Ancestor's World (7 page)

But the undeniable fact that she was constantly disappointing those closest to her was painful. Last year, Rob

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had asked her to consider taking a year's sabbatical so they could have another child. He'd even offered to take a leave of absence from StarBridge and move anywhere she wanted for that year. Then, he'd promised, he'd raise the baby himself, on StarBridge, if she didn't want to stay in one place.

Mahree had been on the verge of agreeing to his proposition, but just then they'd gotten word of the Anuran invasion of Trinity. The invasion had had a major ripple effect in the CLS, as delegates argued vehemently over what to do about the new, aggressive amphibian species. And when that fracas had calmed down, there had been the faceoff between the Drina's and the Vardi over the Vardi embargo on Heeyoon fertilizers ... and then there had been the clash between the Simiu and the Mizari over that newly discovered radonium asteroid ... and then ... and then ...

Crisis and minicrisis, one after another. There was always an urgent problem to be solved, a potential problem to be averted. There was never enough time. Time ...

Mahree felt a surge of old, familiar guilt threaten to overwhelm her.

For once, Claire remained unaware of her mother's distress. Mahree jerked back to the here and now, hearing the girl sigh loudly. "I sure hope so. It's been almost a year since I last saw Dad. Mom ... do you think we can all visit the cabin on Shassiszss for a real family vacation after you get back from Ancestor's World?"

Mahree hugged her daughter closer, and settled deeper into the couch.

Claire smiled and hugged her back. "Yes, I promise I'll make time for that family vacation after this is all over."

"Good!"

About them the freighter moved through the dark of space, rushing steadily toward the outskirts of Shassiszss' solar system, where they could enter metaspace without harm to the local star. Soon, Mahree thought, she'd have to go and appear at the Captain's Table, make polite conversation, thank Captain Salzeess for volunteering to help with the mission, meet the female Mizari Ceramicist, and

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then go over the list of archaeological experts to pick up at points between Shassiszss and StarBridge.

Emerald Scales wasn't a fast ship. They'd be nearly a week getting to StarBridge. Then a month's travel to reach distant Ancestor's World. Lying near the outer curve of the Orion Arm, the Na-Dina homeworld lay too close to the dusty gas clouds and veiled star clusters that made up Sorrow Sector.

The notorious sector was the hiding place for criminals, outlaws, privateers, and miscreants from all the Fifteen Known Worlds. Ships were lost forever in its environs. The League Irenics had repeatedly tried to infiltrate the legendary criminal star-den, but none of their investigators had ever returned....

Mahree shivered involuntarily, and Claire pulled back to gaze at her, her now-green eyes huge. "Don't be afraid, Mom. The League Irenics will keep you safe from Sorrow Sector."

Mahree smiled faintly. "Peeking again? Well, I forgive you. Did I ever tell you the story of how, just after you'd been born, we discovered you were telepathic?"

Her daughter blinked, then slowly shook her head, a soft smile escaping.

"No. Never. Will you tell me again?"

Mahree Burroughs laughed, took her daughter's hand and squeezed it.

Claire hadn't asked for her favorite story for nearly two years now. It made her feel close to tell it once more. "When you were very small..."

"How small, Mom?"

"Hardly as big as a minute," Mahree said, settling into the familiar litany.

"How big is a minute, Mom?"

Mahree made a space with her hands. "About this big..."

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Etsane stood before the viewport in the Stellar Velocity vessel Emerald Scales, watching Ancestor's World revolve beneath her. They would be landing soon, but before she strapped in she wanted to see the planet from orbit.

Ancestor's World was a brown ball covered in reddish- brown traceries that resembled waterless riverbeds. The silvery sparkle of dry saline lakebeds spotted the planet. So where's the water? she wondered, and even as she thought it, they rounded the north pole and overflew the shallow Northern Sea. Instead of an icecap, Ancestor's World had a large sea filling its far north, one about the size of the Indian Ocean. The sea was fed by the muddy-brown waterway called the River of Life, which flowed northward in serpentine curves from the equatorial Mountains of Faith.

Etsane counted off the primary geographical features of the Na-Dina homeworld--one sea-ocean, one giant mountain range-at the equator, and a dead seabed at the south pole. Then she spotted the angry blue-black of continent- wide storms, thunderstorms that flashed with yellow lightning, and recalled the turbulent weather Dr. Mitchell had mentioned. Monster storms, earthquakes, and volcanoes,

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she thought. Nice place to visit, but do I really want to live here for a year or so?

"Etsane, you're the luckiest of us all, I think," called Professor Greyshine. He and his mate, Doctor Strongheart, were curled nearby on Heeyoon cushioned benches.

"Oh? Why's that?" She touched on her voder earcuff, an automatic habit whenever she encountered aliens, even though she read and spoke Heeyoon fairly fluently. A month's practice conversing with Greyshine and Strongheart on the way here had certainly helped. Etsane smiled as she remembered one particular conversation. The elderly couple loved romantic poetry and had begged her to repeat the apocryphal story of how Solomon and Sheba had made love and founded the Royal House of Ethiopia.

"Professor, this is another piece in the puzzle of the Mizari Lost Colony," she pointed out. "Surely you are the most fortunate of us all?"

Etsane waved a hand, indicating the other members of the team who were also in the lounge. There was the slothlike Shadgui Lithics Analyst, two humanoid Drnians, the Mizari Ceramicist, the Chhhh-kk-tu

Paleoenvironmental specialist, and the Vardi Chronologist.

"He is fortunate," Strongheart agreed, nuzzling her mate fondly. "But, Etsane, he is talking about the painted pictures and bas-relief carvings that cover the walls of all the Na-Dina ruins. Even more than Kal-Syr, this must be a dream world for an Iconographer!"

"Oh, it is! It will be!" Etsane agreed excitedly.

The ever-changing view caught her attention, and she discovered that Emerald Scales had now entered the atmosphere and was descending to land. Below them, she could see the broad delta lands that lay at the mouth of the River of Life. So much like the Nile ...

"Doctor Mitchell's preliminary report reminded me so much of ancient Egypt,"

she said, picking up the conversation where she'd left off. "I'll have to be careful not to let my own heritage influence me as I begin trying to decipher the ideoglyphs in the Royal Tomb of A-Um Rakt. Doctor Mitchell says he hasn't made any headway with

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them at all--they're very different from the hieroglyphs of Classical High Na-Dina."

At that moment the soft "prepare for landing" chime sounded, and all of the passengers quickly strapped themselves into their seats. Etsane watched the freighter's flight upriver, eager to see the great city of Spirit and its new, makeshift spaceport. The capital of the Na-Dina lay a hundred kilometers above the densely populated delta farmlands, and its towering stone buildings soon caught her attention.

Etsane eyed the buildings, wondering if she could pick out different dynastic styles from this far away. Imagine flying like a bird over a city already ancient before Rome was founded!

Father, I wish you could see this, she thought wistfully. You would have loved this, too ...

Beloran sat in the ground skimmer driven by Mitchell, the Sky Infidel who had caused him so many problems already and would, no doubt, cause him more in the future. Just ahead, the CLS transport was setting down at the spaceport field outside Spirit.

Just what we need, the Liaison thought sourly. More Infidels. Like the other aliens, these Infidels would also feel free to profane Mother Sky with their flying machines. Like Mitchell, they too would dig into Father Earth without reverence, without respect.

Beloran's tail kinked with resentment. This is OUR world, not theirs!

Schooling his ears and tail to calmness, he reminded himself that what his people needed, what he had bought them, was time. Time to industrialize Halish meg a-tum. Time to purchase or develop the technology that would make them the equals of these visitors from beyond Mother Sky. Time to grow strong, to arm themselves, so that the People would forever control their own destiny.

Beloran glanced sideways at the Infidel Mitchell, noting with distaste his flat features, his unmobile ears and lack of a tail. These humans had no feelings, no sensitivity, no

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reverence for history and tradition. They knew not the value of salt. They did not appreciate the value of water. They acted as if they had no fear of the future, and behaved casually with technology that seemed, to the Na-Dina, miraculous, even magical.

Infidel Mitchell glanced over at him. "This Mahree Burroughs who will be taking Bill's place knew him well," he said, expertly piloting the s kimm er along the dusty road. "She was his mentor. He worked for her for a year before coming to Ancestor's World."

Beloran tensed at the mention of the young Sky Infidel who had met such an unpleasant fate. Finding the entire subject distasteful, he hastened to change it. "Did this female Infidel also attend the StarBridge school that drifts between the suns?"

Mitchell emitted a short, sharp sound that Beloran had learned betokened amusement. "No, Mahree Burroughs never attended StarBridge Academy.

She was the inspiration for it. She helped set it up, and is widely known as the First Interrelator."

Beloran's ears fluttered with distress. If this female Infidel was famous, then the CLS no doubt valued her, as they had not, from all indications, valued Waterston. What effect might that have on the Na-Dina relations with the Sky Infidels? He must consider the implications carefully....

"Here is the turnoff," the Liaison said, pointing with one talon.

"Yes, I see it." Mitchell turned the skimmer off the country road and headed for a gray metal building. The Infidels called it "the Skyport" and they had raised it in a single day, rather than the way a building should be raised, year by year, decade by decade. The Skyport was built of some hard alien substance, not of Father's gift, the native stone, as the Na-Dina built.

The new Infidels would be waiting in there until cleared by the Ministry of Commerce. Beloran noticed one of the Nordlund jumpjets also on the landing field. Being a Merchant, Beloran felt far more comfortable with the Nordlund

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Infidels. Nordlund was here to make a profit, and profit was something Beloran understood.

And Nordlund was giving Ancestor's World something tangible. Nordlund knew how to build giant dams. They traded off-world wonders for Na-Dina goods. Their presence had given new status to the trade of Merchant.

The contracts Nordlund had signed with the Na-Dina promised enough hydroelectric power to double their world's energy production. That would make possible more factories, more mills. Soon the Na-Dina would be able to build all the wonders the Infidels used so casually, and then the People would have no more need for the off-worlders.

As the skimmer halted before the Skyport, Beloran sighed to himself. Time to school his manner, to pretend politeness to those who would rush into his world, overawe the rural people, and perhaps even challenge the power of the Royal House.

"We're here, though a bit late," said Mitchell. "If we hadn't had to stop for midday devotionals ..."

Beloran thought back to that time by the side of the road, as he had prayed and meditated, with Mitchell's awkward accompaniment. The Liaison had enjoyed prolonging the rite, even as the archaeologist squirmed....

Too bad Mitchell's entire archaeological camp could not disappear, like one of the remote Na-Dina villages found empty of inhabitants. The

Disappearances had begun decades ago. Not everyone believed in them, but Beloran had seen one village for himself--echoing, deserted, desolate ...

as though the villagers had just... left.

As he moved to get out of the vehicle and follow Mitchell into the Skyport, Beloran repressed another sigh and steeled himself to meet this new wave of Infidel intruders.

Mahree Burroughs stood in the visitor hall of the Skyport, surrounded by milling archaeologists, piles of equipment and baggage. She sighed. There wasn't anyone, Na-Dina or human, here to meet them. Where the devil was Mitchell?

How the heck were they to find transport to Mitchell's

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Base Camp? Surely the man had more sense than to expect them to land Emerald Scales downcountry, in a dangerous approach to a beaconless canyon?

Mahree realized uneasily that all of the archaeologists were regarding her expectantly. That was only fair, she thought grumpily--after all, she was the high-ranking CLS official. Trouble was, she didn't have the faintest idea of what to do.

She wiped sweat from her forehead, wishing she were wearing shorts and a sleeveless top rather than the black StarBridge jumpsuit with Interrelator insignia she'd put on that morning. Searching in her pockets, she ran fingers through her mane of waist-length hair, scooping it up into a ponytail so it was off her neck.

Just then, the double doors slammed open and in walked two people: a middle-aged human male, and a Na-Dina alien. Relieved, Mahree headed purposefully for them.

She was amused to note that Mitchell was dressed exactly like an archaeologist in one of Rob's antique films-- rough khaki pants, leather boots, and a tan shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His muscular forearms were traced with scars and abrasions, old and new.

"Ambassador Burroughs?" the human called in a pleasant tenor, waving to her as he approached. "I'm Gordon Mitchell." He was tall and ruggedly good-looking, with a deep tan and brown hair streaked blond by the sun. His teeth flashed when he smiled.