The Stones of Nomuru

Epsilon Eridani raised its fiery eye above the tree-tops as the hunting party, five Terrans and ten Kukulcanians, struck camp. Conrad Bergen said:

"Professor, before we go on, I'd like a look at that turf you're digging into. It's only a little out of our way. Maybe you could tell us about your work."

Salazar's vanity tingled. "Okay, if you don't mind backtracking. Follow me."

He led them along the forested trail towards his camp. A half-hour later they emerged on the site, where Salazar's three assistants were busily digging and sieving a test pit.

As his captive audience strolled the area, Salazar launched into the history and archaeology of Nomuru. Although normally laconic, he became animated and even garrulous in speaking of his specialty: "... so the Despotate staggered along for a couple of centuries as a kind of rump empire; then a new wave of invaders from the south overran the area ..."

"Conrad," said Travers, pointing, "look at that little river, the Mozii I think it's called. If there were a dam at the downstream end of the site, we should be standing in a lake two or three meters deep."

Pokrovskii squatted, scooped up a handful of dirt, and fingered it. "Is good alluvial clay. We can ship it to kiln in Henderson, get bricks at reduced price."

Travers pointed an eager finger: "Then your hotel could go over there—"

The import of the words abruptly snatched Salazar away from his account of bygone events. "Hey! Are you the people the High Chief is dickering with, about making this area into a resort?"

Bergen shrugged. "Well, yes and no."

"What kind of answer is that?" rasped the archaeologist.

"I'm not working directly with the natives; a packager in Suvarov is putting the deal together. But everyone's a winner. I'll give my guests bathing and boating facilities and a fine view, while Derek's lake will protect the locals' crops against droughts and provide the power for a mill."

"What happens to my buried city?"

"It gets flooded. But we won't start filling the area for at least a year, which'll give you plenty of time to dig your little holes."

"And one can't stop progress, you know," added Travers. "We owe it to these natives not to leave them stuck in eighteenth-century technology."

"But—" Salazar was about to launch into an impassioned speech on the need to preserve Nomuru as it was for scientific excavation. A year's respite was ridiculous, since the material here would keep archaeologists busy for a Terran century.

But Salazar bit back his words. Bergen was only interested, he felt sure, in piling fortune on fortune;

while Travers was an inveterate do-gooder who insisted on helping the natives whether they wanted help or not. Neither would be swayed in the least by arguments about the importance of archaeology in understanding the past.

Suppressing his dismay and resentment, the archaeologist donned a sickly smile. Better, he thought, to keep his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut while he studied his antagonists and pondered ways to derail their plan.

"Tell me about your projected hotel," he said. "I once stayed at a resort of yours, Conrad; the one at Tenabe."

"Have a good time?" asked Bergen, brightening.

"First-rate." Salazar said nothing about his marital troubles with Diane, which had begun to emerge, like blue-black thunderclouds on the distant horizon, during this wedding trip.

"I can see it all now," said Bergen, gesticulating widely. "The main hotel here; a row of love-nests there. That's what I like, to create something. The money's nice, but I got money. I like to make things move!

"You understand, Professor, we'd let you keep on digging even after our lease becomes effective, until the place is actually flooded. If there's some big golden idol buried here, we could agree to share the proceeds ..."

"This is not a treasure hunt!" snapped Salazar. "We're looking, not for gold or jewels, but for knowledge of the past. Real archaeology has as much resemblance to the digs in stories and on the screen as a real chess game has to the adventures of Alice in Through the Looking Glass."

"Huh? What's that?"

"A fairy tale by a nineteenth-century British writer."

"Never heard of it," said Bergen indifferently.

With a forced grin, Salazar changed the subject. "What happens when some stubborn bastard blocks your plans?"

Bergen slowly closed the fingers of his right hand into a fist. "I take care of him, one way or another."

"Hm. We'd better push on, if we want to get to Kinyobi Valley by the nineteenth," said Salazar dryly. Bergen, he thought, had yet to learn what a stubborn bastard he, Keith Adams Salazar, could be.