Ancestor's World (10 page)

"Are scale impressions like fingerprints?" Mahree asked. "Unique to a particular Na-Dina?"

"No," Krillen replied, as though he hadn't thought of such an idea before.

"Scale patterns are unique. But all scales are very much alike, depending on where on our bodies they come from." He opened his palm again to show her the tiny scales on his palm, then waved a hand at his chest, demonstrating the obvious difference in size.

Krillen's fan-ears pricked up. "I photographed the mesa top. There is only the narrowest and most dangerous of animal tracks leading to the top. No way to take a skimmer up or down. No evidence of any other craft--even a village cart. The nearest village is fifty of your kilometers away, and the villagers have not seen a stranger in half a year." Mahree sipped more tea, frowning thoughtfully. "I've read a lot of mysteries. They always say to focus on method, motive, and opportunity."

Krillen hissed approvingly. "Yes, we have a similar dictum. The method is obvious--bludgeoning to death. Who would have a motive?"

"Well, there was the argument Bill had with Project Engineer Mohapatra the day before he was killed," Gordon said. "I told you about it, Investigator."

"What was it about?" Mahree asked.

"I'm not sure. Bill mentioned it to Khuharkk'. Said that something wasn't right about one of the Nordlund sites. But he was very vague. Told Khuharkk' he'd tell him when he returned from Spirit." Mitchell spread his hands in a final gesture.

Mahree eyed him. "Something? What something?" Gordon shrugged. "No idea. I haven't been over to the Nordlund dam site for a while now. Last time I was there, everything seemed to be going along right on schedule."

"Well, if Bill argued with Mohapatra, seems to me that

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he could be a suspect," Mahree said. "Have you questioned him, Investigator?"

Krillen tapped his ruler on his desktop. "I tried to gain an appointment with him, but the Project Engineer has many allies within the Temple of Administration, the Temple of the River, and even on the Council of Elders.

He did not respond to my request."

Mahree's mouth tightened. "Well, he'll talk to me. And to you. I'll see to it."

"Take it easy, Mahree," Gordon counseled. "One argument doesn't constitute a motive for murder! If I had a buck for every argument I've ever had, I wouldn't need the Mizari Archaeological Society to finance this dig.

Besides, don't forget opportunity as well as motive. Project Engineer Mohapatra is so recognizable that I can't picture him sneaking aboard Bill's craft unnoticed. He probably has a simon- pure alibi that stretches clear back to Shassiszss!"

"Alibi?" Krillen asked.

Hastily, Mahree defined the alien word. "Well," she said after a moment,

"who else might have had a motive?" Gordon shrugged. Krillen's fan-ears twitched. "Young Waterston, from all accounts I have heard, was well liked and respected," the Na-Dina said. "However, it is possible that his murder was not done for personal reasons--rather, for ideological or profit motives.

There are humans and Na- Dina who resent the presence of your CLS on my world."

"By humans you mean Nordlund, of course," Mahree said. "If it weren't for the CLS, they could do whatever they liked here, with no one to make them observe proper safety codes. By Na-Dina ... you mean, one of the Traditionalist party? Someone who doesn't want change on Ancestor's World?"

Krillen turned the ruler over in his taloned hands. "Possibly. I believe we should forgo motive for the moment, and concentrate on opportunity. I have been intending to take more advanced equipment out to the murder site, for a lengthier examination. Would you be interested in joining me, Ambassador?"

Mahree nodded. "I was going to ask if I could go. I

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brought along some forensic science equipment that might lend itself to a reexamination of the murder scene." Krillen's fan-ears perked up.

"Equipment? What kind of equipment?"

"Infrared scanners. Biomolecule sensors. Gene-typing instruments." She was pleased to see that Krillen's eyes brightened as she named each item.

"And a large-field microscope able to detect the smallest markings on that murder weapon. Interested?"

The Na-Dina stood up quickly, his long tail quivering. "Interested? Of course!

When shall we make this journey?"

"As soon as we can arrange for transport," Mahree said. "Can I contact you from the Base Camp?"

"Yes, by relay to our communications radio in the Ministry," Krillen said. "We will speak soon, then."

Mahree, recognizing the end of the discussion, nodded and scrambled to her feet. Gordon stood up from his squatting position with such boneless grace that she envied him as she tried not to rub her posterior, which had gone numb from sitting on the stone floor.

"Just let me get settled in at the Base Camp," Mahree said, as she and Gordon headed for the huge cat door, "and we'll make the trip right after that."

"Very well," Krillen said. "I will accompany you back to where your vehicle awaits."

Mahree ducked under the cat door, thinking of the heat outside, and wondering how long it would take to get back to the landing field and the air-conditioned jumpjet....

Krillen of the Law walked beside the two aliens along the corridors of the Ministry, aware of covert glances from every doorway. Most Na-Dina had still not gotten a close look at one of the Sky Infidels.

The Investigator told himself the Ancestors would have been proud of how he had interacted with the Soft Faces. The male and female Infidels looked like unformed yolks spilled from the egg, so soft was their skin and so malleable were their faces. But despite their extreme ugliness, their 67

spirits were recognizably those of civilized beings. They spoke the High Speech with respect, they offered the Rock of Life in return for hospitality.

Krillen found himself respecting them, and was pleased that they appeared to have respect for him, for his position.

Gently, he smoothed his Sash of Rank. It was studded with tiny gold chevron pins, so many that they nearly covered its surface. They represented Cases Solved. One hundred and twelve, with one pin for each case. Years and years of devoted work. Few of his fellow Investigators reached a hundred before retiring to their home compound and luxuriating in their private ponds.

Krillen thought of the tools he used in his investigations, and wondered what it would be like to use tools invented by the Sky Infidels. Would such sophisticated technology eliminate the need for slow, painstaking, and relentless investigation? He had founded his life on such investigation, and he had never failed to solve a case.

But never before had he faced a challenge such as this....

The trio reached the stairway and started down, with Krillen in the rear. The Na-Dina watched in fascination as the humans negotiated the steps designed for taloned Na- Dina feet with no sign of uncertainty or distress.

"Most engaging!" he hissed softly.

The female Infidel, Mahree, paused and turned back to ask, "What's engaging?"

Krillen wasn't sure he should say, but falsehood was not in his nature. He found himself replying honestly. "The way you negotiate these stairs--even level surfaces! How in the name of the Revered Ancestors do you people manage to keep from falling over?"

Mahree's teeth showed suddenly, and she made a soft gurgling type sound.

"You mean, how do we balance?" she asked.

"Yes," Krillen replied. "How can you possibly balance, with no tail?"

The male, Gordon, showed teeth also. "Krillen, we just

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grew up walking without tails. I guess it's a case of learning to make do with what you've got."

"Maybe we receive a dispensation from the forces of gravity," Mahree said, and Krillen could tell she was vastly amused--but not in a mean or hurtful way. "Actually, Krillen, you are not the first species to wonder why we don't fall flat on our faces."

They started down the stairs again, with Mitchell leading the way. His tall body moved so effortlessly, so fluidly, that Krillen wondered again about the ways of the universe. "When I'm drunk," Mitchell called back, "I do a good imitation of falling over."

"Drunk?" This was a word new to Krillen, a "made- word" recently adopted into their language since they'd lacked word-images for many of the customs practiced by the Sky Infidels. This word combination meant, literally, "salt hysteria."

"He means drunk from imbibing too much liquor," Mahree said, and Krillen thought he caught a faint edge of distaste in her voice. "An alkaloid-based liquid called ethanol, a chemical compound that disturbs human

biochemistry, causing disorientation, and impairs the user's judgment. But it also produces a temporary state of euphoria, which is why some people are unwise enough to overindulge in it."

"Ah, I understand you now," Krillen said. "We experience something similar when we eat too much of the Rock of Life. But that is rare. Only the rich can afford to indulge in such habits."

"Philosopher Mitchell," he added, as they reached the bottom of the stairway and started across the huge, columned hall, "when I was at your Base Camp before, when Interrelator Waterston had just been discovered, you would permit me only a brief glimpse of the tomb of A-Um Rakt. During my next visit, may I see the sarcophagus? Possibly touch it?"

"He didn't let you see it?" Mahree glanced quickly at Gordon. "That doesn't sound fair!"

"My record-keeping wasn't done," Mitchell said. "I'm 69

just doing things by the book, dammit! Howard Carter didn't enter Tutankhamun's tomb for weeks after his discovery. You have to measure everything, draw it, photograph it, make sure it's recorded down to the millimeter, Mahree."

"Well, how is all of that progressing?" she asked. "Yesterday we removed the funerary offerings from the front half of the chamber."

"What about the Mizari relics?"

"Still in situ."

"I'm glad about that. I want to see them right away," she said.

Mitchell showed teeth again. "Why am I not surprised?" The human turned to' Krillen as they all halted before the alien vehicle that hovered there on its fans, obediently awaiting the return of its driver. "And, Investigator Krillen, I promise you that I will personally conduct you on an up- close tour of the tomb when you come out to the Base Camp. You can touch the

sarcophagus ... promise." Krillen bowed. "May the Spirits of the Revered Ancestors smile upon us all, then, until we meet on that day," he said, returning to formality, and the High Speech. Then he relapsed into regular speech. "Your vehicle ... it travels quickly?"

Mahree nodded. "Yes, it does."

"Would you like a ride?" Mitchell asked, waving a hand at the interior.

Such a simple offering to inspire such terror!

Krillen swayed, as if he had eaten too much Rock of Life, but recovered swiftly. He was curious, he found. "Uh, yes. Thank you." Lifting his tail he climbed over the metal rim of the self-propelled craft, settled down in the rear storage box, and composed his soul for death. It was said by the priests at the Temple of A-Um Rakt that, each time one of The People took flight through Mother Sky, they risked death for such defiance of Ancestral wishes.

He knew better than that. He understood radio, when his rural cousins would have run from it. He even comprehended the round world, and the suns that lay beyond it,

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though that image felt like a nightmare. But he had grown up in a world where only The People, and the Revered Ancestors, roamed the land. No one else. And though his temple education whispered in his ear "You are safe! Safe as a new-born scaly in the curl of his parents tails," Krillen found it hard to believe.

The skimmer vibrated, the fans howled loudly, and the craft... it lifted up into the air.

He flew.

Krillen, of the Clan Moon Bright, partook of the blessings reserved to the Ancestors.

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CHAPTER 4 Attack!

The jumpjet landed at Base Camp just before sunset, and Mahree waited until everyone had offloaded before she followed Gordon out of the passenger cabin. The archaeologist stopped at the top of the ramp and waved at the enclosing canyon walls. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Incredible," she whispered, seeing up close what she'd marveled at during the jumpjet's descent. She looked to her right, where the valley widened out.

"Oh! Is that the City of White Stone?"

Gordon nodded. The evening breeze ruffled his sandy hair, and Mahree, who had changed during the trip into the shorts and sleeveless top she'd craved, felt a touch of coolness dispel the baking heat. "That's it. Six thousand years old, and parts of it look almost new. No one lives there now, though. It was King A-Um Rakt's capital."

"Have you excavated there?"

"We've barely touched it," Gordon admitted. "There's so much to do here that I wake up in the middle of the night worrying about how we'll even scratch the surface before this all floods."

"It's gorgeous," Mahree said, letting her gaze sweep over the outer wall of the city. Behind the wall rose flat-72

topped pyramid temples, similar to what she'd seen in Spirit. The high white wall enclosed the city, but in her mind's eye she saw what she knew from Mitchell's report lay there: massive temples, small, boxy homes, plazas, and open markets. A great stone causeway speared out from the western city gate, then marched down to the valley center, where it crumbled off into a deep arroyo. At the bottom of the arroyo ran the River of Life, its waters shallow this time of year. Mahree saw that a fallen pylon had gouged out part of the red stone causeway and thought of the earthquakes. She repressed a shiver. "I can almost hear the voices from the past, Gordon."

"I know. I hear them, too. Especially at night. You should see this place by moonlight. Talk about romantic ..."

Mahree glanced at him quickly, then away again, as she fiddled with the strap of her duffel bag. How long had it been since she'd been anywhere or done anything that could be construed as romantic? Years, probably.

She drank in the dry air as another cooling breeze touched her face. They were surrounded by wild canyon country. Flat mesa tops towered high above their heads, reaching into the pale indigo sky. A volcano flamed in the western distance, and even where she stood on the elevated ramp, Mahree could feel the vibration of a microquake. It was as if this land, this world, was alive, stirring and rumbling like some great, immensely old animal.