Serpent's Gift Read online

  "Yeah, I guess ..." she whispered. "But I--I've got this damned ice cream all over me ..."

  "Please, do not worry," Serge reassured her and, gently putting a hand on her shoulder, turned her toward the opposite side of the lounge from the direction Hing and the affronted Simiu had taken. He pointed. "There is a lavatory there, and you will also find a clothing servo inside. You go wash up. I will wait for you here. Okay?"

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  She nodded, not looking at him, and went.

  Serge stood gazing after her, wondering why the devil the StarBridge Admissions Committee had decided to accept a child so young. Someone touched his arm, and he turned to find Janet Rodriguez. "Heard you had some excitement," she said dryly.

  Nodding, he gave her a quick summary of what had happened. By the time he'd finished, Hing and Khuharkk' were heading toward them from the other rest room. "I have an idea," Serge said as they watched them make their way through the restless crowd of waiting students. "You and Hing accompany the group down to the King while I wait for Heather. On the ride back, you, Hing, and Khuharkk' ride in the passenger compartment. I will pilot, and keep Heather with me. That way we'll avert the chance of any further confrontations."

  Janet nodded. "Good idea."

  Quickly, without raising her voice, she herded the students together and, with Hing bringing up the rear, led them off down the docking tube.

  They'd barely gotten out of earshot before Serge saw Heather returning.

  Face scrubbed, hair combed, she wore a freshly cleaned, dry coverall--and a black scowl. Her pale green eyes were as hard as jade marbles, and her mouth was a grim slash amid the freckles. "Where's that damned Simiu?"

  she demanded, glancing around.

  "Khuharkk' and Hing have already boarded the shuttle," Serge replied.

  "Calm yourself, Heather .. . relax."

  "The hell I will," she snapped. "The more I think about what happened, the madder I get. That damned. .." she sputtered, "monkey was going to kill me!

  If it hadn't been for Hing--"

  "Stop it," Serge broke in, his tone still quiet, but something in it made Heather obey. His blue eyes held hers. "Heather, if Rob Gable or any of the other instructors heard you speak about a fellow student in such a racist, demeaning manner, you would quickly discover yourself on the next ship back to Esarth," he said flatly.

  "You are at StarBridge, now, and you are expected to uphold the mission of the school--which is about establishing positive relationships between different species. You do not belong here if you cannot learn that." Seeing her pale, he spoke more gently. "I know Khuharkk' frightened you, and I am sorry for that. But you have to realize that you insulted him every bit as fully as if you had called him names before all the other students.

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  Appearance is terribly important to his people--you made him feel like a fool."

  She took a deep, shaky breath, then her gaze wavered and dropped. "He had no right to growl and roar at me like that," she mumbled.

  "He was speaking in his own language. The Simiu tongue sounds like that to those of us who haven't learned to speak it," Serge pointed out. "Heather, I feel certain that Rob Gable and the Simiu counselor will discuss Khuharkk's behavior with him. But that is not your concern, understand?" He put a hand on her shoulder, gently. "I want you to promise me that you will not cause any further incidents--as much for your own welfare as for the Simiu's.

  Promise?"

  She didn't look up. "I promise that I'll stay away from Khuharkk'," she finally said in a grudging tone. "I won't speak to him or go into the same room with him. Okay?"

  Serge hesitated. "Eventually you are bound to find yourself in a situation where you must be polite to him," he pointed out. "StarBridge is a small asteroid."

  The girl sighed, then she looked up, her green eyes direct. "I promise that if I ever have to speak to him again, I'll be completely polite," she said. "Okay?"

  Serge nodded, relieved, and picked up Heather's small totebag. "That's fine.

  Now let's board that shuttle. We are a bit short of seats in the passenger compartment, so would you mind sitting up front with me while I pilot?"

  She gave him a quick, incredulous glance, then began to smile. "Really?

  You mean it?"

  "Mais oui," he said, giving her his most charming smile. "You are not subject to space sickness, are you?"

  "Hell, no!"

  Ssoriszs, the CLS Liaison for the Academy at StarBridge, lay coiled in the darkness of his room, far below the airless surface of StarBridge's asteroid, motionless and nearly silent. Only his breath came and went with the faintest of hisses. Lidless eyes fastened on the meditation disk before him, he willed the manipulatory tendrils haloing his head to stillness, then let his mind float free of all consciousness of his body.

  The lack of light helped. Before him, the meditation disk turned lazily, barely seen holographic images swirling and flickering in its depths. The artists who created meditation disks swore that they did not place actual images of persons, places, or things into

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  the depths of the disks. They maintained that the meditation disk only served to conjure what lay within the depths of the observer's own mind.

  Ssoriszs saw spaceships in his disk.

  He saw them frequently, more than any other vision. At times' his dead lifemate's face would flash across his mind's eye, and sometimes the faces of his children that had gone to join Beyond. Only rarely did Ssoriszs see the faces of the living.

  Today, it was the ships again. A fleet of them, sleek and shining, braving the unknown stretches of the interstellar void. Ssoriszs knew who they were...

  Mizari who, millennia ago, had fled the homeworld of Shassiszss because they were not cherished, not wanted. Exiles, all of them, nearly four thousand years ago, now.

  Including a full dozen of Ssoriszs' ancestors. The Esteemed Liaison was proud that he could trace his forebears back for over five hundred centuries.

  But there was one branch in his family tree that had been lopped off when barely more than a twig. Those ancestors had departed with what was now known as the Mizari Lost Colony.

  Heritage, ancestors, and tradition were an important part of Mizari spiritual life. Those missing ancestors rankled Ssoriszs, making him feel incomplete, unfinished, in some small but vital way. What had become of them?

  It was one of the elderly Mizari's fondest dreams to imagine that somewhere, in another part of this vast galaxy, he had relatives who were living and breathing offshoots from his family tree. Surely the Lost Colony was only misplaced--not truly lost!

  He thought often of those so-distant cousins, imagining them alive and thriving, cradled perhaps in another of the galaxy's sheltering arms.

  Centuries ago, the Mizari had begun the CLS when they had encountered first the Apis world, and then the Drnians. Now the ranks of the CLS had swelled to Fifteen Known Worlds. Trade flourished between the member planets, and despite inevitable conflicts, peace reigned. Ssoriszs frequently wondered about what his people had done when they had reached their unknown destination. What if the Lost Colony had somewhere established its own version of the Cooperative League of Systems? What if there was a rich flowering of culture and wisdom out there, somewhere?

  In the eyes of his mind, Ssoriszs imagined the day when representatives of the two groups could finally meet, and talk.

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  There would be such a lot to catch up on--so much knowledge to be shared!

  The elderly Mizari mentally pictured a youngster the same age as his only grandson--but as different from Zarshezz in mind and spirit as the night was from the day. This lad bore a strong resemblance to himself, with a pale green body and bold emerald and amber diamonds on his back. The image formed before Ssoriszs in the meditation disk, staring back at him with golden eyes that mirrored his own. Within the cells of both of their bodies would be a genetic signature traceable back to a common ancestor, long ago.

  Greeti
ngs, he thought, mentally bowing to his imaginary cousin. I am Ssoriszs, and I thank the Star-Spirits that they have allowed me to live to see this day! May I be honored with your name?

  And then they would converse, as Ssoriszs and Zarshezz had seldom been able to talk, openly and frankly. They would share knowledge and grow together in wisdom ...

  Ssoriszs did not smile--his mouth was not constructed for it-- but his tendrils waved languidly and he hissed softly with pleasure as he imagined how it would be. Then, slowly, deliberately, he began bringing his consciousness back to normal functioning levels.

  "Lights," he murmured finally, and the room, hearing even such a soft sibilant whisper, obeyed.

  The Liaison's living quarters were furnished with padded rods and brackets protruding from the walls; Mizari enjoyed draping themselves over such extrusions. There were also several padded cubicles that served as resting places--his people's equivalent of chairs. In the bathroom, a refreshing hot mud bath waited in the large circular depression in the floor.

  In addition to Mizari furnishings, Ssoriszs kept some off-world furniture for the comfort of visitors. There was an armchair for Robert Gable, and one of the padded, ottomanlike cushions that Chhhh-kk-tu favored, for Kkintha ch'aait, StarBridge Academy's Administrator. The three were old friends by now, having worked together for many years to make their shared dream of StarBridge _Academy a reality.

  Ssoriszs had excellent taste, as well as an eye for color; the suite was decorated in soft shades of green, gray, and rose.

  ¦ The silvery carpeting the Liaison now slid across was specially textured to provide the best surface for the gripping scales on his underbody.

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  Fil ed with a renewed sense of inner peace and resolve, Ssoriszs flowed over to the computer link. "Connect me with Professor Greyshine," he said.

  When the Heeyoon's image cleared, Ssoriszs realized that his call had awakened the archaeologist from what had evidently been a most sound and enjoyable nap. Greyshine's greenish-yellow eyes were still slightly unfocused as he stared at Ssoriszs. "Greetings," he said after a moment.

  The slurred sibilants of Mizari were understandable but slightly distorted, produced as they were by a being with a long, furred muzzle. "Your pardon, Esteemed One. I was . . . resting."

  "A thousand apologies," Ssoriszs said hastily. "I regret disturbing you. I was just wondering . .. what were the results of the additional dating tests you ran on the artifacts? Did they confirm our hypothesis?"

  The Professor wrinkled his muzzle as he thought. "The artifacts that we have been able to date are from the correct time period," he admitted finally, then waved a forepaw at the Mizari to forestall his excited response. "Other tests are needed before I can definitively state that the objects found were brought to this asteroid by your Lost Colony, Esteemed One!"

  The Mizari hissed softly. "Of course. I understand. But the possibility is growing."

  "It seems to be, but I would not want to make premature assumptions," the Heeyoon said. His voice was gruff, deliberately quelling, but the CLS

  Liaison did not miss the answering flash of excitement in his eyes. He, too, believes that we have found a vital link in tracing the fate of the Lost Colony, Ssoriszs thought.

  "What other tests will be necessary?" he asked aloud.

  "We will need to test for ion patterning and magnetic resonances that would indicate the location of their manufacture on your homeworld. If we can pinpoint the location, that will help a great deal."

  "Yes, yes it would," the Mizari agreed, restraining himself with an effort.

  "But that will not be the end of the testing," Greyshine warned. "We must also attempt to definitively link the artifacts to artists and craftsmen who were part of the Star Seeker Sect."

  "What kinds of tests would that require?" Ssoriszs asked.

  "Examinations and computer analysis to check for makers' marks, for one thing. And some of the sealed items--such as the Sharizan globe--still contain air samples from the time of their making. We can look for traces of the incense traditionally

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  burned by the Star Seekers during their daily devotions. But to extract samples of that ancient air will require a probe insertion, which is a delicate task that, no matter how carefully done, will cause unavoidable damage. I want the team of specialists from Shassiszss to handle that test."

  "Damage the Sharizan globe?" Ssoriszs' tendrils waved in distress. "But that would be a tragedy!"

  "Calm yourself, Esteemed One. The hole required for the test would be nearly microscopic in size... undetectable to unaided vision," the Professor assured him. "It would not ruin the aesthetic value of the globe. But I am a field archaeologist, I do not have the laboratory expertise to make a test on such a delicate object; I prefer to wait for those who do."

  "That seems wise," Ssoriszs said, relieved. "I spoke to Rizzshor yesterday, and he assured me that their grant should be coming through any day now.

  Then it will take another week for the Mizari portion of the team to assemble and leave Shassiszss."

  "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.