor.

  At least I'm billions of klicks away from Aunt Natalie and Uncle Fred. They'll never leave Earth, those chickenshit assholes. And I'll never go back. At least I've seen the last of them.

  "How big is the asteroid?" she asked.

  "It is cone-shaped," Serge replied, "and the part we are viewing is the wide, flat top of the cone." He traced an irregular shape in the air. "The surface where the Academy is located is about two hundred and seventy kilometers across. Those four domes are the shuttle dome, the Arena--which is an auditorium that can be converted for all kinds of sports--the botanical garden, and the Observatory Lounge. But most of the school extends deep

  underground."

  Heather's eyes narrowed. "Hey, I see more lights, little ones. What's over there?" She pointed to a spot to the left of the school.

  Serge smiled. 'That is our archaeology dig. I have been helping Professor Greyshine excavate some caves in the Lamont Cliffs about twenty

  kilometers from the school." Enthusiasm tinged his voice. "We are hoping to make some exciting discoveries."

  "Yeah? Like what?" She remembered reading articles in Intergalactic Geographic about archaeological sites. Frankly, it didn't sound like much fun, all that digging and sifting.

  "More artifacts, for one thing," Serge said.

  "You mean you've found some already?" Heather's mind was off and running, presenting her with vivid images of Tutankhamen's famous golden mask and other treasures she'd seen on holo-vid programs.

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  "Unfortunately, we didn't uncover them ourselves," Serge admitted. "The engineers who come to StarBridge to monitor the radonium deposits actually found them--in some cases, they literally stumbled across them.

  They opened up a cavern to install some new monitors, and there they were, lying half-buried in dust. Our tests indicate those objects are almost five thousand years old." Serge's handsome features darkened. "Unfortunately, in their ignorance, the engineers picked the objects up and handled them, so much valuable information about them was lost."

  "Why?"

  "If a find is moved, the archaeologist loses the chance to study where it was lying, and how. A trained person can examine an object in situ and tell a great deal about how long it has been there, whether it was deliberately buried or simply discarded ... things like that."

  "What kind of stuff did you find?" Heather was still clinging to her vision of bejeweled goblets and golden idols.

  "Six artifacts--so far." Serge hesitated, but seeing that her interest was genuine, he shrugged and said, "I suppose there is no harm in telling you.

  We have been waiting for the archaeological team from Shassiszss to officially unveil the finds, so this must stay between ourselves, okay?"

  Heather solemnly crossed her heart.

  "There is a Sharizan globe, which is a smal diagnostic instrument resembling a crystal ball. It's surrounded by a silvery rim of circuits and instrumentation. Mizari still use them in eye examinations. Sharizan globes have bioelectronic components built into the rims of the magnifying lenses, and they can analyze the cellular structure of the Mizari eye. The globe is beautiful as well as useful."

  Heather held up a finger. 'That's one."

  "There is also a partial casing from a Mizari environmental field--what they use instead of spacesuits, you know?"

  Heather nodded. "I've seen them."

  "It is simply a piece of the Mizari building alloy, with ripped edges. From examining it, we are speculating that the chamber may have been subject to explosive decompression at some time. Which may explain why the artifacts were not retrieved--they escaped, then never reopened that cavern." He made a minute adjustment to their course. The asteroid was growing ever larger in their viewscreen.

  "The number three artifact," he continued, "is the Slee-kar, an ancient ceremonial tracing tool used in Mizari religious rites. It

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  looks rather like a blue-bladed dagger, but has no hilt. There is supposed to be a carved, curved grip, but that has broken off, and we have not yet found the second piece."

  "Do you think you will?"

  He sig
hed. "I do not know. I am beginning to doubt it. There's also a songharp, one of the ceremonial-style ones. It is intact, fortunately, and quite beautiful, but the top is bent."

  None of Serge's precious artifacts sounded all that valuable to Heather. But maybe he's saving the best for last. "What else?"

  "A can of ration pellets and a fragment from a traveler's waste-disposal bag,"

  Serge finished, then glancing at Heather's crestfallen face, he laughed softly.

  "Not very glamorous, those last two, are they?"

  "No," the girl admitted. Frankly, none of them sound glamorous, she thought sourly. "What's the songharp like?"

  "Very similar to modern ones, actually. But this one was made by a master craftsman, we believe. Sallzor lived thousands of years ago, and was one of the most famous songharp makers ever. Rather like" the Mizari version of Stradivarius."

  "Who?"

  "A famous violin maker who lived hundreds of years ago on Earth. Some of the violins he made are still in use in orchestras. They have a tone that remains unmatched."

  There was something in his voice as he spoke of musical instruments ... a hint of some old hurt, old longing. Heather was sensitive to nuances and hidden meanings--she'd had to be, because Uncle Fred had an explosive, unpredictable temper. She watched Serge closely. "Can the songharp still be played?"

  He shrugged. "Perhaps ... if the warped top could be straightened, or if it could be tuned to compensate ..."

  "Have you ever played one? You play, don't you?" she asked, certain that she'd guessed right.

  For the first time since she'd met him, Serge's eyes narrowed with anger.

  "Heather, have you been reading my mind?"

  The girl shook her head vigorously. "No, Serge, I swear I haven't!" And I didn't, she thought, mentally crossing her fingers, at least not about this. . .

  yet. "It was just that.. . there was something in your voice when you spoke about music, and I thought... I wondered. .."

  Slowly his tight shoulders relaxed, then he nodded. "You are very perceptive," he said quietly. "I used to play songharps, and other instruments. But that was a long time ago. I don't play these days."

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  It was there, on the surface of his mind, a memory . .. Heather touched it effortlessly and received a sharp image of a younger Serge, wearing a funny outfit with a long-tailed black coat and a white bow tie, walking onto a stage.

  Spread out before him was an excited, glittering audience, applauding as he bowed, then hushing quickly as he seated himself at a shining grand piano in the center of the stage. He raised his hands, concentrating, feeling the music flow through him, his mind filled with the liquid beauty and passion of Rachmaninoff, his fingers tingling with anticipation. Then, bending forward, he touched the keys, and was enveloped by the music, the music . . .

  Heather blinked herself back to reality. Serge, concentrating on the controls again, hadn't noticed her lapse. She was shaken by the intensity of that memory. Damn, that's awful, she thought. To be that good, and then not be able to play again .. .

  "Is it hard work, digging in those caves?" she asked after a moment.

  Serge hesitated. "Not exactly. We have instruments that do much of the physical work. We no longer have to do much actual digging. But we must-be very careful, because we are working above one of the largest deposits of radonium in the whole asteroid."

  Heather knew that radonium was the stuff that powered spaceships and space stations. Everyone knew that, just as everyone knew that the Mizari had donated this asteroid, with its valuable radonium deposits, as a site for StarBridge Academy. The school had deliberately been situated out in deep space, rather than near any planet, because the Academy was supposed to remain independent of political influence.

  "Isn't that dangerous?" she asked, feeling a tinge of anxiety for Serge.

  "Radonium isn't something that you can take chances with. You could get radiation poisoning, or cause an explosion."

  "We are very careful," Serge reassured her. "Radonium is not terribly dangerous. It is radonium-2 that is so hazardous and volatile. And the radonium at StarBridge is stable; they monitor the deposits constantly."

  "But if you're right on top of it--"

  Serge smiled at her. "Do not concern yourself, Heather! We truly are very careful. The radonium deposit is, at a minimum, five meters below the floor of the cavern, and we are shielded by solid rock." He pointed to the viewscreen. "You are missing our final approach."

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  Heather watched in fascination as the King, now controlled by the docking guidance beam, swooped toward the surface of the asteroid. She tensed as the shuttle seemed to drop too close to the jagged, crater-scarred surface, but a second later they were gliding slowly into the hangar dome, then settling gently to a perfect landing.

  Serge finished shutting down the controls, then keyed the intercom.

  "Welcome to the Academy at StarBridge. Passengers may unstrap at this time. Please check that you have all your carryon bags or containers before leaving the shuttle."

  Heather released her safety harness, then started to stand up, but Serge raised a hand to forestall her. "One moment," he said. "If you will wait for me to finish the last of my systems shutdowns and my log entry, I will help you find your assigned room."

  He really likes me! He wants to spend more time with me! Heather thought for an exhilarating instant, then she glanced at the viewscreen again and realized why he'd made his offer. The screen now showed the shuttle's ramp, and Khuharkk' and Hing were just debarking. Shit, the girl thought disgustedly, he just wants to keep me away from that Simiu. He doesn't want any more trouble.

  Serge had followed the direction of her gaze, and when he turned back to regard Heather, his blue eyes were intent. "Heather ... remember your promise."

  She hadn't forgotten her carefully worded statement. Oh, I remember, Serge, she thought, expertly concealing the anger still seething within her. And I'l keep that promise--to the letter. But, fortunately, I don't have to speak to Khuharkk' or spend a single nanosecond in his presence to get my revenge.

  That damned monkey will be sorry he ever left his homeworld, and that's a promise, too.

  Heather Farley smiled sweetly at Serge. "I remember," she said, tracing her fingers across her flat chest in a quick X. "Cross my heart."

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  CHAPTER 3

  Plans, Grids, and Plots

  Serge had a difficult time getting through his Intro to Archaeology course the next morning. Usually he enjoyed teaching--and was good at it--but today it was a real effort to concentrate on his students. He kept seeing Hing's face in his mind, remembering how she'd confronted Khuharkk' ... so calm, yet resolute.

  Intro was a popular course, and he'd been assigned one of the large classrooms that was half laboratory. Normally, Serge and his class spent much of their time in the laboratory, but today the students were presenting their first reports of the term, so they met in the classroom portion. Serge sat in the back, listening, keying notes for grades and ideas for tests into his computer link, resolutely not glancing at his watch.

  The Mizari who had been giving his report on the development of Egyptian art during the reign of Akhenaton finally finished with a last flourish of his manipulatory tendrils, and Serge straightened, nodded. "Thank you, Sarrhezz. I have seen Tell-el Amarna, the Heretic Pharaoh's city and final resting place, and you gave a very vivid and accurate portrait of it. Your visual references were particularly effective." He glanced around at the class. "Who wishes to be next?"

  Lisa Castillo, a tall, heavyset girl with sparkling dark eyes and curly brown hair, waved her hand. Serge nodded to her, and she rose and launched into her report, which compared early Terran pottery types from the Old World and the New. She'd

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  done a nice job researching the subject, her visual presentation was outstanding, and the accompanying text gave just enough information to be interesting and lively. Unlike some students, she didn
't bury her audience in dry facts and figures. She'd even taken the time to shape and fire a fairly good replica of a Nasca vessel to illustrate one of her points.

  The last student to speak was Nightsingerr a Heeyoon. He reported on recent excavations on Drnia that had uncovered a totally new dynasty that had flourished three thousand years ago. Serge noted that the material was well researched, but that the organization needed work. Nightsinger was bright and creative, but he tended to be scatterbrained. Serge listed suggestions for improvement and made a note to call the student in for a conference.

  As Nightsinger returned to his pallet on the floor, where he sat on his haunches, ears pricked alertly, Serge walked up to the front of the class and raised a hand for attention. "Thank you, Nightsinger. It is always exciting to hear about brand-new discoveries in the field. The dig at Kal-syr is helping to write a new page in Drnian prehistory."

  He paused to be sure he had their full attention. "I am certain that all of you recall our last session, when Anatoly asked whether our class could visit the Lamont Cliffs dig, as the Intermediate and Advanced Archaeology classes have done. After conferring with Professor Greyshine, he and I have decided that a field trip to the Lamont Cliffs would be beneficial for this class, also."

  The students' reaction was gratifying and immediate. Khuharkk', here on his first day of classes, voiced his approval with several barking yelps. The two Mizari hissed softly, their fangs folded back. The humans clapped and stamped their feet.

  After a moment's noisy approbation, Serge waved again for quiet. "I am glad that you are pleased. We will announce the scheduled date by the end of this week. However, I must caution you--anyone wishing to go on this trip must first have passed the minimum spacesuit competency requirements."