Ancestor's World (25 page)

She nodded, noting that it was nice to work with someone as sharp as this man.

Gordon nodded back, then changed the subject back to more personal matters. "Mahree ... would you show me that holo of your daughter? I think I'm the only one in camp who hasn't seen it."

He had two daughters of his own; she'd read that in the job file on the way out from StarBridge. And though they were grown, he must miss them as she missed Claire. Mahree dug through her bag and found the holo-cube. In it, her tall, slim, chestnut-haired daughter looked up with oh-too- serious blue eyes. "This is Claire." Mahree handed him the cube.

Gordon took it, his scarred fingers cradling the image. "She's beautiful. And smart-looking. Takes after her mother." He handed the cube back.

Mahree felt... warm. She realized she was blushing again. Putting the cube on the table between them, she pointed at his hands. "Lots of scars. How did they happen?"

Gordon leaned forward, chuckling as he lifted one hand and inspected it.

"Trowel-sharpening scars. Archaeologists religiously sharpen the edges of their trowels. Makes for a clean scrape in an excavation unit, so you don't smudge the soil layers in the profile." He blinked owlishly. "Twenty-five years of trowel scars." He lowered his hand.

She took a chance. "Could I see pictures of your daughters?"

His jaw clenched. Then he smiled, though she saw the pain behind it.

"Sure." Reaching into his overnight bag,

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he turned back, holding two color flats preserved in clear plastic.

Mahree took the flat image pictures. One showed a young woman perhaps eighteen, with red hair and green eyes. The background of the picture resembled a college dorm room.

Gordon spoke quietly. "That's Moira. She's the oldest. Eighteen. The other one is Casey. She's fifteen."

Mahree looked carefully at the second girl. She had red hair too, teeth that were a bit oversized, and a freckled grin that reminded her of Gordon in his unguarded moments. She wore a uniform. She handed the plates back.

"They're beautiful young women."

Gordon took the photo plates from her and put them back into his bag.

"Those photos are three years old. I haven't seen them since their mother took them off to some family business on Nishto, in the Apis System. That was right after the divorce." He faced her again.

She hated seeing the pain in his eyes. "Gordon, I'm sorry." Mahree reached out and touched his hand.

He watched her small, smooth hand that so sharply contrasted with his own gnarly one. The moment grew intense--too much so. Gordon stirred, removing his hand gently. "You know, I'll bet Project Engineer Mohapatra has got a private stash of decent liquor somewhere in here. Think I'll help myself."

He busied himself for a moment, then returned with two glasses.

Mahree raised her glass in a toast. "Let's give 'em hell, Gordon."

He grinned suddenly. "I'll drink to that." He clinked his glass against hers, then drained half of the potent golden- brown brew.

Mahree sipped the fiery liquid, savoring its smoky flavor, then placed the glass on the table. "I'll drink to anyone who saves my life." She heard the ice settle in her glass. "And I think you're pretty special, too."

The moment was interrupted by Captain McAllister's voice coming over the intercom. "We're coming up on the

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dam site now. If you'll look out your window, I'll explain what you're seeing."

Mahree sat back in her chair, both irritated and amused, as Gordon's boots returned to the table, carefully avoiding her still-full glass. "Proceed, Captain." She met Gordon's gaze once again. A different look shone there now. A look of patience.

Together, they marveled at the River of Life, and how its curving course could match their own lives.

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Mahree sat on the hard floor of Krillen's office and watched as the Investigator poured cold tea for her, for Gordon, and for Prosecutor Makwen, who'd been invited to sit in on their meeting. The afternoon heat was stifling, and the coolness of the office felt like a dash of mint.

Gordon noticed her glance and gave her a warm smile. Mahree returned it, sensing again that tenderness, that caring that she wasn't sure how to deal with--it both excited her and made her nervous. By now she could no longer pretend she wasn't attracted to him. She was. And yet... she was only here on Ancestor's World for a few weeks-- perhaps a month or two at the most.

Did she want to start anything under those circumstances?

Especial y since she knew, instinctively, that any relationship with Gordon Mitchell would be far more than just a casual fling between two lonely humans far from home.

"So," Krillen said, after taking a sip of tea, "tell me, please, all about this second attempt on the life of Ambassador Burroughs."

Mahree opened her mouth to do so, then closed it, and gestured at Gordon.

"You go ahead," she said. "I stil

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can't talk about it without getting the shakes."

Mitchell nodded, and proceeded to fill the Investigator in on what had happened the other night.

Krillen and Makwen both listened intently. "And you say a Na-Dina was wandering around the Camp?" the Prosecutor said, when Gordon was finished. "Was the Simiu sure of his identification?"

"Yes, he was."

"And where was Axum all this time?" Krillen asked. "She told us that she'd picked up on the trail of a Long- Neck, and followed it, to make sure it wasn't trying to get near the camp. She'd accidentally shut off her com unit, so she couldn't hear Khuharkk' calling her."

Krillen fixed Gordon with an intent gaze. "And, Philosopher Mitchell, do you believe her?"

Gordon took a deep breath. "Krillen... I do. I'm not sure why, exactly, except that my instincts tell me that Axum was telling the truth. Dammit, I like her.

She's worked hard for me. She's dedicated to what we're doing. I can't believe she'd try to hurt one of us."

The Investigator listened carefully, then turned to Mahree. "And what about you, Ambassador? You who have had dealings with so many species other than your own. Were you present when Philosopher Mitchell spoke with Axum?"

"Yes, I was," Mahree said. "And, Krillen, I believed her, too. Axum seemed genuinely horrified to realize how close I came to death, and even more horrified that one of her own people might have been involved."

Krillen picked up his bronze ruler and sat turning it over in his taloned hands as he thought. "It is true that any evidence against a Na-Dina in this instance is purely circumstantial. The would-be murderer may not have had anything to do with the heat sign the Simiu saw on his night-visor."

"That's true enough," Gordon said.

"What of the faked message Mahree found in her tent?"

"It was gone when we looked for it," Mahree said. "Not surprising, I guess."

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"And who besides Doctor Strongheart might have overheard your conversation about asking Philosopher Mitchell for a private tour of the treasures?"

"The SSC was so crowded we could barely move," Mahree said. "It could have been literally anyone." Makwen fixed them all with a level stare. "I believe it is time for Investigator Krillen to interrogate Liaison Beloran," she said.

"He will be insulted," Krillen said, obviously not relishing the idea. "And he has powerful allies in the ruling party. Allies that go as high as the Royal Family, Makwen."

"This would not be the first time a highly ranked official has been involved in a crime," Makwen pointed out.

"True," Krillen admitted, with an audible sigh. "I have been reaching the same conclusion, Prosecutor. I am not looking forward to that interview, however. I had hoped to finish all of my review of the evidence before tackling the Liaison." The Investigator held up a taloned finger. "As I see it, there are still three possibilities. One: someone from offworld, but unrelated to your Base Camp, killed Bill Waterston and tried to kill the Ambassador, after failing in an attempt to kill both the Ambassador and myself."

"Unrelated to the Base Camp..." Gordon considered for a moment. "You mean from Nordlund."

"Or the smugglers," Mahree added.

"Correct." Krillen held up another talon. "Two: the murderer is actually two people working in concert. One from Base Camp, the other an Off-worlder from outside."

"And three?" Makwen asked.

"Three is that one person, working from Base Camp, is responsible for everything that has happened. Most likely a Na-Dina, either Axum or Beloran."

"Krillen, have you found anything in your forensic analysis from the information we collected?" Mahree asked.

"I have made progress," Krillen said. "The analysis of the murder weapon makes me tend toward possibility two or three."

Mitchell leaned forward. "What did you find?"

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"With the help of the off-world magnifiers, I was able to study the steel bar very closely. The stress marks on it were illuminating. Then I made some tests, using some of the Nordlund pilots who had flown into Spirit this past week, as volunteers. The pressure-grip of a human compared to one of the People is different. The kilograms per square centimeter of force that can be exerted by humans is less than that exerted by the People."

"So the whorl patterns showed that a Na-Dina had gripped the bar to do the killing?" Mitchell asked excitedly. "Almost certainly."

"Beloran," Gordon said. "It's got to be Beloran."

"Gordon, you're jumping to conclusions," Mahree said. "Just because he's a cranky old cuss doesn't mean he's guilty. There's not one shred of evidence that isn't circumstantial to link him to either crime."

Krillen gazed at her, fluttering his fan-ears approvingly. "Very good, my colleague," he said. "You have learned well."

"But a Na-Dina killed Bill!" Mitchell made a frustrated gesture. "You just said so!"

"Correct," Makwen said. "But, Philosopher Mitchell, you are on a world full of millions of Na-Dina. The People work at Nordlund as well as your Base Camp. Personally, I favor the number two choice--that a Na-Dina, working with an off-worlder, committed the crimes. How else would the Na-Dina have been able to land the ship, unless a human or other alien pilot was also aboard?"

"Have you interviewed every off-world pilot, Kril en?" Mahree asked.

"Yes. The chief suspect at this time is one Mario Gonzales Ortega. His regular jumpjet run is to a drilling rig camp in the Mountains of Faith, near the Lake of Stars. On the day of Interrelator Waterston's death, he was logged in as making a run to the Base Camp. He was also the pilot who brought me to Base Camp the day after the smuggler raid."

"So he could have sabotaged the batteries!"

"Perhaps," Krillen agreed. "It is certainly possible.

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Some of my inquiries about Infidel Ortega have been interesting. He is apparently constantly short of funds. He engages in what you off-worlders call 'games of chance.' "

"So that's a motive," Mahree said. "Money. If we consider that a Na-Dina could have been paying him."

"Yes, that is a motive. But what, my friends, could be the motive for our unknown Na-Dina killer?"

Mahree and Gordon looked at each other and shrugged. "Can you think of anything, Investigator?" Gordon asked after a moment.

Krillen shrugged with his tail. "Possibly. I have been tracking reports of unusual activities all along the River of Life, and your smuggler raid is by no means the first time someone has looted, or attempted to loot, one of our ancient tombs. The villages report that looting has increased dramatically since the off-worlders came to Ancestor's World--but that it has been going on for a long time."

"That makes sense," Gordon said. "There's a big market for illegal antiquities." He thought for a moment. "Maybe that so-called 'First Contact'

months ago wasn't the first. Maybe Sorrow Sector made earlier contacts long ago, and kept them very, very secret. This could have been going on for decades."

"For decades!" Mahree felt sudden surprise, then told herself it fit in with the likelihood of a Sorrow Sector smuggler as one of the plotters. If artifact-looting had been confined to the hinterlands of Ancestor's World, so as to avoid official Na-Dina attention, that would explain how the smugglers had known where to raid. The murderer in their midst explained how they'd known when to attempt the raid at Base Camp.

"I hate looters!" Gordon said angrily. "They're always there, and we archaeologists are always just a half-step ahead of them--if we're lucky."

"Have you ever caught any Na-Dina looting the tombs of the Revered Ancestors?" Mahree asked.

"Yes," Krillen said grimly. "And when we do, our penalties are very, very harsh. So looting is rare, among our

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people. But, of late, there has been a tremendous upsurge in their activity."

"Catching the thieves is very hard," Makwen said. "They strike, and then are gone quickly. Almost like the Disappearances."

Gordon looked at Makwen, his expression puzzled. "Disappearances? What disappearances?"

Krillen's ears fluttered, as though the Investigator was embarrassed. "They are widely believed to be a rural fable."

"Not so!" Makwen protested, flaring her ears. "They are real!"

"Tell us about them," Mahree said quietly. "Please?" Krillen sipped his tea, then cleared his throat. "From time to time we receive reports from the backcountry of individuals, a caravan group, sometimes even a small village, suddenly disappearing--just vanishing with no trace." The Investigator put down his cup. "The Ministry of Justice investigated the first few reports very thoroughly, some forty years ago. Nothing was found, except an empty village or inn, always in a very remote area."

"Well, why?'' Mahree asked. "What happened to them?"

The alien blinked. "You must realize that our world is very changeable.

Floods. Thunderstorms. The Ash of Sorrow. Whole villages are sometimes wiped out by these events, or by the jolt of Father's Snoring when it quakes enough to bring down even a Temple. That is enough to account for the Disappearances."