Ancestor's World (12 page)

--when suddenly, the tunnel floor beneath her feet rumbled sullenly, as if voices spoke to her from the wall paintings.

Earthquake?

Ka-blam!

Mahree jerked awake, blinking away the dream. What the--

Booml

Explosions? She jumped to her feet, yanked her shorts on over the sleeveless leotard she slept in, and rushed barefoot out into the chill of night.

"Gordon! Etsane!"

No reply, though sleepy voices shouted in alarm from nearby dome-tents.

The moonlit night's chill stung her bare arms and legs.

Whap! A yellow flare dazzled her eyes.

She realized that the disturbance was up by the Royal Tomb. What was happening? It wasn't a storm; the night was clear.

"Gordon!" she yelled.

He rushed out of his dome-tent, clad only in shorts and boots, but there were two holster belts slung over his bare shoulder. "They must be trying to blow the armored door to get at the gold! Here!" Mitchell tossed her one of the belts.

Mahree caught it, then almost dropped it when she realized it was one of the highly illegal blasters. Just then, the whine of a pulse-gun broke the stillness.

The blue energy bolt hummed past, so close she could smell it. The 81

shot had come from the entrance to the Royal Tomb, just upstream from the Camp. "Gordon!" she yelled, half in appeal, half in protest as he raced past, heading directly for the site of the explosions.

"Protect the lab!" he shouted back. "Get Khuharkk' and Greyshine to set up a defensive perimeter with the repulsor wards!"

"Wait!" Mahree yelled. "Don't--" Her cry was cut off, and she fell flat as another pulse-bolt slashed randomly into camp, hitting the edge of Sumiko Nobunaga's dome-tent. The Japanese woman's cry of pain shocked her.

Anger flared, and Mahree found herself on her hands and knees, scrabbling forward, after Gordon.

Moments later, she was running barefoot through the night, the heavy holster belt slung over her shoulder. Another pulse-bolt ripped through the night.

"I'm coming too!" she shouted at the figure she could barely see running through the moonlight.

"Head for the supply dump!" Mahree heard him yell.

She did, swerving to follow him as another pulse-bolt hit the canyon wall to her left, unleashing a shower of small rocks. Her feet stung, but Mahree ran silently, unwilling to give the unseen shooter the chance to aim at her voice.

Behind her the camp erupted with Heeyoon snarls, Simiu growls, human screams and yells, plus the quick chatter of Drnian as people demanded to know what was happening.

She was panting as she reached the supply dump. "Gordon?" she whispered, halting. A hand clamped onto her arm, dragging her down, pulling her behind the metal boxes of the dump.

"Stay down!" he hissed.

Whap! A blue pulse-bolt passed just over her head, hitting the ground with a spurt of electrical flame.

They huddled together. Mahree's ears still rang from the explosions that had first awakened her. Her heart beat frantically, and for a second, she remembered Claire's worry.

"What's happening?" she whispered. "Who's doing this?"

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"Smugglers, it's got to be. From Sorrow Sector, I'll bet," he hissed.

Of course, Mahree realized. The treasure would draw them like flies. Aloud she said, "We've got to get up there, stop them from getting into the Tomb!"

"Too dangerous," Gordon growled, breathing heavily. "They've got nightscopes. Infrared trackers. You're a glowing target whenever you leave shelter. So stay low!"

"And you?" She felt new anger at him for having the contraband blasters, furious anger at the unseen shooter, and sick worry for Sumiko and anyone else hurt by the random firing. "What are you going to do?"

"You lay down a series of quick blaster shots at the shooter's position." His shadowed form rose, crouching, preparing to spring forward. "I'll make a run for the canyon rockface, and try to flank him. It's in moon-shadow there and the rock is still warm with the heat of day. It'll mask my body heat. Ready?"

She thumbed off the safety on the blaster. "Ready," she whispered, sick with fear.

"Now!" he yelled, sprinting away.

Mahree stood up quickly and snapped off four blaster shots at the earth ramp that led up to the Royal Tomb's entrance. Four yellow beams slashed along the ramp-line, blinding her with their light. Something alien howled with pain.

She had aimed where her memory said the dusty path ran, using the slant of the ramp as a guide.

Claws scrabbled behind her. She whirled, blaster ready, squinting as she tried to focus her dazzled eyes. "Halt!"

"It's me," snarled Professor Greyshine, his voice panting as the Heeyoon surged up beside her, moving on all fours. Another four-footed figure scampered after him, and her nose caught a familiar, musky scent. "And Khuharkk'."

"Honored MahreeBurroughs!" the Simiu growled in his own language, plainly shocked. "You are holding a weapon! How could you?"

Mahree's temper snapped, and she snarled back at him in perfect Simiu, "Do not presume to judge me, youngling!

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It is not for youngsters to judge the honor of their elders! Look to your own honor, O impudent one!"

Khuharkk' whined, then ducked his head. "A thousand pardons, Honored MahreeBurroughs."

The memory of that agonized howl she'd heard was haunting her. Did I kill someone? Who? Oh, God!

"What's happening back at camp?" she whispered at Greyshine, switching to Heeyoon. "Is Sumiko all right?"

"For the moment," Greyshine replied. "Strongheart got Sumiko to safety in the Lab, along with the others. Etsane is setting up repulsor-ward poles.

What do we face here?" She told them as much as she knew. "Gordon should be almost to the Tomb entrance by now. There's been no more pulse-gun bolts. But I heard the sounds of several people moving on the ramp slope, just before you arrived."

"They're after the sarcophagus?" Khuharkk' growled. "And the Mizari relics,"

Greyshine said angrily. "No! They shall not have them! Khuharkk', come with me to the creek. Gordon approaches on the left, the Ambassador holds the center, and we will flank on the right, moving up canyon. Come!"

"They've got nightscopes," Mahree warned.

"The water will cool our body heat," Greyshine promised. "And we shall be cautious, and smell them before they can see us."

In seconds, they had vanished into the night.

Scrieee!

A yellow blaster beam reached out toward the creek, striking rubble and sand. No one cried out. Mahree cursed under her breath. That had come from a new position on the ramp, from lower down. Gordon? Or someone else? How many smugglers were there?

Voices cried out near the Tomb entrance. She recognized a Heeyoon curse and a Drnian scream. Gordon was right, she thought. Only Sorrow Sector could bring together so many diverse species all bent on theft.

Human footsteps approached from the Camp. Mahree dropped below the crate rim and looked back. The tall, lanky form of Etsane Mwarka, blackness within blackness,

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gestured at her. "Where are they?" she called softly, her deep voice filled with rage.

"Sumiko? How is she?"

"Wounded, but Strongheart says she'll be okay." Etsane joined her behind the pile of metal crates. On the ramp slope, the sound of a body falling shocked Mahree's ears. "Where are the jackals who attacked us?"

Mahree levered herself into a crouch, peering over the pile of crates. "Up there. On the ramp to the Tomb. But they've got infrared scopes, pulse-guns set for kill, and at least one blaster. Gordon is trying for the Tomb entrance.

Khuharkk' and Greyshine are moving up the creek."

"Good. We'll take the ramp!" Etsane stood up and started around the pile of crates.

"Wait! You're unarmed!"

"I'm armed," Etsane said harshly. "I've got the oldest and best weapon humans ever created. A sling. I used it to guard my father's goat herd from leopards."

"You what?" Mahree was incredulous.

"He was a an old-fashioned guy who believed in the traditional weapons, and taught me to use them." Etsane's teeth flashed white in her dark countenance. "Trust me, I can handle myself. Come on, cover me!"

As Etsane darted away, Mahree stood up, assumed a wide-footed stance, and snapped off a couple of shots at the ramp, careful to close her eyes as she squeezed the trigger this time.

Scrieee! Scrieee! shrieked the coherent energy beams as they leaped out in an angry wash of pure energy.

Mahree began to run after Etsane as the young woman dived for cover behind a boulder lying near the bottom of the earth ramp. Her feet protested.

"Ow! Etsane, wait up! We can fight from here."

Just as Mahree reached the boulder, a yellow blaster beam screamed over her head, hitting the metal crates of the supply dump. Boxes blew apart.

From the Tomb entrance at the top of the rampway, Gordon's voice rang out.

"Surrender!"

In the moonlight, Mahree could only make out the vague

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shapes of two people struggling at the top of the ramp. Gordon and someone else. Etsane pointed suddenly at the rampway bottom. "There's the sniper.

Get him!"

Mahree froze, her finger on the trigger. Could she really kill like this?

"Dammit!" Etsane was on her feet. Her sling whirled, then her shoulder snapped forward as she launched her missile. A human scream rang out.

The Iconographer hissed with triumph.

"Gordon?" Mahree yelled. "You okay?"

"They're running!" he yel ed back. "The gold's safe!"

"Let's go after them!" Etsane was panting and shaking with excitement. "We can't let them get away!"

"There are too many!" Mahree said, grabbing the young woman's arm. "Let them go. They didn't get what they came for."

The Ethiopian settled back on her heels, grumbling under her breath.

Suddenly, up canyon, on the opposite side of the creek, rocket engines flared redly and something that resembled a ship's lifeboat lifted out of the night shadows. It hovered close to the ground for a moment as a running figure reached it and jumped to make it onboard; then its belly jets flared blinding bright against the darkness. The roar of its takeoff filled the close-set canyon walls. Mahree and Etsane huddled together, hands clamped over their ears, as the thieves made their escape.

Seconds later, the ship was just a rapidly moving star in the night sky.

Gordon called down to her, his voice overlaid with the tremor of pain. "Come on up, Mahree. The Tomb's safe. The smugglers are gone. And ... and I need help."

Mahree got to her feet, wincing as a sharp stone stabbed her foot, then stumbled forward, forcing Etsane to walk, rather than run, up the night-darkened rampway. Before they could even start up it, Greyshine and Khuharkk' joined them from the creek, their fur dripping. Mahree felt a moment's pang for Khuharkk', knowing how Simiu hated to get wet.

"Honor was served!" growled Khuharkk' in a shaky

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voice. "I fought one Simiu, and Greyshine knocked down a Dmian. They ran off when they lost their weapons." Etsane grinned wildly. "I got one too!

Filthy jackals ... I hate tomb robbers!"

Mahree's shock at hearing that the smuggler Simiu had chosen to use weapons was only exceeded by her shock at Etsane's wild exultation at having caused bodily injury-- perhaps even death. She took a deep breath as she holstered the blaster, trying to steady herself.

From the top of the rampway, she could hear someone-- it must be Gordon--

being wretchedly sick. "Gordon? You okay?"

Worriedly, she broke into a shaky run, ignoring the pain of sharp stones against her bare feet. Greyshine followed with the light-globe.

Gordon was sitting back on his heels, wiping his mouth, by the time Mahree reached him. There was a body lying near him, in the shadows.

Mahree looked down at it. "Is he--?"

Gordon nodded weakly. "Dead. Knocked my blaster out of my hand and was on me before I knew he was even there. We wrestled, and then I... I..."

As Greyshine arrived with the lamp, she could see--and wished she hadn't.

The smuggler was a Heeyoon male. He lay on his back. There was no sign of a blaster wound, but the neck lolled at an unnatural angle. Broken.

"Gordon," she said quietly, "It was self-defense. There was nothing else you could have done."

"I know," he muttered. In the harsh light of the lamp, his face was gray beneath the tan.

Mahree took a deep breath--and promptly gagged. The dry night air was full of the smell of Gordon's vomit, and another, even stronger smell. Roasted meat, charred fur.

Clapping a hand over her mouth, she swallowed bile. "What happened?"

Mitchell gestured wearily at the armored door that had been placed over the opening to the tunnel. It sagged to one side, and there was a gaping hole where its locking mechanism had been. "They blasted the security door, 87

which was the explosions we heard. But the Tomb chamber itself was protected by a stasis field, which delayed them long enough for me to get here. When the Heeyoon jumped me, the Simiu went in. He must've tried to short-circuit the time lock on the field ..."

Mahree and Greyshine moved over to peer inside the door. When she saw what lay inside, in a charred puddle of fur, meat, and blood, Mahree staggered back, retching.

Etsane put a steadying arm around her shoulders as she heaved. Finally, wiping her streaming eyes, she straightened up.

In the hard-breathing silence afterward, Greyshine's calm, measured words sounded incredibly routine and ordinary. "One of my people led them, I see.

He carries the dye-mark of a Pack Leader. Khuharkk', please go and ask Strongheart to bring live flame. We must cremate the Pack Leader."

"Yes, Professor," the Simiu youth rumbled softly. Mahree noticed blood streaking his coat, and realized that he'd been bitten on the shoulder--

probably during his fight with the other Simiu. He turned and headed down the ramp, limping slightly.

Gordon looked over at Greyshine. "Professor, I suggest cremating him where the smugglers' lifeboat took off. I don't think this fellow deserves to have his ashes mingled with royal dust."