Ancestor's World (39 page)

"Does that mean you have decided to cancel Nordlund's contract?"

The old woman from the Temple of Earth Quaking blinked slowly. "Yes. With penalty claims made against them by our Finders of Fact." Behind her, Gordon chuckled. Salween looked to him. "One good result of this near disaster is that Ancestor's Valley will not be flooded, nor will the thousands of other Ancestral ruins which your people have located. Still, we would ask that Philosopher Mitchell remain among us, and continue his work. There are other Royal Tombs in the Valley, and study of them is recommended by the Temple of Records."

"Excellent! " Mahree said, feeling relieved. This was just what she had hoped for. Glancing back, she nodded for Gordon to speak. As he rose, she squatted.

"Thank you, Elder Salween," he said in a loud tenor that echoed against the room's domed ceiling. "My team and I are honored to stay and study the Royal Tomb of A- Um Rakt, the remains of the first seven dynasties, and any other site suggested by the Temple of Records." Grinning like a five-year-old, Gordon sat back down.

Mahree felt as happy as Gordon. Soon this part of her job would be over. But not until the last questions were asked, and she made her proposal. She tossed salt into the sand pit, startling Salween, who surrendered the floor.

"Ambassador?"

Rising, Mahree looked around the gathered Na-Dina, then fixed on the middle-aged woman who represented the Queen's Household. "Elder Alasoo, the last time I was here you made several observations, and focused on the need for

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the People of Ancestor's World to guard your home, on behalf of the Revered Ancestors. Military options were discussed." She paused, waited until she had their full attention, and then made her offer. "Elders of the People, the Irenics ship called to pick up the slaver captives has arrived. It rests now at the spaceport, beside the S.V.
Emerald Scales.
If the Council makes a formal request to our Council on Shassiszss for protection from outsiders, it will be granted. In fact, I am empowered to offer such protection to you."

Behind her, Gordon stirred. He hadn't been privy to her last FTL holo-talk at the embassy, when she'd visited it yesterday to get the report and to meet with Krillen to close out the case. Looking around the suddenly silent circle of Na- Dina, she hoped and hoped. The representatives of both the King and the Queen consulted in low, hissing voices; then Elder Alasoo tossed in salt.

"Explain how this protection would work. Would the craft be always a mark upon the face of Mother Sky?"

"No!" Mahree calmed her fast-beating heart, and explained the suggestion given her by the Irenics captain. "Captain Hhortha indicates his ship could monitor local space while parked on the far side of Mother's Daughter. The image of our Sky Ship would not bespoil the robe of Mother Sky. It would fly through Mother Sky, and land on your world, only when absolutely necessary. Advance notice would be given. Permission would be requested of the Council."

Alasoo stilled her ears. Mahree nearly swore, unable to read the woman's expression. Then they fluttered with the sign of satisfaction. "Acceptable.

The Queen's Household, and the King, accept your offer of protection, with the conditions stated by you." The woman's body attitude turned suddenly fierce. "Be sure to warn your Captain that should he, or any of his people, approach our mountains, our rivers, our canyons without our permission, they will be fired on by the Queen's Own Guard. Cannon are being emplaced in the proper places. As is the Hand of Mother Sky."

Mahree felt a chill. Had the Na-Dina truly leaped ahead and developed a pulse-cannon? That's what the words for

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"Hand" indicated. Frankly, she did not wish to learn what ancient secrets were still to be discovered on Ancestor's World. Gordon could handle that better than she. "Of course," she said, bowing low. "I will warn the Captain.

But contact through our embassy and with the Interrelator will prevent such misunderstandings."

"So we trust." Alasoo squatted down.

Elder Talteen, from the Temple of Records, tossed in salt and fanned her ears excitedly. "Ambassador, it is time to hear pleasant tidings. Would you tell us all the great news? Tell us the Words of our Great King A-Um Rakt.

The ones uncovered by the young female, Black Stone?"

Behind her Gordon chuckled again, as pleased as she that Etsane's nickname was known to the Council of Elders. Though her knees hurt from all the standing, Mahree bowed to the old Philosopher-Historian and smiled warmly. "Elder Talteen, Black Stone is also Etsane Mwarka, a woman of the Amharan people of Ethiopia, and descended from a royal line. This last week she found the key to translating First Dynasty Na-Dina. The records of the first seven dynasties are unlocked. The inscription at the Royal Tomb will be fully translated later today, when our camp gathers inside."

Mahree paused, letting the excited hissings of the Elders die down. "But a glyph-wall in the City of White Stone tells the start of this story. It speaks of your Great King, of the Mizari people who visited your world six millennia ago, and of the honor both peoples showed to the Revered Ancestors,"

She began, reciting from memory.
"In the year when Father 's Snoring had
stilled and the crops were tall and green, during the reign of King A-Um
Rakt, Father to his people, Builder of the Great Pond at Shir-Li, Reader of
the stars in Mother Sky, and priest to the Ancestors of Faith, there came
Spirits from Mother Sky
..."

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Khuharkk' stood alone at the edge of the Camp landing field, waiting for Mahree and Doctor Mitchell's jumpjet to finish landing. They'd just returned from meeting with the Council of Elders in Spirit, and he was eager to tell them of his career decision. It had been long in coming, but his talks with Pokeel of the Guard had finally cleared the way to his full understanding of the Path of Honor among the Na-Dina. Of how devotion to the Revered Ancestors guided daily life, and how, as on Hurrreeah, everything one did in the present was a mark of Honor, or dishonor, both for one's people and for one's ancestors. That knowledge had cleansed him of his fear of the dead, of tunnel-tombs, and brought new hope to him.

Unable to hold in his joy, he began dancing. Tail held high, he rocked from foot to foot, hand to hand, then jumped into the air and twisted full circle. His dance honored all he had learned.

With belly jets flaring, the jumpjet settled down onto its rubber pads and the stair-ramp extruded. First out the door was Mahree Burroughs, still dressed in her formal Star- Bridge uniform despite the midday heat. Doctor Mitchell followed after her, wearing less formal clothing of cotton

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pants, safari shirt, and a bag slung over one shoulder.

Mahree reached the bottom of the ramp and smiled at him. "Khuharkk'!" she said in Simiu. "Isn't that the Dance of Problems Resolved?"

"Yes, oh yes!" he said excitedly, then regained control of himself. He ended the dance, and settled for a shifting from one foot and hand pair to another.

Mitchell raised his eyebrows. "Problems resolved? Didn't realize you had any big problems, Khuharkk'. Not since you got yourself those two Honor Scars on your shoulders."

Khuharkk' stood still, feeling total surprise. He'd almost forgotten them. What an un-Simiu thing to do! "Yes. No. And, oh! It's just that it's been such a hard thing for me, deciding whether to be a professional Archaeologist like you, Doctor Mitchell, or the Interrelator that I went to StarBridge Academy to become."

Mahree eyed him closely. "You've made your decision, then?"

"Yes!" He stood up, which brought him to shoulder level of the First Interrelator. "Ambassador, I wish to stay here on Ancestor's World to serve my people--and yours---as the Interrelator to the Na-Dina."

The Philosopher looked disappointed. Mahree grinned happily. "Khuharkk', that's just wonderful!" she said, her words changing to a mix of hisses and clicks.

"Oh!" Except for her first words, she'd been speaking to him in High Na-Dina, and he'd been replying the same way, without use of his voder. He'd done the same with Philosopher Mitchell, hardly lisping his English. "I forgot to turn on my voder," he said in surprise, "but it made no difference."

Mitchell nodded. "That's the mark of a fully translingual Interrelator." The older man grinned broadly. "I'm very happy for you, Khuharkk'. My loss is the CLS's gain, and the gain in Honor is Hurrreeah's. It looks like your pair project with Sumiko taught you both good English and some useful flexibility."

"Yes, she helped me a lot." Then he rolled his shoulders, 290

flaring his Honor Scars. "But my talks with Marshall Pokeel of the Guard helped just as much, along with Axum's patience in teaching me Na-Dina."

Mahree stepped closer to him, putting down her own bag on the hot sand.

Crouching, she gave him the Simiu greeting salute of respect, bowing her head, then touching forehead, breast, and finally extending her hand, fingers curled, palm up.

The Philosopher rather clumsily copied her. Mahree smiled at the Simiu youth. "Yes, Gordon is right. You show great Honor to your clan, and to all of Hurrreeah by this choice. Your mother and brothers will be proud of you."

Khuharkk' hoped so. But even if this did not match the glory of Arena fights, it felt right to him. It was here that he'd come to value the concept of dead Ancestors who watched over the living, and lost his fear of tombs. Here that he had grown to admire the Na-Dina Path of Honor. He wanted to spend the rest of his life here, on Ancestor's World, no matter the heat, no matter how much his fur matted with sweat, and no matter that it lay close to Sorrow Sector. He again made his plea to Mahree.

"Ambassador, there is need for a new CLS Interrelator to the Na-Dina. I ask for the job. I ask for two reasons. One, to show Honor to the Revered Ancestors of the People. Second, to Honor the memory of Bill Waterston."

Mahree gasped. "That's very special, Khuharkk'." Her expression softened.

"Bill was my friend, too. I think he would be pleased."

"I hope so," Khuharkk' said, recalling the young human's easy comradeship.

"Now, I think I understand the Path of Honor on Ancestor's World well enough to follow in his dance steps."

Philosopher Mitchell clapped him on the shoulder. "Khuharkk', you do not need to follow after Bill. You will dance your own path into the future, shoulder by shoulder with his spirit and his memory."

Mahree blinked quickly, then stood up, putting her arm around Gordon's waist. "Yes," she said, nodding solemn

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agreement. "Gordon is right. Khuharkk', follow your own Path to Honor. That will be the best memorial you can offer to Bill." She paused, then glanced to the archaeologist. "Gordon, I'm sorry to pull rank on you, but the Na-Dina need an Interrelator now, and I can't think of a better choice than Khuharkk'."

"Oh, Mahree, thank you!" Khuharkk' said, struggling to maintain his professional demeanor. "I will work hard for the CLS, for Hurrreeah, and for the Na-Dina!"

Mitchell sighed, then pointed toward the camp. "Mahree, I surrender. But surely he can stay for Etsane's reading of the Royal Tomb ideoglyphs? They were waiting for us to return before proceeding."

She nodded, then picked up her bag. "You're right. Khuharkk' can stay here until tomorrow, when the jumpjet returns to Spirit." Mahree turned to head for camp.

The archaeologist looked thoughtful. Khuharkk' kept silent, sensing that now, after the floods, the quakes, the storms, and the discovery of who had murdered Bill, it was a time for reflection.

For all of them.

He'd made his Dance of Problems Resolved. He'd overcome his fear of the tombs where dead Ancestors were honored. He'd pledged to be Honor-Bound with Etsane. Now, he must live with those decisions. He hoped to return often to assist Doctor Mitchell with his excavations in Ancestor's Valley. And he planned to stay in frequent contact with Etsane. But his first duty would now be to the Na- Dina, and to Hurrreeah. Two peoples, one Path of Honor.

When everyone finished crowding up to peer in at the Royal Tomb of A-Um Rakt, King of the First Dynasty of the People, Etsane moved forward. She sat atop the red porphyry bier on which had rested the dead king's sarcophagus. The main chamber floor had been cleared, but a rope still cordoned off the Treasury side room, off to the right. The king's grave-goods clustered in there. She drank in the yellow gleam of gold, the verdigis of old bronze, and the tarnished brown of silver as scores of items sparkled 292

under the artificial lights. They were the treasure given to the king by his People, to go with him on his journey to meet the Ancestors.

Time. Time to tell the tale. Crossing her legs, and then settling her formal Amharan robes about her, Etsane looked back over her shoulder at the people who watched and waited for her to begin.

Her old mentor Professor Greyshine stood looking on proudly, his thick gray mane brushed to a glossy highlight. He stared at her directly, in the Na-Dina compliment-giving mode. As did his mate, Doctor Strongheart, whose own burial analysis had confirmed the content of her translations at the City of White Stone, and now here in the Royal Tomb.

Standing inside the tomb and close by the Treasury entrance were astamari Mitchell and Mahree Burroughs, two people to whom she owed her life, and from whom she had learned much. Without Mahree's initial spotting of those Mizari Four glyphs in the Lab, she might not have hypnostudied that dead language. She would have been unprepared to make full use of the glyph-wall hidden in the catacombs under the Great Plaza of Segor A-mun, to use its proper name. They smiled encouragingly at her, looking on like proud parents.

Her heart thumped inside her as she thought again of her father Mefume, of his hopes for her, and of how his hard tasking had led her to knowledge, to hard work, and to the discovery of the century. She would be famous across all the CLS. Now, she must earn that premature notoriety.

She shifted her seating to face the piled-up coils of the single Mizari among her colleagues. The old Ceramicist lay coiled to the left of the tunnel entrance, occupying a place of honor inside the tomb, rather than crowded into the narrow tunnel with most of the others.