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INCIDENT AT RAVEN’S RIFT


(A Short Story of T-Space)


Alastair Mayer


“So, Dr. Carson, tell me about Jackie,” Satoshi said as the two of them rode through the arid, winding canyons gouged out of the floor of the great valley known as The Rift. “If she’s coming out to Montresor to see you, it must be more serious than your usual shipboard romance.”

Hannibal Carson grinned back at his grad student. “What do you mean, ‘usual’? Are you implying something?” Carson didn’t dispute the claim. Three weeks aboard a starship did sometimes lead to temporary involvement with other passengers. But this last trip out had been different.

“Anyway,” he continued, “Jackie Roberts, Commander Jackie Roberts, is crew, not a passenger. She’s smart…and attractive.” His voice trailed off, thinking about her.

* * *

They’d met aboard ship, en route from Alpha Centauri to the Beta Hydri system, halfway across the bubble of settled stars known as T-Space. She’d caught Carson’s eye as she entered the passenger lounge. She was crew, and her uniform had enough gold braid to mark her as an officer. She looked far too young to be the captain, but with anti-aging drugs, looks could be deceiving. The green hair, though, wouldn’t be the affectation of a captain. First officer, perhaps?

She chatted with a couple at the table nearest the lounge entrance, glancing up and around while talking in a casual appraisal of her surroundings. She caught him eying her, and smiled at him. Carson’s first impulse was to look away, pretending he hadn’t been staring, but she’d caught him. He smiled back.

She finished talking to the couple and made her way toward him. “Welcome aboard the Arabella. I’m First Officer Jacqueline Roberts, Mister…ah…?”

“Carson. Dr. Hannibal Carson, but call me Carson. Everyone else does.”

“And I’m Jackie. So what are you a doctor of, Carson?”

In his experience, most people assumed that “doctor” meant a medical doctor, unless they’d worked with or grown up around academics.

“Xenoarcheology, or exoarcheology if you go by the department name. I’m a professor at Drake University. I take it you know a few PhDs? And please,” he said, gesturing to an empty chair, “have a seat.”

“You could say that,” she said, remaining standing. “Both my parents, for starters. And thank you, but I’m on duty. Just greeting the passengers. So why is an archeologist going to Raven? Going to visit the ruins at The Rift? I thought they’d been completely excavated.”

“They mostly have, although that doesn’t mean there isn’t more they could tell us. But no, there’s a new site.”

“Really? That sounds exciting. Where?”

Carson hesitated. “Sorry, I’d rather not say just yet. With a new find there’s always a risk of tomb raiders. Not,” he hastened to add, “that I think you’d be connected with such.”

“You mean grave robbers.”

“Artifact smugglers. There’s a demand for alien artifacts on Earth, and illicit dealers like to raid archeological sites, going after the pretty baubles without caring what that does to the site’s integrity. Even if the artifacts are later recovered, they’ve lost their historical context.” Carson’s temper was rising, and he forced himself to relax. “Anyway, that’s one reason any archeologist is reticent to reveal a new site until it’s been thoroughly documented.”

“That’s all right, Dr. Mysterious. I understand.”

Carson started to protest the title, but she smiled to show she was joking, her green eyes twinkling. He couldn’t help but smile with her.

“What about you?” he asked. “I don’t mean to offend, but aren’t you rather young for a first officer? You must have started early.”

“No offense taken. I did. My mother’s an astrophysicist, and I grew up on a starship. Don’t worry; the ship, and you, are in good hands.”

“That’s not what I meant….” His protest trailed off at her teasing grin.

She clapped him on the shoulder. “I know. I do need to get back to my duties, though.” Her hand lingered a moment. “If you like, you’re welcome to join my table at dinner.”

“Thank you, yes. I’d like that.”

That dinner had turned into others, and more.

* * *

“Carson?” Sato’s voice.

“Sorry. My mind wandered. Anyway, Jackie might not be the only one we’re meeting. If my messages caught up with him, my old friend Marten will be arriving with her. Her ship was headed to Zeta Tucanae and back. Last I heard, he was at a dig there.”

Messages between stars could travel no faster than a starship could carry them, so coordinating meetings was an iffy prospect.

“Is Marten his first or last name?” Sato wondered.

“Neither. It’s a nickname; he’s a timoan. His first name is Mcchartengha”—Carson sounded like a Scotsman trying to speak Swahili—“and timoan clan names are complicated.”

As they rode, a shadow swooped overhead, spooking their ghorsels.

“Easy boy,” Carson said, and they urged their mounts closer to the cliff face so the overhang helped conceal them. He glanced up as the roc, far bigger than an Earthly condor, glided above the canyon walls. Carson loosened the pistol in his holster, just in case. The 12mm slug wouldn’t do much damage to the huge bird, but the flash and bang might scare it off.

As they rode, keeping close to the overhanging cliff, the roc continued to soar overhead, banking this way and that, then circling back to keep pace. Ahead, the slope of the cliff face lessened. They would soon be out of cover. The ghorsels knew it too, growing increasingly skittish.

“Screw this,” Carson said, drawing his pistol.

“You’d be better off with a giranno gun,” Sato said dismissively. “That’s not going to do anything.”

“A roc’s big, but it’s still a bird. It’s nowhere near as massive or thick-skinned as a giranno. Anyway, I don’t want to bring it down, just give it second thoughts.” That said, Carson had to agree. He’d rather have a weapon more suited to the giraffe-rhinos of Sato’s homeworld. He drew a bead on the roc, willing it to keep to its glide, wings outstretched.

BANG! Feathers burst from the roc’s wingtip, and the great bird squawked and banked away, flapping for altitude and then gliding off in search of easier prey.

“You almost missed,” Sato said.

“No, I didn’t want to wound it.” A feather fluttered down near them and Carson snatched it out of the air. It was more than half a meter long. He handed it to Sato. “Here, a souvenir. Come on, let’s ride before that roc changes its mind.” With that, he urged his mount to a gallop, with Satoshi following.

The birds were one reason the men rode ghorsels—horselike animals with some characteristics of mountain goats and camels, suiting them to the hot, dry, chaotic terrain in the canyons of Raven’s Rift. Rocs had been known to attack the lightweight, open-frame aircars used elsewhere.

The danger now passed, Sato picked up their conversation again. “So why is she coming all the way here from Ravensport? You must have made quite an impression; Montresor isn’t exactly a tourist town.”

It wasn’t. It was a small town of one main street and perhaps a score of buildings, a trading hub for the surrounding community of small farms and wildcat miners and prospectors. The old riverbeds at the bottom of the canyon held occasional troves of placer gold deposits, and the sandstone walls were laced through with deposits of an exotic opal. The gems, called firestones, outdid the finest Australian fire opals, iridescing in multiple deep reds and oranges with flashes of green and blue. The best of them glowed with their own inner light, thanks to radioluminescent inclusions.

Above the canyon, but still on the floor of the greater rift valley, small farms tapped into the aquifer to grow crops that thrived in the heat and daily sunshine. It wasn’t an easy life, but frontier planets attracted people looking more for liberty than luxury. As Satoshi had said, it wasn’t a tourist town.

Carson had also wondered why when Jackie had suggested she visit him in Montresor. “I’d like to see your dig site, if that’s allowed. I showed you my starship.” Indeed, she had shown him a few places that were normally off-limits to passengers. And they’d done things together that went beyond normal crew-passenger relationships, Carson remembered, smiling to himself. “Anyway,” she had added, “if nothing else, maybe I can get a good deal on some firestones.” He’d agreed, and noted that the occasional green flash would complement the color of her hair and eyes. She’d smiled at that.

She had a wonderful smile.

“To be honest,” Carson said with a pang of doubt, “there’s no guarantee she’ll be there. She said she would be, but that was two weeks ago.”

“You haven’t called her? Her ship would have landed yesterday, wouldn’t it?”

“It would, but no, not until we get to Montresor. Radio silence, remember?”

“I thought rank had its privileges. I assumed you didn’t want any of us blabbing about where we were,” Sato said. “Are you that worried about tomb raiders triangulating the site?”

“After what we found three days ago?” It had been a large firestone, elaborately carved, the work of the ancient Raven aboriginals…and priceless. “Damn right I am. But even without that, I’ve seen too many archeological digs picked over by treasure hunters not to worry about it. Even when they don’t take everything, they make enough of a mess of the context to ruin its scientific value.”

They came to a spot where the canyon narrowed and forked. The town lay in the direction of the right fork, but Carson took the left, signaling Sato to follow, the clop-clop of their ghorsels’ hooves echoing off the narrower canyon walls.

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

“I’ve made that mistake before,” Carson said. “About three kilometers in, that other fork peters out, with no way to climb out. No, we go this way.”

Two hours later, they climbed a zigzag trail up the sloping canyon wall to come out on the floor of the rift valley proper south of Montresor, an easy twenty minutes farther.

* * *

They tied up their ghorsels at the livery stable, then crossed the street toward the hotel. A man Carson hadn’t seen before angled to intercept them. “Dr. Carson, a word with you, please,” he said, gesturing him aside.

Carson turned to his student. “Go on ahead, I’ll be right there,” then turned back to the man. “What can I do for you?”

The man paused, waiting as Satoshi entered the hotel, then spoke in a low voice. “My name’s Herbert. I wonder, have you turned up any aboriginal firestone carvings? I have clients who would pay a lot for that kind of thing. If you’re not interested in the money for yourself, think of the archeological digs you could finance.”

Carson frowned. He’d heard this pitch before. He turned to the man, keeping his voice low but firm. “No, and they wouldn’t be for sale if I had. For one, they wouldn’t be mine to sell, and for another, that kind of thing belongs in a museum, not locked up in some private collection.”

“You’re sure?”

Carson’s glare was all the answer Herbert was getting, and he backed off. “All right. Just making the offer.”

Carson watched him walk away. Something about the man’s tone bothered him. He shook it off. There was no way anyone here could know what they’d recently found.

* * *

Carson found Jackie Roberts waiting for him at Montresor’s only hotel—such as it was—as he entered.

She was in the hotel’s saloon. A cluster of prospectors and ranch hands had gathered around the table where Jackie sat. Sato hung back, unsure of himself. The locals were all polite enough, and Jackie didn’t seem fazed by the attention she was getting.

“I see you found something to amuse yourself with,” Carson said as he approached.

“Hannibal!” she said, her face brightening as she jumped up from the table to greet him with a hug.

There was good-natured grumbling from the other men. “Shoulda known Doc Carson would show up when a pretty woman did,” muttered one of them.

Jackie heard him and raised an eyebrow. “Really? Is there something I should know about, Hannibal?”

“Vicious rumors, don’t believe any of it,” he said, then as an aside, “Thanks for nothing, Zeke.”

“The boys here,” Jackie began, although Carson knew at least three of them had to be more than twice Jackie’s age, “were telling me about mining for firestones.”

“Then definitely don’t believe any of it,” Carson said, grinning. “These guys exaggerate more than fishermen.”

“Hey now, Doc, that ain’t fair. We might embellish a little, but we don’t brag about the one that got away.”

“No? What about that stone that Old Pete supposedly pulled out of his claim, only to have it break into pieces just as he got it loose?”

Zeke grinned. “Oh, well, yeah, but that’s Old Pete. Nobody pays him no mind.”

“Old Pete?” Jackie asked.

“He was one of the first settlers in these parts,” Zeke said. “Still works a claim twenty klicks north of town. I swear, if he wrote his stories down and sold them he could make more than he gets from firestones.”

“You might be right,” Carson said. “Jackie, maybe you’ll meet him when we get back. He’s in town every couple of weeks.”

“Get back?” Zeke said. “Are you taking this lovely young woman somewhere?”

“I promised to show her some of the aboriginal ruins. Nothing you’d find exciting.”

“Hey, Jackie, we can show you ruins too.”

“I’m sure you can, but Hannibal here is the archeologist.”

“How about firestone mines? Want a tour?”

She shook her head. To Carson, it seemed almost a shudder. “I’ll pass. I’m not a fan of tunnels or being underground; I’m a spacer,” she said. “Anyway, Hannibal owes me. I showed him my starship.”

She grinned, and her wink was answered with chuckles and a whistle.

“All right, guys, settle down. Jackie, we should hit the trail soon.”

“Roger that. Let me go up and get my things. I’ll be right back.”

As she went upstairs, Carson looked around at the others. “Sorry to break up the party, gentlemen. Can I buy you a round before we go?”

“Hell, Carson, you don’t have to do that,” Zeke said, “but since you’re offering….”

Carson signaled the waitress. “A round for the house,” he said, feeling generous, and sat down to join them.

* * *

Marten—Mcchartengha—was at a nearby table, sitting backward on his chair and surveying the crowd around Jackie with amusement. One curious local had been talking with him, but most of them had been more focused on the new woman in their midst rather than the timoan. Carson called him over.

“Mcchartengha, come meet my current grad student, Satoshi Rodriguez.”

“Please, just Martenga. Human throats can’t handle my timoan name.”

The crowd around the table shuffled to make room for him, some ignoring him, a couple of others looking him up and down appraisingly. They were all used to seeing nonhumans, of course, since a few of the indigenous natives still lived in and around the canyon, but they were tall and gangly, with a tawny skin that blended with the ochres of the surrounding sandstone.

Martenga, from Taprobane in the Epsilon Indi system, was shorter than most adult humans, with a fine, blue-gray pelt. Unlike the Raven natives, who descended from a distant primate-like ancestor, timoans had evolved from something like a terrestrial meerkat. More distantly still, the ancestors of both had come from Earth, brought by the mysterious Terraformers some sixty-five million years ago.

“Should have known the alien was Carson’s too,” Zeke said, sotto voce.

“That’s funny,” the timoan said, “I thought Carson was my alien.” He grinned. “No offense meant nor taken,” he added.

“Ha! You’re all right, Martenga,” Zeke said, careful to keep both his hands in view.

Carson’s eye shifted warily as he watched the exchange. He knew most of the men here, and they were generally a good bunch, but he had seen arguments lead to drawn pistols. Not that he was worried about Martenga, specifically. Timoans had lightning-fast reflexes, and Zeke apparently knew it.

The waitress came back and distributed her trayful of drinks.

“Cheers, folks,” Carson said, hoisting a mug of the weak brew that passed for beer here. This early in the day, they were drinking more for the water and electrolytes than the alcohol. At least, that was the excuse.

The group chatted for a while, but with the timoan now the center of attention rather than Jackie, several of the men left to attend to whatever daily chores they had. It gradually dawned on Carson that Jackie had not returned.

“She’s taking her time,” he said.

“Women,” said Zeke dismissively. “She’ll be along.”

“No, she’s a starship officer. It’s not like her.” He stood up. “I’ll just go check at the desk.”

He came back a few moments later, signaling to Sato and Martenga. “They haven’t seen her, and there’s no answer from her room.” He pulled out his omniphone and tapped the screen.

The timoan looked at Sato, who shrugged and shook his head.

“No answer,” Carson said, slapping the omni against his wrist so that it curled around and held. He looked at Martenga. “Did she say anything to you? Maybe she went shopping?” His tone said he didn’t believe it.

“No. She was out at the exchange this morning, looking at souvenirs and firestones, such as they were. But I don’t know her that well. We only met on the way here.”

Zeke got up from the table and came over to them. “I don’t mean to butt in, but you look worried. Somethin’ wrong?”

“Probably not,” Carson said. “I’ll just check at the desk again.”

“Never mind that.” Zeke beckoned the waitress over. “Millie, get the key to Ms. Roberts’s room, would you? Likely nothin’, but Doc Carson here is getting anxious. You know these city fellers.” He said the last with a wink at Carson.

“What? Oh, sure, boss. Be right back, gents.”

“Come on, Carson,” Zeke said. “Sit back down and relax. Have another beer.”

“But you just sent the waitress away,” Carson said, grinning and allowing himself to be led back to the table.

“I guess I did, didn’t I? That was dumb.”

A few moments later they heard the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs, and Millie came in looking flustered. “Sir,” she said, agitated, “you’d better come up and see this.”

Carson was halfway up the stairs before the last word was out of her mouth.

* * *

The door to Jackie’s room was ajar, as Millie had left it in her hurry. Carson pushed it open, half dreading that he would find Jackie’s body within. The room was empty. He took a step inside, puzzled, glancing around. Jackie’s gun belt hung on a peg near the door, and on the bed was a bag, still open. But aside from her absence, he didn’t immediately see anything wrong.

Just then Martenga, Sato, Millie, and Zeke arrived at the doorway behind him.

He turned to Millie. “What…?”

She pointed to the bed. “There, on the pillow.”

There was a note. Carson grabbed it up and read it out loud, “Carson. You have the artifact we want. We have something you want. Trade? Stay put. We’ll be in touch.”

Carson felt a knot in his stomach, then a slow, simmering rage. It was all he could do not to crumple the note into a tiny ball, but instead, stiffly, he passed it to Martenga. “Fucking tomb raiders,” he snarled, in a tone that would blister paint.

* * *

Back in the saloon, the four of them—Carson, Zeke, Martenga, and Sato—sat in a quiet corner discussing the situation.

“It was that bastard, Herbert,” Carson growled. “Somehow he knew about the artifact we found.”

“He said that?” Sato wondered.

“Not in so many words, but I got that impression. The timing.”

“Who’s Herbert?” Zeke asked.

“No idea. Guy came up to me on the street soon after we got to town. You don’t know the name?”

“Nobody local.” He turned to Martenga. “Anyone else come in yesterday with you and the lady?”

“Not that I noticed, and I think I would have.”

“Huh,” Zeke snorted, and thought for a moment. “We did have a few folks come in last week, didn’t stay at the hotel. I figured they were new hands for one of the ranches.”

“But how could they have known about the artifact?” Satoshi asked.

“There must be a leak in the camp,” Carson said, “maybe unintentional. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“What’s this artifact you’re talking about?” Martenga asked. “It must be something special for all this trouble.”

“What do you know about the natives here on Raven?” Carson asked him.

“The basics. They flourished here in The Rift circa ten thousand years ago, neolithic civilization, not quite bronze age, but they had agriculture and worked gold and silver, and softer gems like firestones. Moved north as the climate warmed and the valley dried out. Still around, but more nomadic now. What am I missing, Carson?”

“What about their legends of sky people?”

Martenga made the timoan equivalent of a shrug. “Lots of cultures have legends of sky people. Heck, so do we, and ours are justified.” He grinned. The timoan people had been in their iron age when discovered by human spacefarers.

At Carson’s scowl, he added, “But that’s not what you meant. Okay, legends of gods from the skies, taking on aspects of local animals, as well as the timoanoid or humanoid natives. Some cave art and carvings, a mix of figures and symbols like stars and triangles.” He looked around the table. Carson was nodding slightly, but Zeke was shaking his head. “Something else?” Martenga asked him.

“You ain’t wrong,” Zeke said, “but the legends here are much richer. The sky gods were powerful, with flying chariots that even the rocs avoided. Flying mountains, even. Stories of heroes and monsters. Great battles!”

“Oral history,” Carson said, breaking in on Zeke’s enthusiasm. “Some of the natives tell stories. With no written records, it’s hard to tell how much was passed down over time, and how much is recent embellishment. Some of it correlates with tales from other planets, but it could be contamination.”

“So this artifact you found,” Martenga said, “it somehow relates to these legends?”

“It doesn’t prove anything itself, but—”

They were interrupted by a boy of about twelve who came in, breathless, carrying a small package. “Which one of you is Dr. Carson?”

“That’s me.”

“A man told me to give you this.”

“What man, where?” Carson demanded.

“Easy,” Zeke said. “This is Arne Jackson’s boy, he’s a good kid. Answer his questions, son.”

“I never seen him before. At the edge of town. He said to deliver this to you here, and then he rode off.”

“Okay,” Zeke said. “You did good. Go tell Millie at the bar I said you could have a soda or ice or whatever. Off you go.” He waved to her to give the okay.

“Thanks, Mr. Zeke.” The boy scurried off.

Carson opened the package. Inside, in a plastic bag, was a cheap-model omniphone and a lock of green hair. Jackie’s. Carson’s grip threatened to crush the phone.

“Now what?” Satoshi said.

“We wait.”

Satoshi seemed flustered. “But shouldn’t we call the police or something?”

Zeke snorted. “Nearest law enforcement’s in Ravensport,” he said. “Wouldn’t get here before tomorrow, day after, even if they deigned to scramble out here for something as minor as a missin’ person.”

“But—”

“We’ll handle it,” Carson said.

Some minutes later, the omniphone rang, with the caller identified as “Herbert.”

Carson stabbed at the screen to answer, and without giving Herbert a chance to talk, snarled, “You want the artifact? Then we deal on my terms. I want Roberts and ten thousand credits for the trouble.”

The others at the table stared at him, horrified. He motioned them to silence, but beckoned Martenga to listen closer. He continued, “You were willing to pay cash for the artifact before, so you’ve got the money. I’ll tell you when and where we make the exchange.”

“You’re crazy, Carson. The deal is Roberts only, and—

“She’s a spacer, she takes risks all the time. But if anything happens to her, the price will be half a million credits. If you know what the artifact is, you know it’s worth it. You’ll also have the UDT after you for murder.”

“Roberts only, and we don’t cut her fingers off. Otherwise, we start sending them to you one at a time until you deal.”

Shit, Carson thought. This was going in a direction he didn’t like. “How do I know she’s still alive? Or that you even have her at all?”

“She’s right here. She’s been listening, and she ain’t happy. I’ll put her on.”

A female voice came on. Carson recognized it as Jackie, but not the edge of panic in her voice.

“Hannibal, what the fuck are you doing? These guys are serious, let them have the damned artifact!”

“Not before I get you back safe, Jackie. It’s the only leverage I have. And I will get you back safe!”

“Just get me—” Her voice cut off as if someone had muffled her.

The man came back on. “Of course you’ll get her back safe, Carson. Just bring us the artifact.

The defiance left Carson’s voice. “All right. Let’s do a trade. When and where?”

Herbert gave map coordinates and a time late in the day.

“That won’t work. I need time to go back to the camp to get it.”

Tomorrow noon, then. Same place.

“Okay. Call me at ten, and we’ll work the details. You’re not getting anything until I see Jackie safe.”

And you’re not getting her until I see the artifact. We’ll talk. Now you’d better get moving.” The connection clicked off.

Martenga leaned away from the omniphone and stared at him. “What are you doing, Carson? Trying to get Jackie killed?”

“No, just the opposite. But I wanted to get a feel for the opposition. There has to be at least two of them, one to deliver the omni, one with Jackie. More likely at least three. Did you hear anything in the background?” Timoan hearing was more acute than a human’s.

“Not really. There was a slight reverberation, like they were in an empty room, or underground in a tunnel with hard walls, not dirt.”

“A mine tunnel, perhaps? The rock around here is sandstone.”

“Maybe. I can’t tell that much from the sound.”

Carson turned to Zeke. “You know the area as well as anyone, right?”

“Yep, better’n most.”

“Okay,” he said, unfurling his own omni screen to full size and laying it out on the table. He brought up a map of the area around Montresor, showing the valley floor and part of the canyon. He pointed at a spot. “They suggested doing the trade here.” It was an area where the floor sloped downward, scabland terrain that merged into the main canyon. The rendezvous was where two smaller coulees crisscrossed in an X.

Zeke looked at it and nodded. “I see what they’re doing. Plenty of cover, several ways in and out. And if they’ve got the people, they can see who’s coming and going.”

“They don’t even need the people if they put a couple of cameras up there,” Martenga said.

“Good point, but the people have to come from somewhere,” Carson said. “Zeke, do you know of any old mines, ones that aren’t being worked by folks you trust, that would be an easy ride from there? Assume they’d be bringing a prisoner with them, and also that they’d have to make a getaway after.”

Zeke examined the map, panning and zooming it a bit. He tapped several locations, marking them with a symbol. “There are mines here, here, and here that, far as I know, have been worked out. There are a couple of smaller pits there and there,” he added, tapping the map again, “but they never amounted to much and don’t go back far. This one”—he pointed to one the mines he’d marked earlier—“is near the Johnson claim here.” He added another symbol. “That’s still being worked, so if they’re trying to hide, they wouldn’t be near it.”

Zeke studied the map a moment longer. “For what it’s worth, there’s an old aboriginal site in the cliffs just over the canyon rim here.” He pointed. “The place goes pretty far back in. They were mining too, but it was pretty much looted clean twenty years back. There’s nothing much there now.”

Carson and Martenga examined the map, comparing the marked mine sites with the terrain.

“These two mines are pretty close together,” Martenga noted.

“They are, aren’t they? Zeke, were these part of the same claim?”

“Might have been, I’d have to check. Why?”

“They’re on opposite sides of the same ridge. I wonder if they tunneled straight through.”

“Let me check.” Zeke pulled out his own omni and began tapping through to access the claims database.

“What are you thinking, Carson?” Martenga asked him.

“I’m thinking that either of those make a convenient spot to get to the rendezvous from, and that if I were holed up after doing something illegal, it’d be nice to have a back door.”

“Okay, but there could be side tunnels all through that ridge. And even if that is where they’ve got Jackie, what do you hope to do about it? We can’t move on it without risking her.”

“Perhaps. I need to check something myself.” He opened another window on the screen showing the map and started tapping away.

Zeke closed his omni and said, “Yep, those two are the old McPherson claim. He had most of that ridge staked. Closed up seven or eight years back. I remember now, he’d had a problem with cave-ins, and it was pretty much dry by then anyway.”

“Bingo,” Carson muttered, and then looked up. “Cave-ins, you said?”

“As I recall, yes. Didn’t pay much attention at the time. Why?”

Carson pointed to the window he’d opened on the map. “That native site may have been looted, but it was still part of an archeological survey done back around ’07. I’ve got the map from that here. Give me a sec.” Carson fiddled with the display for a few moments, rotating and zooming the inset, then dragging it to the edge of the canyon on the larger map.

“There,” he said, and sat back. The archeological survey showed the outline of ancient tunnels underlying part of the ridge the McPherson claim spanned.

Zeke let out a low whistle. “Well, hell, no wonder he had cave-ins.”

Martenga looked thoughtful. “That’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Carson said. “But think about it. The natives were mining firestones. So was McPherson. Firestones form when water seeps through the rock and leaves dissolved silica behind. Water follows paths of least resistance. McPherson and the natives were probably both mining the same vein from different ends.”

“Okay,” the timoan said, “but we still don’t know if that’s where they’re keeping Jackie. Or if it is, how well guarded it is. Or if we can even get into it from the cliffside.”

“True. But that last bit, my tunneling timoan friend, is where you come in.”

“Me? I may be descended from cousins to your meerkats, but that doesn’t mean I can dig. Not through sandstone, not without a boring machine.”

“I’m hoping you won’t have to do any actual digging, just follow existing tunnels. Maybe move a few loose stones.”

“How am I supposed to do that without a map?”

“I’m going to trust your judgment and knowledge. You do know how to use a ground-penetrating radar, don’t you?”

“Wait, you have a GPR? Handheld?”

“Yes, back at the camp.”

Zeke had been listening to the exchange between the two archeologists, not entirely following, but he got the gist. “So I take it you boys have some kind of plan?”

Carson looked at him. “Well, it still has some holes in it, but it’s starting to come together.”

* * *

Carson’s return to camp alone raised questions among the crew there. But he was the boss; he brushed them off.

“Where’s Satoshi? And I thought you were bringing someone else back?”

“Change of plans. I’ll explain later,” Carson said, scrambling to pull together the artifact, in its lockbox, and the portable GPR. “I have to get back.”

“Now? You’re going to ride at night?”

“Pallas is almost full. There’s plenty of light. No worries. Back in a couple of days.”

On his way back, he paused outside of town to swap a rock for the artifact, and hide the latter.

* * *

Carson rode to the rendezvous, expecting trouble. Herbert waited for him, holding a gun on Jackie who sat, blindfolded, on another ghorsel, her hands tied to the saddle.

“No sudden moves, Carson. You’re covered. Now, dismount and set the artifact on the ground.”

Carson did so, placing the lockbox on the ground a couple of meters away. “Now, let Jackie go.”

“Not yet. Bart! Check the box.”

Crap, this isn’t going to work, thought Carson, hearing footsteps behind him.

“It’s not in the box,” Carson said.

“What do you mean?” Herbert raised his gun to Jackie.

“Lower your weapon. Do you want the artifact, or do you want a world of hurt? You’re not the only one with backup.”

Hannibal?” Jackie shouted. “What are you doing?”

“Yeah, what are you trying to pull?”

“I expected a double-cross. I had to see Roberts alive. Let her go, then I’ll tell you where I hid the artifact.”

“No. Bring us the artifact, and we’ll trade. You’ve got three hours. No tricks this time. Boys, keep him covered until we’re gone.” With that, Herbert turned to ride off with Jackie’s ghorsel in tow.

As they disappeared up the canyon, he heard Jackie yell back. “Carson, you bastard!

Shit, he thought. That didn’t go as planned. He mounted up and turned to ride south.

* * *

Martenga and Sato wriggled over the rubble pile that, according to the GPR, separated the old aboriginal tunnel from the McPherson mine. It had taken most of Carson’s allotted three hours to get this far, once they’d confirmed where Herbert had taken Jackie.

It was a tight squeeze, and they’d already crawled more than ten meters with no signs of the passage widening.

“Are you sure this is right?” Satoshi gasped as he squirmed through yet another tight gap between two boulders. Martenga, ahead of him, wasn’t having it much easier. Although smaller than Sato, he was burdened with the GPR.

“Ask me again in ten minutes,” Martenga muttered.

“At least Jackie’s skinnier than I am. Getting back should be easier.”

The plan was for the timoan to bring Jackie back the way they had come, with Sato and Carson creating a distraction. Carson would be outside the main mine entrance, while Satoshi escaped out the back. Carson hadn’t wanted to put his student at risk like that, but the young man had insisted.

They pushed on, and soon the heap of rock debris they’d been climbing over sloped down to the floor of a larger passage. They were in the McPherson mine.

“Now what?” Sato whispered.

Martenga put up a hand for silence, listening. There weren’t any choices here. The tunnel went straight ahead, then bent to the right. “Turn your light off,” Martenga said quietly. His own light was much dimmer than Sato’s; his dark vision was better. He turned it off anyway.

A scattering of glowing flecks shone from the walls, tiny fragments of low-grade firestone not worth digging out. Farther on, a more general lessening of the darkness indicated a lit tunnel ahead.

“Okay,” Martenga said, keeping his voice low. “Keep the lights out. Quietly now, let’s move.”

They crept on, rounding the curve. Soon they came to a wider cross tunnel, dimly illuminated by lights strung along the ceiling. The timoan called a halt a couple of meters short.

He held the ground-penetrating radar against the wall of the tunnel, checking its display, then did the same on the other side. “Stay here, keep quiet. I’m going to figure out which way.” He moved forward silently into the cross tunnel. He paused, turning to listen intently one way, and then the other. He did it again, this time tapping his omni each time. Finally, he nodded and beckoned to Sato.

“What’s with the omni?” Sato whispered.

“Sonic pulse. I can hear higher frequencies than humans.” He pointed down one branch of the tunnel. “I don’t hear anyone that way, and it sounds like it opens up. That’s the back entrance. This way”—he pointed down the other branch—“sounds like where Jackie is.” He checked the pistol at his side, and Sato did likewise. “Okay,” Martenga said, “we go this way.”

* * *

Carson halted his ghorsel at the rendezvous point, a kilometer from the old McPherson mine. He was deliberately early, but he knew that the kidnappers would be watching for him. He dismounted, unfastened the lockbox from where he’d secured it to his saddle, and walked a few paces away from his mount. His gaze swept the surrounding ridgetops.

“All right,” he shouted, his voice echoing off the surrounding walls. “I’ve brought what you wanted.” He raised the box, then put it down on the ground. “Where’s Jackie?”

There was no answer, only the whisper of the wind over the rocks. Carson turned and paced around, not wanting to stand in one spot for too long.

“Hello?” he shouted again.

This time he was answered, an amplified voice shouting back at him, the weird acoustics of the crossed canyons making the direction impossible to determine. “Okay, Carson. Open the box and walk away.”

“Not until I see Jackie. Bring her out where I can see her!”

“That’s not how it works this time.”

What’s keeping Marten? Carson thought furiously. He was supposed to signal when he had Jackie. What if the omni signal was too weak to penetrate the rock over the tunnels? He had to stall longer.

“Then I guess you don’t really want this,” he shouted back, walking over to pick up the box and moving to put it back on his ghorsel’s saddle.

“Enough!” A shot rang out, spalling chips off a boulder a few meters from where Carson stood. He spotted the flash; it came from a point on the lip of the coulee to the northeast. That’s one, he thought. He stepped away from his mount and put the box on the ground again, then took a casual step toward the boulder the shot had hit. It was potential cover.

“That was a warning,” the voice came. “Next one is either in you or in Roberts.”

“I hear you!” Carson called back. “Just relax, and we can still both get what we want.” Come on, Marten! What’s keeping you? “Just show me Jackie!”

“Okay, here she is. Look to your one o’clock!”

Carson looked. Across the canyon from where he’d seen the muzzle flash, silhouetted against the sky, a figure stood and waved at him. It was too far away to tell who it was, something the kidnappers were probably counting on. If that’s Jackie, Carson thought, then I’m a timoan. But that’s two.

“Now show us the artifact!” The figure atop the ridge disappeared.

Carson swore to himself. He was out of time. “All right,” he shouted back, raising his hands in appeasement.

* * *

Martenga and Sato found Jackie bound and gagged in a side tunnel off the passage they’d been following. Her guard was fifty meters farther on, near the main entrance to the mine, his back to them. Good, that would ruin his night vision. “Stay here,” Martenga told Sato, and then slipped in to release her.

The side tunnel was dark, but there was enough light for Jackie to recognize the timoan as he sneaked up and motioned her to silence. Since she was gagged, the gesture was redundant, and she rolled her eyes. He unfastened the gag and began working on her bindings.

“I hate this place!” she hissed. “What’s happening? Where’s Hannibal?”

“He’s providing a distraction. I’m going to sneak you out a secret tunnel.”

“Secret tunnel? What are you talking about?” By now Martenga had her hands free, and they both began working on untying her legs.

“There’s a partly collapsed passage that connects to an old aboriginal mine. It’s a squeeze, but that’s how we got in here.”

Her eyes widened as if in terror. “No fucking way! Sorry, I’m not going out that way.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I-I’m claustrophobic. There must be another way. Give me a gun, I’ll shoot my way out. How many guards are there?”

“Don’t you know? Never mind. I’ve got another idea. This way.” They caught up with Sato, still watching the guard at the entrance.

“Anything?” Martenga asked him.

“There might be someone else out there, and I thought I heard a shot in the distance. Why aren’t you taking Jackie back?”

“Change of plan. You take her out the back entrance, not the side tunnel. I’ll distract the guards.” To Jackie he said, “Stick with Sato. It’s a tunnel, but a big one, and it should be lit all the way. You’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise. Go! And quietly!”

As Sato and Jackie darted off down the tunnel, Martenga keyed his omni to send Carson the signal. Then he drew his pistol. Getting around the guard at the main entrance shouldn’t be a problem, he had the advantages of surprise and speed. If it came to a shootout, though, well…The timoan knew he was a quick draw, but he also knew he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.

* * *

Carson had started to step back toward the box when the omni on his wrist beeped. Finally! He leaned down as if to reach for the box, then converted the motion into a roll behind the boulder, drawing his pistol as he went, and snapping off a shot toward the gunman on the north ridge.

Answering fire came back from both sides of the canyon, and Carson alternated shots between the two. Bullets ricocheted off the rocks around him, scattered enough that he wasn’t worried about their marksmanship, but the sheer volume meant they’d get lucky sooner or later. He picked his own shots more carefully, aiming for the flashes. Zeke was supposed to be giving him backup; where the hell was he?

Then he heard shots coming from the ridge behind him, and the fusillade around him lessened. Zeke must have arrived, at last, to help take the pressure off. But Carson was pinned down, and Herbert and his men could retreat under cover. If Marten and Sato hadn’t gotten Jackie clear, things could end badly. He had to pursue.

He fired again, then, with Zeke laying covering fire, he dashed across the open toward the cross canyon. From there he could climb up and flank the gunman on the north ridge. Herbert, if Carson was lucky.

* * *

Martenga rode to the sound of the guns. He’d easily evaded the guard at the mine, firing enough shots to panic him into fleeing, then stealing his ghorsel. But gunshots ahead told him Carson needed help, and he had to distract the gang from following Satoshi and Jackie.

A shot came from behind him, probably the guard. Martenga fired back over his shoulder. Then for the hell of it, fired a few rounds toward the gunfire ahead. That should keep them off balance.

* * *

Carson was down; he’d been hit crossing the clearing, but he’d made it to cover, and the wound didn’t seem bad. Above him, the firing continued sporadically. Someone else had joined the fight. Satoshi, maybe?

His omni sounded again. It was a message. JACKIE IS SAFE. ON OUR WAY BACK TO TOWN.—SATO. Then who was shooting?

Marten!

After that, things got kind of blurry.

* * *

Later, back at the saloon in Montresor, Carson, Sato, Zeke, and Martenga sat around a table drinking beers. Carson’s left arm was in a sling. He’d taken a hit in his upper arm, but the town’s autodoc had patched it up. He was pretty sure they had taken out at least one of the kidnappers, but there’d been no sign of them, save for some bloodstains, when law officers from Ravensport had finally shown up.

Sadly, Carson had missed Jackie when she left with them. He’d still been in the traumapod, and she hadn’t wanted to stick around. Partly, Sato had said, because she was worried about getting back to the Arabella, her ship, before it departed.

But Carson suspected it was because she blamed him for everything.

“So, what was all this fuss about an artifact anyway?” Zeke asked while Millie brought another round of beer. “Most of what I’ve ever seen has been arrowheads and potsherds, with a few bits of carved firestone. Nothing worth that much trouble over.”

“That’s partly because a lot of it was cleaned out by tomb raiders a long time ago,” Carson said. “But remember the legends of the sky people we talked about before?”

“Yeah, so? I’ve seen a few petroglyphs and scratchings on cave walls. Triangles and alien-looking creatures.” He glanced at Martenga. “No offense.”

The timoan grinned back. “I don’t have feathers or scales,” he said.

“Exactly,” Carson said. He looked at Martenga and Satoshi, then back at Zeke. “These guys know what I’m talking about, but have you ever heard of Quetzalcoatl or Kukulkan? Aztec and Mayan names of a certain god, from back on Earth?”

“Can’t say that I have. What’s the significance?”

“Maybe none at all, it might just be coincidence. But a number of ancient cultures, on different planets, have legends of sky gods. I find it interesting. What I also find interesting is that Quetzalcoatl, etcetera, are Earth legends of a feathered serpent.” He lifted the lockbox from under his chair, set it on the table, and unlatched it. “This,” he said, raising the lid, “is what all the fuss was about.”

Even in the subdued lighting of the saloon, the fist-sized carved firestone gleamed and iridesced brilliantly, glowing with deep reds and flashes of green. There were gasps from around the table. Carson smiled and lifted it out of the box. It was an exquisitely carved head, something like a snake’s or a lizard’s, with a crest of feathers running from the brow up over the head and down to the neck.

“I’m just sorry Jackie didn’t get a chance to see it,” Carson said.

“You’ll see her again,” Sato said. “Isn’t her spaceline based out of Sawyers World?”

“It is,” Carson said, “but the university’s talking about leasing its own ship. I’m not sure we’d cross paths.”

“You could, you know, call her,” Martenga said. “I think she likes you.”

“I thought so too, until I botched the swap,” Carson said wistfully. The last thing he remembered was her shouting at him, Carson, you bastard! Would they ever be on the same planet, at the same time, long enough for him to explain himself to her? He could hope.

T-Space wasn’t that big, was it?


The End



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