Ancestor's World (17 page)

"Very properly." He glanced briefly to Coreen, who sat on his right; then Krillen looked away and bowed low to Mother's Eye. "Mother Sky, we your Children honor you. Give us another day in which to honor the Ancestors, and we promise to show true devotion." He slapped his tail hard against the ground, as did Coreen.

Mahree quickly slapped her palms against the wet sand. Then she spoke.

"We are finished?"

"Yes." Krillen stood up and brushed wet sand from his knees. He winced.

His hands! They still pained him despite Coreen's healing salve. "Now to our travels. If we leave immediately, we should reach the mesa top before Mother's Eye scalds our feet."

Mahree stood up too. "Thanks to the replacement batteries the Matron gave us and my tinkering with the re

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charger, we'll get there." His colleague brushed sand from her bare knees.

She was dressed as she had been yesterday, though the blouse was of a different color. Her supply bag lay behind her, like his. She bowed to Coreen. "Matron Coreen, thank you for your hospitality. Thank you also for inviting me to your morning devotions."

The Matron smiled with her ears, clearly pleased by the alien female's piety.

"It was a minor sharing. My home is your home, my water your water, my ...

salt, your salt." She was honoring the Ambassador with the offer of salt?

Krillen was both amazed and pleased. Mahree, seeming to understand the importance of her words, bowed deeply.

They left Blue Pond in a glow of good humor. So good he hardly noticed how they flew above the ground, through the unsupported air, until they were nearly at the mesa.

The skimmer slowed as they approached the desolate pile of brown rock.

Mahree looked at him. "Is there a way up to the top?"

Krillen pointed to the southern edge of the flat-topped mesa. "That way. A rockfall ages ago created a ramp of boulders. Sand has blown over it, filling in the crevices. I was able to walk down it when last I was here. It should do."

"Thanks." Mahree aimed the skimmer and sped them that way, unmindful of the pebbles that flew to the touch of her air fans.

When they reached the top of the mesa, there was the jumpjet, just as it was when Krillen had last seen it.

"I'm surprised Nordlund didn't insist on retrieving it," Mahree said.

"They could not. By my order, it has been left undisturbed," Krillen said.

"One of the primary rules is not to disturb the scene of the crime until the investigator has discovered everything he or she can about it."

"But Bill was killed so long ago."

"Long?" Just when he was beginning to think he understood these Humans.

"Two months is not a long time. Some cases I have solved took ten years to close." Mahree kept her eyes fixed on the rock-strewn ground, 120

guiding them safely around several large boulders. Krillen let out his breath.

"Well," she murmured, "now I understand why Gordon was anxious for me to come out here. The sooner we check this out, the sooner he gets back his camp jumpjet."

Ahhh. She was concerned over obligations owed to the Philosopher. "Don't worry. The Nordlund Combine has always diverted a jumpjet to Base Camp, whenever requested."

"Like the one that brought us down from the spaceport? It came again to pick up Beloran and the Vardi." Mahree stopped the skimmer not far from the jumpjet's ramp. "That's very cooperative of them."

"Of course they are cooperative." Krillen waited until the skimmer touched earth, then got out. He reached for his supply bag. "We have great mineral riches in the Mountains of Faith, and the Council has given them exclusive exploitation rights--for off-world trade, that is. Still, our Finders of Fact know the Law wel , and made sure a reversion clause was included in the original contract. Nordlund is thus attentive to our requests."

Mahree chuckled. "I'll bet. Though it seems the Project Engineer has reason to resent our presence." Standing by the rear of the skimmer, she pulled the weather tarp off her equipment and waved at it. "I'll bet this stuff is something not even Nordlund possesses!"

Krillen stared at the off-world devices. "What are they?" Pointing, she explained. "An autocam. Controlled by this gold bead I put just under my eye. See? I wink, it records. I look to one side or another, the camera tracks the same way. I move, it follows after me. With this we can record everything in the jumpjet so we can look at it any time we want to."

She pointed at another device. "That's a portable scanner, tunable from infrared all the way up to ultraviolet. It radiates light, like Mother's Eye, and can reveal residual impressions, leftover heat, wear patterns, stuff like that.

And this"--she pointed again--"is the autosampler. It bags up, seals, and records crime scene evidence from the

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microscopic up to palm-size. I borrowed it from Gordon. This is a standard archaeological field tool."

"Yes indeed," Krillen said, marveling at the off-world technology. No wonder the Modernists were so determined to have it all for their own!

"And, in the best Sherlock Holmes tradition ..." Mahree grabbed a metal band adorned with a stem, at the end of which gleamed a glass tube. She put it on her head and pulled the band down until it covered her forehead.

Then she moved the glass tube in front of her left eye. She smiled at him.

"It's a large-field microscope. It enlarges anything I look at, by powers of ten controlled by my blinking, and the number of lenses that cycle in or out of the tube." Krillen looked down at his supply bag. Into it he'd stuffed his bronze writing slate, a blank sheaf-scroll, ink and stylus, evidence bags, measuring tape, photo-prints of the crime scene he'd taken right after the body was found, a collapsible telescope for distance viewing, a large battery- light--the latest invention of forensic science, able to illuminate the evening without shedding torch fragments on the crime scene--and glass plates for the mounting of blood and tissue samples. Krillen sighed at the unspoken comparison.

Mahree was quick to sense his mood. "Look, I apologize if I'm showing off too much. This is my first chance to try out this stuff. And ... I really want to find Bill's murderer. But, Krillen, you're the one with the gold chevrons, you're the one who is the expert detective. Not me."

Krillen's tail twitched with emotion. He was touched by her words, and the faith she expressed in his abilities. He glanced over to the west, where an isolated range of mountains rose up out of the mesa lands and the town of Salt Dream held onto a precarious existence at the edge of the Great Desert.

The horizon was clear of clouds. He turned back to Mahree. "Very well, then, let us begin."

He waved at the mesa top around them, then up at the open door of the jumpjet. "The first thing you should know is that no rains have fallen since the murder. Nor have any sandstorms visited. The season is too early. And we are

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beyond the reach of Father's Anger, so the Ash of Sorrow has not fallen here in a long time. Thus, the ground is as it was when your colleague died."

Shouldering his supply bag, Kril en took out his sunshade, clipped it to his forehead scales, and noticed immediately the easing of light reflection off the sand. "Now, if you will follow after me, I will retrace my steps up to the jet's stair-ramp, enter the craft, and then proceed to the pilot cabin."

"After you," Mahree said quietly.

Krillen found his old track pattern, where he'd paced over his own footprints time and again during his first examination of the crime scene. A Prime Principle of Case Solving is to minimize the Investigator's disturbance of the crime scene. He was pleased to note that Mahree was careful to follow his footsteps exactly.

Single file, they walked up the ramp and into the stifling hot interior of the jumpjet. Krillen blinked, adjusted his pupils to accept light from the shadows, and then pointed for her benefit. "To the right is the sanitary unit. Its door was unlatched and open when I entered. We stand in the central aisleway. And to our left is the pilot cabin." Picking up his feet, Krillen headed that way, hugging the left-hand side of the aisle.

She gasped. "Is that Bill's blood there on the floor?"

It had dried to a rusty brown in the ensuing two months. He fanned his ears affirmatively. "Correct. There was also brain matter leakage. Tissue and blood samples were taken." Her silence puzzled him. "And there, to the right, is the metal bar used to crush his skull. See?"

Walking slowly, Mahree came closer. Krillen swung his tail to the left, giving her room to walk. The autocam floated over her right shoulder. She blinked her right eye twice, presumably turning it on. Her face was paler than he recalled. Perhaps her sweating, with its loss of fluids and salt, was weakening her. "Do you feel able to continue? Do you need salt? Water?"

"Noooo." Mahree choked, then swallowed hard. She patted the autosampler hanging from her waist-belt, but absentmindedly,

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as if she did not intend to use it. Then she unclipped the scanner from her belt and aimed the device at the metal bar, using her pocketknife to turn it over so the device could record every bit of its surface.

The tubular steel bar itself was very ordinary. Many were used in construction platforms at the dam site, or elevated recording perches at the City of White Stone. "Does your device show anything unusual?"

Mahree clipped the tool back on her belt, then shook her head. "Hard to say.

There are whorl patterns on the bar that could be wear marks. Or they could just be differences in tempering of the metal. I'll have to show these scannings to the Metallurgist when I get back to Base Camp. You say you found no fingerprints on the bar?"

"None."

"Do you mind if I step closer and examine it with my large-field monocular?"

"Go ahead. But be careful not to step in the dust film that lies underneath the bench seats. There could be residual footprints under there."

"Of course." Moving carefully, Mahree stepped to the right, stood on the aisle-facing bench seat where it ran along the outer hull of the jumpjet, and bent forward. Blinking with her left eye even as the autocam hovered over her right shoulder, buzzing to itself, she stared intently at the bar on the floor, again using her knife to roll it over.

Moments later she looked up, rubbed at her neck, then pointed at the bar.

"You're right. No fingerprints at all." She glanced up at him. "Now that we've examined it, will you be taking it back to Spirit?"

Krillen fanned his ears affirmatively. "Yes, now that you have seen the murder site."

"Okay." She stepped down off the bench, again watching where she put her feet. "Now I want to see the pilot cabin."

"You may enter yourself. I've been inside." Krillen peered at the control panel, clearly visible even though the pilot and copilot seats were hidden by the partition walls on either side of the aisleway. "Please record everything 124

inside, including the boot scuff-marks near the entry. Do not forget the settings of the instruments."

Mahree nodded. "Of course." She moved carefully and lightly, walking along the bench seat cushions rather than touching the metal floor. The autocam followed her like an obedient servant. She peered around the partition wall and then went in, carefully, turning her head to record everything. "Okay, it's all recorded," she said after a moment. "If I put on gloves, may I touch the controls? There are some things they can tell me."

"You may," Krillen said. The Na-Dina watched intently as she bent over the pilot's console, unwilling to sit in the seat.

After several minutes of fiddling with the controls, she looked back up.

"Okay, this is interesting. This ship was almost certainly landed by Bill's killer, not Bill himself."

"How can you tell?"

"I compared the chronolog in the ship's computer to the piloting log in the nav-computer. The chronolog says that thirty-two minutes into the flight, Bill put the ship on automatic. At that time, he was heading directly for Spirit. But then, within five minutes, the ship's controls were changed to manual, and course changes were entered to bring the ship over this mesa, where it was landed manually."

Krillen was thinking fast. "You are reasoning that Bill's murderer hid aboard the ship, lured Bill back to his death, then came up here and assumed manual control of the ship to bring it here to land on the mesa top?"

"Yes," Mahree said. "I'd guess that's exactly what happened. There's no reason that Bill would have corrected course to head for this mesa. And if he was forced to land the ship here, why take him back there"--she gestured to the front of the craft--"to kill him, when the murderer could have killed him here in the pilot's seat?"

"I agree with your reasoning," Krillen said. "Besides, from the way the body was lying, and the angle the blows were struck from, I would say that the murderer struck from behind, in a surprise attack."

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He pointed at the controls. "What else do those instruments tell you?"

"Not much," she said. "But hang on a second." She bent over the pilot's seat, examining it with her magnifying lenses. "Well, you're right. Those impressions are definitely caused by a Na-Dina's scales. I wonder just how long before Bill was killed that Axum was perched in this seat. Maybe we should talk to her and to the Nordlund pilots."

"We will," Krillen promised.

"I wonder," she said, staring around her at the cabin, "if the artifact smugglers might be responsible."

"But what would they have to gain?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

Krillen gazed again at the seat, at the soft material that Philosopher Mitchell had told him would mold itself to the body contours of the pilot. "Please record the seat in close- up detail," he said, and, when she was done, he spent several more minutes measuring it minutely from every angle.

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "Axum learned to pilot from observation. Na-Dina are not stupid. Beloran drives the skimmer we are riding in today."

"But I thought that for a Na-Dina to pilot a ship through Mother Sky would be sacrilege!"