Ancestor's World (34 page)

The engineer looked at the clock on his desk, pursed his lips thoughtfully, then smiled coolly at her. "It is a one- month trip from here to Shassiszss, true; however, our ship had to report back home to Earth, have the report approved by management, then made its way to Shassiszss, by way of intervening stops at Hurrreeah, the Apis Worlds, and the Ri homeworld. It's sure to reach Shassiszss very soon now."

Mahree wanted to curse, yell, and stomp her foot. She didn't. Nordlund had assigned a diplomat-engineer to Ancestor's World, one well schooled in the ways of meeting the letter of CLS law while skirting its spirit. "I do hope the report holo-cassette has reached Shassiszss by now." She looked out the window behind the man. "Now, what about the drilling rig out there, in the trench you're excavating for the dam axis. What's its purpose?"

Krillen had been quiet during her radonium word- fencing, but now his ears declared his own curiosity. "Yes, Project Engineer, I wondered the same. Do you mine radonium from under the River of Life?"

Mohapatra shook his head, his expression bemused. "No, not at all, Investigator." The man turned in his high- backed chair, waving at the deep trench cut into the rock bed of the river. "Actually, there are five drilling rigs doing hydrocutting in the trench. They drill holes into the basement sandstone, down which a separate crew pumps grout." The Engineer turned back around, then explained when he saw Mahree and Krillen's confusion.

"I'm sorry. Grout is a slurry mixture of concrete and water that is pumped under pressure into the sandstone base under the dam axis. Also into the canyon wall abutments on either side of the riverbed. It's a standard engineering practice,"

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he said casually, reacting to Krillen's agitation.

The Na-Dina stood and whipped his long tail. "You pump liquid rock into the chambers of Father Earth? Whatever for?"

Mohapatra paused, waiting until Krillen calmed. "My Esteemed Krillen, I'm sorry to upset you. I had assumed that because your people were so advanced in constructing stone block, concrete arch, and earthfill dams of your own that you were familiar with this technique."

Krillen scowled. "Our females at the Temple of the River may indeed know of it. I don't. Explain this grouting."

The Project Engineer smiled broadly, as if preparing to impress a second-year engineering student. "Why, the grout is used to seal small cracks and holes in the sandstone. Even though this rock is nicely dense, with a Mohs'

scale hardness of three-point-five, still, all sandstone has fracture joints and places where water can penetrate." Mahree sank lower in her chair, listening to the man's glib explanation, but feeling more and more like something was being hidden from them.

"So we pump grout into the rock, under pressure, to make a vertical grout curtain," the Hindu said. "The grout also spreads out horizontally, following along natural joints. It hardens quickly. The grouted sandstone is now protected from water 'piping' through the joints and eventually undermining the clay core of the dam. Clear?"

Mahree thought it was clear as mud. "Fine. This grout curtain stops water from seeping around to either side of the dam, or underneath it. But, Engineer, what about faults! Did your drill cores show any underneath the dam site?" Mohapatra's expression froze for just an instant. "Of course not, Ambassador. Ultrasound echo mapping of the strata underlying the First Cataract show a seamless block of sandstone, dipping slightly downhill, in the direction of Spirit." The engineer smoothed his perfectly coiffed hair.

"Drill cores were taken from either side of the canyon, and in the axis trench.

We found no evidence of recent rock slippage."

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Krillen's ears showed puzzlement. "Engineer, Father Earth shakes all the time. Thus, the earth moves. What do you mean?"

Their host turned his attention from Mahree to the Investigator. "Krillen of the Law, you are correct. But just because the ground shakes does not mean the stone underneath the diversion dam, or the main dam trench, moves itself.

The quaking of Father Earth usually originates some distance away, in the Mountains of Faith and very deep down, in the vicinity of where the southern tectonic plate is subducting under the mountains." The engineer smiled confidently.

Mahree knew just enough geology to follow the man's calm explanation. "I'm sure you're correct about the earthquakes, Mr. Mohapatra. But tell me, why was this site chosen? Why not farther south, and farther up the River of Life?"

The calm certainty in the man's face never wavered.

"Because this is the last place where the river canyon exists. Beyond this spot, the land downstream flattens out, the canyon disappears, and there is nothing between here and Spirit but a wide valley full of extensively farmed bottomland." Mohapatra smiled again. She was getting sick of that smile.

"You see? I promised that all your questions would be answered."

Mahree nodded curtly. "Engineer, that bottomland you mentioned. Its fertility depends on annual flooding by the River of Life, which deposits new silt on old fields. Those fields feed twenty million Na-Dina living along the river, and over a hundred million in the delta." She paused, wishing something she said would shake the man's self- assurance. "Just like the Nile did in Egypt for four and a half millennia--until the Aswan High Dam blocked the silt-carrying waters. Won't this dam cause the same loss of fertile silt to the farms?"

The man's chin trembled, as if he was becoming tired of her negativism.

"Ambassador, the art of dam-building has improved in three centuries. The design of the dam's clay core, besides including the standard drain pipes for seepage

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control, also calls for ten concrete conduits lined with magnetohydrodynamic pulsators. They will lift the silt-laden bottom-waters up and over the crest of the dam."

"Oh." Mahree felt totally embarrassed. Standing up, she gestured to Krillen that they should leave. The Project Engineer also rose, his look solicitous.

The engineer bowed slightly. "We are professionals, madam. The silt problem is well known, and we warned the Elders of it before the contract was signed. The MHD units will ensure the continued fertility of the Forty-Sixth Dynasty's farming heartland. Plus provide irrigation water for opening up arable depressions lying near the river. Satisfied?"

Mahree wasn't. "What was your relationship with Pilot Mario Gonzales Ortega?"

Fury showed briefly in Mohapatra's dark eyes. "He was my employee. Now tragically dead as a result of a fatal character flaw. Nordlund Combine is paying proper death benefits to his family. Now are you finished?"

She blinked as if astonished. "Death benefits? You mean his income from contraband smuggling wasn't sufficient?" Mohapatra almost said something rash. Instead, his facile face showed hurt innocence. "I do hope, Ambassador, that the CLS will not try to besmirch the memory of a fine employee."

Mahree smiled sweetly at the engineer. "Project Engineer, you have been most helpful. Investigator Krillen and I can find our way out. We will return your jumpjet to you when the Na-Dina Council of Elders has no further use for it. Have a pleasant day."

Mohapatra did not reply. But his eyes said volumes.

She turned to leave the office. Beside her, Krillen's ears showed him curious to learn why she had just insulted the Project Engineer. Mahree would explain on their way to Spirit. She was overdue on her promised call to Claire and Rob, and the FTL communicator at Bill's old embassy office would do quite nicely. She also planned a separate call to Shassiszss, and for once she wasn't concerned about industrial espionage.

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Nordlund was playing too fast and free with their assurances, and the presence of radonium here raised the stakes for the CLS. Her office on Shassiszss should be able to dig up the original survey report of a certain Mizari exploration ship. The one that came here on the heels of Nordlund's bland announcement of an invited First Contact, their contract, and oh, by the way, we just happen to be building the biggest dam in the Known Worlds.

Then maybe the iron face of Narasimhao S. M. Mohapatra would crack.

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Mahree fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair. She was in a private office of Bill's leased embassy, in downtown Spirit near the Ministry of Dynastic Affairs. The embassy was part of the Temple of Administration. The Ministry's diplomatic office lay outside the Temple itself and just a few hundred meters from her embassy building. The Na-Dina housekeeper had let Mahree and Krillen into the building, explaining that the local Na-Dina trade representatives were downtown meeting with the Minister.

Mahree had then had taken her leave of the Investigator. She needed privacy. Her foray into the plush, scented office of the Project Engineer had left her feeling ill at ease, even angry. Reaching for the desk's holo-tank control pad, she started to code in her call to Shassiszss, but was stopped by a red busy light. She tapped the office intercom. "Doseen, why is the FTL

line blocked?"

"Because," the housekeeper replied, "there is an incoming call on the Horn That Calls The Stars for you, Ambassador. From a Robert Gable of StarBridge. Do you accept?"

In spite of her surprise, she said, "Of course."

Mahree watched the air above the tank shiver, then deepened

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into a three-dimensional image of Rob's office. He sat with his cat Bast in his lap, his legs crossed, his manner casual and friendly. He looked terrific, she thought, and she realized--for the first time--how much she'd missed him.

"Hi, beautiful!" he said cheerily, even as Bast meowed, blinking warily at the image they were watching at their end. "Thought I'd surprise you! You haven't been that easy to reach lately."

Her face burned. "It's a wonderful surprise, Rob. It's good to see you."

Some of the cheer left him as he studied her expression. She felt her color deepen. "I've gotten a brief communique from Khuharkk', so I've got some idea of the magnitude of your task there--and I've heard about the attacks on you." He leaned forward. "Honey, I'm worried. Of course, you've faced tougher problems than this and walked away grinning, but"--he shrugged self-deprecatingly--"I can't help worrying. So I thought I'd give you some moral support, anyway."

That was Rob, always supportive, always there for her. She felt a flush of guilt and confusion.

"So, how bad is it, Mahree?" he asked solicitously. "You look real y flustered. Did I call at the worst possible moment?"

"No!" she said too quickly. "No, really. You just surprised me, that's all. I was getting psyched up to call Shassiszss--and that call won't be much fun. My mind was involved with that--" She took a deep breath and tried to collect herself. They hadn't spoken in weeks. She was happy to hear from him, happy to see him. She was just feeling a little ... conflicted.

"In some ways, things are much better," she told him in a steadier voice,

"now that the smugglers are gone. The murder investigation is progressing, and Gord--Doctor Mitchell and the salvage archaeology team are doing wonders despite having to deal with hundreds, maybe thousands of sites."

She grinned and held out her arms. "And I'm getting a great tan!"

Rob eyed her, his mood thoughtful. Bast grew impatient

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and left his lap, disappearing from the hologram. "Things working out okay between you and Mitchell?"

She felt the color returning to her cheeks and opened her mouth, then thought twice about her answer. "What do you mean?"

His eyes never left her face, giving her what she always called his psychologist's stare. "The two of you are poles apart philosophically, politically, culturally. About the only thing you might have in common is your work ethics. Gordon can be difficult in the best situation, and you're not in the best situation now. I know you're the quintessential diplomat, but you've never suffered hardheads easily. So, I guess that's what I meant."

It was her turn to give him the stare. She raised an eyebrow. "Is it?"

One comer of his mouth turned up in a sheepish grin. "Maybe not completely. He's a pretty romantic figure. He's there. I'm here. We've been apart a long time."

Without answering his original question, she offered, "When I'm done here, I'll come for a long visit with you and Claire." It hung there between them, unsaid. "Then we can talk."

Rob blinked, then brushed at his dark, wavy hair. "Okay," he agreed, without pushing on the other topic. He flashed her an easy grin. "Claire's adjusting well to StarBridge. But she misses you. We both do."

"I miss you, too. Both of you." She felt confused, frustrated, and upset. What am I doing? This is awful!

As if he could read her confusion across the light-years, Rob nodded and said evenly, "Sounds good, Mahree. I'll look forward to that long visit. Stay safe. And always remember---I'm here for you."

"I know that, Rob," she said sincerely. "That's always been my one constant in life."

She waved as the connection ended and his image popped out of existence.

As soon as it did, she felt more confused than ever. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she'd never felt lonelier. Over the years and the months and light-years of distance between them, Rob and Mahree had lived

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separate lives together. They'd both had affairs, and they'd both tolerated those interludes--most of which had occurred during their longest and most painful separations.

But in all that time, Mahree had never before come close to actually falling in love with anyone else. Her heart felt leaden with the choices before her. She loved Rob--seeing him, hearing him had confirmed that in the most graphic way possible. But Gordon fulfilled her in a way she hadn't experienced in a long, long time. Somehow, their affair had passed from a pleasant liaison into something much more serious. And this time, she was afraid that focusing on work--her usual method for dealing with her separations from Rob--wasn't going to make the need in her heart go away.

Clenching her teeth, she turned back to the console and prepared to let work take her mind from her more personal conflicts. She punched in her code for the call to Shassiszss.