Atlantis Endgame Part 5

Linnea drew a deep breath.

"The saffron makers," Eveleen guessed, remembering her research.

A single nod.

The procession wound its way past them, making for one of the great buildings in which religious ceremonies took place. As they wound their way along the narrow street, they could still hear singing coming from the open windows of a low building that was still left standing.

Pungent smells a.s.sailed them: fish, goat, the pervasive stink of burning rock. Dyers stirred great pots, the fires beneath pale in the glary light. Strong herbal odors drifted on the thick, dusty air. At the sides of the street rubble had been piled neatly; men of various ages swarmed about the bigger piles, some putting down big jagged pieces of stone, others taking them to carts and hauling them away-instant recycling.

Eveleen realized that Linnea had become so mesmerized watching the cloth makers, the potters, the seed grinders and bakers, she'd forgotten about their orders to watch for signs of Baldies' presence before the bedazzlement of seeing living, breathing people performing the homey, everyday activities that scholars far on the other side of the mists of time would spend hours speculating about.

Eveleen didn't remind her. Experience had taught her that this sort of academic reverie was actually trustworthy: an expert would see an anomaly at least as fast as, maybe even faster than, the more mission-focused observer. It was just very slow going. After a time, Eveleen got tired of watching bartering and looked around for signs of rebuilding. She wondered why Linnea seemed so intent on these little exchanges of goods for goods, until she finally realized that what Linnea was looking for was evidence of someone writing.

A flare of humor almost caused Eveleen to laugh. Linnea Edel was an unreconstructed academic, even after their hasty training: she was not looking for Baldies; she was on the lookout for someone carving Linear A hieroglyphs into clay, so that she could confirm or refute recent scholars.h.i.+p on its decoding!

Ought she to say something? No. Her instinct was good. If Linnea was watching people that closely, she might notice something Eveleen wouldn't.

On they walked, back and forth up the hill, along narrow streets with hot sun reflecting heat waves in almost visible sheets. Twice minor tremors caused people to halt, to s.h.i.+ft their eyes anxiously up, or down, to pause in conversation, but when the earthquake died, work and talk resumed, in several languages.

"... I heard the G.o.ddess has still not spoken," an old woman told another in Ancient Greek, as they portioned out water in tiny red-clay cups from a great urn.

"Not for three moons. It is why my sister and her family decided to sail. I believe we must wait and be patient. She has always spoken to us before."

"True, true. She will speak when speech becomes necessary. So I tell my son, who fears for the children. He says times have become so strange, with both fire and water rising from the earth, and rocks falling from the sky, he fears the G.o.ddess has departed, leaving us to the fire spirits."

A long sigh was the answer, and the two women turned away.

Eveleen and Linnea walked on, Eveleen watching the movements of the people. Un-self-conscious, busy, socializing as they worked, they all appeared to be genuine Kallistans. Eveleen knew that she must look for anything out of place, but she kept envisioning Baldies shrouded in cloth, lurking about on the edges of crowds. Watching for them? Surely they would not interact with the people any more than she and Linnea must, except in the most superficial manner. We must not stand out, We must not stand out, Eveleen thought. Eveleen thought. We are aliens to the Baldies, which is a kind of protection if we are careful not to make any mistakes. If they are searching for us, we must remain indistinguishable from all these others. We are aliens to the Baldies, which is a kind of protection if we are careful not to make any mistakes. If they are searching for us, we must remain indistinguishable from all these others.

"Grapes?" A gentle hand nudged her arm. "Grapes? Grown well away from the smoke, tasting sweet?"

A young girl looked up into Eveleen's face, gold earrings very much like her own swinging next to dusky-colored cheeks. Candid brown eyes a.s.sessed her, and then the girl repeated her question in two other tongues.

Eveleen wet her lips, and then said in Ancient Greek, "I have been thinking about grapes."

The dark brows arched in surprise. "Ah! You will find that mine are sweetest. Here. Taste one." Nimble fingers twisted at a plump grape at the top of the basket.

Eveleen smiled as she glimpsed the older, slightly withered ones beneath. The girl's sales wiles would probably work better on those young men over there, building the s.h.i.+p, The girl's sales wiles would probably work better on those young men over there, building the s.h.i.+p, she thought. But she tasted the grape, which had the same slightly bitter tang as those she'd bought the day before. she thought. But she tasted the grape, which had the same slightly bitter tang as those she'd bought the day before.

"Eh," she said.

The girl's face altered into intent: now it was time to bargain.

As they embarked on their exchange, Eveleen was peripherally aware of Linnea looking in one direction, a slight frown between her brows.

She finished her bargain more hastily than she'd intended, and held out her hand. The girl glanced down at the little bits of lapis lazuli the scientists three thousand years into the future had furnished for everyday trade, scrupulously took two of the smallest, and stashed them in her skirt.

Then with a cheery wave she was gone, and a moment later Eveleen was vaguely aware of her sweet voice again, "Grapes! Sweet grapes?"

Eveleen dropped the bright blue bits of lapis into the pocket in her skirt, aware of Linnea sighing with regret as she watched the young woman walk away.

"What is it?" she murmured in Ancient Greek.

"If I could just hear repeated, slowly, her words in all those tongues, I could find Ancient Greek cognates in whatever it is these people talk among themselves when traders from the other Cyclades Islands are not around."

Linear A again, Eveleen thought with a spurt of amus.e.m.e.nt. Eveleen thought with a spurt of amus.e.m.e.nt. Detectives on a murder case have nothing on archaeologists for single-mindedness! Detectives on a murder case have nothing on archaeologists for single-mindedness!

But then she realized Linnea was frowning back in the other direction. "What is it?" she murmured, looking at some brightly woven rugs hanging over a dusty stone wall that ended abruptly just above a landslide.

"Is there something odd about that little square over there?" Linnea asked, her chin lifting slightly off to the right.

Eveleen helped herself to one of the grapes she'd stashed in a shawl sling she'd fas.h.i.+oned from extra fabric, and as she chewed she glanced casually up, sweeping the right.

Nothing looked out of place. In booths marked by low stone walls, built round a tiny side square with mats fixed up as temporary shelter, a man was busy beating bronze sheets into tools; several cheerfully naked small children played a game with smooth pebbles; an old, toothless woman expertly spun thread through her fingers. On the other side, several young girls were busy winnowing fava seeds from beans, singing quietly and without much joy.

Distracted, Eveleen watched the girls tossing aside black-spotted, withered beans, their gestures expressive of reluctance, of worry: clearly a poor harvest. The older women watched, one singing. Another was getting the sh.e.l.led seeds ready for sun drying, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Others ground dried beans with round stone mills, their song soft and soothing.

What else was there to notice? Eveleen looked more closely at the people as she and Linnea moved slowly along. Linnea stooped to examine bronze tools being made, then straightened up, shaking her head. The artisan, seeing her, turned his shoulder, and Linnea breathed, "House. Next to the monkeys."

Eveleen did another casual sweep, this time scanning behind the people and along the buildings. The primary building near them was a house with three low windows and one door around which were painted dancing monkeys in a graceful pattern. Above each window there was a long-tailed swallow painted, bright blue, each bird flying upward.

The front of the house looked intact, but one could see through the gaping windows that the roof had fallen in, and no one was inside.

Those swallows definitely caught the eye, Eveleen thought, glancing at the women going in and out of a smaller jury-rigged building adjacent. Next to that was a smaller house, somewhat tucked back, very plain-like so many along the streets. No one went in, no one came out, and there was no one visible in the one window.

Linnea walked on and examined fabric draped over a low window adjacent to the two houses. Eveleen bent over the rough cloth, brightly dyed blue and red in lovely patterns that would appeal to people in modern times, but she forced herself to observe beyond the heads of the spinners sitting inside the window. Now she was looking across the little court.

Then she saw it: people walked in and out of all the few whole buildings along the street, in and out of shacks, lean-tos, tents draped from old walls, and mat-covered awnings- every structure, in short, except that one.

As she watched, one of the pebbles from the children's game bounced in the direction of the mystery house. A child ran to get it, his steps faltered, though there was no apparent barrier, then he reached down and s.n.a.t.c.hed up his stone and retreated in haste.

"Force field?" Eveleen whispered. And, with an inward pang, "I should have seen that."

Linnea turned away from the fabric and murmured as she rummaged in her basket, "You were watching the people, as is right. But we archaeologists ... we are trained to observe the negative s.p.a.ces, you might say."

Such as no one going in and out of a specific building- something Eveleen had not considered.

"What now?" Linnea asked, bending to look at urns full of dried lentils, all dusted with ash.

"Mark the place, report to the others. Keep looking."

"How do we mark it?" Linnea asked.

Eveleen fingered a rug. "Make a mental map. I'll do that."

They kept moving, Eveleen itching to get back and investigate that mysterious little house. But she forced herself to keep moving along the narrow little streets, though now her observations were at best perfunctory.

Nothing. Nothing. No sign of Baldies ... no signs at all.

At the very top, they stood in a faint breeze and looked down at the jumble of ruins, hide and reed-mat roofs, and rubble piles below them. "All right, now we try it, just to see how far we get, and what happens," Eveleen whispered.

Linnea nodded once, swallowing visibly.

They bought more cheese on the way down, and fresh bread, all piled into Linnea's basket. Eveleen led the way to their little court. The children were all eating now, except for two of them asleep on rugs next to walls that cast a bit of shade. The women with the fava beans still worked. The spinner leaned out a window, talking in a low voice to a man who held a donkey by a rope, the animal still except for the switching of its tail to chase flies away.

No one was near the plain building.

Eveleen rummaged at her pouch, closed her hands round lapis rocks, pretended to stumble, and cast the blue stones that way. Only one rolled in the right direction. She gave a cry of dismay and chased after them, Linnea with her.

One, two, three, and there was the fourth, over by that empty door. She started over and faltered when danger p.r.i.c.kled down the back of her neck, tightening her shoulder blades. She glanced behind her: no one there. No one paid her the least attention.

A step, another, and her fingers closed around the stone.

It wasn't a force field, then; it was some kind of mental impulse or even just subsonics. She permitted herself one glance inside that open door.

Nothing.

She turned away, put her lapis lazuli into her pouch, and fought the instinct to look back.

"All right, we know there's something weird there," she murmured.

Linnea nodded once. "And now we have to find a market spot or at least an apartment. Do you want to negotiate or shall I?"

Her tone of voice, so polite, indicated she wanted to try. From what Eveleen had seen, the older women commanded the most authority, if not respect. So she shook her head. "You do it. I want to watch some more."

They continued on, Linnea now seeking the best vantage. Eveleen's mind was back on that strange room.

The place Linnea chose was next to the building that evidently belonged to the Priestesses of the Serpent, which showed the most signs of repair of any. Not just young women about to embark on religious duties stayed there, but it seemed to be a kind of hotel, or hostel, for women from the harbor. Linnea successfully negotiated a little room, and no one gave them any false reaction, any strange questions, any sign of trouble. Eveleen stood at the one window and looked down at the sweep of market and the edge of the harbor. It was a prime spot for observation.

Yet her shoulder blades stayed tight all the rest of the day.

CHAPTER 8.

"IT WASN'T THERE. At least, that's what our instruments tell us now."

Silence.

Ross braced himself for the stupid questions. They didn't come. Linnea Edel, who had been with Ashe when they had discovered the alien tech in the vent, looked surprised, but then she sat back, folded her hands, and waited.

"So we tested again, with Ross's equipment, and it came up as negative as mine."

Silence again. Eveleen rubbed her thumbnail along her bottom lip, then said, "So, what, they have detectors on their device that registers pings?"

"It would appear so," Ashe said.

"Then they definitely know we're here," Linnea murmured, looking about in question.

"That makes it more convincing that it was a Baldy welcome committee that tossed our camp," Ross stated.

They sat in the boat, under cover of truly inky darkness. Thick clouds, mixed with smoke, obscured the sky. The water was fretful, with little s.h.i.+vering rows of choppy waves-the result of several minor quakes all through the evening. There was a sharp smell in the air, a combination of hot rock, ozone, and sulfur that mixed unpleasantly with brine.

Ashe finally stretched out his feet tiredly and said, "Yet we still haven't seen them. Well, to the rest of our report. We put on the flame suits and our breathing masks and went down as far as we could, doing infrared scans as well as Baldy-tech pings, but of course we had no idea what to expect. We didn't know if it had been moved, turned off, or cloaked; whether or not it would be buried or in plain sight; how big it would be." He sat back and reached for one of the disguised flagons of pure water.

Ross said, "What looking around' really means is we slipped and sweated in the darkness until it was too d.a.m.n hot to do anything but broil. The coolers on those suits don't have enough capacity for really long searches; they need a lot more. I wish we could score a few of the Baldy suits."

Their suits used the same technique as s.p.a.ce suits: tubes running throughout the thick insulated fabric carried cooling fluid all over the body. He recalled that s.h.i.+mmering blue-green fabric that the Baldies used not just as clothing but also as insulation, filters, and conduits for their mysterious mental radar. Its insulation function actually included refrigeration, preventing heat from entering while exhausting heat from the interior as needed, operating on the same strange power source as all the Baldy tech. Which was why they couldn't bring the stuff they'd captured: the Baldies would have known they were there the moment they pushed through the time-gate.

Ashe said, "So what did you women find, besides a base for observation?"

Linnea opened her hand in a little gesture toward Eveleen, who said, "A house, seems to be empty, with some kind of mental repulsion field or subsonics. No other sign."

Ross frowned. "Could be a trap. To see who pokes around."

Eveleen nodded once. "I thought of that while we were waiting for you. In any case, we only checked it once, and didn't go back."

Ashe said, "Why don't we investigate the buildings around it, then, and see what we find?" He nodded at Linnea. "Eveleen can take one of the suits and my gear and help Ross up on the mountain."

Ross knew what that meant: a long, dreary day of trudging up, searching for vents, and checking them, in case the mysterious device had been put into another vent. Having Eveleen come along was his way of acknowledging a spectacularly dangerous and tiring day's work.

"Oh, thanks," Eveleen said, and the others chuckled. She turned Linnea's way. "At least one of us will get a thrill, eh?"

"Oh, it seems to me that there might be potential thrills enough in exploring volcanic vents," Linnea said, smiling. "But I confess: to see the spectacular frescoes inside those buildings still standing when the paintings are still relatively fresh and new, and not crumbled and age-ruined, would be a joy I'd never forget."

Ashe nodded and then turned to Stavros. "Any suspicious activity to report on the waterfront?"

"No sign of Baldies-no attempted attacks, overt or covert. The fishermen are upset about the numbers of dead fish," Stavros said. "The water temperature is several degrees higher than it ought to be, which would be devastating for many types of fish. It's apparently worse closer to the pre-Kameni Island."

The pre-Kameni Island did not even exist up the timeline. Ross mentally examined the map of the island complex: Kalliste and its appendages looked, to him, like nothing so much as a blob of dough floating in the middle of a donut with a bite out of it. The mountain up behind them was, of course, only a small part of the biggest, crescent-shaped island on which they now stood. The caldera would be about eighty miles in diameter; its center-the dough blob-was, according to the scientists' models, the island that Ross could see lying north of them. This little island, which would be blasted into nothingness during the Big Blow, had been termed pre-Kameni pre-Kameni by the scientists. by the scientists.

Ross remembered watching it earlier, through field gla.s.ses, from one of the western cliffs. They could just make out buildings there, most of them ruins, with some little boats plying round it. Squatters there, too, but very few of them.

Kosta said, in his heavy accent, "The people are worried that the oracle does not speak. The harvest is worse than anyone remembers, the quakes worse, the biggest one three months ago sending up serpents of fire-spewing smoke and bringing down a rain of pumice. Abruptly the quakes have eased since then, but the smoke is worse. Fish dead. They are afraid the G.o.ds are angry and won't talk to them through their oracle anymore."

Ashe looked over at Linnea. "Can we become a new oracle, as a last resort, to save lives? There are far too many people here. I do not want to see them incinerated without at least trying to get them to flee."

She shook her head. "You cannot just 'be' a new oracle, not here where there is only one, and that one sanctioned by the local governing body. Perhaps we could come down the mountain wailing about the oracle speaking at last and trust to the grapevine to spread the news."

"Will they listen?" Ross asked, skeptical.

Linnea's considering gaze turned his way. "They have no reason not to believe. The question involves community, though. People might want to question more closely who we are."

"That's right," Ashe said. "We are known as Egyptian traders, but we still are not identified with any kins.h.i.+p group. I don't know if that will suffice to get them to evacuate their homes."