Homecoming

“And that’s a subhumid climate they have there,” Chandra put in. “Maybe even semiarid. Over the course of seven centuries they must have had some severe drought periods, some maybe lasting for decades. There would have been a lot of soil drifting over and around the rubble heaps in open country like that.”

“Okay,” Matthew cut in. “That was our hundred words. Now, the weapons chests aren’t the place for the weapons any longer. Before we land we’ll mount them where they’ll be easy to get at if we need them.”

“If we’re going to have weapons handy,” Chandra said, “we’d better start with the clear understanding that they’re a last resort. We came here to learn, not to intimidate anyone or make war.”

“I think we’re clear on that,” Matthew replied mildly. “But if for some unforeseen reason we need weapons to keep from getting killed, then we’d better have them ready. Obviously though, our real security lies in being careful, using our heads, and keeping the force shields on except for leaving and entering the boats.

“Now a few last reminders. Don’t land so close to any Earth person that he’ll be inside your shield when you activate it. Unless of course you want him inside. And raise your commast before you activate. Otherwise you won’t be able to hear or communicate with anyone outside without deactivating. And without the commast up it can get mighty stuffy inside the shield, fast.

“Also, at least to begin with I don’t want both pi

“And finally, everyone will wear a loaded pistol at all times when outside a shield, and carry two frag grenades with him, except in circumstances where it’s clearly undesirable.

“Any questions or comments?”

“Yes.”

The tone was heavy, dark, and all eyes went to Skipper Ram Uithoudt as he got to his feet. “Before we were treated to the discourse on archaeology, you said there was nothing whatever down there that could open our force shields. Well there is, and I’ll bet there’s a lot of it in everyday use.”

The room was quiet for a moment before Matthew said, “What’s that?”

“Trickery,” Ram answered. “Trickery.”

It was decided that Alpha would make first contact, with the same crew that had reco

Draco rode with practiced ease. He’d spent thousands of hours in the saddle in his forty-four years, the first few hundred under the merciless eyes of hard-nosed drill instructors. Forty-four was rather old. Most died younger in battle or brawl, stabbings or beatings. To be not only forty-four but a consul was proof of outstanding ability and utter ruthlessness.

Right now he couldn’t see the sky chariot; it was behind a hillock. When it had shown itself the other day, he’d been confident it would come to earth here sooner or later. He wondered if there were others.

He knew little about the ancients, but the old stories told of great power. They could smash a city flat with no more effort than a man squashing a bug beneath his foot. The only reasons they could have for returning were to rule or collect tribute. They might want a regent to administer for them here, or a go-between, someone who knew situations and possibilities.

He turned to scowl at Ahmed’s small group paralleling his own a dozen meters away. It was a nuisance to have to screen out here on the steppe. To preserve his privacy and vanity, Draco had no psi on his immediate staff, relying entirely on his own powerful talent. But the non-psi Sudanese dog kept two of them with him everywhere but in harem, including that insolent eunuch, Yusuf the Turk.

Topping the low rise, he could see the sky chariot atop the next gentle hillock, shining brightly in the sun. Did they use slaves to polish it, he wondered, or did their arts keep it so? The last few score meters they rode warily, observing with care. A few meters from the sky chariot was a curved line of crushed grass and broken flowers, as if, for some reason, people within it had come out and trampled an exactly circular path around their craft.

The two groups of horsemen had almost come together now, converging on the pi

Tentatively Draco moved his horse toward the pi

At that moment the sky chariot turned to glass before them, and Draco could see the people inside-five of them. Strange clothing covered them from foot to neck, fitting their limbs loosely. Surrounded by an invisible wall, they wore no body armor. And no swords; perhaps the small objects belted to their waists were weapons of some kind.

They were looking at him and his people.

Probably the invisible wall would allow weapons to be wielded outwardly by those inside, even though it apparently would let nothing penetrate from without.

But it did not block thoughts effectively. And they thought in Anglic; that was a stroke of luck! The Master had made his officers learn the language because it was widely used in Europe between people of different native tongues.

Abruptly a voice spoke, loud and clear, seeming somehow to come from a spar extending above the chariot. The tone was slightly metallic but clearly a woman’s. Her aura was not one you would find about a slave; among the ancients, as among some peoples on Earth, women must rank as men.

The audio pickup in the commast seemed to be working well, Matthew noted. It was directional, and right now was focused on two who appeared to be the leaders and who sat their horses side by side. Their breast plates were burnished silver instead of bronze, and their helmets more luxuriantly plumed. The shorter of the two replied to Nikko’s question.

“Yes, we speak Anglic, but it is not our native speech.”

“What is your native speech?” Nikko asked.

His answer meant nothing to her, but A

“What did he say?” Matthew interrupted with some irritation.

“It amounted to flattery and a formal welcome. They are honored to talk to the ancients, and something about helping us in any way they can. That’s the gist of it.”

Their scabbards were conspicuously empty. They’re bound to be impressed with the pi