Shaman (26 page)

People hadn't believed it immediately or universally, but as time passed and no more ghost ships haunted the outskirts of town and the commercial vessels left cooling their fantails at Shift Stations began to arrive at the spaceport with requests to offload goods, protesters had disappeared with their signs and their makeshift weapons and their anxious eyes—relieved, disgruntled, wary, jubilant.

Danetta patted her thigh with anxious rhythm. “Why don't they contact us? It's been hours.”

“Try not to worry, Danetta. It's probably our karma. We've given Sanchez a few grey hairs, he's probably just returning the favor.”

“But that message, Joseph—they're blasting the cave—what if there was a cave-in? What if —”

The door of the lab sucked itself into the wall and allowed an explosion of bodies to erupt into the room. Rhys was at the head of the colorful crowd which was bracketed by a drabber set of armed ColSec soldiers and Colonials.

Danetta whirled. “Rhys! Yoshi! Thank God! Are you all right?”

“Aye!” He held up the holo-wafer and motioned for Brasn to bring forth the sense-globe. “It's all here in media both Human and Tsong Zee can understand. The White Shrine is a real place and it proves, indisputably, that the Tsong Zee have a claim to Velvet—excuse me—to Tson.”

Joseph Bekwe glanced at Sanchez, who stood at the rear of the group, ursine face expressionless. “And... do they... are they willing to negotiate regarding a Human presence on the planet?”

Catching Yoshi's swift translation, Brasn canted his head, then nodded for the sake of the Humans present. “These Humans in our company—this Speaker Rhys, this Apprentice Yoshi, this Searcher Kuskov, this War Leader Sanchez, indeed, even this Digger Troy—proved to us, heroically, that Humans are not so unlike Tsong Zee as we first assumed. In our Shrine we found some startling evidence that we have been destined to share Tson with another race of beings—an ‘OROB', as you say. It seems the Tsadrat Kalkt saw what we were incapable of imagining. That another race of Tsong Zee might exist, and that they, too, might have a claim upon this world. We are regretful and ashamed that we did not realize this sooner, and we hope we may be forgiven for the narrowness of our vision. We are more than willing to negotiate. Yes, we are pleased to negotiate your presence on our world.” He made a gesture that was clearly meant to include everyone in the room.

Joseph Bekwe expelled a pent-up breath. “We are also pleased, Speaker Brasn,” he said in perfect Tsuru. “And are also regretful of the actions of some of our people. We hope we may be forgiven for that.”

Brasn canted deeply.

“What happened?” asked Danetta. “What happened up on the mountain?”

Rhys suspected the question was aimed more at the change in Tsong Zee sentiment than at any physical vicissitudes they'd undergone, but Sanchez beat him to the answer.

“A couple of BeneCon vice-presidents and a small squad of terrorists laid siege to the Shrine,” he said, surfacing from the group near the door. “They got off a couple of shots with the anti-armor laser before we could get to them. Brought down a lot of debris inside the cavern. Fortunately, the damage was minimal. They didn't put up much of a fight when they saw the uniforms. Only one or two of them even bothered to fire on us.” He allowed himself a wry grin. “Said they were just protecting their corporate interests. Now we're protecting them... in the lockup at Admin.” Sanchez cracked his knuckles resoundingly and folded meaty hands at his belt clasp. “Governor, if you will provide transportation back to Admin for this group, I will provide a guard detail. I believe we need to begin at the beginning and work our way toward a meet and seemly ending. In the words of an old song, I am bemused, bothered and bewildered.” He glanced up at Rhys. “Your sense globe, sir. I would like to further experience the object of your endeavors.”

Rhys let out a long, relieved breath and surrendered the globe. “Aye, sir. At once, sir. And I don't think you'll be disappointed.”

Well, Sanchez
, he thought as he watched the Admiral handle the artifact, broad face transfixed in fascination,
you're not such a bad sort, after all. And I'd've known that much sooner, could we but have traded places for a moment
.

“Pardon, Speaker Rhys,” —Javar touched his shoulder— “but should not War Leader Sanchez be suitably equipped for negotiation?” He indicated the EC “jewel” which still decorated his forehead.

Rhys smiled and canted. “I believe you have something there, my friend.” His gaze swung to Sanchez's bemused, bearded face, so intent on the shimmering thing in his hands. “I'll just go and propose the idea to him.” He clapped the Tsong Zee on the shoulder and signed him a “thumbs up.”

“What does this mean?” Javar asked, echoing the gesture

“Toward greater understanding.” He looked at his thumb. “Eh, well. It also means, ‘Wish me luck.'”

I've always been fascinated by archaeology, which is probably why I created Rhys Llewellyn in the first place—he feeds my Indiana Joneses. But I sometimes wonder how much our own cultural contexts influence our surmises about what role some artifacts really played in the lives of the ancients. Naturally, I figured there was a story in that...

o0o

“I'm telling you, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. Not only is this one of the most exciting archaeological finds since... since...” Rhys Llewellyn's hands searched the air for a suitable comparison.

Danetta Price, CEO of Tanaka Enterprises, settled in her chair and propped sneakered feet atop the coffee table in the small lounge/mess of Rhys's corporate schooner,
Ceilidh
. She was wise enough not to try to finish the sentence. That would be sure to send him off into a litany on the accuracies and inaccuracies of her choice.

“I get the picture,” she told him dryly. “Now, would you kindly stop pacing and tell me —”

But he'd gotten himself unstuck and was off again. “And of course, to work with Dr. Burton... I did tell you I studied under him at Edinburgh?” Seeing her nod, he forged on. “I was in awe of the man, Danetta. Sheerly and purely in awe of him. He's been more influential in my life as an archaeologist —”

“I hear you, Rhys!” Danetta chuckled and peered at her chief negotiator between the toes of her sneakers. “How long do you think you'll be gone?”

Rhys ran a hand through his unruly red hair and grinned ruefully. “Sorry. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone precisely —” Reading her frown, he added, “But no more than a month or two at best.”

“At worst you mean.”

“I have the time coming.”

Danetta raised a restraining hand. “I know. You have months of leave coming. I'm only selfishly concerned with the state of our negotiating team without you and yours on it. I don't suppose you intend to leave Yoshi and Rick out of this little junket.”

Rhys scratched behind his ear, a gesture Danetta knew meant he thought he was asking for the moon. “Well, actually, I thought they'd enjoy the break. It's been a while since any of us has worked in the field. Not that I'm belittling your efforts to keep us in trim. That conference on xenoanthropology last month was marvelous. But we all miss the field work—and this, well —”

“Yes, I know—once in a lifetime opportunity, greatest dig since King Tut, close company with the God of Archaeology.”

Rhys flushed. “Please, Danetta, I don't worship the man, but I've the deepest respect for his accomplishments. And I said not one word about ‘King Tut,' which, as you ought to know was a find of very little historical significance —”

“Okay, okay. Saint Burton, then, and you can pick your own dig.” Danetta uncrossed her legs and stood, straightening bright silk shorts around her hips. “As if I'd ever say ‘no' to you, Rhys McCrae Llewellyn. Go on your little sabbatical, with my blessing. We don't have any major bids in the offing that our regular crew can't handle. If Yosh and Rick want to tag along, they're certainly entitled. They've got as big a backlog of leave as you have. It's not my idea of a dream vacation, but, to each his own. Now...” She glanced purposefully at the door to the companionway. “If you don't think me rude, I'll just take my little cutter and shift on back to the home world. It's been about two months since I've seen my beloved husband. And the changes on Tson are happening just about as fast as he can handle them.”

She circled the table, caught Rhys by the upper arms and gave him a solid kiss on the cheek. “Bon voyage, Professor. Have a nice dig.”

Rhys waited a restrained five seconds after the lounge doors closed before executing a four-foot-high pirouette and a clan McCrae war whoop. He'd landed and was going up for a second revolution when Yoshi Umeki poked her head into the room from the adjoining galley.

“Sir? Are you all right?”

He caught himself on the back of a chair, narrowly avoiding a trip to the floor, and straightened his flight suit. “Are you all right,
Rhys
,” he corrected.

Her smile was brief and bright. “Are you all right, Rhys?”

“I'm fine, thank you.” He rubbed his hands together briskly, a gesture which Yoshi knew was usually followed by some outrageous suggestion. “How would you like to go on a little vacation?”

o0o

The “little vacation” began with the passengers and crew of the
Ceilidh
in an induced sleep preparatory to a shift to the distant precincts of a star its human visitors called Leguin. They would travel simultaneously through space and time—outward through one, backward and forward through the other—to arrive at their destination within a week of when they had left their point of origin. The week of travel time was composed entirely of inter-shift stops to reorient the ship for its next jump and check the health of its passengers; the temporal shift itself was virtually instantaneous. Backward and forward went the
Ceilidh
, safeguards built into her temporal grid dictating that she ascended through time exactly as far as she had descended. Rhys, as always, slid toward sleep, imagining what it would be like if they were only allowed to take a detour now and then.

A week later, the Tanaka Corporate schooner
Ceilidh
slipped out of time-altered space, settled into synchronous orbit around Leguin 4, and delivered its passengers into what a groggy Roderick Halfax immediately dubbed “Fort Stinking Swamp.” It wasn't so much a swamp as it was a rain forest, Rhys told him—as if he didn't already know the difference—nor did it stink, strictly speaking.

The equatorial forest on Leguin 4 was a place of pungent and warring perfumes, rather like, Yoshi commented, what happened when all the Umeki and Sakai aunts gathered for tea on a muggy Hagi day. Rhys had to admit the cloyingly sweet smell of blooms might grow tiresome. He said that, then forgot the blooms and their odiferous presence the moment he set eyes on Professor Sir Drew Burton, K.N.B.E., and his mammoth find.

It was a complex of buildings still half-buried in green and burgundy plant life that brought to mind Angkor Wat, Teotihuacan, and the ziggurats of Baroosh at Wan, all at the same moment. Walls of massive granitic block rose from a froth of shrub and vine to a height of about five meters. They were interrupted by a rectangular gateway that extended another two meters above that. The lintel evidently held something of interest, for a scaffold covered it from edge to edge. Above that rise of native rock, Rhys could see the top of a thick spire whose rounded sides were cloaked in mosses of varying hues. So overwhelmed was he by the sheer magnitude of the place, he barely noticed that the patron saint of Archaeology was vigorously shaking his hand.

“Professor Llewellyn,” the older man enthused, “you have no idea how pleased I am that you and your associates could join us here. You've done well since leaving University, sir. Your reputation precedes you.”

Rhys caught himself back from the dizzying sight of the tower looming above its encircling walls, swatted an insect, and murmured, “Sir, your reputation overwhelms me.”

Burton laughed, showing pleasant crow's feet and gleaming, even teeth. “Flattery will get you anywhere. You know, I have to admit, I was dubious when I heard you'd gone into corporate service. A little disappointed, if you want the honest truth. But it didn't seem to slow you down in the ‘real' world, eh? You practically wrote the book on alien antiquities.”

Rhys flushed pleasantly. “Correction. I wrote one book on xenoarchaeology; you've written dozens on every conceivable subject.”

“Twenty... but really, I thought your analysis of the Poclar culture on New Scotland was quite insightful. I'll be interested to see what you think of our work here.”

o0o

They moved beneath the great stone arch and into the embrace of the ruins. Rick Halfax, falling in beside Yoshi, caught her eye and made a face.

“Look at 'em, Yosh. Two peas in a pod and happy as clams. I think the Professor has found a soul mate.”

Yoshi, to whom colloquial English was a third language at best, and who had always thought of herself as Rhys Llewellyn's soul mate, gave her companion a wrinkle-browed look of puzzlement. “Isn't that a mixed metaphor?”

“They're not metaphors; they're clichés. Mixed? I dunno. I'd eat peas with clam.”

“Well, I've never understood that saying. How can you tell a clam is happy?”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

Yoshi shrugged and lengthened her strides so she could hear what the Professors clam were discussing.

“The modern Leguini are rather an odd bunch of philistines,” Dr. Burton was saying as he led the way among the lichen-encrusted buildings. “They don't seem to care two figs for their distant past. Anything over 500 years old is completely uninteresting to them. Scott—that's our Master Digger—insists that's pragmatism. I personally think its laziness. I suppose I ought to consider us fortunate; if they weren't so ‘pragmatic,' the Leguini would probably be out here making our lives hell.”