The Murdered Sun - Christie Golden [56]
She glanced over at him, then back at the imprint. Slowly, she raised her own right arm. She hesitated, murmured a quick prayer, then gently laid her hand into the print. It fit perfectly.
There was a slight whir. The earth did not open beneath them. A door did not slide open with a frightening suddenness. Instead, directly in front of them, a circular portion of the hull dissolved, quietly and with no fuss at all. It simply wasn't there anymore. It was typically Verunan, thought Chakotay distractedly.
The dust of centuries slowly floated out, hung dancing in the sunlight.
"What do your tales tell about what's inside the First Place?" asked Chakotay as he and Nata peered inside into the darkness. He was aware that his voice sounded hushed, reverent, befitting a holy place.
Nata's voice, too, was solemn. "That which is first is final," she answered him, extending her long, supple neck for a better view. She sniffed at the dusty air. "We begin with nothing but soul and end with nothing but soul. We buried our dead in the First Place's shadow. It appears that, before the knowledge of entry into this place was forgotten, we brought our dead to the heart of the First Place as well.
Again, my friend, walk softly."
And then she moved inside, boldly, gracefully, walking with deference.
The minute she stepped inside, a strip of lights illuminated the corridor. It proved to be wide, Chakotay guessed about fifty feet or so. And he now saw by the dim illumination what Nata had scented Verunan dead lined the walls, each on a small pallet. Their bodies did not smell of rot The climate inside the ship was dry and cool, a reprieve to the human's overtaxed system. The corpses had desiccated, not decayed. Most were skeletons now, some were merely piles of dust.
A few appeared to be mummified. It was rather unsettling to Chakotay, whose people had a rich variety of theories regarding proper respect to dead bodies and dreadful results if such respects were not granted.
He swallowed hard. It was difficult to breathe, realizing that he was inhaling the dead, but, he mused with rueful amusement, there was no choice if he didn't want to join them. Chakotay took his cue from Nata, who seemed deeply moved by the sight of her dead ancestors but not in the least distressed.
Apparently, the Verunans had no ghosts.
He hastened to catch up with her. Quietly and unobtrusively, or so he thought, he drew his phaser.
"Is that a weapon?" asked Nata, dropping her head on its long neck to examine the phaser. The bulky pendant--the mark of her status as Viha, he had learned--slipped down her neck with the gesture.
Chakotay felt a blush, like a child who'd been caught with a toy in school. "Yes, Nata."
"I do not think you will have need of such things here," she answered, lifting her head and raising it to its natural position, nearly a meter above Chakotay's own. She continued walking with her steady, purposeful stride.
"I understand that your people are now very peaceful save in your own defense," the human began. "But you do not know the temperaments of your ancestors. Besides, if this place is a colony ship, as I am certain it is, it would be defended against attack from possible enemies to protect those it housed. It's only logical to be prepared.
There might be traps."
Nata snorted, sounding very much like a horse. "I recall all the tales, friend Chakotay. I remember nothing of a trap."
Chakotay frowned to himself. Granted, they hadn't been able to just walk in. The door was protected from outside violation by the handprint keypad. Chakotay was certain that, barring intensive use of phaser energy, he would never have been able to enter by himself.
Perhaps that was all that the ancient Verunans had felt was necessary.
But that answer felt wrong to him. The Verunans, although unique in his experience in many respects, also seemed to have a great deal in common with Chakotay's people. And peaceful as some tribes were, the man in whose body flowed the blood of