Ancestor's World (3 page)

"Thank you, Beloran," Gordon said, matching the other's grave mien.

"Since you have already gone ahead and opened the wall, without my presence, I suppose the saying of the sacred words can be delayed a bit longer," Beloran said, his hissing voice punctuated with glottal clicks.

"Do your legends or records contain anything about the visit from the Mizari six thousand years ago?" Gordon asked eagerly. The Na-Dina were very protective of their records, and no outworlder had ever seen them.

The alien folded his blue-scaled forearms, mantislike, and bobbed his head to indicate a negative answer. "No. We have been unable to read the records from the time of A-Um Rakt. No one has been able to translate them.

They are very different from both our modem tongue, and from Old High Na-Dina."

"Our new crew will almost certainly include an iconographer," Khuharkk'

said eagerly. "Perhaps he or she will able to translate them, and that will be an even more momentous discovery than this tomb! Professor Greyshine always taught us that the value of golden treasure is finite, but the value of knowledge is incalculable."

"Indeed," Beloran said. His sharp white teeth gleamed in the light. "This"--he waved at the tomb wall--"must be reported to my superiors. I will depart at once for Spirit on my ground skimmer. The Ministry of Dynastic Affairs will be... most interested in what you have found. We will need time to consider what must be done."

Gordon glanced sideways at Khuharkk', and caught the Simiu youth's tiny assenting nod. They'd been right in their assessment of the Liaison's reaction to their discovery. Beloran was planning to tie them up in red tape. If the Liaison had his way, their progress in investigating the tomb would be slowed to a crawl.

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Ostentatiously, Gordon unstoppered the canteen and gulped the cool water.

"Much better," he said, wiping his mouth. "Here, Khuharkk', you'd better have some, too." He bent down to hand it to Khuharkk', keeping his body between the Simiu and the Na-Dina. "Find Bill," he whispered. "Tell him to get moving and contact Greyshine and the CLS."

The Simiu took the canteen, and took a long drink himself. As he handed it back to his boss, the youth nodded fractionally.

"Doctor Mitchell," Khuharkk' spoke up a moment later, "you were just about to tell me what equipment you wanted me to fetch. Should I bring the magnetometer and the portable sifter?"

Gordon nodded. "Yes, bring the banjo magnetometer, but we won't need the sifter for this work. Also bring the laser theodolite, and another autocam.

While you're gone, I'll start photographing and recording the burial associations."

"Yes, Doctor Mitchell," Khuharkk' ,said, dropping from his squatting position to all fours--the preferred Si m iu mode of fast locomotion. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Gordon waved at his assistant, and the youth sprinted away. Golden dust hovered in the still air.

"I, too, must go," Beloran said. "If I leave now, perhaps I can reach Spirit before evening devotionals."

Gordon nodded. "Don't worry, Liaison, I have a lot of recording and mapping to do via remote-control autocams. If you return tomorrow, you can conduct your ceremonial rites then. I promise you that until you do, we will touch nothing in the tomb."

"Very well..." Beloran said grudgingly. "Though the word of an infidel will carry little weight, I am afraid, with my superiors. However, I will vouch for your honesty, Doctor Mitchell."

"Uh ... thanks," Gordon said, feeling a pang when he remembered how he'd lied. But he truly didn't intend to touch anything--the work of recording everything in the chamber would take at least a couple of days. Certainly that

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would be plenty of time for Beloran to say his sacred words and conduct his religious rites.

Moments later, Mitchell was alone with his find. He dropped back to his knees and once again played the light over the inside of the chamber. For the first time, he looked closely at the wall glyphs and illustrations that covered the walls of the chamber.

This was a find greater than Carter's discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb.

Greater than Alva's excavation of the Moche Royal Tombs of Sipan, in Peru.

Greater even than Greyshine's discovery of the Ancient Dais. This discovery concerned the Mizari, powerful aliens who still lived, not peoples dead for half a mil ion years.

I'm looking at my redemption, Gordon thought, feeling another fierce surge of triumph. It was an even headier draught than the Kentucky bourbon he had waiting for him in his tent. Now, by God, they'll respect me....

"Bil !" Khuharkk' cal ed, his voice a hoarse growl in the dry, baking air outside the archaeologist's camp. "Bill! I need to talk to you!"

Bill Waterston rose from a squatting position beside one of the Na-Dina diggers who'd been meticulously washing and sorting potsherds, and waved. He was a tall, lanky human, and from Khuharkk's point of view as homely as the rest of his species. He had a hairless white face, a squashed-in nose, ears that did not move, and a lean frame that lacked the muscles for tearing apart one's enemies in the Arena of Honor.

The Interrelator smiled as Khuharkk' loped up to him, careful to politely half cover his exposed teeth with one hand. "Hey, Khuharkk'! Where've you been? What's all the rush?"

The Simiu beckoned urgently, and the human moved over to join him, out of earshot of the workers. "Bill," Khuharkk' said, glancing around nervously,

"we opened the tomb just now. It was intact!" Khuharkk' clasped both long arms across his chest, hugging himself with excitement.

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It was all he could do not to caper around like a child.

"Damn! Gordon didn't wait for me?" Bill scowled, his freckled features creasing, and shook his head. "He was supposed to wait for me and Beloran!"

"I know," Khuharkk' said, feeling tom between loyalty to a fellow StarBridge student and to his boss. "But, Bill, it's better that he didn't wait. You'll never guess what we found!"

Waterston's momentary irritation vanished in a wave of excitement. His green eyes gleamed. "Gold? Jewels? A mummy?"

Khuharkk' nodded. "All of that! But... Bill... that's only a small part. There were Mizari artifacts there, at the foot of the sarcophagus! They've been there, undisturbed, for six thousand years. Think of what this means!"

Waterston's eyes widened incredulously. "Oh, my God ... you mean the Lost Colony? That's the only thing it could be!"

Khuharkk' yipped a wordless assent.

Bill put a hand to his head. "Wow," he muttered. "I feel like I've had too much sun. What a discovery! Gordon must be beside himself!"

"Professor Mitchell says that now we'll be able to get in a decent team to excavate," Khuharkk' said, eying the arid landscape around them, bleak and formidable. "But only if we can get the word out to Professor Greyshine at StarBridge so he can help us find good people. I've recorded a message, Bill. Will you take it to Spirit and send it out for us, please?"

Khuharkk' held up the tiny data cassette. Waterston stared at him for a long moment, then frowned. "Khuharkk', my friend, I smell a rat: Why the secrecy?" Deception never came easily to Simiu. The heavy crest of hair that ran up Khuharkk's neck and ended in a topknot between his ears drooped sadly. The youth sighed gustily. "Bill, you know as well as I do that if we don't get the word out quickly, before Beloran can get back to Spirit, the Traditionalists and the Modernists will spend weeks or

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months arguing about this discovery in their councils. They may forbid us to send a message at all!"

"Ohhhhhh..." Bill shook his head ruefully. "You're right, of course. But sending the message out without permission isn't exactly ... ethical, my friend."

Khuharkk' sat down on his haunches, lion-fashion, and ran a hand over his muzzle with its formidable fighting canines. "The word will get out eventually; you know that. Nordlund will send the message if we pay them to do it. I could pilot a ship to Spirit and do it myself. But... so far ... nobody has forbidden sending it, correct?"

"Yet," Bill added honestly. He hesitated, obviously thinking it over. "Well, okay," he said finally. "If I hustle, it'll be a done deed before Beloran is halfway to Spirit. Give it here."

He held out his hand, and, solemnly, Khuharkk' dropped the tiny cassette into his callused palm. "Thank you, Bill. I would prefer that the com operators at Nordlund not know about this yet."

Waterston made a face at the mention of the giant mining combine. He beckoned to his friend, and Khuharkk' fell into step beside him as they headed for the landing field. "No shit," he said sourly, carefully stowing the tiny message cassette in the front pocket of his coverall. "Those Nordlund types are a real pain. I had a helluva go-round with the PE just yesterday."

"You argued with Project Engineer Mohapatra?"

"I sure did," Bill said. "Talk about smelling a rat, my friend ... it stinks to high heaven up there."

"They are doing something illegal?"

Bill hesitated. "I've been doing a little quiet investigating, Khuharkk', and I found something that may mean trouble. Big trouble. When I get back from Spirit this evening, I'll tell you all about it, because I'd like your opinion on what, if anything, I should do."

Khuharkk' nodded. "Very well, Bill. I will be pleased to help. I met Project Engineer Mohapatra once ... and he struck me as somewhat lacking in honor."

"He's a sleazy devil, but a smart one," Bill admitted.

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"He never misses a trick, and he knows everything that's going on. I wonder how he manages?"

"His pilots are in and out of camp almost every day with the jumpjet,"

Khuharkk' pointed out. "Since they offered to loan us one of theirs, and the dig could not afford one, we could not say no."

"Yeah. 'Beggars can't be choosers' is the human expression," Bill said.

Khuharkk' mentally translated the colloquialism into his own tongue, then filed it away in his mind.

Waterston smiled suddenly. Khuharkk', who'd had years of experience at reading human expressions, knew that smile had little to do with good feelings and a great deal to do with pure malicious joy. "Hey, I just thought...

Mohapatra and his goons are going to shit when they find out about Gordon's find. This is bound to interfere with their dam-building schedule ...

and it couldn't happen to a nicer bunch."

"Doctor Mitchell and I already thought of that," Khuharkk' agreed. "That is another reason to keep the news from Nordlund as long as possible."

Bill squinted into the sun, shading his eyes. "Is the jumpjet there now? I want to get away from here before I run into Beloran. If he tells me not to send out any FTL announcement of this discovery, then I have to abide by his wishes." He frowned. "It's like a balancing act on a high wire, trying to act as an Interrelator on a world with two parties so diametrically opposed to each other as the Traditionalists and the Modernists."

"There's the jumpjet. It's just landing," Khuharkk' replied, shading his own eyes, then pointing at the landing field that lay on the far side of Base Camp.

The long tube and wide wings of the jumpjet gleamed brightly in the late afternoon sunlight as it returned from the city carrying a load of artifacts and some very tired Na-Dina laborers. "It's bringing in the City of White Stone diggers," the Simiu added, identifying the figures coming down the ramp.

"Then I'd better get a move on," Bill said. Breaking

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into a jog, he flapped a hand back at his friend. "See you later, Khuharkk'!"

The Simiu waved good-bye. Although his people had never invented the concept of formal or informal farewells, Khuharkk', like any good StarBridge student, had learned to adapt to alien customs.

Pausing to sniff thirstily at the creek's water scent, Khuharkk' wished their communications weren't so poor. The government of Ancestor's World hadn't allowed the newcomers to install communications satellites in orbit.

Nordlund had one FTL relay, and Bill's office in Spirit had another. Other than that, Ancestor's World was isolated from contact with the CLS.

The Simiu went down to the stream, a tiny tributary of the massive River of Life. Lowering his six-fingered hands into the cool water, he brought them up to his muzzle, sipped, and enjoyed the sheer pleasure of feeling the liquid sliding down his throat. Hurrreeah, the Simiu homeworld, was also a hot planet, but there, it was humid. Since coming to Ancestor's World, Khuharkk'

had learned the real meaning of thirst.

He'd learned much in the past six weeks. This was an old, old world, with an ancient culture that did not adjust well to sudden disruptions. To avoid social turmoil, the Council of Elders had issued their decree: only the Nordlund construction crews would be allowed in, along with a small team of archaeologists and--this last grudgingly--a CLS Interrelator to assist with Na-Dina/alien interactions.

Swallowing one last cool mouthful, Khuharkk' turned back toward the camp.

Honor demanded that he hurry, now that his mission to contact Bill was completed. Mentally listing the items he needed, he dropped to all fours and trotted up the bank.

Of course he was looking forward to helping Doctor Mitchell excavate the tomb--it was the chance of a lifetime. But, in another way, the whole idea made Khuharkk' uneasy. The Simiu had no concept of an afterlife, and the Na-Dina obsession with their dead ancestors and their ancient God-Kings and Queens was ... unsettling.

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Could the dead live on?

The Na-Dina certainly thought so. Many humans also believed in an afterlife.

Who was right?

Khuharkk' didn't know. Here on Ancestor's World, belief in the afterlife, in the continuing existence of the Revered Ancestors, was the pivot on which the entire Na-Dina culture balanced.

In order to stay here and interact with the Na-Dina, he had to learn to respect and understand their beliefs. Could he? The Simiu did not adjust easily to other customs, other beliefs....

Khuharkk' resolutely put disquieting philosophical questions out of his mind, and broke into a lope.