Ancestor's World (11 page)

"They were right to call it 'Ancestor's World,' " she whispered. "It even smells ancient."

He squinted at the setting sun as it lowered on the western horizon. "Hazy sky. Dust's thick in the air. We might get ashfall tonight."

Mahree had wondered about that when she sighted the distant volcano spewing forth its orange flames and black clouds. "Should I wear a filter-mask?"

"Not unless you have some sort of respiratory condition." Gordon leaned back against the ramp railing and folded his arms, regarding her intently. "It's pretty far away. The rainstorms wash most of the ash out of the air."

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His eyes were light, hazel or blue-gray... Mahree couldn't tell for sure. She glanced away, breaking the eye contact, and pointed, almost at random, to a giant earthen ramp that lay downvalley, on the opposite side of the City of White Stone. "That rampway. What's it for?"

Gordon straightened up. "It's the access to the Royal Road. Starts up top on the mesa. Runs all the way back to Spirit."

Mahree's eyes widened in amazement. "But... but, how could the Na-Dina have known where to run the road? You told me on the trip down here that Spirit was founded three thousand years ago, and this is twice that old! Why build a road when--"

"When you don't know where you'll end up?" Mitchell grinned, then crossed deeply tanned arms over his sweat- darkened shirt. "The Na-Dina, or the People as they call themselves, have always trusted their fate to the dead Ancestors. Yes, the Royal Road was begun six thousand years ago, when Spirit didn't exist." He gestured at the arroyo. "As Na-Dina civilization expanded downriver, following the River of Life, so too did the Royal Roads reach out, arriving in the Delta millennia ago. Apparently one of the dead kings, the Revered Ancestors, told 'em to build a road into the wilderness, and by God they did. They had faith that it would go somewhere someday, so they built it. And eventually, it did go somewhere."

Mahree shivered, despite the baking heat that reflected back from the beige-banded canyon walls. This sense of the ages, of a history that stretched back into a misty past, was strange to her, alien in a way that the Na-Dina people themselves were not. She was used to aliens. But she wasn't used to six-thousand-year-old cities, or earthquakes, or volcanoes..

She glanced at Gordon, who was staring north, where a mesa top glowed red-orange in the light of the setting sun. "Gordon ... what made you choose archaeology--especially archaeology on alien worlds?"

He turned to look at her. "When I was a kid I read a lot of old books about exotic alien cities." A faint smile

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touched his mouth. "Some of 'em were by a guy named Burroughs. Any relation?"

Mahree smiled back. "No. But of course I read his books, too."

"Then you know what it was like, reading about places like Helium and Gathol. I used to lie in bed at night in the Tennessee mountains, imagining ancient cities on alien worlds. As I got older, I was drawn to studying the past. I wanted to understand how long-ago people made their choices.

Whether they proved to be good choices or bad." Mahree nodded encouragingly. "Historians always like to think that learning about the past will provide a key to understanding the present."

"As I studied history and archaeology back on Earth, I kept wondering about alien worlds. I wondered about their past. Whether it had anything to teach us. So in grad school, I concentrated on xeno-archaeology. Got my doctorate, and went out to dig." Gordon grinned self-deprecatingly. "But I never found any answers, I'm afraid. Just a helluva lot more questions."

Mahree felt the air still between them as the sun disappeared behind the mesa. She could feel the temperature drop immediately.

Gordon was looking at her, and suddenly the moment had grown far too personal. She cleared her throat. "So, how about a tour? Is that your Base Camp?" She pointed to a cluster of tents and buildings.

Mitchell nodded. "The dome is the Refectory, where we eat potluck style.

Behind it is the Lab, where we analyze the artifacts, store them, and give thanks for the interior air- conditioning."

Mahree laughed softly. "I'll bet." The cool evening breeze brushed against her once more. "And the smaller domes encircling them?

"Dome-tents," Gordon replied. "Enough for private quarters, or double-up roomies, as people desire. Beyond them is our supply depot, and beyond that"--he pointed at a narrow sandstone canyon that led deep into the highlands--"is the Royal Tomb of A-Um Rakt, King of the

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First Dynasty, founder of the City of White Stone. He's a personage revered by the Na-Dina as kind of a combination Galileo, Archimedes, and Quetzalcoatl."

Mahree gazed at the purple-shadowed canyon. "Why so?"

Gordon shrugged. "He gave his people monumental architecture. He gave them agriculture. And he was the first Na-Dina King to prevent a civil war--as best we can tell from the records of later Dynasties." He sighed. "As Etsane may have told you, the records of the first seven Dynasties are written in ideoglyphs quite different from the hieroglyphs of Classical High Na-Dina.

So we don't know what the first Na-Dina said about themselves. And the Revered Ancestors."

Mahree noticed her compatriots had all moved into the silvery dome of the Refectory. "Is it dinnertime?"

Gordon nodded. "Probably. I usually eat in my tent, while I read the daily reports, but tonight is different. We got back here early, thanks to your ship's arriving a day ahead of schedule. Sumiko will probably scold me for bringing you all back before she had a chance to prepare a six-course Japanese dinner."

"Sumiko Nobunaga? She's your Lab Chief, isn't she?" He nodded, beckoning to Mahree to follow him, and started down the remainder of the ramp. "She keeps this operation on track."

Shouldering her duffel bag, Mahree followed. "Actually," Gordon added,

"Sumiko organizes the data reporting. Axum runs the City of White Stone survey and excavations almost by herself."

"Axum?" Mahree felt her feet sink into the loose sand of the landing field.

"Oh, yes, the crew boss."

Ahead of her, Gordon nodded quickly. "She supervises the best crew I've ever seen."

"Krillen seemed nice, and so have the others I've met." Mahree made a face.

"Except for Beloran, of course."

"Sometimes he can be interesting to chat with," Gordon said. "We had a good discussion about the history of the Ninth Dynasty on the way over in the jumpjet. He's quite

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an expert on Na-Dina history, languages, and traditions."

"Really? I wonder if he'd help advise Etsane about those ideoglyphs."

"Hard to say. Maybe if he was in a good mood." Gordon pointed at a prefab shed lying beside the trail. "Sanitary unit. Multispecies equipped. Big enough for four people at a time."

"Really?" she said, chuckling at the thought. "So you spent the Mizari Archaeological Society's first grant on a state-of-the-art toilet?"

Gordon glanced back at her, his eyebrows raised, as if he thought she faulted his judgment. "Well, this is the backcountry. Little luxuries help people endure the isolation."

"Hey, I'm all for it," Mahree hastened to add. "I've used enough exotic johns on different planets to be an expert, but that doesn't mean I like doing it."

The archaeologist shrugged, and resumed walking. "Actually, most of the money went into buying that monster of a warehouse for our Lab. I can sleep on a cot, but the artifacts and samples must be properly stored in a climate-controlled environment. Especially the perishable stuff."

"Perishable?"

"Burials."

"Oh." Mahree wondered at that, then remembered there were many more Royal Tombs lining the other side canyons that fingered out from this end of Ancestor's Valley. "Which tunnel-tomb is A-Um Rakt's?"

Gordon stopped just outside the circle of dome-tents. He pointed beyond the camp to an inclined rampway of stone and dirt that lay on the left side of the nearest canyon. "That one. The one with the biggest rampway. You can see five or six others beyond it. See the smaller ramps? The tombs are cut into the canyon walls, and the ramps provide access."

"Will you show us the Royal Tomb tonight?" Mahree hoped so, even though she felt worn out by the trip and the heat.

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Gordon shook his head. "Not tonight. You and the other new folks need to get settled first, and the equipment inventoried and added to our stores, before we take that tour." Noting her disappointment, he added, "Cheer up.

Schliemann searched for years before he found Troy. One more day won't spoil the experience. Believe me." He smiled reassuringly.

Mahree smiled back. "You're the boss, Gordon. And I can be patient. They train diplomats in that, too."

He chuckled. "After watching you with Beloran today, I can believe that!"

She glanced around at the stark countryside. "You said that you wore that pulse-gun because of predators. What kinds of predators?"

"There's one big bastard whose Na-Dina name translates to 'long-neck.' It's reptilian, but, like the Na-Dina, warmblooded. Which makes it very, very fast."

Mahree took a firmer grip on her duffel. "What do they look like?"

"Long necks, armor-scales, teeth as long as your fingers. Think of a tiger-lizard combo. One of 'em attacked and killed one of the Na-Dina diggers the first week here."

"Don't you use repulsor wards?"

Gordon sighed. "Hey, give me credit for some common sense. Of course we have repulsor wards. But their ultrasonic wards don't seem to work on the larger life-forms hereabouts. Sumiko said something about reptilian hearing being lower than ours. If we went strictly by your book, more people would be dead."

Mahree felt uncomfortable, as if she'd spoiled the earlier mood of shared concern for Na-Dina history. "Sorry. I didn't know. You sure seem to have a thing about regulations and bureaucrats."

Gordon resumed walking. "Why not? Their regs, rules, and procedures are just like the crap I've put up with in academia. Hierarchies are not my favorite expression of human culture."

She had guessed that already. Would he lump her in with the worst of those bureaucrats? "Let me explain something

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to you, Gordon. I'm not trying to be a prig. It's just that I've seen, close up and personal, how incredibly destructive the indiscriminate use of a weapon can be while trying to establish good relations with aliens."

He gave her a sharp look. "Mahree, I'm older than you. I was an adult when the
Desirée
First Contact was made. I remember it very well. You lost a crew member when that guy Viorst went berserk and pulled a gun."

"Jerry," she said, softly, with a flash of remembered pain. "It was awful.

Gordon... I'm not anti-weapon. I learned to shoot on Jolie one summer when there was an epidemic of neo-rabies among some of the small predators."

He shrugged, but remained silent.

Mahree sighed and gave up, turning toward the Refectory dome. "Is there something cold to drink in there?"

Gordon nodded, heading for a dome-tent on the edge of camp. "Sure is. You go on. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Mahree wondered at that, then chose politeness. "Of course. See you soon."

In the privacy of his tent, Gordon Mitchell sank down onto his bunk, wiping his forehead in the heat. By morning, the air in the tent would be chilly, but at the moment it was still stuffy and hot. For a moment he considered turning on his fan, but he wasn't planning on staying long enough.

Reaching under his cot, he pulled out a wooden toolbox. Opening it, he grabbed the flask of Kentucky bourbon, screwed off the top, put it to his lips, and swigged down a long gulp.

Liquid fire ran down his throat, settling like a giant ember in his belly.

Warmth and numbness spread to all parts of his body. He let out a long, gusty sigh as his muscles relaxed.

I wonder if she'll try to confiscate my blasters, he thought, eying the locked chest that held the two proscribed weapons, then he shook his head. No way, he thought sourly, remembering the long-neck crouched over the 79

blood-spattered corpse of the digger. He didn't want any more deaths.

Gordon sighed, eying the bottle, then decided against a second drink.

Not tonight.

Tonight he'd have people to talk to, other archaeologists. He wouldn't have to drink to relax and try to forget how lonely he was. He could talk to Greyshine, to Etsane, to the Mizari or the Chhhh-kk-tu. Maybe they'd have a game of poker or something.

Maybe he'd talk to Mahree again.

Or maybe not....

She made him uneasy, and not just because she didn't approve of his weapons. He thought briefly about the picture she'd made, standing there in her sleeveless top and shorts, her long hair swinging in the night breeze.

She was an attractive woman.

It had been a long, long time since he'd been attracted to any woman.

Gordon frowned as he put the bottle away. Out here, in the remote backcountry, he couldn't afford to indulge in romantic fantasies. He was a grown man, a divorced man, the leader of this entire crew. He'd spent a long time building up walls, and he wasn't about to let them down for anyone.

Still, as he walked back to the Refectory, her image stayed before him, her dark hair and eyes, her smile ...

Cursing softly under his breath, he tried to banish the image--only to find that he couldn't.

And that scared him.

Mahree dreamed of volcanoes spewing ash, rivers flooding, and a hot yellow sun that made her feel shriveled up like a prune, stripped of all fluids.

Investigator Krillen was in her dream, as was Beloran. And another shadowy figure, who at times looked like "the Mummy" in one of Rob's treasured antique films, and at times appeared like a robed and crowned Na-Dina.

She was walking through a canyon, and sometimes the

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canyon became a tunnel. Sometimes she was herself, and sometimes she had talons and a tail.

It grew darker ... darker...

Mahree realized she was in a tomb, and it was lit only by the setting sun, its yellow rays penetrating deep into the tomb. Red, green, and yellow images lined the walls of the tunnel, painted images of Na-Dina priestesses, Royal Ministers, and river barges that transported the King on his annual pilgrimage upriver, to the headwaters of the River of Life. They were bowing, and then she was kneeling, ready to pray for the annual flood--