by Allen Wold
Rikard and Grayshard got out, their weapons unconcealed. The driver stayed at the wheel. The back opened and Droagn slid out. Some of the museum's visitors stopped to stare at him. Rikard and Grayshard paid no attention to anybody. Droagn pulled out the heavy case, which wobbled on its floater. Rikard turned toward the steps leading up to the columned portico, Droagn followed pulling the case, and Grayshard came behind, operating the controls that enabled it to accommodate the stairs. At the top Rikard opened the glass doors and let them precede him into the large lobby.
It was like any good museum lobby. There were information desks, souvenir desks, signs to the shop, several specimen displays of large alien life forms, columns supporting balconies at two levels, corridors going off to right and left and ahead on either side of a broad stair to the mezzanine below the first balcony. There were plenty of visitors, of a variety of species and cultures. Many of them paused to stare at Droagn.
There were also security guards, who watched them enter with some visible apprehension. One of them came over. "I suggest you check your luggage," she said. She gestured at the floating case but was looking at the gun on Rikard's hip, and her expression revealed that she knew Rikard for the Gesta he was.
"I'm here to see Msr. Nevile Beneking," Rikard said. He made no move or gesture.
"I see." The guard glanced over her shoulder at her colleagues. "Very well then, you know the way?"
"We do," Rikard said, and again preceded the party up to the mezzanine. At the top was a broad corridor that led deep into the building, lined with doors on either side. It ended at an elaborately ornamented double door. Without pausing Rikard led them through it.
The room they entered was a highly decorated antechamber, which might have been used for official gatherings and such. There were benches, chairs, low tables, a bar now folded away, and doors ahead and to the right. There were mounted examples of several exotic creatures, mostly water dwellers, floating above pedestals. Against the high ceiling was another creature, but whether its habitat was air or water Rikard could not say. There was nobody present, though near the entrance there was a discreet desk where visitors might be greeted. To the left, behind this desk, was a small service door. Obeying the instructions he had been given by comcon, Rikard went to this one and opened it.
But he hesitated before entering the long corridor beyond. He could see unconcealed spy eyes in several places along its length, and seams where security doors could suddenly close. There was only a single door at the far end, which didn't look special but which would be almost impervious even to a blaster bolt.
After a moment he took a breath, stepped into the corridor, then stopped. A mechanical voice spoke from the ceiling above him.
"Msr. Jack Begin," it said. "You must leave your weapons here." A panel in the wall beside him opened. He did not hesitate this time but took off his holster and placed it on the shelf thus revealed, and put his gloves, which he had been carrying in his belt, beside it.
He stepped forward again. "Okay," the voice said. "Next please."
Droagn was immediately behind Rikard. He pushed the case into the comdor. "I can't read that," the voice said from the speaker. "You'll have to leave it outside."
"It's a 4D case," Rikard said. "It's got all our merchandise. If you don't want it here, where can I show it?"
After a moment the voice said, "Bring it in."
Droagn pushed it farther forward and came in behind it as Rikard moved out of the way. The voice from the speaker said, "Please remove your harness." Droagn did so and placed it on the shelf next to Rikard's gun and gloves. Then Grayshard came in and without being told put down his laser.
"Can you move without that support frame?" the voice asked.
"Do you really want me to?" Grayshard asked back.
"Perhaps not, but I hope you'll forgive us for taking further precautions when you enter."
"I'd do the same," Rikard said.
"Please continue," the voice told them, and they went toward the door at the far end of the corridor.
The door opened as they neared and they entered a plain room with a large desk, several chairs, and three people standing in the middle, talking to each other. One had his back to the door, while the other two, a man and a woman, each half faced it.
"Now you understand, Msr. Beneking," the man whose face Rikard could see was saying, "that we get first choice in this matter." He paid no attention to Rikard as he came in.
Beneking murmured something in response.
"It's the least you can do for us," the woman said. "We've gone to considerable trouble for you on short notice." She, too, ignored Rikard and Grayshard, who was right behind him.
"I understand completely," Beneking said. "I want you to have first pick, that's why I asked you to help me."
Then Rikard's 4D case came floating in, the man glanced at it, then Droagn came into view, and the man's eyes widened. So did the woman's, as behind Rikard Droagn reared up to his full height. Beneking turned to see what was happening, and now it was Rikard's turn to stop and stare. "Nevile Beneking" was, in fact, his uncle, Gawin Malvrone.
"Good God!" Rikard and his uncle said, all but simultaneously. For an instant Rikard didn't know what to do. It had been a long time since he'd seen his mother's brother. But a smile began to dawn on Gawin's face, and he let his feelings dictate. He and his uncle stepped toward each other, and greeted each other with a strong hug.
"Rikard," Gawin said. He stepped back but held Rikard's shoulders. "How are you?" He was nearly as tall as his nephew.
"I'm fine, Uncle Gawin, how are you?"
"Very well, very well indeed."
"It's been fifteen years since I've seen you, Uncle Gawin."
"That long?"
"When you came to Mother's funeral."
"Ah, yes." He let his arms fall. The expression on his face hinted not at grief but at guilt. "And I'm sorry. Your grandfather strictly forbade my visiting you again."
There was nothing for Rikard to say. His mother had been cast out of her family when she'd married Rikard's father.
"I understand you found your father at last," Gawin said after a pause.
"Yes. For a few moments. We, ah, got everything straight before he died."
"I'm glad. And you've been taking after him in a way."
"Now what gives you that idea?"
"I've been following some of your exploits," Gawin said with a wry twist to his mouth, "not all of them admirable."
"I'm doing what I can," Rikard said. "Maybe this particular 'exploit' will get me the academic standing I've been looking for."
"Maybe it will. I can hardly wait to see what you brought—Msr. Jack Begin."
He and Rikard laughed, and became aware once again of the rest of the world around them.
The other two Humans were standing well back, rather surprised at what they had heard, and looking a bit dubious about continuing. Droagn and Grayshard just waited. Gawin Malvrone's attention was once again drawn to Droagn, who was used to that sort of thing and not used to being ignored at all.
"Uncle Gawin," Rikard said. "May I present my friend Endark Droagn, an Ahmear. He survived twenty-five thousand years in stasis as a prisoner of the Tschagan. And this is Grayshard, a Vaashka here on, ah, special assignment."
"Pleased to meet you both," Gawin said. "As I have been keeping track of my nephew's adventures, so I have heard much about you." He then introduced the other two Humans, who were Alfard Mitchelle and Larnie Browen, directors of the museum, who had arranged this secure meeting place.
"Now let's get down to business," Mitchelle said. "Whoever you really are. Do you have things to show us, Msr., ah, Begin?"
"I most certainly do." Grayshard, using the control box, settled the big case down to the floor.
"And you are in fact in the market for art objects, Msr., ah, Beneking?"
"I am."
"Very well then."
Browen moved closer. "Let's see what you brought," she
told Rikard.
Rikard opened the case, while his uncle and the two directors watched in fascination. Then he began to take things out of the case, one by one. He handed them to his uncle—all the sculptures, crystalware, silver objects, mechanical devices, small paintings, booklike things. With each item the other three Humans became simultaneously more excited and more constrained. Their breathing became slow, deep, irregular, their faces beaded with sweat, their movements were slow and tense and tight. Gawin handed the objects to Mitchelle, who handed them in turn to Browen, who put them down first on the desk, then on the chairs, then on the floor around the desk.
"How did you get all this?" Browen asked at one point.
"I have Droagn to thank for that," Rikard said. "He saw the reference in The Journal of Pre-Federal Studies, and recognized the site for what it was."
"I mean, how did you deal with the government of Trokarion? They're having a war there, aren't they?"
"Not all of Trokarion, just Elsepreth. It's a rather unimportant country really, and mostly because of their silly civil war. Basically, I didn't deal with them at all."
"You mean you stole all this?"
"The only people," Droagn projected, which made everybody stop for a moment in surprise, "who could be said to not steal this stuff, are my people—and I sort of acted as their representative."
"... ah, I see," Browen said.
"Try not to make them jump so," Rikard said to Droagn. "They might drop something."
"But," Mitchelle said, "you had to go through Elsepreth territory to get to the site."
"I did. Should I take it back?"
"No. No . . . no."
"Good."
He kept on taking things out. Gawin Malvrone, Alfard Mitchelle, and Larnie Browen looked each item over, but were so overwhelmed that they spent only a moment with each in turn, and at last the three just withdrew to the windows, from which they stared back at the haphazard collection of art and artifact. Rikard felt good about it.
"Now we come to the books," Rikard said, and he started lifting them out, one by one, and piled them on the floor beside the case. "You want to take a look at these," he said when the case was empty. He stood and took the top one from the pile and held it out to them. "They need to be recharged, though."
"Right," Browen said, "no problem. I think." She took the book, turned it over in her hands, opened it—it still carried a residual charge—looked at a page or two before it went dark, examined the spine, the edges. "No problem at all," she said again, and moved a statue of two Ahmear amorously entwined—or something like that—aside on the top of the desk so she could activate the comcon. She spoke briefly into it. A few moments later a chime sounded over the door. She spoke into the comcon again, "Just leave it there," then went out into the corridor. She came back almost at once with an electronics cart, which she plugged into a wall receptacle. Then she took the Ahmear book and fit it between a complex of clips and busses. A small red light came on, and after a while it turned green. She took the book out of the device and opened it again.
"Fully charged," she said. She handed it to Mitchelle, and put another one in the clips.
It took a long time to charge them all. Rikard, Grayshard, and Droagn were as fascinated with the contents as the other three. Mitchelle had supper sent in. But at last everybody began to overload—except possibly Grayshard—and Browen served drinks from the private bar as they sat and stared at the treasure.
Gawin still held one of the books open in his lap. Occasionally he "flipped" a page. "I can't get a fair price for the books," he said, shaking his head. "There is no fair price for something like this."
"I know," Rikard said. "Just do the best you can." He sipped his drink, a smoky malted whiskey called Croich, with a peculiar flavor that few people besides himself liked. He had been surprised when Browen offered it to him.
"So what do we pick?" Mitchelle asked Browen.
"God, do we have to decide tonight?"
"Not at all," Rikard said. "I'll leave everything with 'Msr. Beneking' here—I think I can trust him—and you can deal with him at your leisure, or his."
"That really would make things a lot easier," Gawin said.
"And this is only a fraction of what's at the site," Rikard reminded them. "A proper expedition needs to be sent there, with all their documents in order, to collect and preserve everything else. Of course, if you do that, the value of these things will drop drastically."
"Dollar value is not what's at stake here," Browen said. "Besides, even under the best of circumstances, it would be decades before anything more could be removed."
They sat silent a moment. Without looking up from his book Gawin said, "You might be interested to know that the site on Trokarion has been reported to the news bureaus, and the authorities in Elsepreth have been pressured into doing something to preserve it, in spite of their civil war."
"Indeed," Mitchelle said. "If the existence of the site becomes common knowledge, the value of these objects could in fact increase."
"It could," Gawin said. He glanced up at Rikard. "There's more," he said. "A special force of Federation police has been assembled and sent to Trokarion to assure the safety of the site." His eyes met Rikard's squarely. His expression was quite serious. "The commander of this force is to report directly to a certain Brigadier Leonid Polski."
"Ha!" Rikard said.
It was a name he knew well. Years ago, when he'd started his career as an adventurer, Polski, then just a colonel, had become his friend and mentor. It had been Polski who'd helped him find his father, who'd later brought him into the brain pirates business, through which he'd met Grayshard and Endark Droagn. But there had been a woman, once Polski's friend, then Rikard's, and she'd gone back to Polski. And Rikard and Polski were on opposite sides of the law, more or less.
Gawin was still looking at Rikard. Mitchelle and Browen, sensing that something was going on, were quiet. "Brigadier Polski has been quoted as saying," Gawin said, "that the opening of the Ahmear city has to have been done by either Rikard Braeth or Darcy Glemtide."
"He said that?" Rikard said after a pause. "That means she's no longer with him."
"So it would seem, at least on a regular basis."
"But she hasn't come looking for me, either." He sat silent for a long moment. "How do you hear all this stuff?"
"I subscribe to a news service, and keep a repeater with me all the time." He reached up and took a small crescent shape from behind his left ear. "The master is over there," he said, nodding toward a small briefcase beside the desk.
"That must cost a bundle," Rikard said as he struggled with his thoughts.
"It does, but it's worth it."
"Does your news service say anything about anybody else being there besides me?" Rikard asked.
"No," Gawin said. "Was there?"
"She was a Gesta, I could tell. She ambushed me, and nearly got away with the treasure. She had a lot of people with her, and she scared me."
Gawin put the repeater crescent back behind his ear and listened a moment. "There's no mention of any party being there after you left—which doesn't mean that they weren't, especially if she was one of your kind." He looked up at Rikard again. "Do you know who it was?"
"Somebody named Karyl Toerson." Gawin looked surprised. "There's been no mention of anybody by that name," he said.
"Maybe she didn't get out," Rikard said. "There were Ahmear down there too, or at least the decadent descendants of Ahmear, and they ambushed us in turn." Mitchelle and Browen were more than surprised by this news. "We were able to get away, with Droagn's help, but we left Toerson down there."
"Then maybe she's dead," Gawin said.
Rikard looked at his uncle closely. There was something in his expression that hinted at more than a casual interest. "You've heard the name before," he said.
"I knew her once, long ago. You had every reason to be afraid of her, but I thought she had died long before now."
"Appar
ently not. Is there any mention of Ahmear-like beings down there?"
"No." He stared off into middle space. "For what it's worth. If she survived this long, I wouldn't count on her having died now. She's too tough."
"How did you know her?"
Gawin ran his hand across his mouth. "I'd be careful if I were you," he said. "Maybe those Ahmear people did her in, but maybe they didn't. If she shows up again, don't try to reason with her, and don't trust anything she says. Just get away. She's twisted, and evil."
"That was the feeling I got," Rikard said. "Gestae can read each other, and she's one of that kind that gives us a bad name."
"Not," Mitchelle said, "that you really need any help."
Rikard looked at the man, who was speaking in all seriousness, but he felt the mood break. "We do our best," he said wryly.
Gawin stood and put the Ahmear book down on the stack. He got his briefcase and took out the repeater master. It looked just like a small, portable comcon. He touched a few buttons and stared at the screen. "I've not been sitting idle," he said. "I've gotten responses from three of my associates. Considerable interest has been expressed by a number of reputable people, mostly universities and museums. The artworks will all be well studied and available for public viewing." He put the master down on the desk. "The books will be more of a problem, though, finding just the right place for them, since they'll all need to be translated. I've a number of places in mind, which not only are good at that sort of thing, but which also communicate with each other." He looked at Droagn. "I don't suppose I could interest you in helping out."
"There's nothing I can do for you," Droagn said. "I don't know those languages any better than you do. I can speak with you because my form of telepathy works that way, but written language is something else. I can't read anything I've seen in any of the books."
"That's too bad," Gawin said. "But even untranslated, I'm going to try to see that copies of the books are made available to the public. Or at least some of the better picture books."