Shaman (20 page)

“Mountains,” he said aloud. “An old road of stone, running tight against a wooded slope, a stream... Three Sisters.” He opened his eyes and the sensory pool evaporated.

The Tsong Zee were gazing at him inscrutably.

“The Three Sisters,” said Javar, “are three of the Holy Mountains of the Yanna range. We have assumed that the Shrine lies somewhere among them.”

“There are more than three mountains in that chain,” Rhys reminded him. “Which three are the Sisters?”

“The three closest to the valley would seem most likely,” observed Parsa.

“You're not sure?”

The Tsong Zee woman's mouth twisted into a wry grimace, her lower lip pad jutting at a tilt through her bifurcated upper lip. “They are only legends to us, Speaker Rhys. We left rather hastily and had tasks more critical to our survival than mapping the continent. There are some partial maps, others done from memory—they would indicate only that the Sisters are part of the Yanna range.”

“The road is our best clue, is it not?” asked Brasn. “The books of the Gondayan speak of a highway to the Holy Communities.”

Rhys snapped his fingers, making the Tsong Zee jump in perfect unison. He heard Yoshi, seated behind him, stifle a giggle. “Dr. Kuskov's cobbled way! One of our scientists, Searcher Kuskov, came across a roadbed in his excavations. If we start with that, we may be able to locate a spot where it parallels a stream on the eastern flank of a mountain.”

“Ah!” Parsa sounded relieved. “Perhaps this will not be as difficult as we anticipated. Speaker Rhys seems to lend visual imagery to our Keys most readily.”

“We haven't found this place yet,” noted Keere sourly. “We have a fleet of ships poised to strike us, and even if we locate this place before they become openly hostile, that is still only the first step in the journey.”

“What's the next step?” asked Rhys. “Another Trade?”

Javar gave his head a single shake. “The Trade is to be continuous. It must be. The Key Holders are to be in physical contact with each other and must maintain the state necessary to the Trade as they move toward their goal. In this way, as the Key Master uses the Keys to open the path to the Shrine, the other Key Holders continue to present their Key sequences.”

Rhys frowned. “Sequences?”

“Of course. The Keys are much like the notes of a song. They move forward continually—changing, creating new inversions.”

“But the accoutrements necessary to bring about the state...” Rhys indicated the totems and burning wicks, the incense and dusky atmosphere.

“Merely for ritual purposes, Speaker Rhys,” replied Brasn. “Although, it is helpful to create a meditative atmosphere. We are quite capable of entering the Trade state anywhere at any time, given a suitable amount of quiet or superior concentration where quiet is not available.”

“You mean you were meant to walk down this road, holding hands, continually connected in the Trade?”

“Precisely.”

Ludicrously, a song popped into Rhys's mind, all but shattering his solemnity. “Follow the yellow brick road. Follow the yellow brick road!” exhorted a chorus of munchkin voices. He was struck by the absurd image of himself and the Tsong Zee skipping along a mountain trail chanting, “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!” while Harris Beneton circled above on a broomstick.

Not funny. They're programmed genetically to do this, you're not.

He had barely been able to concentrate long enough to piece together the vague images he did assemble. A continuous, meticulous application of mental energy...

“I'm not sure I can carry on the rapport while engaging in physical activity,” he told them frankly. He tried to shake the sudden weight from his drooping shoulders, straightening with an effort. “Of course, we must try.”

They did try, but it was beyond Rhys Llewellyn's capacity to remain in the Trade state while doing anything more than sitting in silent meditation.

“I am sorry,” he said after half an hour of futile struggle. “I simply can't do this. We need more time.”

“Perhaps this War Leader Sanchez will give us more time,” said Parsa hopefully, her coppery eyes intent on Rhys's face.

“We are out of time already,” said Keere. “We have failed. No amount of time can change that.”

In the silence that followed that dour pronouncement, Yoshi Umeki cleared her throat delicately. “Pardon me, sir, but if I understand this correctly, you need the full range of sensory images generated by the Tsong Zee Key Holders fed to you in such a way that external distractions are neutralized.”

“Yes, Yoshi, that's precisely what I need.”
And little hope I have of getting it
.

“Well, sir, what about establishing an entorhinal feedback loop of some sort?”

Rhys turned to stare at his second assistant. “Go on.”

“Well, sir. If we could do an EC scan of each Tsong Zee entorhinal cortex—or its equivalent structure—and download their bursts of carrier wave activity to your cortex...” Her eyes glittered—a pair of marcasites set in gold.

“Bypassing the receptor neurons,” Rhys murmured, the idea catching fire in his head. “But it would have to go both ways—be a true looping effect. The Tsong Zee have to know what I'm ‘seeing' to trigger the next part of the Key sequence.”

“That can be done.”

“How did you come to think of this?”

She shrugged. “My sister's a psych-tech therapist on Jalcin. She specializes in Burst Therapy.”

“But the equipment—EEG arrays, the scanner —?”

Yoshi was nodding. “Most medical facilities have EC monitor and feedback systems in their trauma units, sir. I only question whether a colony of this size would have state-of-the-art equipment.”

“We'll have to find out, won't we?” Rhys scrambled to his feet and was immediately caught in a strong web of Tsong Zee gazes.

“Pardon,” said Javar with commendable patience, “but could you kindly explain what you have been saying?”

Rhys colored, realizing suddenly that he and Yoshi had lapsed into English during their digression. “I'm sorry,” he said in Tsuru, “but if you will indulge me a moment, I need to check our situation.”

Their situation, he discovered, was precarious. Informed that Collective Security forces hovered offworld, a large number of colonists, failing to be reassured, demanded that they take immediate military action against the invaders. In the midst of this paranoid frenzy, a volley of laser fire had been sent from a drill cannon at one of Beneton's mines. It had been aimed, more or less accurately, at the one Tsong Zee vessel that still hovered (or appeared to hover) on the outskirts of the city. That it had caused no visible damage had sent a further tremor of terror through the colony. In expectation of reprisal, the Collective Fleet was put on yellow alert.

To further complicate matters, Admiral Sanchez was meeting with Harris Beneton and Alleen Goodyear personally, and the governor's staff had been advised to take no action until further notice. That advisement, Rhys discovered, extended to him as well. He and Yoshi had to get Joseph Bekwe's personal permission to use the comlink for the call to Haifa's main medical facility.

The equipment they needed was available, was state-of-the-art and could, with the governor's permission, be made available to them, along with the technicians rated for its operation.

Rhys turned to Governor Bekwe and ran into his first roadblock.

“I'm not sure I should give you permission for this exercise, Rhys.” The governor's red-rimmed eyes mirrored his ambivalence. “The Admiral has... recommended that I keep you on a tight leash and, frankly, I'm torn. Torn between my conscience and my conscience.” His mouth twisted grimly. “I took an oath to protect this colony. These people are my responsibility. They're in danger. My instincts say I should snap and snarl at anyone who poses a threat to them. Right now I'm not sure whether that's the Tsong Zee or BeneCon. I can empathize with the Tsong Zee desire to retrieve their homeworld. It'd be a damn rude howdy to go back to Earth someday and find a bunch of complete strangers camped out there.” He shook his head. “But if I let you help the Tsong Zee prove their claim, the colony may lose.
You
may lose, Rhys. Beneton's not a military strategist, but he sure as hell seems to think he is. I sat in on his interview with Sanchez for a while. He's awfully smug for a man who's under arrest. And that episode with the laser cannon...”

“Aye. Stunts like that could turn this place into a battle ground.”

“I don't think Sanchez will allow that. He's no buckeroo.”

“I wasn't thinking of Sanchez, and you know it. I used the word ‘stunt,' but you and I both know it was much more than that, potentially. Whoever fired that cannon had every intention of blowing their target out of the sky. Sanchez couldn't stop them. How can we believe he can stop the next attempt to explode this situation? Joseph, right now we're at stalemate. I think I have a shot at convincing the Tsong Zee we can... communicate with them. That we're men and women, just like them. The packaging may be different, but we're enough alike in the important things.”

Rhys tried to keep his voice from betraying the tide of adrenaline that was pushing it. Sanchez could appear at any moment, hopelessly entangling them.

“The Tsong Zee aren't warlords bent on annihilating humanity, Joseph. All they're asking for is a chance to prove they're not lying. That they've some right to call this planet home. And if we give them that chance, who's to say it won't influence them to let the colony be? This is a big enough planet, I think, for two races to exist on it side by side.”

“They're poised for war, though, Rhys. That fleet of theirs is huge, well-shielded and well-armed.” Danetta's voice came quietly from the other side of the office and Rhys, instinctively wanting to blurt out the truth about the Tsong Zee “fleet,” blushed and bit the inside of this cheek.

“Aye, it's hard to prove good intentions when both sides are armed to the teeth,” he agreed. “But take my word, the Tsong Zee have no desire to harm anyone.” He turned to her beseechingly. “Try to appreciate my position in all this, Danetta. I'm Human and I've no wish to see the colonists go homeless. But I have to do what I think is right. And it's not right to block the Tsong Zee from at least attempting to prove this is their world we've taken root on. The Collective was founded on principles of justice for all the member races, not just humanity. And, aye, I know the Tsong Zee aren't members—but they could be—and good members, too. Contributing members. They've done things with their technology and their art we've not dreamed of.” He turned back to Bekwe, holding out his hand, palm up, begging. “Please, Governor...”

“Not without Sanchez's blessing, Rhys.”

Rhys fumed. “But the time! The longer this situation drags on, the longer it can be boiled down to our word against theirs —”

Danetta came around to face him. “Rhys, for once in your life will you please do something by the book? This is no time for renegade tactics. Sanchez is not a mutant militant. Let's get his agreement on this.”

“Get my agreement on what?”

Admiral Sanchez stood just inside the doorway of Joseph's office. His entrance had been silent and unnoticed and Rhys couldn't help but think he'd made it purposefully so. He shook himself.
Now, Llewellyn, that wasn't bad, it was just cagey
.

Governor Bekwe stood. “Admiral, Professor Llewellyn believes he can help the Tsong Zee locate an artifact that will prove they once inhabited this planet. With that proof, perhaps we can enter into some more meaningful dialogue with them. Dialogue based on mutual trust.”

“Before anyone attempts to prove anything,” said Sanchez, “I think you should know that Mr. Beneton is painting you, Governor, and you, Professor, as the bad guys in this scenario. He claims he has been wrongfully incarcerated and harassed for attempting to protect this colony from invasion. At least one member of the governor's staff has supported his claim and has accused you, Dr. Llewellyn, of being a subversive element.”

Rhys swore in silent passion. “Beneton is lying, Admiral. He's purchased his support, and what he couldn't buy with money, he bought with fear. All I ask is a chance for the Tsong Zee to prove that Velvet is their homeworld.”

“By finding this White Shrine?”

“Yes.”

“Beneton says it's a military complex. That it contains the weaponry that laid waste to this planet in the first place. And that if they find it —”

“That's the most ludicrous pack of wallah I've ever heard. Surely you don't —”

Sanchez held up his hands. “I didn't say I believed him, Professor. I'm just telling you what he said. As far as I'm concerned the man is a dangerous nutter. But frankly, I'm not certain the same can't be said of you.” He let his eyes underline the comment with a sweep of Rhys's attire.

“The White Shrine is a religious center. A Holy Place.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on it, Professor?”

“I am.”

“Well, I'm not. Not after seeing the archaeological data. What I've seen makes the existence on Velvet of a race like the Tsong Zee a very long shot.”

“Harris Beneton has shown you only what he wants you to see, Admiral. Tell me, have you interviewed Dr. Kuskov?”

“Kuskov? Who's that?”

“He's the colony's senior archaeologist,” said Danetta over Rhys's shoulder. “Professor Kuskov is the man you want to discuss pertinent archaeological data with, not Harris Beneton. Beneton has a huge financial interest in Velvet. He's an empire builder, not a scientist.”

The Admiral nodded with bear-like patience. Rhys had the feeling he'd stand there all day, implacable, until he got his way. “Be that as it may, I simply must insist that we proceed with caution.”