Serpent's Gift (14 page)

"Change their minds?" Despite his effort to keep it level, she'd heard the bitterness that tinged his voice.

"There is a good chance that the Mizari Archaeological Society will not fund the dig further .. .
c'est bien dommage,"
he admitted heavily. "They are sending Esteemed Rizzshor and one assistant to make an evaluation. If they decide against us. .." he trailed off.

She was distressed for him. "Oh, Serge, I know how disappointed you must be! You were counting on the Mizari to help, weren't you?"

"We were," he replied, struggling not to sound curt. It was not easy for him to talk about something he felt so strongly about, but
An
his sessions with Rob Gable in the past months, he'd painfully learned that if you expected people to share with you, you had to start by giving something of yourself. "But it may not be the end-- Jeffrey Morrow has promised to give us some funding personally, so we can continue, at least for the moment. We will be opening up more caverns, because the two we have worked on to date seem to be, as miners put it, 'played out.' "

"I've got my fingers crossed for you," she promised, shifting restlessly in the cramped space.

"We are nearly there," Serge said, pointing to the mountain peaks that were now blotting out wide swaths of stars. "But if your legs are tired, you could go back to the passenger cabin."

"I'm okay," she assured him.

Serge was tempted to ask her whether she wanted to sit on the arm of the seat beside him, but he resisted. He thought he was

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making progress in getting back in Hing's good graces, and he didn't want to spoil it.

"So, how is your play?" he asked, after a moment, changing the subject.

"At the moment, we're still learning lines. The director's having academic problems, and he may have to drop out. That'll leave me holding the bag,"

Hing said ruefully. 'Talk about bad timing!"

"You would make a gifted director," he reassured her. "You have had a great deal of experience by now."

"Maybe, but I'd rather make my directorial debut in something I don't have a part in," she said. "And this part, it's a real challenge! It may be the hardest I've ever done. It's difficult, playing somebody old and embittered. Mara is a character who won't let anyone get close to her. .. and now she's alone, and facing the end of her life, and she's beginning to regret, but she doesn't know how to reach out to others."

Serge winced inwardly, wondering whether Hing was trying to twist the knife. Toward the end of their time together, she'd complained that he held people at arm's length, wouldn't let anyone get really close to him. She'd tried to persuade him to open up to her about his feelings, talk about his music, his lost hands, but he'd rejected every such attempt with stony silence . .. and worse.

For a moment he tensed, but then, as Hing chattered on, giving him a complete character sketch of Mara and her history, Serge realized there were no hidden agendas in what she'd said; it was his own guilt that made him hear a silent comparison and accusation.

Vainly, he racked his brain for some way to bring the conversation back to a more personal level when Hing lapsed into quiet once more. "By the way, how is Heather?" he said finally. What he really wanted to know was, "Are you seeing anyone?" but he couldn't figure out a way to make
that
question sound casual.

"She's fine, except that environmental drill we had the night Khuharkk's John blew up really scared her. The poor kid went absolutely white when the alarm went off, and she's been subdued--for Heather--ever since."

"It is frightening to truly realize that there is no air outside," Serge said, gesturing at the viewport. Slowing the
Morning Cry,
he checked his position on the computer map grid, heading the ship for McAuliffe Pass. Stars suddenly winked into view between Shrann Peak and Greendeer Peak--

they would enter the pass in moments.

"That's true," Hing said hesitantly, "but somehow I don't think 79

that's the whole story. Heather's a funny kid . . . she talks a lot, but not much about things that really matter to her. I'm trying to be her friend, and I can tell she likes me, but she doesn't trust me. I don't think she trusts anyone--it's sad, a kid that age."

"I like her," Serge surprised himself by saying. "She is ... tough. What is the English expression .. . spunky,
nonT'

"Spunky,
oui,"
Hing agreed, and he could hear the impish smile in her voice.

"She likes you, too.
Beaucoup.
How do you feel about younger women?"

Repressing a groan, Serge turned to glance at her. "You are joking,
non?"

He could see her grin behind her faceplate.
"Non.
She has a terrible crush on you, so be kind, Serge."

Chuckling weakly, Serge shook his head and turned his attention back to his controls. "Being kind is not something I do very well," he said, recalling some of their arguments.
And neither is commitment. . . or intimacy.

"Au contraire.
You're very kind, Serge," Hing said quietly, a note of fierceness in her voice that surprised him. "I've always known that."

It was the most personal remark she'd made to him since the breakup, and Serge wanted desperately to pursue it, but by that time they were through the pass and approaching the landing lights outside the caverns.
Zut!
he thought disgustedly.
Speaking of bad timing--

What am I going to do about Serge? He wants to try again, I can tell. But
what do I want?
Hing wondered as she stood with Professor Greyshine aboard the
Morning Cry,
waiting to debark. Ahead of her the line of students shuffled slowly forward as Serge helped them down the steep ramp, doubly difficult to negotiate in the irregular gravity.

Frowning, she remembered what it had been like that last week they'd been together. Frustrated by his casual assurances of devotion, Hing had confronted Serge, pushed him, demanding that he talk, as she desperately tried to discover what lay beneath the surface. For days she'd struggled to penetrate that good-humored mask he turned outward. The results had been disastrous . . . first he'd tried to laugh off her demands, then he'd lapsed into sullen silence, and finally he'd lost his temper and shouted bitter recriminations, then withdrawn completely. Hing had packed and left the next day.

I
was wrong to push him so hard,
she thought, shifting uneasily 80

in the uneven gravity that made her right side feel slightly heavier. I
should
have realized how much he cared, not tried to make him say things he
wasn't ready to say.

But revealing how he really felt had been nearly impossible for Serge. It was as though all his deepest emotions were inextricably tied in with the anger that lay smoldering far below the surface ... like a deep river of magma, it bubbled and seethed, and occasionally frightening glimpses of it broke through.

His lost hands ... his lost music. Serge's anger over his accident and its results was slowly poisoning him, had already poisoned a relationship that Hing admitted to herself might have become very serious indeed.

She'd been a heartbeat away from loving him, but something had held her back . . . somehow she'd instinctively sensed that Serge wouldn't truly be capable of a deep and caring relationship until he made peace with his past.

And now . . . what?

Maybe this time we could make it work,
she thought, feeling a spark of longing. She knew that Serge had been seeing Rob Gable intensively ever since their breakup, and she knew Rob well enough to know that Serge wouldn't be able to stonewall the psychologist the way he'd stonewalled and rebuffed her.
Maybe now it would be different
.. .

But she didn't want to risk being hurt again. When she and Serge had broken up, she'd been depressed for weeks. She'd--

Someone nudged her gently, breaking into her musings, and Hing realized with a start that all the students were down the ramp, and Serge was holding out a hand to steady her. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she gabbled, flushing and placing her gloved hand into his. "Sorry, I was ... uh ..."

As she trailed off, concentrating on picking her way down the ramp, Serge's voice came over the frequency they'd selected for "private" communication.

"Rehearsing your lines, yes? I know you too well, you see."

She smiled, relieved that he hadn't guessed the direction of her thoughts.

"You want me to bring up the rear?"

"Please. Cal me immediately if anyone has a problem."

Turning, he led the way toward the cliff wall about a hundred meters away. A spotlight, its beam sharp as a blade without atmosphere to soften and diffuse it, illuminated an airlock set into the rocky face of the cliff at the foot of Greendeer Peak.

It was the first time Hing had been to the mountains, though she'd taken several walks on the surface of the asteroid during her

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time as a student. Watching her step with one part of her mind, she glanced around her. Aside from the lighted airlock opening ahead, the starlight provided too little illumination to permit a real view. Only glimpses of the peaks tantalized her, looming sharply over the little party in their pressure suits.

"Professor, how were these caverns formed?" Hing asked, using the universal channel so all the students could hear his reply.

The Heeyoon hopped over a slagged hummock, then floated ever so gently down to the ground again before replying: "This cavern was formed by the action of water against rock and limestone, roughly a billion years ago. It is fortunate that it survived the cataclysm that tore its world apart. We will be visiting the large cavern where the original artifacts were found, plus a smaller one a short distance from it. Everyone please stay together, because there are many caverns, and most of them are not pressurized. If anyone became lost, it could be very serious indeed."

Hing thought of
Tom Sawyer
and Injun Joe's fate, and resolved to stick close to the others. Serge led the first group into the airlock, and Hing and the Professor waited with the remaining students until the light flashed, indicating the lock was ready to use again.

The air cycled through, the indicators flashed go. "There is a Mizari-normal gravity field within," the Heeyoon told them. "Everyone please tread carefully."

Hing felt the gravity shift as she stepped over the threshold, grabbing her like glue, but she was so enthralled by what she was seeing that she barely noticed.
It's beautiful!
she thought delightedly.

She'd always loved caves and caverns. As a child growing up in Montreal, she'd visited most of the major caverns in North Am. She had vivid memories of the stalactite organ at Luray Caverns, the tiny freetail bats nesting in the ceilings of Carlsbad Caverns, and the magnificent cathedrallike vastness of Mammoth Cave.

But she'd never seen anything quite like this place!

Red-gold stalactites, broken but still huge, reached down toward the stubs of blue-gray stalagmites in a cluster to her right. Flowstone snaked its sparkling way across a ceiling that vaulted upward into darkness.

Serge and the Professor's grids marked out even squares on the slagged, black-splotched floor, but their excavation covered only a fraction of the total area in this one cavern alone.
No wonder they need a whole team!
Hing thought, realizing what a huge task Serge and the Professor had tackled.

Thoroughly excavating even

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this one chamber would take them months . .. years, perhaps.

Against the far wall, protected by glowing protective fields, were the artifacts.

Serge waved them in that direction. "Everyone please remove your helmets," he told them. "This area is pressurized. Do not forget to turn off your breathing paks, so we can conserve them while we are here in the cavern."

Hing removed her helmet and turned off her pak, then followed Serge and the Professor over to admire the artifacts. When they came to the songharp, Hing glanced over at Serge and asked quietly, "Has anyone tried to play it?"

For a second she glimpsed temptation in his expression, then he shrugged and looked away. "No. It would be too much risk to handle it. The years have probably made it brittle."

"Esteemed Ssoriszs believes that these artifacts were left by our Lost Colony," one of the Mizari students said. "Do you believe that is true?"

The Professor hesitated. "I am reserving judgment," he said finally.

"Although the indications so far are favorable. Strontium- rubidium dating confirms the artifacts are from the same era as the Lost Colony. But I want to know
where
these artifacts came from, as well as
when
they were made."

"How can you determine that?" Susan asked.

"Several of these artifacts are made of a ceramic alloy that was central to Mizari manufacturing four to five thousand years ago," Professor Greyshine replied. "Experts will be able to determine their exact place of origin by tracing their magnetic resonances."

A Simiu student standing in front of Hing raised his hand, and she recognized Khuharkk'. "How does that work?" the Simiu asked.

"You will recall our class discussions concerning dating techniques and location pinpointing," Serge said. "Any planet that has a defined magnetic field, such as Hurrreeah, Shassiszss, or Terra can use this type of magnetic

'signature' of origin."

Professor Greyshine pointed to the songharp with its iridescent surface, its scrolled insets, its jeweled frets. "When this--and each of the other artifacts that contain this ceramic alloy--was fired, they all became slightly magnetized. The electrons lined up in patterns that paralleled those of its surroundings. Mizari archaeologists have programs that will compare the magnetic fields known to exist four thousand years ago with those of these artifacts and attempt a match. If they match up to the time
and
the location of the Mizari Lost Colony, then we will know with certainty that they passed this way."

"How wil they know which is the correct pattern?" Hing asked.