All the Colors of Time (26 page)

“Of course,” said Tzia, “you have to sort the newer
leavings—dead vermin and the like—out, or the data become skewed.”

“The data,” said Burton, voice sharp with irritation, “are
as accurate as they can be.”

Rhys barely heard the exchange, so intent was he on the
figurine. Drinking in every detail, he lifted tentative hands to it, then
glanced at Burton. “May I, sir?”

“What? Oh, of course.” The older man made a sweeping gesture
of welcome.

Rhys explored the figure with hands and eyes, memorizing
every texture and nuance. “Marvelous! How old?”

“At least five thousand years, yet even the softer metal is
intact.”

“Where did you find him?”

“In the Chapel. That’s what we call that small annex to
Temple One. He was still in his little carved niche beside the door. Wish we
knew the Etsatat name for him, but well, they haven’t got one.”

Rhys opened his mouth to ask more, but Burton forestalled
him. “Keep your questions for the morrow. Time to turn in. The day starts very
early around here, Professor Llewellyn.” He rose and extended his hand to the
younger man. “Wayne will show you to your cabin.”

oOo

“I am completely and utterly happy.”

Alone with Rick and Yoshi in the cabin they’d been assigned,
Rhys stretched full length on his sleep mat, luxuriating in the fine, rare
sensations that rolled over and around him. The bleat of a night avian, the
muted whistles and twitters of insects, the humid, warm air against his skin,
the velvet quality of the darkness beyond the large windows. It was magic; it
was medicine. He could feel the site out there waiting for him like a new
friend, well met. The buzz of excitement he’d felt since setting foot on
Etsat—no, since receiving Drew Burton’s invitation to do so—faded pleasantly to
a balmy whisper of contentment.

Rick shot Yoshi a wry grin and saw an answering flash in her
eyes, even in the unreliable light of the single large moon filtered through
copious foliage. “It is nice and peaceful here,” he acknowledged.

Rhys snorted. “Peaceful? Is that all you can manage, Roddy?
Peaceful? You’re in the presence of a legend, I’ll have you know. Professor
Drew Burton has done more to advance xenoarchaeology than any other single
researcher, just by moving into the arena. Since he’s been involved in
extraterrestrial research, he’s brought more attention to it, more sponsors,
than ever it had. I expect his published works in the field will soon define
it.”

“I thought his paper on the aboriginal cultures of Mandrorin
was good,” Yoshi said, paused, then added, “but I found some of his views a
little biased.”

“Nonsense, Yoshi. Dr. Burton is a brilliant researcher. Look
how much he’s done here already. Do you realize they’ve been at this dig for
only four months?”

After a moment of silence, Yoshi murmured, “I didn’t like
the way they called the Etsatat the ‘Linguine.’”

Rick sighed. “You take things too seriously, Yosh. It was a
play on words. Human words. Burton’s just pinched because the Etsatat aren’t as
agog at his discoveries as we are. I kind of think he imported us because he
wanted to impress Rhys.”

Rhys frowned into the dark. “Why in heaven’s name should he
care to impress me?”

“Because he respects you?” countered Rick.

Rhys felt the heat of embarrassment warm his cheeks. “Good
Lord, Roddy! Why should he respect—?”

“Maybe because you’re the man who brought the White Temple
of Tson to light after it’d been buried for two millennia. Oh, not to mention
that you were the first human to establish meaningful communication with the
Tsong Zee.”

“I didn’t do anything that important. The Tsong Zee found
their Shrine, and they established contact with us.”

“He said ‘communication,’ not contact,’” argued Yoshi. “You
were their Key Master. You were their eyes. They couldn’t have found the Temple
without you.”

“Arguable. And irrelevant. Drew hadn’t even heard of Tson.”

“Then I guess he doesn’t use his own camp library. It
contains a number of major articles covering your discoveries there, and
someone’s been accessing them.”

The silence hooted and whistled. Rhys yawned, rolled over
and feigned sleep, but the burning of his ears kept him awake for hours.

oOo

Breakfast was a necessity Rhys would gladly have done
without. But he ate, his ears barely catching the conversations at table, his
eyes going again and again to the tower rising out of the mist-draped forest.
The steamy veil had begun to break up a bit by the time they approached the
temple complex. This time, Rhys vowed, he’d keep his wits about him enough to
take professional, objective note of things.

“The village,” Burton explained as they drew up to the great
stone gate, “isn’t nearly as well preserved as this site. We actually started
our work there. There’s still a team at that site, but I moved the base camp
here because this—” He made a sweeping gesture at the lichen covered walls. “—will
likely yield much more fruit. Has already, in fact. Nyami’s more interested in
the village than I am. It’s the cultural anthropologist in her.”

Rhys nodded, studying the scaffolded archway above them.
Made of large blocks of ruddy-mellow stone, its sculpted haunch served as the
centerpiece of the cool-toned front wall. Behind the scaffolding that partially
covered it, Rhys could just make out a large, central figure.

“Ets-eket again?”

Burton smiled. “Indeed. Flanked by a fine bas relief. And it’s
in as remarkable shape as everything else here. You’ll find Ets-eket is
well-represented hereabouts.” He led the way beneath the arch into the central
plaza, and Rhys was struck again by the sheer magnitude of the place.

Workers were already crawling over and around the buildings,
carrying tools, instruments, finds trays. Rhys brought his eyes back to the
tower where Scott Buchanan directed traffic for the group digging away the fall
of soil and humus at its base.

“That’s brick isn’t it?”

Burton nodded. “Kiln-fired, too, not sun-dried. We’re hoping
to find the entrance within the next week or so.”

They toured each of the buildings in turn. What Burton
called the Chapel had apparently been divided into several small rooms; the
niche in which he’d discovered the Ets-eket icon was halfway up a broken wall
next to a ruined doorway. The larger buildings—Temples One and Two, for the
sake of identification—had been partitioned sparingly. Several small rooms
ringed the perimeter of the huge main chambers, which were buried in centuries
of compost and littered with debris from the fallen roofs and overshadowing
forest. Among the detritus of ages, diggers worked in their gridded areas,
taking a decidedly horizontal approach to the site.

Rhys peered over shoulders, chatted with workers, and took
notes on everything. In Temple One, he commented on the series of large
rectangular depressions along the back wall. Burton immediately led him to one
that was being excavated. The trough was lined with finely planed slabs of the
native granite and looked as though it might have at one time had a highly
polished facing. They’d already dug down about four feet and had discovered
literally hundreds of potsherds.

“We suspect this was a storage area,” Burton told him. “Possibly
for foodstuffs the priests ate or used ritually. Or perhaps a burial cache of
goods for the next life.” He shot Rhys a sharp glance. “We
will
find a burial.”

“The burial of Ets-eket?”

“Or of his mortal stand-in.”

“You think he’s a local or regional deity, then, rather than
a ruler of some sort.”

“He could be both. Think of Osiris and his relationship to
the Pharaohs of Egypt. But Ets-eket’s influence is hardly regional, Doctor.
There are ruins half a continent away with these same structures and images.
Generally they’re in much worse shape—too bad, because it seems some of them were
built on a grander scale even than this. But the cult of Ets-eket evidently
extended to most of the inhabited regions of this planet.”

Rhys raised a flamboyantly red brow. “That’s amazing. In
fact, it’s unprecedented.”

Burton grinned from ear to ear. “Now you understand my
excitement over this find.”

“Well, if it’s that widespread, that rather removes it from
cult status. It’s more likely you’re looking at the relics of a major world
religion.”

“Dear boy, we’re talking about the icon-ridden worship of a
nature deity. I’ve read your treatises on xeno-religion. I don’t mean to sound
disapproving, but they reek of cultural relativism.”

Rhys blushed to the roots of his hair. “I’m sorry you
disagree so strongly with my theories—”

“Theories?” Burton laughed heartily and clapped Rhys’s
shoulder. “My dear boy, theories can be supported by evidence. Your
abstractions on the common roots of alien and human religion are dabblings in
philosophy. Ah, but it’s engaging reading, Rhys! You’re a damn fine writer.
Now, come, I want to show you the relief over the front gate.”

His arm around the younger man’s shoulders, Sir Burton drew
him away into the full sunlight of the outer plaza.

oOo

Lagging behind, Yoshi cringed at the patronizing note of
rebuke in the professor’s voice and bit the inside of her lip to keep from
saying something she might later regret. Rhys’s work in xeno-religion, she
knew, was the heart and soul of his anthropological world. It was clear Burton
had no idea how close to his colleague’s heart of hearts he’d stuck his
egoistic dagger.

Watching her, Rick leaned in close to her presently red ear.
“I heard that stream of mental abuse. Come on, Yosh, don’t blow a sealant ring.
I think our boss can probably defend himself if verbal fisticuffs break out. I
thought he took all that wallah pretty well, don’t you?”

“He shouldn’t have to defend himself. Not to Dr. Burton. He
has nothing but respect for that man. He doesn’t deserve to be patronized.”

“Respect?” Rick steered her out of the Temple One and into
the plaza. “I’d say he idolizes him.”

“Yes, I can tell. I’m not blind.”

“Ouch! Yoshi Umeki, you, of all people, should understand
that a little hero worship can be good for the soul. And for the career. You
wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t made a hero of a certain Scotsman.”

“It’s not at all the same thing. First of all, I was fifteen
when I met Rhys, and a sophomore in college. We have a student-mentor
relationship because that’s what I am until I earn my doctorate—his student.
Rhys is a grown man and has a double degree of his own. He’s at least Burton’s
equal, but he doesn’t see that, and Burton’s not about to encourage him to.”

“So let me get this straight. You hate Burton because you
think Rhys likes him too much.”

“I don’t hate him. I don’t even know him. I just don’t
believe he’s bigger than life.”

“Uh-huh. Which is why you snarl secretly every time he opens
his mouth. You know what I think? I think you’ve become overly protective of
our dear professor of antiquities. And I’m beginning to think it goes a little
deeper than that pseudo-sibling defense mechanism you’ve been packing for the
last three years.”

“Where’d you get the degree in psychology, Doctor Halfax?
More Fool U?” Her golden skin suffused with rose, Yoshi pulled out of his light
grasp and strode ahead of him.

At the great stone gate, they joined the two archaeologists
in conversation below the scaffolded facade.

“As you can see,” Burton was saying, gesturing to where
several people worked next to the carving of Ets-eket, “flanking the icon are
twin reliefs. We’ve got a four foot panel pretty well restored.” Waving, he
caught Tzia’s eye. “Why don’t you all make room up there? I’d like to show off
for our guests.”

Tzia gave a peculiarly reptilian version of a human nod—her
head and neck rising and falling on her shoulders—and shooed her crew of three
off the scaffold.

Burton had just set foot on the bottom of the access ladder
when his comlink chirped. It was Wayne Bell, calling him to the Chapel. He bid
the others continue and left, promising to return quickly.

Rhys climbed the ladder eagerly, with Yoshi close behind.
When she glanced back at Rick, he shook his head and stuffed his hands in the
pockets of his khakis.

“That scaffold looks like my worst nightmare. I’m going to
go prowl around those big square pits in the back of the complex, see what’s
being dug up there.”

Yoshi shrugged and scrambled up to the fiber board platform
where Rhys and Tzia were already engaged in a close inspection of the wall to
the right of Ets-eket. She hunkered down behind to peer between their heads.
Rhys was running his fingers over the slightly elevated surface of the relief,
which depicted rank upon rank of men dressed in garb similar to that worn by
the Ets-eket effigy. The main departure from his styling was their head gear,
which was drastically understated in comparison. They did look, Yoshi had to
admit, like helms of war.

Some of the men in the relief carried staffs topped by the same
fat crescent or fan Ets-eket’s sported. She supposed they could be weapons of
some sort. She was honest enough with herself to recognize that she didn’t want
to see war helms and weapons because that’s what Burton saw.

She sighed. Bias made objectivity tough.

“This is amazing,” Rhys murmured. “There’s actually still a
tiny bit of pigment left in these. The state of preservation is … exquisite.”

“The elements on Etsatat are merciful,” said Tzia. “The
forest root systems have done the most damage.” She shifted so Rhys could see
the four foot section to the left of the central figure.

Rhys scooted closer. “Looks like a wagon train. Goods for
the god?”

Tzia affected the Xthni equivalent of a smile. “We’re not
exactly in agreement on this one. When Dr. Burton looks at it, he sees a train
of tribute and an army of sacrificial victims or slaves.”