Serpent's Gift (6 page)

"That is good news," Greyshine said. 'They will have better equipment than I possess. Better scopes, a full-size sifter, there are so many things we need!

More equipment, more hands"--his muzzle crinkled mischievously--"or more manipulatory tendrils, as the case may be. Only then will we be able to do the most thorough job of investigating the site and uncovering any additional artifacts."

"It is regrettable that nothing has turned up except for the discoveries the engineering crew uncovered and moved," Ssoriszs said. "I am still puzzled that you have not found a star-shrine. The Star Seeker Sect should have had a star-shrine."

"It is entirely possible that they did have one, and we simply have not located it," Greyshine pointed out. "We have mapped and gridded only half the site, and analyzed less than half of that. Not to mention that there are many subsidiary caverns still unexplored. With only Serge as a full-time assistant, it has been slow work," he finished, sounding a bit defensive. "The only reason we are not at the site now is that he was called upon to serve as an Orientation Guide."

"I fully understand and sympathize," Ssoriszs was quick to reassure the Heeyoon. "If only I were trained, then I could be of more help to you!"

Greyshine cocked his head at the Mizari thoughtfully. "Esteemed One, I believe that you are more anxious for our discovery to be linked to the Lost Colony than I am." The Heeyoon's were bright with curiosity. "And that strikes me as odd,

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for making such a discovery would insure my place among the great archaeologists of all time--Blackmoon Runner of my people, Zhoriszen among yours, Schliemann and Emerson of Terra. Why is this of such intensely personal interest to you, if I may inquire?"

Ssoriszs' manipulatory tendrils twitched with emotion as he regarded the other gravely. "You are correct as to my interest being intensely personal, Esteemed Professor. Proving a link between your dig and the Mizari Lost Colony would assure your future ... but for me, it would return to me a piece of my past that I had thought forever lost. And we Mizari treasure our past. ..

though that was not always so," he finished regretfully.

"Why
did
they leave?" Greyshine asked. "The records mention spiritual and ethical conflicts, but there was no mention of violence between the Star Seekers and the rest of your homeworld."

"Violence!" Ssoriszs shook his head--a gesture he'd picked up from Rob Gable years ago. "Thank the Star-Spirits, it never came to that, Greyshine.

But the Seekers were ridiculed for their beliefs, made to feel unwelcome on their own world. Eventually they felt so unwanted that they elected voluntary exile from their world and their people." He sighed, his tendrils rippling mournfully. "Their departure marked a failure for my people, Professor. One of our worst."

The Heeyoon's tongue lolled slightly from his mouth as he listened, fascinated. "I have never before heard the story related from that viewpoint, Esteemed One. And, forgive me, but it seems a trifle ... removed .. . from our time to cause you personal distress."

Ssoriszs hissed softly, ruefully. For a moment he was tempted to confess to the Heeyoon that his family was far away, removed from him in thought and spirit, as well as distance, and that he longed to discover new kin--to try again with them to forge bonds of blood, of understanding. He yearned for an end to his loneliness. But he only said, "I am very old, Greyshine, and the elderly often fixate on strange things--is that not true for your people, as well?"

"It is," the Heeyoon admitted. "It seems to be true for many different species.

Young Serge reports the same thing among humans."

"I know," Ssoriszs said, straightening his body. He made a graceful wave of apology and dismissal with his tendrils. "Please accept my apologies for disturbing your rest, Professor. I will let you know the instant I hear from Rizzshor. In the meantime, good fortune in your digging."

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"Many thanks, Esteemed One," the Heeyoon replied.

Ssoriszs terminated the connection, then thoughtfully made his way out of his quarters, down the hall of the instructors' wing, then into the lift. Reaching the surface level, he slithered along the corridors until he came to the Observation Dome. Coiling himself in the middle of it, he stared thoughtfully up at the profusion of stars--stars of all colors and degrees of brightness--

wondering, for the thousandth time, whether the archaeological dig out at the Lamont Cliffs might solve the ancient mystery of the fate of the Lost Colony.

Silently, Ssoriszs invoked the Spirits of the Stars and the Sands, praying that it would.

Securely strapped into the copilot's seat aboard the
King,
Heather Farley watched Serge at the control panel, admiring the quick, deft fingers on the controls as he eased the shuttle out of the docking cradle. Suddenly her eyes narrowed. Something about the shape and texture of the young man's hands was .. . wrong. Heather frowned. The fingers--long and perfectly tapered. Too perfect. The skin texture--even-grained, without blemish. Again, too perfect. The nails, smooth and unsnagged-- perfect.

The
King,
now free of the cradle, swung around in space, propelled by tiny taps on its steering jets, then Serge reached over to boost the shuttle's thrust as they eased away from StarBridge Station. As he did so, his sleeve pulled back a little, and Heather could clearly make out the spot above his wrist where the too- perfect covering ended and human skin began. The hairs above that spot were coarser, slightly darker, and crushed where the sleeve had rested.

But the hairs below .. . fine, golden, and perfect. . Suddenly Serge's hands froze on the controls, and Heather looked up to find his eyes fixed on her face. She'd been caught staring--there was no point in denying it. "Serge,"

she said quietly, "what--what happened to your hands?" < ¦ "I had an accident when I was a little older than you," he replied tersely. "I was working on my parents' aircar--the timing was a bit off--and I made a mistake.

A big mistake." "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," she whispered. Usually, she couldn't have cared less about other people's tragedies, but Serge had been so
nice--
and he was so handsome. It hurt her to think of how it must have been, but she could see it wouldn't be a good idea to ask. Instead, Heather
reached--

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--and encountered his pain, as raw and fresh as the day it had happened, the pain that lay buried in his mind, far below the conscious level. For a moment she was
there,
on that fateful day, she
was
Serge, hearing the hissing sputter, then seeing the sudden white-hot flare from the engine. A heartbeat later she/he was staring with disbelieving horror at two charred, oozing horrors that had replaced her/his hands. Pain seared along the deepest fibers of her/his mind, pain that was every bit as white-hot and blazing as the original blast.

Pain .. .

As the echo of that agony resonated in Serge's mind, Heather quickly withdrew, not wanting to share any more of that particular memory. Despite her inward wince, she was experienced at keeping knowledge gained by telepathic snooping off her face.

But Serge was staring at her, startled.
Did he feel that?
she wondered, but no. Touching the surface of his mind lightly, she was reassured--and amused--to find that it was her language that had startled him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been staring," she amended.

"That's okay." Serge shrugged. "I should have warned you."

I
know why you didn't,
Heather thought.
You can't stand to talk about it, any
more than you can stand to think about it...

As she cast about for a way to change the subject, the viewscreen suddenly lighted up. A heartbeat later a ship burst out of metaspace in a rainbow blossom of colors. Heather gasped in astonished delight. "That's beautiful!"

"When I first came to StarBridge, one of the things I missed most about Earth was sunsets," Serge confided, setting their course and speed. He smiled reminiscently. "I still miss them, but now I would miss that sight even more if I went back to Earth."

"Where are you from?" Heather asked, sitting up a little straighter. Never in her short life had an eligible male paid this much attention to her, much less anyone like Serge. He was different. . . older, polite. Real class. His faint continental accent was exotic, charming, especial y in light of his mel ow baritone. Not to mention his looks .. .

"Eurostate. Belgium province," he said, then glanced over at Heather as he completed the last of his navigational checks, then switched on the automatic. "And you?"

"OldAm."

"Which metroplex or city?"

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Now it was Heather's turn to shrug. "I was born in Baltimore. After that, it was Kaycee, Deecee, Seattle . .. then New York, just before I left for Melbourne."

He glanced over at her quickly, and without even extending her telepathic sense, Heather could read his surprise, then a surge of pity. The emotion angered her, though her expression remained neutral. I
don't want your pity,
she thought,
and you can take your bleeding heart and shove it up your--

"Look!" Serge was pointing. "There is StarBridge in the center of the viewport. That is your new home, Heather."

The girl stared in fascination, forgetting her irritation. Star- Bridge Academy showed as several large lighted circles in the middle of a dark, irregular mass whose shape was only discernible because it blotted out the

background stars.

Home,
she thought,
could it be?
She bit her lip, then smiled without humor.

At least I'm billions of klicks away from Aunt Natalie and Uncle Fred. They'll
never leave Earth, those chickenshit assholes. And I'll never go back. At
least I've seen the last of them.

"How big is the asteroid?" she asked.

"It is cone-shaped," Serge replied, "and the part we are viewing is the wide, flat top of the cone." He traced an irregular shape in the air. "The surface where the Academy is located is about two hundred and seventy kilometers across. Those four domes are the shuttle dome, the Arena--which is an auditorium that can be converted for all kinds of sports--the botanical garden, and the Observatory Lounge. But most of the school extends deep

underground."

Heather's eyes narrowed. "Hey, I see more lights, little ones. What's over there?" She pointed to a spot to the left of the school.

Serge smiled. 'That is our archaeology dig. I have been helping Professor Greyshine excavate some caves in the Lamont Cliffs about twenty

kilometers from the school." Enthusiasm tinged his voice. "We are hoping to make some exciting discoveries."

"Yeah? Like what?" She remembered reading articles in
Intergalactic
Geographic
about archaeological sites. Frankly, it didn't sound like much fun, all that digging and sifting.

"More artifacts, for one thing," Serge said.

"You mean you've found some already?" Heather's mind was off and running, presenting her with vivid images of Tutankhamen's famous golden mask and other treasures she'd seen on holo-vid programs.

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"Unfortunately, we didn't
uncover them ourselves," Serge
admitted. "The
engineers who
come to StarBridge to monitor
the radonium
deposits actually found them--in some cases, they literally stumbled across them.

They opened up a cavern to install some new monitors, and there they were, lying half-buried in dust. Our tests indicate those objects are almost five thousand years old." Serge's handsome features darkened. "Unfortunately, in their ignorance, the engineers picked the objects up and handled them, so much valuable information about them was lost."

"Why?"

"If a find is moved, the archaeologist loses the chance to study where it was lying, and how. A trained person can examine an object in situ and tell a great deal about how long it has been there, whether it was deliberately buried or simply discarded ... things like that."

"What kind of stuff did you find?" Heather was still clinging to her vision of bejeweled goblets and golden idols.

"Six artifacts--so far." Serge hesitated, but seeing that her interest was genuine, he shrugged and said, "I suppose there is no harm in telling you.

We have been waiting for the archaeological team from Shassiszss to officially unveil the finds, so this must stay between ourselves, okay?"

Heather solemnly crossed her heart.

"There is a Sharizan globe, which is a smal diagnostic instrument resembling a crystal ball. It's surrounded by a silvery rim of circuits and instrumentation. Mizari still use them in eye examinations. Sharizan globes have bioelectronic components built into the rims of the magnifying lenses, and they can analyze the cellular structure of the Mizari eye. The globe is beautiful as well as useful."

Heather held up a finger. 'That's one."

"There is also a partial casing from a Mizari environmental field--what they use instead of spacesuits, you know?"

Heather nodded. "I've seen them."

"It is simply a piece of the Mizari building alloy, with ripped edges. From examining it, we are speculating that the chamber may have been subject to explosive decompression at some time. Which may explain why the artifacts were not retrieved--they escaped, then never reopened that cavern." He made a minute adjustment to their course. The asteroid was growing ever larger in their viewscreen.

"The number three artifact," he continued, "is the Slee-kar, an ancient ceremonial tracing tool used in Mizari religious rites. It

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looks rather like a blue-bladed dagger, but has no hilt. There is supposed to be a carved, curved grip, but that has broken off, and we have not yet found the second piece."

"Do you think you will?"

He sighed. "I do not know. I am beginning to doubt it. There's also a songharp, one of the ceremonial-style ones. It is intact, fortunately, and quite beautiful, but the top is bent."

None of Serge's precious artifacts sounded all that valuable to Heather.
But
maybe he's saving the best for last.
"What else?"