Shaman (10 page)

“That's why she's here, I'd lay odds,” commented Astrid when they'd debarked at their hotel. “Nature in all Her wah-some glory. That ‘ole girl' loves her damn chilly-bumps.”

“Come on, Astrid, admit it. You love chilly-bumps just as much as the next person.”

“Ah. The next person. That would have to be you. Danetta Price, closet thrill-seeker. Confess, sister. You were one big chilly-bump up there on that landing platform tonight.”

Danetta nodded. “You bet. I was scared. There were alien ships parked over my head and I was standing in the dark a long way from the ground and I was scared. And I can't help thinking that if that light-web had fallen just a few seconds earlier...”

Astrid made a diving motion with one hand. “Plop,” she said tonelessly.

“Yeah. Plop.”

There were three messages on her comlink. All of them were from Joseph Bekwe. All of them were expressive of great concern for Danetta's well-being. She threw Astrid a wry glance. “Now, he wants to talk to me.”

Astrid shrugged. “Go fish. Maybe you can get him to tell you what this is all about.”

“Maybe, nothing. He's going to tell me.”

o0o

Half an hour later, in his office at the Colonial Administration complex, he did tell her, albeit, reluctantly.

“We were trying to handle it without alarming the entire colony,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.

Even through the rich ebony of his skin, Danetta could see that he was wan, probably from lack of sleep.

“Well, I think you can safely say it's alarmed now. Were there any casualties?”

He shook his head. “No, thank God. We had a few people that were caught in lev-tubes when it happened, but the emergency let-down systems worked perfectly in every case.”

“Who are they, Joseph? What do they want? Or do we know that yet?”

“We've met. We've talked. I'm not sure we've communicated. We've had the Dynamic Translator working on their language since they arrived, but I think there are some subtleties to it we're missing. All we know with any certainty is that they call themselves the Tsong Zee and that they're laying claim to Velvet. They want us to leave.”

Danetta was stunned. “Leave?... Just like that? Pack up your thousands of people and your lives and get out? Joseph, this colony has been here for twenty-five years. Why are they just now getting around to evicting you?”

“I don't know. The claim seems highly suspicious to me. Some of my advisors think they must be after the minerals. As you know, Velvet is astoundingly rich mineralogically. One of our mining companies hit a particularly rich vein of copper last month; they might have been waiting in the wings for us to begin bringing up treasure.”

“How would they know?”

Joseph shrugged. “Beats me. Unless they've been visiting at intervals—maybe waiting for the bio-toxins to disperse. I don't know what they're basing their claim on. Our archaeologists are unanimous about the fate of the native race—the bio-plague devastation was total and there is absolutely no evidence that any of the cultures extant had achieved space travel.”

“Could Velvet have been a colony world? The technology might have been developed elsewhere.”

“Doubtful.”

“So, they've no more right to be here than we have.” Danetta shrugged, spreading her hands.

“Which we intimated—insofar as one can intimate across a DT field. That was what this evening's little display was all about—might makes right. They want us to know they have the power to remove us forcibly if need be.”

Danetta experienced an unsettling thought. “Maybe they removed the original inhabitants the same way. Maybe they figure Velvet is theirs by right of conquest.”

Joseph's face went gray. “If they're responsible for... Dear God, I hope you're wrong.”

“Me too. Have you explained to them what moving a colony like this would entail?”

“We've tried. They seem to understand, but the demand hasn't changed. They evidently want us all off the planet as soon as is humanly possible.”

“Is it humanly possible to leave Velvet?” Danetta asked. “Logistics aside, I'd be willing to bet there are folks here who'd rather fight and die than leave.”

Joseph Bekwe grimaced wryly. “I think you're looking at one of them.”

“What do you do next?”

“The Tsong Zee have imposed what they call a Time of Silence—to drive the point home, I can only imagine. Then we're scheduled to talk to them again. The DT should have a clearer sense of the language by then.” He shook his head. “It's odd, Danetta, the language seems so simple to be coming from such an obviously advanced race of people. They have a high level of technology—high enough to transport them through space in large numbers, yet the language is almost... childlike in its simplicity.”

“Are they somebody's pet pirates, do you think? Working under instructions they don't really understand?”

He sighed. “I don't know. I just know we're at the mercy of that damned Translator. I know it's worked just fine for decades. I know it's got a track record like an Olympic decathlete. But somehow, in a situation like this, it's so hard to put complete trust in a computer. There's so much at stake. After tonight's display, I don't doubt their ability to immobilize or annihilate an entire city.”

“Don't you have any linguists on staff here?”

“Everything but. There were a few here early on, but they all took off for greener pastures, linguistically speaking. There was nothing for them to do. The few little scraps and chips Dr. Kuskov and his cronies have pulled out of the ground have told us next to nothing about the last masters of Velvet. There was no written material at all.”

Danetta stared thoughtfully at her fingernails—pale gold this time of year to remind her that on Earth it was summer. “I mentioned a colleague of mine, a Rhys Llewellyn.”

“Several times.”

“He's an anthropologist—by Divine Revelation, I think—and a linguist. He's been a godsend to Tanaka in sticky situations with new peoples. I'd be willing to call him in on this.”

Joseph was shaking his head. “I don't want to endanger anyone else. We're a captive audience, but bringing someone new onto the scene—”

“Joseph, he's a specialist. He knows how to deal with delicate situations like this. I just have a feeling he might be able to... fill in the gaps left by the translation program.”

He raised his hands against her sudden increase in earnestness. “I'm not convinced we can't handle this with the people we've got. I'm just a little tired and frustrated right now. And if worse comes to worst, there's a military outpost on Duet.”

“Military?” repeated Danetta, her alarm cubing. “Oh, please, let's not have a war. I think this planet's seen enough devastation.”

“Well, that sort of depends on them, doesn't it? If they'd rather blow the place apart than let us have a piece of it...”

She leaned forward in her chair and put her hand on his arm. “Let me call in Rhys. He's vacationing on Pa-Loana. He could be here in less than two days. Please, Joseph. He can make a difference.”

The governor glanced down at her hand, then met her eyes warily. “Sounds like you're pretty sold on this guy. I'm surprised he's not here already.”

It was his expression that brought Danetta into sharp focus on what his words really meant. She actually blushed. “Good Lord, Joseph! He's about half my age!”

Joseph cocked his head to one side and brushed fingertips across the back of her hand. “That isn't the big deal it once was, Danetta. Fifty isn't even middle-aged these days. What's a quarter of a century between friends?”

“Uh-huh. And that's just what Rhys and I are—friends. Very good friends.”

He nodded, still not meeting her eyes, forcing her to stare at his curly mop of salt and pepper curls. “Right.”

“He's a nerd, Joseph. A sweet, slightly mad, conscientious nerd. I have never understood nerds, and I feel slightly out of my depth whenever they're around.” She leaned forward a little further. “Joseph...”

He looked up so quickly, they nearly bumped noses. “Let me call him in.”

“I'll think about it.”

She patted his cheek. “Fine. You think. I'm going to eat. It's been hours since lunch and I'm starved.” She got up abruptly and headed for the door. “You look like you could use a dinner break, yourself.”

“Couldn't eat anything. Too tense.”

Danetta paused at the door and surveyed his somewhat rumpled form. “Rule number one of corporate negotiating: Never deal on an empty stomach.”

“This isn't exactly corporate negotiation.”

“No, you're right. It's much more critical, isn't it?”

He grinned ruefully. “Touché. I'll have something brought up.”

“Good. Let me know when you want me to call Rhys.” She slipped through into the outer office, where she collected Astrid.

“There are some very nervous people on our dear governor's staff,” her aide noted as they made their way down to street level. “One might almost say terrified. What's the inside story—or can't you tell me?”

“I haven't been sworn to secrecy. The situation is about as we suspected.”

“Alien invaders?”

“Not invaders, precisely. I mean, technically speaking, we're alien invaders on Velvet, too.”

Astrid's neat brows arced toward her hairline. “Philosophy, she gives me. Come on, Danetta. Everybody's an alien invader somewhere. What's going on? What do they want?”

“Well, according to the DT, they want their planet back.” She felt a tiny charge of glee that she'd surprised her unflappable aide.

“Their planet? How so?”

“Evidently, they're claiming it as a colony world... or part of their empire or—” She shrugged. “Who knows. The language barrier has made understanding difficult.”

“Ah. And how does Governor Bekwe plan on establishing the veracity of this claim—or is that a moot point?”

“It could be. If all their ships are as big as the two we saw and all their weapons as debilitating as that one...”

“And I suppose they want us off the planet, or else?”

“That would seem to be their intent. It's hard to tell.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Oh, please hold that thought. I think you may have discovered a great new diet plan—absolute terror before dinner.”

Astrid's tone was typically light and dry, but Danetta was watching her eyes and saw that the humor never reached them.

o0o

Another message from the Governor's office met them upon their return to the hotel. The man, himself, appeared in the holo-column, dressed in fresh, unrumpled clothing, but looking no less disturbed than he had earlier.

“Danetta,” he said. “Call me. Whatever time you get back—call me.”

She stepped into the link field immediately and did that; she was connected, without comment or question, direct to the Governor's office. Joseph practically pounced at her image.

“What is it?” she asked. “What's happened?”

“I need your help, Danetta. You're a trained negotiator; you've had a hell of a lot more experience dealing with other races of beings than I have—than any of my staff has. We've got to strike some kind of understanding with these people. We've got to make them understand our position. We—”

“Whoa! Whoa!” Danetta held up both hands against his rapid fire assault. “Slow down. What's happened?”

“If we don't either give in or come up with something new to say to the Tsong Zee, they're going to show us another display of their military might and I'd hate to think what that could mean. So far, no one's been hurt, but—”

“Yes, I know. But, Joseph, I'm no expert at dealing with OROBs. My reputation is built on inter-Human relations; that's what I do best. I keep telling you—it's Rhys Llewellyn you want. He's—”

“Danetta, the time—”

“Two days, maximum. He can be here virtually the moment he leaves Pa-Loana.”

“How do we stall them?”

“Tell them something new. Tell them you want to summon a special negotiator.”

“I've plastered them with negotiators already.”

Danetta rubbed her forehead, feeling a dull ache rustling there. “Look, who negotiates for the aliens—I mean, the OROBs?”

“There are four of them. They seem to be of equal rank. They have acolytes or, um, assistants of some sort, but the four seem to be equal.”

Danetta furrowed her brow. “No one spokesperson?”

“They take turns.”

“Turns. How? One speaks for ten minutes then passes the baton? How?”

“Er, they — they seem to alternate questions.” He glanced back over his shoulder to someone out of his column's range. “Isn't that how you'd describe it? Yes, alternating.” He turned back to Danetta.

“Wardrobe. What's the wardrobe like?”

“What?”

“What are the four delegates wearing? How is it different from what their assistants are wearing?”

“They're dressed in, uh, shinier stuff.” He nodded over his shoulder, again. “Yes, it's a lot shinier—like their skin. Their skin is very shiny. And brighter colors. They seem to wear more reds and oranges. Things that contrast with their skin.”

Danetta nodded. “Okay. Acolytes, you said. What made you say that?”

“I meant assistants.”

“Right. But you said acolytes. What made you use that word?”

He thought about that for a moment, shaking his head.

She knew he thought she was asking completely irrelevant questions; he was only answering them because he trusted her—and he didn't have anything better to do. Except sleep.

“Acolytes,” she repeated sharply. “Why?”

He made a frustrated gesture. “Veneration. Okay? They seem to venerate the delegates.”