Fossil Hunter (8 page)

Dybo let out a sigh, a long affected hiss indicating that he’d grown tired of this game. He took a bold step forward. Rodlox reached out a stiff arm and pushed it into the Emperor’s shoulder.

A murmur went through the crowd. To touch another — especially the Emperor!

“Do not do that again,” said Dybo quietly. But Rodlox tipped from the waist, his tail lifting from the ground, and in a slow, deliberate gesture, too choreographed and extended to be instinct, he bobbed his torso up and down, up and down. A display of territorial challenge.

Silence, save for some whispering behind him. Rodlox realized that Novato had stepped over to Afsan and was giving him a running description.

“I challenge you,” Rodlox said, his voice loud and firm. Dybo spread his arms. “Challenge me for what? This is a street of the people; all streets in Capital City are so designated. I don’t claim it as my territory; you, Rodlox, and all others are free to use it.”

Rodlox bobbed again. “It’s not the street I challenge you for,” he said. “I challenge your right to rule. I challenge your right to be Emperor.”

“I am of The Family,” said Dybo. “I am the son of the daughter of the daughter of the son of the daughter of the son of Larsk, the prophet.”

“And,” said Rodlox, “I, Rodlox, governor of Edz’toolar, am also” — he had rehearsed the litany — “the son of the daughter of the daughter of the son of the daughter of the son of Larsk, the prophet.”

“The fellow’s mad,” said a voice from the curbside. “Thinks he’s the Emperor.”

Rodlox wheeled to face the speaker. “No, I do not think I am the Emperor, citizen, and I assure you I am not mad.” He turned again to Dybo. “Am I,
brother
!”

“Brother?” said Dybo, his mouth remaining agape after speaking the word.

Rodlox heard what sounded like a sharp inhalation of breath from behind him. Was it Afsan? “Yes, brother: male child of the same parents.” He pointed to the one who’d called him mad.

“You! Come here!” The citizen — a maker of pottery, judging by the symbols on her blue sash — seemed afraid. “Come here, I said. I’ll not hurt you.”

Rodlox’s muzzle didn’t flush blue, but then if the citizen really did think him insane, she might not give that much credence. A couple of those standing near the citizen urged her on, and she took a hesitant step forward. “Come closer,” snapped Rodlox.

“I… I do not wish to invade your territory,” said the citizen.

“
Hahat dan
, for God’s sake!” said Rodlox. “I grant you permission. Come stand right next to me, right here.” He pointed at the ground beside him. The citizen looked back at the crowd.

“Go ahead!” shouted an onlooker. Others made encouraging gestures. The potmaker slowly stepped up to Rodlox.

“Now, look at my earholes.” Rodlox swiveled his neck so that the citizen could see first one, then the other.

The citizen’s expression was blank. “Yes?”

“
Look
at them. What do you notice about them?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say…”

“The shape, fool. The shape! What shape are they?”

“Oval, I guess.”

“Oval. Unusual, isn’t that?”

“Well, I suppose. But, umm, I mean no offense by that.”

“None taken. Go look at the Emperor’s carrioles.”

The citizen stood there. “Your Luminance?”

“
Hahat dan
,” said Dybo, with a slight concessional nod. “Feel free.”

The citizen peered at the sides of Dybo’s head. “Well?” snapped Rodlox.

“His are oval, too.”

“Louder. Shout it. I want everyone to hear.”

The citizen’s voice cracked slightly, but she did manage a more robust volume. “I said, his are oval, too.”

Rodlox bowed full concession at the citizen. “Thank you. You may return to the side of the road.” The citizen hastened to do just that. Rodlox shouted so all could hear. “My associates and I have cataloged fourteen distinctive physical features that Dybo and I have in common. Fourteen!” He turned through a slow circle, facing members of the public, the procession, spectators on the far curb, and then Dybo again. “The earholes are an obvious example.” He tipped forward, lifting his tail from the paving stones. “The mottling on the undersides of our tails is the same.” He pointed at his own feet, then at Dybo’s. “Instead of our middle toeclaw being longer than the other two, it’s the same length as our inner toeclaw.” He looked up. “We both have exceptional vision. Our muzzles are shorter than average. And on and on.”

Dybo spoke softly. “I fail to see the significance…”

“We’re brothers,” said Rodlox flatly. “Brothers.”

“How can the two of you be brothers?” shouted another voice from the far curb. “No one has brothers.” A pause. “Well, no one except Afsan and Novato’s children.”

Rodlox spun to face the speaker. “No one
should
have brothers, or sisters for that matter,” said Rodlox. “But I do, and he does. In fact, there are eight of us, siblings all. Every one of Lends’s eight egglings has lived to adulthood. And of the eight, I’m sure that I, Rodlox, am the strongest, for if I were not, I would not have been sent to Edz’toolar, the most barren and isolated part of Land. I am the rightful leader of the Fifty Packs.”

“But that’s impossible!” said a voice, an old fellow standing near Oro. “The bloodpriest…”

Rodlox nodded, as if pleased by the question. “Ah, yes. The imperial bloodpriest. He did not devour seven of the eight hatchlings. Rather, I’m convinced that seven of the eight were sent out to be apprentice governors in the outlying provinces, and the eighth remained in the Capital, to be groomed for Emperorship.”

Dy-Dybo looked as though he’d had quite enough. “Ridiculous!” he said, his voice for the first time sharp. He turned his muzzle toward his blind sage. “Afsan, you’re a clear thinker. Explain the folly of his logic to this fellow.”

Rodlox spun around, looked at Afsan. And he saw in Afsan’s face something…

Rodlox narrowed his eyes. “You — you know of this!”

Afsan said nothing.

“Speak, blind one. You
do
know of this, don’t you?”

“I… ” began Afsan, but he did not continue. His pet reptile hissed quietly at his side.

“Speak! If what I say isn’t true, tell me now.”

“You’ve presented no irrefutable proof of your extraordinary claim,” said Afsan slowly.

“I can prove it,” said Rodlox. “But you — I see it in your expression. You have known of this!”

“Everything you’ve said is just circumstantial evidence, or could be explained as mere coincidence,” said Afsan.

“Then deny it directly, sightless one. Say it out loud for all to hear! Declare publicly that what I’ve said is not true.”

There was a long silence, every set of eyes locked on Afsan. “What you say,” said Afsan at last, spacing the words out, “is not true.”

“By the fangs of God…” said Dybo wanly, as he watched Afsan’s face.

“See!” shouted Rodlox, spinning again to look at everyone in turn. “See! The blind one’s muzzle turns blue. His words are a lie!”

Afsan dipped his head.

“Afsan?” said Dybo, a note of desperation in his voice.

Even though they were sightless, Afsan apparently could not lift his eyes to meet the Emperor’s. “I’m sorry,” he said, very softly.

Dybo’s inner eyelids were snapping up and down spasmodically, no doubt turning his vision into a strobing display. “Are you sure?” he said.

“He’s sure!” shouted Rodlox. “He knows I am right.”

Afsan rallied some strength. “No,” he said. “I don’t know that what you say is true, Rodlox. I can’t see the evidence of physical similarity you are apparently presenting.”

“No, you can’t,” said Rodlox. “But you believe me. I see that in your face. Admit it. Admit the truth.”

Afsan was silent. Dybo spoke at last, “Afsan, is it true?”

“I am not positive,” Afsan said quietly, “but… yes. I’ve long suspected that what Rodlox has suggested is true.” Afsan looked slightly defensive. “I
did
mention the possibility to you once, long ago.”

Dybo leaned back on his tail for support.

“The bloodpriests have lied!” shouted Rodlox. “Not only have they betrayed the people, they’ve betrayed the very Emperorship itself.” He faced the spectators lining the near curb now. “Surely the imperial bloodpriest should have chosen the best and fastest of the egglings to become Emperor. Look at him!” He jabbed a finger at Dybo. “Look at him! Fat, dull-witted, lazy.” The crowd hissed at the insults, but Rodlox pressed on. “And look at me: lean and muscular, and sharp of mind. The bloodpriests wanted someone on the ruling slab that they could easily manipulate, so they sent the rightful heir away. I’m the one who should be Emperor.” He turned directly toward Dybo. “With me in the palace, our people will get on with the business of living, not be mired in your mad dream of leaving our home.”

Rodlox bobbed his torso up and down. “I challenge you, Dybo, here and now, in front of these hundred witnesses…

“I challenge your authority to lead…

“I challenge your right to the throne…

Emperor Dy-Dybo stood motionless, mouth agape.

Toroca was poised in a little cleft, nine-tenths of the way up the cliff side, working along the Bookmark layer, the chalky seam marking the first rocks containing evidence of life. He kept hoping to unearth one of the shards of the eggs of creation. What a find that would be! An actual shell piece from an egg laid by God! So far, though, he’d found nothing like that. In fact, this layer was remarkably similar to all the layers above it: rich with sea-shells, with bones of fish, and even with occasional pieces of the skeletons of great water serpents, similar to the famed Kal-ta-goot that Afsan had killed aboard the sailing ship
Dasheter
.

A great fissure ran through the rocks here, the handiwork of a landquake, no doubt. At this little perch, one could reach into the side of the cliff and simply pull out chunks of rock. The material here, just below the Bookmark layer, was a gray shale. It split cleanly along bedding planes, and Toroca opened slab after slab of it. Every piece was pristine, not marred by the fossils that were shot through the rocks from higher up.

Toroca whacked the flat end of his hammer against the chisel again, and another slab split cleanly open. Nothing. He tried again with a different piece, a surprisingly heavy piece, but accidentally smashed his thumb instead. Occupational hazard: he didn’t even really feel the pain anymore. He repositioned the chisel and tried once more. This slab, for a change, did not split cleanly. The upper layers started to separate, but ceased to split off about halfway across. Curious. Toroca used his fingers to pry the slab apart. A large hunk snapped off, exposing a small rounded bit of something strange.

Something blue.

There were blue gemstones, of course, and a couple of blue minerals, but they were not normally found in downrocks such as these. But this thing, whatever it was, was definitely blue, a light shade, like that of certain wingfinger eggshells.

There was only a tiny piece of it visible, jutting from the bedding plane. Toroca turned the slab over and positioned his chisel on the opposite side, then tapped his hammer lightly against it. The stone began to split, and once again he pried with his fingers to separate the rock. It took a great effort, but at last the upper layers broke free in sharp-edged flat pieces. He let them slide away, tumbling down the cliff face. There, just about in the middle of the slab, was a blue hemisphere with a diameter the length of Toroca’s longest finger.

Toroca was normally excited by every discovery, for each new one advanced his knowledge. But with this one, he simply felt puzzled and confused. After all, he had thought these rocks were old, coming from just below the first layer in which remnants of life were found. But this was clearly a manufactured object, meaning that it couldn’t be very old at all: perhaps a few hundred kilodays, although its smooth surface made even that much of a pedigree doubtful.

And then it hit him, causing his heart to flutter. The theory of superposition, carefully worked out by the late Irb-Falpom, might be destroyed by this find. Falpom’s theory had seemed so elegant, so simple: the older rocks were on the bottom. Such a revolution that had made in geology! But Toroca’s survey was the first one extensive enough to really prove or disprove the theory, although it had been accepted as fact for several kilodays now. Everything found to date had seemed to coincide with superposition, but now this, whatever it was, destroyed all that. A theory was only as good as the data that supported it, and superposition couldn’t explain a contemporary artifact buried deep within ancient rock.

For one brief moment, Toroca thought about tossing aside the find, never showing it to anyone. The theory was so good, after all, and it was the one great claim to fame of his mentor and friend, Falpom. But of course he couldn’t do that. He was a scholar, and this blue dome was a fact, a fact that had to be accounted for.