“Yesss—“ Yasa’s voice was more of a hiss than usual, and Ziantha recognized that sign of controlled anger. “How old—and what isss thisss thing which isss ssso old?”
“That—“ Ziantha pointed to the lump.
The Salarika moved with fluid grace, coming to stand beside where Ziantha crouched. She leaned over, stared round-eyed.
“For thisss you do what issss forbidden? Why, I asssk you now, why?”
Her amber-red eyes caught and held Ziantha mercilessly. Humanoid Yasa might be in general form, but there was no human type of emotion which Ziantha could detect in that long stare.
The girl wet her lower lip with her tongue. She had met so many trials this day, it was as if she were now numb. Ordinarily she would have known fear of Yasa in this mood; now she could only tell the truth, or what seemed the truth.
“I had to—“
“Sssso? What order had been given you to do thissss?”
“I—when I was in Jucundus’s apartment this—this pulled me. I could not forget it. It—it made me reach for it—“
“She could be right, you know.”
Just as Yasa had entered unbidden and unexpected, now Ogan appeared. “There are strong compulsions sometimes when a sensitive is at top pitch performance. Tell me”—he, too, came to stand over Ziantha—“when were you aware of this first? Before or after you read the tapes?”
“After, when I was going out of the room. It was so strong—a call I never felt before.”
He nodded. “Could be so. You had the vibrations high; a thing attuned to those vibrations could respond with a summons. Where was this—in the safe?”
“No.” She explained how she had seen it first, one of a number of curiosities set out on a small table.
“What isss all thisss — ?” Yasa began when an imperative wave from Ogan’s hand not only halted her question but turned her attention back to the artifact.
Ogan’s hand now rested on Ziantha’s head. She longed to jerk away, throw off that touch, light and unmenacing though it was, but submitted to it. Ogan had his own ways of detecting truth or falsehood, and she needed him more at this moment as a protection against Yasa’s wrath.
“This then obsessed you until you had to apport it?” His voice was encouraging, coaxing.
“I could not get it otherwise,” she returned sullenly.
“So you were able, because of this obsession, to develop powers you did not use before?”
“I had Harath to back me.”
“Yesss!” Had Yasa still possessed the tail of her ancestors she might have lashed it at that moment; instead she made her voice a whip to lash with words. “Thisss one takes Harath, and with him sssshe makes trouble!” Harath snapped his beak violently as Yasa paused, as if heartily agreeing with her accusation. “Sssomewhere now in Tikil there isss a Patrol ssssensitive at alert. How long you think before Jucundusss beginsss to wonder?”
To Ziantha’s surprise, Ogan smiled. She sensed that under his generally expressionless exterior he was excited, even pleased.
“Lady! Bethink you—how many dwell in that apartment where Jucundus chooses to make his headquarters? Two—three—perhaps four hundred! There are endless possibilities. If Jucundus values this thing so little as to leave it in the open, will he miss it for a while? It is true that a sensitive on patrol might well have picked up the surge of Ziantha’s power. But to detect and trace it would be impossible unless he had a scan ready for action. She and Harath were right, or rather Harath was right to shut down on communication when he detected the hunter. All the sensitive can say now is that someone within the park put forth an expenditure of energy in an unusual degree. But”—Ogan looked again at Ziantha—“that you escaped was not due to any intelligence on your part, girl.”
She was willing to agree. “No, it was Harath.”
“Yes, Harath, who will now tell us what we have here.”
“But I—“ Ziantha half raised her hand in protest.
“You are of no value in the matter, not now. Have you not already tried?” He spoke impatiently as he might to a child who was being tiresome, as he had in the past when she was younger and would not be as pliable as he wished. “Harath,” he repeated coldly.
She wanted to cover the artifact with her hands, her body, hide it. It was hers—from the beginning she had known it to be hers. But she was in no condition to read it; her ill-tried experiment proved that. And she wanted to know what it was, from whence it had come, why it should exert such influence over her.
It seemed that Harath had to be coaxed. For he caught at the fluttering ends of Yasa’s fringed skirt, turning his head away, only clicking his beak in a staccato of protest when Ogan ordered him to touch the lump.
Yasa folded her slender legs, gracefully joining Ziantha on the floor. She ran her fingers gently over the head of the small alien, purring soothingly, making no mind-send the girl could detect, but in some manner of her own, communicating, coaxing, bringing Harath to a better temper.
At last, with a final ruffle of beak drum, he loosed his hold on her skirt and crossed the cushions with extreme wariness, as if he fully expected an explosion to follow any touch, even through the mind alone. Squatting down, he advanced from his down-covered pocket a single tentacle, brought it over so that the tip alone just touched the artifact.
Eagerly Ziantha opened her own channel of communication, ready to pick up whatever the alien would report.
“Not early”—that was Ogan’s caution. “Give us the latest reading.”
Ziantha picked up a sensation of distress.
“All ways at once—much—much—“ Harath’s answer was a protest.
“Give us the latest,” Ogan insisted.
“Hidden—deep hidden—oheee—dark—death—“ Harath’s thought was as sharp as a scream. He snatched away his tentacle as if the figure were searing hot.
“How did Jucundus get it?” It was Yasa this time who asked. “Little one, little brave one, you can see that for us. What is this precious thing?”
“A place, an old place—where death lies. Hidden, old—strange. It is cold from the long time since it was in sun and light. Death and cold. Many things around it once—a great—great lord there. No—not to see!”
He whipped the tentacle away again, into complete hiding. But he did not turn away, rather stood regarding the artifact.
Then: “It is of those you call Forerunners. The very ancient ones. And it is—was—once one of two—“
Ziantha heard a hiss which formed no word. Yasa’s lips were a little apart, there was an avid glow in her large eyes.
“Well done, little one.” She put out her hand as if to fondle Harath. But he turned, made his way unsteadily across the pillows to stand beside Ziantha.
“I do not know how,” he reported on the open mind-send they all now shared, “but this one, she is a part of it. It is Ziantha who can find, if finding comes at all, where this once lay. Dark and cold and death.” His round eyes held unblinkingly on Ziantha. She shivered as she had when she had come out of the trance of the apport. But she knew that what he said was the truth. By some curse of temperament or fortune she was linked to this ugly thing beyond all hope of freedom.
“Forerunner tomb!” Yasa held one of her girdle scent bags to her nose, sniffing in refreshment the strong odor of the powdered lily petals. “Ogan, we must discover whence Jucundus had this—“
“If he bought it, Lady, or if he brought it with him—“ It was plain that Ogan was equally excited.
“What matter? Whatever a man has discovered can be found. Do we not have more eyes and ears almost than the number of stars over us?”
“If bought, it could well be loot from a tomb already discovered,” Ziantha ventured.
Yasa looked at her. “You believe that? That it is some unknown curiosity picked up perhaps at the port mart with no backtracing for its origin? It has no beauty to the eye—age alone and a link with the Forerunners would make it worthy to be displayed and cherished. Also Jucundus has pretensions to hist-tech learning. He backed three survey groups on Fennis, striving to place the mound builders there. But old as those were, they were not true Forerunners, nor were there tombs. No, Jucundus kept this with him because of its history, which we must learn. Now we shall put it in safekeeping until—“
She would have taken it up. But, though her fingers scrabbled in the air, she could not touch its surface.
“Ogan! What is the matter?”
He came swiftly around the mound of cushions. After a slow study of the artifact he caught Yasa’s wrist.
“Psychokinetic energy. It is charged past a point I have never seen before. Lady, this—this thing must once have been a focus for some parapsychological use. That which gathered in it during the time it was used has now been brought to life by the power bent on it when apported. It is like mind-power itself. Unless it is discharged in some fashion, it is highly dangerous to the touch. Unless—“ He turned on Ziantha. “Pick it up! At once, do you hear!”