Serpent's Gift (10 page)

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the artifacts were partially embedded in the slag," he replied. "At least... they were partially embedded before those fools moved them," he added sourly.

"Yes."

"Can we identify the type of equipment they would have used, and use it to provide another dating check?"

"No," Greyshine said. "Unfortunately not. The sheltered location and the vacuum makes it impossible to tell whether the fusingand pressurization attempts were made three weeks ago, three months ago, three thousand years ago--or three million. Mizari equipment and techniques have simply not changed that much for thousands of years. They have been civilized and technologically advanced far longer than your people--or mine."

"We could open one of the other caverns and begin excavations," Serge suggested hopefully.

The Professor wrinkled his muzzle, revealing his sharp ivory fangs. "The cost, I am afraid, would be prohibitive. If only Horizons Unlimited would give us another donation, we could work on pressurizing Cavern Three."

"Rob mentioned that he will be having dinner with Jeffrey Morrow tonight,"

Serge said. "They are friends, and Rob knows 'how much we need funding.

Perhaps he will let Morrow know that we need another donation."

"Perhaps . .." The Heeyoon trailed off, then gave Serge a sideways glance.

The human eyed him warily, knowing the alien was finally about to voice what was on his mind. "Incidentally, as I was waiting beside the entrance to the shuttle dome, I noticed Hing walking with you, did I not?"

Serge felt the hot rush of blood to his cheeks and silently cursed his Teutonic ancestors. He should have known. Greyshine, like most Heeyoons, was an incurable romantic and a relentless matchmaker. "Earlier today, I invited Hing to accompany us -when we took the class to see the dig. Then, later, I saw her again in the Spiral Arm and took that opportunity to give her the particulars about the field trip," he explained, not looking at his companion. "It saved me a call. Afterwards, she just happened to walk along as I was heading for the hangar, because she was going to the theater for a rehearsal, and it was on her way."

"She has agreed to accompany us to the site?" The alien cocked his head at the human, his eyes gleaming with interest. "She told me yesterday that she was interested in seeing the dig," Serge said, careful to keep his tones casual. "And we can

54

always use another senior student
to help shepherd
the
Intro class,
so I
invited her to
come."

"She is most
welcome, of course!" Greyshine said. "Do not
sound so
defensive, Serge. I was simply pleased to see the
two
of
you
together today.

Perhaps you will become mates again?"

"Uh, Professor ..." Serge began, but the Heeyoon was off and running now, his eyes shining. 'Together, you belong together! You make such an attractive couple--you with your pale headfur and eyes like the midday sky on my world Arrrouhl, she with headfur the color of a starless night, and eyes as black' and sharp as the ice in the Dark Oceans of my world's second moon..."

"Professor..."

Oblivious, the Heeyoon went on cataloguing Hing's virtues. "Never forget, Serge, that mere beauty is fleeting, but Hing's quick wits and kind nature are worth far more in the end than shiny headfur and bright eyes, lad. I am growing older, and so is my mate, Strongheart, but in our love we will always be young." He looked straight at Serge. "You and Hing would make fine pups, together, my young friend. Both of you have strong teeth, shiny eyes, good minds."

The human shook his head. "Simply because Hing agreed to come out to the site and assist us in chaperoning the freshi men around does not mean we are anything more than friends, Professor!"

"But I saw her eyes, as she stared longingly into yours ..."

"For perhaps two nanoseconds!" Serge snapped his fingers sharply. "You call
that
'staring longingly'?" All at once he found himself laughing. It was impossible to be angry with Greyshine; he was so innocent in his

matchmaking. "Professor... if Hing will have me as a friend, that would be wonderful. I don't dare hope for more," he said, knowing he
was
hoping ... he was unable to stop himself.

The alien wasn't deceived. "But if you could win her back, you would be happy again, Serge," Greyshine insisted. "Don't think I haven't noticed how lost you have been without her."

"I miss her, yes," Serge admitted. "But I do not intend to wreck my chance of regaining her friendship by pushing her. If, over time, she grows interested in renewing our old relationship, I'll know."

"Time... yes, your species has time to take such a leisurely no-pressure approach to mating," the Professor sighed. "With
my
people it is different.

We must, as your human poet put it, seize

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the day--the moment! But your people have such splendid adaptations in your reproductive habits." He sighed again, longingly. |"What a delight it would be to have an ever-receptive mate, unbound by the dictates of her estrus cycle! To be able to mate as often as one chooses, ah, that would be bliss!"

"Those who rush, leap on the shadow and miss the prey,'" Serge cautioned dryly, quoting an old Heeyoon proverb that Greyshine had taught him. "Or, as my people put it, 'Don't jump to conclusions.' Humans make things complicated in other ways. It is definitely not as easy as it seems."

"I suppose not," Greyshine allowed. "And while it is true that mating as one chooses, rather than experiencing a mating season or drive, is a titillating concept, it is sad that you humans ¦will never feel the flood of seasonal passion that my species (does."

"We feel passion," Serge protested, smothering a grin. "You have read more human love poetry than I have, and you are always telling me how amorous human poetry is!"

"That is true," Greyshine agreed meditatively. "Donne, Shakespeare, Rilke, Lady Murasaki, Sappho . .. your species writes most eloquently of the heart and its passions."

"The heart and its passions," Serge said firmly, "should be relegated to the proper time and place. At the moment we have Work to do."

'True, true." Greyshine rose to his feet. "But I will be crossing my claws for you, to paraphrase a human idiom I have heard Kkintha ch'aait use."

"Thank you, Professor," Serge said warmly, and went back to work.

Twenty minutes later their computer link buzzed softly, signaling an incoming message. Greyshine took the call. Absorbed in trying to finish his grid before quitting time, Serge paid no attention to the alien until a soft whine of distress made him turn off the sifter and hurry over to his friend and mentor. "What is -it?" he demanded, seeing the alien's flattened ears and downcast expression. "What has happened?"

"That was a message from Esteemed Rizzshor," the Heeyoon said bleakly.

"The Mizari Archaeological Society has decided to send Rizzshor and his assistant to inspect the site, before dispatching the entire team and funding a full-scale dig. Rizzshor will be making a preliminary survey and digging test trenches in more of the discovered caverns. But if no further artifacts are xvered, further funding, he says, will be denied."

56

"But the chances of their finding more artifacts in just two trenches, in two caverns picked at random, are probably negligible!" Serge protested. "They can't do this to us! We have worked so hard!"

"I know," Greyshine said sadly. "But don't despair, Serge. It is entirely possible that the test trenches in the two caverns will turn up something. All it would take would be one small indication; anything, even a broken string from a songharp!"

"And if nothing turns up? No more funding! It takes funding to make discoveries!"

"We can still keep working," the Professor pointed out. "And there are other sources of funding I can apply to receive."

"Certainement,"
Serge muttered bitterly, knowing how remote was the chance of their receiving human or Heeyoon funding if the Mizari turned them down.
Mon Dieu,
he thought, turning away, his shoulders sagging.

What will we do?
¦

Hours later, Heather Farley huddled behind a
balon-wood
sculpture of a Simiu that marked the entrance to the Simiu-adapted wing on Level Three.

Hot, damp air surrounded her, but despite her discomfort, she remained still.. . waiting.

Waiting was always hard, but she could do it when she had a good reason to wait. Like now. Anger twisted in her stomach like a gigantic parasite. She could sense Khuharkk's mind; the Simiu was only a few doors away. His consciousness was open, unguarded, as he concentrated on his Spatial Physics problem.

Let the punishment fit the crime,
Heather thought, glancingat her watch for the dozenth time. Who was it that had originated the saying? Well, in just a few minutes, the old proverb was going to come true.

Leaning back into the safety of her niche, she sent a mental inquiry into the room that lay only meters away. She'd discovered that grasping an alien's thoughts wasn't easy--normally, each species thought in their own language, at least on the conscious levels, and "translating" presented problems. But she'd been practicing ever since she'd left Earth, aboard *^H S. V.
Mclntyre,
which had carried a number of alien passengers, and now at the Academy itself. When Heather concentrated, she could figure out what Khuharkk' was thinking in a general way. It helped that the Simiu had a very open mind.

A slow, anticipatory smile animated the girl's freckled features as she mentally "eavesdropped" again. Khuharkk' was getting

57

sleepy; his eyelids were drooping. Heaving a deep sigh, he signaled his computer link to "save," resolving to get up early tomorrow to finish the last few problems. The Simiu rose from his desk, stretching thankfully. His thoughts brightened, grew -easier to read as he anticipated the warmth of his sleeping pallet, the comfort of his nightly grooming ritual.

That's right, hairball,
his unknown observer thought, narrowing her eyes,
you're tired. . . sleepy. . . so tired. . .

Heather knew she couldn't really influence a living being's thoughts, of course--no one could. She could "read" thoughts and emotions, and project her own thoughts into a receptive mind |to communicate, but "mind control"

was not among her abilities.
Which is too damned bad,
she thought sourly.

My life would be a
lot easier, wouldn't it?

Pulling her computerpen out of the pocket of her green PStarBridge jumpsuit, she turned it over in her hand idly. Too |bad people weren't more like computers. Artificial intelligences were so reasonable, so direct and simple, just explain what you wanted them to do, in terms they understood, and they were always happy to oblige.

And computers never yelled at you and nagged you to clean up your room, like Aunt Natalie. They never called you an "Abomination," the way Uncle Fred had. Thinking of Uncle Fred made Heather scowl blackly. Too bad she hadn't been able to
really
get the old creep for what he'd done to her ... An involuntary shudder wracked her small, stocky form as she remembered the vicious slaps, the wrenched arms and wrists, the yelling, the cursing, the name-calling. As she'd grown, he'd begun hitting harder, then one fateful day he'd used his fists, only stopping when Heather's head had snapped back against the wall, knocking her out.

Uncle Fred had warned his niece not to go to school the next day, but Heather had sneaked out and gone anyway. The school nurse had taken one look at the child's torn, swollen lip, the two black eyes, and the lump on the back of her head, and had pounced on Heather. After she'd questioned her, she'd called in the authorities, and then the cops had been on Uncle Fred like flies on shit.

What an uproar there'd been! Before she knew it, Heather had been made a ward of the court, and deposited in a foster home. And no one had hit her there. They'd even tried to be kind, they'd been nervous around her, afraid she'd read their minds, made most "normal" people nervous.

58

After she'd run away from the Morgans, they'd put her with another family.

But it hadn't taken her long to realize that the] youngest child, far from fearing her as a telepath, was developing an unhealthy craving for telepathic contact. TSS, they'd called it, Telepathic Stimulation Syndrome. It was rare, but not unknown. In some individuals telepathic contact stimulated the|

pleasure centers. These people often grew addicted to telepathy] and would do almost anything to stay in contact with telepaths.

At first, Heather had been pleased that Pamela had wanted to spend all her time with her younger foster sister. But then, when Pam had insisted that Heather should only communicate with her telepathically, and had become jealous of the child's time and attention--fiercely, irrationally jealous--Heather had realized the bitter truth. Pam hadn't cared about
her
at all. Any telepath would have done. She represented nothing but a way for Pam to feel good.

So she'd run away again.

And final y she'd been taken to Melbourne, fol owing extensive telepathic testing. Everything had been different then. It was there that Heather had discovered her true gift, her destiny, as she sometimes thought of it.

No, she couldn't control people, no matter how much she wished she could.

But computers were different. She'd always] been good with them, but last year, Heather had discovered that she, alone of all the telepaths she'd ever encountered or heard of, could telepathically link with computers--and control them.

Organic-based memories had been standard in computers for a < hundred years, mimicking the speed and complexity of human' thought processes.

Heather's discovery that she could telepathically link with and influence an AI had happened during her first months at Melbourne. She'd been working on a tough trigonometry problem, getting nowhere fast. Finally, in frustration, the] girl had directed her thoughts at the computer. She'd imagined her mind reaching into the machine and
forcing
it to render up the correct solution, despite the constraints of the teaching program she was currently using--one programmed
not
to reveal
¦'¦
the correct answer unless directed to do so by the supervising professor.