Fossil Hunter by Robert J. Sawyer Read Free Book Online Page A

a flicking bifurcated tongue. Gork was quite tame, and Afsan had petted it up and down its leathery hide. The reptile’s limbs sprawled out in a push-up posture. Its head was flat and elongated. Its tail was thick and flattened, and it worked from side to side as Gork walked.
    Gork gladly wore a leather harness and led Afsan around, always choosing a safe path for its master, avoiding rocks and gutters and dung. Afsan found himself growing inordinately fond of the beast and ascribed to it all sorts of advanced qualities, including at least a rudimentary intelligence.
    He was surprised that such pets weren’t more common. It was in some ways pleasant to spend time with another living, breathing creature that didn’t trigger the territorial instinct. Although Gork was cold-blooded, and therefore not very energetic, it was still fast enough as a guide for Afsan, given how slowly Afsan walked most of the time, nervous about tripping.
    Afsan and Gork, alone, out among the ancient boulders, wind whipping over them, until…
    “Eggling!” A deep and gravelly voice.
    Afsan lifted his head up and turned his empty eye sockets toward the sound. It couldn’t be…
    “Eggling!” the voice called again, closer now.
    Afsan got up off his rock and began to walk toward the approaching visitor. “That’s a voice I haven’t heard in kilodays,” he said, surprise and warmth in his tone. “Var-Keenir is that you?”
    “Aye.”
    They approached each other as closely as territoriality would allow. “I cast a shadow in your presence,” said Keenir.
    Afsan clicked his teeth. “I’ll have to take your word for that. Keenir, it’s grand to hear your voice!”
    “And it’s wonderful to see you, good thighbone,” said Keenir, his rough tones like pebbles chafing together. “You’re still a scrawny thing, though.”
    “I don’t anticipate that changing,” said Afsan, with another clicking of teeth.
    “Aye, it must be in your nature, since I’m sure that at Emperor Dybo’s table there’s always plenty of food.”
    “That there is. Tell me how you’ve been.”
    The old mariner’s words were so low they were difficult to make out over the wind, even for Afsan, whose hearing had grown very acute since the loss of his sight. “I’m fine,” said Keenir. “Oh, I begin to feel my age, and, except for my regenerated tail, my skin is showing a lot of mottling, but that’s to be expected.”
    Indeed, thought Afsan, for Keenir had now outlived his creche-mate, Tak-Saleed, by some sixteen kilodays. “What brings you to the Capital?”
    “The Dasheter. ”
    Afsan clicked his teeth politely. “Everyone’s a comedian. I mean, what business are you up to?”
    “Word went out that a ship was needed for a major voyage. I’ve come to get the job.”
    “You want to sail to the south pole?”
    “Aye, why not? I’ve been close enough to see the ice before, but we never had the equipment for a landing. The Dasheter is still the finest ship in the world, eggling. It’s had a complete overhaul. And, if you’ll forgive an oldster a spot of immodesty, you won’t find a more experienced captain.”
    “That much is certain. You know that it is my son Toroca who will be leading the Antarctic expedition?”
    “No, I did not know that. But it’s even more fitting. His very first water voyage was aboard the Dasheter , when we brought Novato and your children to Capital City all those kilodays ago. And Toroca took his pilgrimage with me three or four kilodays ago.”
    “We don’t call it a pilgrimage anymore.”
    “Aye, but I’m set in my ways. Still, not having to bring along that bombastic priest, Bleen, does make the voyage more pleasant.”
    Afsan actually thought that Bleen wasn’t a bad sort, as priests went. He said nothing, though.
    “Where is Toroca now?” asked Keenir.
    “According to his last report, he’s finishing up some studies on the eastern shore of Fra’toolar. He’s expecting a ship to rendezvous with his