Staré: Shikari Book Two

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  Two days later Rigi, with Makana lurking politely at her left shoulder, walked into the meeting room at the xenoarchaeology department’s secondary facility in Sogdia. Cyril waited in the reception area, glaring at everyone, unless he’d settled down after she left. No less than ten holo-vid lenses waited for her, three sound recorders plus more microphones, and Dr. Xian, with a dozen and more reporters. The media group resembled a group of those annoying small leapers, the ones that were smart enough to get into anything, dumb enough to get into everything, and that seemed to have as much energy as a wombow stampede. The image made her want to giggle and helped her stay calm. Then she saw Mr. Smargad lurking beside the group, opposite Dr. Xian. He glared at her, then frowned and called, “I protest!”

  Dr. Xian looked to Rigi, confused and worried both. Rigi nodded. She’d guessed someone might fuss, and said to everyone, “Makana requested to remain with me, as an observer for the Staré of Sogdia.”

  He inclined his head and gestured, adding //agreement/resolve.// “This is so.”

  Smargad turned an odd pink-purple color and made a note on a data pad, but said nothing more. Rigi sat in an un-cushioned chair at the table in front of the equipment, and Makana stepped sideways out of recorder range, then sat as well. He still loomed, at least to those who could read Staré body language. Rigi counted the people easing away or shifting to stand behind someone else. Half of the reporters could read his body language, then. Rigi folded her hands in her lap and waited.

  “Miss Auriga Bernardi is well known in the scientific and artistic communities here, and at Home, for her research skills as well as her talent as a scientific illustrator,” Dr. Xian said. “Because of her age, I insist that no personal questions be asked. If that is breached, the interview will end.” This was also law and custom, something everyone should know but probably didn’t want to admit to, Rigi thought. She’d met the sneaky questioning before at dances and teas. Some people thought all neoTraditionalists could be asked any question without taking offense or growing angry.

  “Miss Bernardi, Chas Martin for the Crown News. Could you please explain what your role on the expedition was?”

  Rigi nodded in his direction. “I am a scientific illustrator, sir, and have experience locating ruins in undisturbed areas—undisturbed by human technology I should clarify. For that reason Dr. Xian and the late Dr. Sanchez invited me to come. Holograms produce magnificent images and have their place, but an illustrator sometimes catches details and impressions that technology misses or obscures, things that help other researchers.”

  “Miss Bernardi, Heng Sifuentes, Sogdia Daily. Is it true that you discovered four new species on your own?”

  She smiled and shook her head, “No, ma’am. I observed and drew the creatures, or drew them after others observed them. The team discovered them, if the species are indeed confirmed as being previously unrecorded.”

  “Why did the Staré of the plateau separate you from the others?” The voice sounded whiny, with an odd edge to it. Rigi leaned a little, but could not quite see the person’s face.

  “Because they mistook my different dress and my lack of technical equipment to mean that I was a juvenile, sir? Ma’am?”

  “Sir, and what were those differences? I heard that you smelled different, too.”

  Rigi hid her dismay. Who started that rumor? Was it one of the soldiers? She had anticipated something like that, but it still irritated her. “As you know, I follow the neoTraditionalist belief system, and our clothing can be distinctive, notably in the lack of patterns and muted color palate. The Indria Plateau Staré appeared to favor simple, dark colors for their young, sir, and reserved embroideries and brighter shades for mature adults, especially those of high rank within the village.”

  She guessed the next question. “How did you get away to find the search party, if they thought you were a child?”

  “Because I was fortunate.” Because the Creator and Creatrix had mercy. “My chores included going out with the younger Staré to get drinking and cooking water, and I was outside the walls when the adult Staré began debating what to do with the expedition members. I had kept my bag with me at all times, and when the adults were distracted, I fled. I traveled in the direction of the expedition camp, and I hid in the brush when Staré went by. I have a little experience in woodscraft, ma’am, just like all children of Shikhari, and fortunately, two scouts located me before anything large and hungry did.”

  “Miss, did any of the local Staré, local to the plateau that is, did they harass you?”

  “No more so than any other rather slow hopling. I’m a bit clumsy, if I understood their gestures correctly, sir,” she smiled, adding “and they didn’t trust my cooking. Apparently they’d overheard the rest of the expedition talking about my attempts at bread baking.” That brought chuckles and Dr. Xian nodded with great enthusiasm. Makala’s ears twitched but he did not contradict her.

  “What did the Staré eat?”

  “Food. Their preferred spices and garnish were a bit heavy for my taste, ma’am, and I’m afraid that tam has never been my favorite vegetable.” More chuckles and Dr. Xian nodded just a little.

  “Did none of the Staré who followed catch you, Miss Bernardi? There was a rumor that one Staré was found dead in the woods.”

  Someone needs to warn Col. Deleon about this, I think. Rigi prevaricated. “To my knowledge, no one saw me and reported it. I never heard or smelled any sort of commotion, although at least one group of males came behind me that I saw. Given the predators in the woods and along the river, I’m afraid that I would not be surprised if someone was injured or killed. I hope that was not truly the case. I’m thankful that nothing large and hungry found me first.”

  “Miss Bernardi,” Mr. Smargad asked, “why did the Staré attack you in the first place?”

  “Sir, I do not know. I have heard rumors, but did not ask the villagers while I was their guest.”

  He pushed, “Could it be because your actions or presence gave offense, even if inadvertently?”

  “Sir, I do not know. Their dialect differs from that of the Staré with whom I am familiar.” Which you would know if you’d really read what Dr. Xian and Thad and the others said, she grumbled.

  “Is it true that the militia humans ordered the Staré to attack first, rather than leading by example?” It was that nasty, edged voice, now even sharper-edged.

  “Sir, the military did not tell me, and I am not in a position to read their reports, so I do not know.” She did know, but the questioner didn’t need that information and Rigi had no desire to say more.

  “Miss Bernardi, there are rumors, stories perhaps, going back to the first human settlement of this world, that Staré males have always shown a special interest in human females. Yes?”

  She met Mr. Smargad’s gaze. “And your question, sir?”

  He frowned and half-closed his eyes. “Is it not true?”

  She ducked sideways. “It is true that such stories have circulated. I believe that versions of such things go back almost as far as the whispers about creatures under the bed and large wading birds bringing babies.”

  He glowered. She kept her expression as calm and tranquil as her mother ever did. Dr. Xian frowned, and Makana seemed to be looking at Smargad as well. “Given recent events here, Miss Bernardi, I trust you understand why there are concerns about mistreatment of the Staré of the plateau and abuse of those Staré who have been forced into military duty.”

  Makana spoke. “No Staré pushed into military. All choose armed duty. Forced not permitted.”

  “That topic is closed,” Dr. Xian stated. “Are there any other questions directly related to Miss Bernardi’s work or to the expedition?”

  “Miss, do you anticipate going out again? If you are asked, Miss, I mean.”

  Rigi nodded. “If I am asked, ma’am, then I will certainly consider it, should my parents agree to my going. They make the final determination.”

  A few more questions
about her use of low-tech media, and any publication plans, followed. “No, I have not been asked to judge the school art exhibition, sir. I do not program, and as I recall, that is a major part of the grading, in addition to aesthetics and overall project complexity and skill.”

  “When are you marrying Lt. Prananda?”

  She drew herself up and locked eyes with the leaper-faced woman. Enough of this foolishness, ma’am. “Given that I am underage, and the army does not permit junior officers to wed, and our faith differences, and our mutual lack of interest in marriage, I believe the question cannot be answered.” So stop trying to make a mountain out of a digger mound, Rigi growled. She knew which gossip feed the woman worked for, and wanted nothing to do with it. The reporter glared at her, but subsided when several other journalists and holo-techs shushed back. Another question like that and it would end all of their interviews with her.

  “Is it true you have a dangerous ‘bot, the one your father sic’ed on the press at your arrival here?” Smargad again, of course.

  “He is dangerous if you are a chew-stick or a bouncy ball, yes, sir. Or if you attempt to eat me.”

  More laughter, and several of the reporters turned to look at Smargad, whispering among themselves and frowning. Rigi wondered; what was he doing here, since he was not a reporter, or at least she’d not seen his name on any articles or images? Others appeared to be asking that same question.

  “If you do not have any further on-topic questions for Miss Bernardi?” Rigi could several of the reporters wanted to ask her things, but not on the topic list that Dr. Xian insisted upon. Probably questions about religion and the like, or her thoughts on Staré rights, or the handball tournament in progress. “No? Thank you, Miss Bernardi, ladies and gentlemen, this interview is ended.” Rigi got up and she and Makana escaped before anyone had a chance to think up one last question.

  Cyril appeared to be pacing fit to wear an excavation trench in the flooring when she and Makana reached the reception area. The young man on duty gave her a pleading look, probably asking her to take Cy far, far away and keep him there. Rigi agreed. “I’m done, Cyril.”

  “Good.” He clipped the word short. “Father and mother are at,” he caught himself. “We are to go straight home and wait for them there.”

  “Very well.” Cyril charged out to the ground transport. Rigi closed her eyes for a moment, pled for patience, and then opened them again. Makana’s ears tipped back and he released //hint of irritation/fainter exasperation,// or something like it. She agreed. He led the way to the door, opened it for her, then followed her into the transport.

  As they left, she glanced back and saw Mr. Smargad watching them, shoulders and back hunched, still glowering, and leaning against a pillar. She shivered and wondered what bothered him so much. And why he’d never been able to find relief from the chronic pain of his injuries, if they truly were that bad.

  Three weeks later, Lt. Prananda smiled broadly enough to show almost all of his very even teeth. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations, and I’ll tell Mother and Father the good news. They have been a little concerned.”

  “Thank you, Tomás, and please do.” Now that Paul Procyon Bernardi had arrived, all three kilos and a bit of him, Rigi let herself admit that she’d been worried. Her mother wasn’t young, and although medical technology could do wonderful things, still… The temple dedication had a special meaning this time, and Rigi finally understood why dedications focused on the mother as much as on the baby. Now if baby Paul would just sleep at night!

  “So, anything more to add to the report of the Wallow Site?” A copy of the report hovered beside Tomás’s image on the the comm display. She’d read it and made a few notes.

  “Nothing that changes your conclusions, but a few more details based on what I’d observed elsewhere. And I agree, the lack of melting on the other secondary sites is odd. There seems to be less and less thermal damage the farther you go from the largest sites, and I almost wonder if Wallow and those other ones, ah, Grassy Site Three and Little Lizard, were built after whatever happened to destroy Scout and some others, then later abandoned. I didn’t include the hypothesis, but that might explain why the Indria Staré have a different understanding of the First and Second Worlds.” She had not really talked about it with anyone else, and desperately wanted to ask Kor for permission to talk to Uncle Eb. Kor had insisted that she and Tomás not discuss speculations yet, for Staré reasons.

  Tomás nodded and rubbed under his nose. He was trying to grow a mustache, with marginal success. Rigi wanted to reach through the comm system and wash the dark smudge off his face. “If the survivors of whatever-it-was decided sometime later that the very act of building stone cities and towns was what had caused the event, then what you observed makes perfect sense. Flee, rebuild on a small scale, then walk away, possibly tearing down or otherwise damaging the new place in order to get rid of whatever caused the disaster.” He shook his head and snorted a little, “But we can’t put that in the report.”

  She snorted as well. “No, we can’t. We can’t even call whatever destroyed the larger cites ‘a disaster’ because that is projecting our theories onto the evidence.” Rigi wrinkled her nose and played with a few stray hairs that had managed to escape her bun, probably helped by Paul’s small sticky fingers. “I can see why people prefer adventure novels and that ancient image thing, oh, King Solomon’s Mines I think it was, to archaeology reports. You actually learn what caused The Exciting Event or who built the Awesome Palace and Amazing Statue.” Rigi mimicked the presenter on one of the less-reputable history holo series.

  Tomás laughed. “Agreed, Miss Rigi. So, I shall incorporate your recommendations and additions, and send the article and report to the xenoarchaeology department tomorrow.” He glanced to the right as he spoke, and she guessed that someone had come into the comm pod.

  “Thank you, Lt. Prananda, and I will look through my notes again. Perhaps more material of use might appear.”

  “Prananda out.” The screen showed the insignia of the Crown Army, then went neutral grey. Rigi closed the report file, logged out, and flexed her fingers. She needed to go out. Cy was serving his reserve duty, her father was at work and her mother and Siare had taken Paul visiting. Rigi would go to the market and look for fabric, and see if she could find some of the colored chalks the Staré elders used, in order to try a color match for the painted carvings in the Temple and other ruined building.

  She went downstairs. Makana, Lonka, and Shona stood by the kitchen door, deep in conversation about something, possibly the half wombow hanging from a frame just outside the kitchen window. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, then peered again. Yes, an entire half wombow hung under the extension of the verandah roof. No wonder Shona looked rather put out and seemed to be attempting to strangle one of the napkins from breakfast. Did she want to intrude? No, but neither did she want to be scolded by everyone in the house aside from Martinus if she left without telling them. She backed up out of sight of the door, made some scuffing sounds, coughed a little, and reappeared.

  Shona now stood on the far side of the kitchen, removing clean butcher knives from their cases. Lonka appeared to be checking things off a list on a data pad, using a claw for a stylus, and Makana bowed toward her. She hand-bowed back. “I would like to go to the Blue Star market to purchase some things and compare colors, if a wombow cart is available.”

  Ears twitched. Lonka and Makana leaned together, as if comparing notes, and Lonka said, “The cart is available, Miss Rigi. It shall be ready in fifteen ticks.”

  “Thank you, Lonka. Martinus will be coming with me.”

  All three males ear-bowed. Rigi nodded and went back upstairs to change into a better dress and shoes, and to collect the paint samples and some fabric scraps she wanted to match. She freshened up, picked up her fingerless leather gloves, and went downstairs. Makana waited, wearing a light-weight raincoat that extended part-way over his tail. The misting rain didn’t agree with him, Rigi had
learned early after his arrival. Martinus followed behind, minus his carnifex-leaper tail. Rain disagreed with it too, in a rather smelly way. She led the way out the front door to the waiting wombow cart.

  A very pale tan—actually cream-colored—gelding stood waiting, head up, sniffing, ears twitching. Rigi looked him over but nothing seemed to be rubbing, and she climbed into the cart, followed by Martinus and Makana. The m-dog helped balance the weight of the Staré. Rigi untied the steering reins, twitched them, and clicked her tongue. The wombow waddled forward. Well, she corrected herself, he didn’t really waddle, but from where she sat, the round rump wagged back and forth in a waddle. His little round tail sported a tuft of black on the tip, and it flipped up from time to time, making her want to giggle.

  Half an hour or so later they reached the cart line at the market. Makana got out and found a hitching spot, and Rigi followed, guiding the wombow into the space. The gelding decided that something spilled on the ground needed to be sniffed and tasted, and once his head dropped, all she could do was wait until he finished. Pulling would only draw his head back toward his knees and he’d probably decided to lie down, or kick.

  “Wooeef?” Martinus sounded confused.

  “Wooeef indeed.” After far too long the cream-colored wombow raised his head, saw the trough and jerked forward into the parking spot, not quite pulling Rigi’s shoulders out of joint. She bit her tongue and did not scream, yell, or curse the beast, or hit him with the speed stick. Makana rapped the wombow’s nose instead, then held the reins as Rigi and Martinus got down. He secured the wombow to the trough, pumped some fresh water, and confirmed that nothing but a little feed covered the bottom of the trough. Before she could ask Makana walked away, returning with a chit from the beast-watcher. “Thank you.” Rigi clipped it to the wombow’s harness to show that it was a private wombow cart with a year pass.