Free Atlantis Endgame by Andre Norton, Sherwood Smith Page A

be implemented: their cautionary radio silence was now, except for dire emergency, to-tai.
    The Baldies were here.
    Linnea voiced a worry when the women waded ashore and started up the trail toward the city. "Do you think that attack on our camp was the Baldies, then? If so, why?"
    Eveleen gave her head a shake. Of course Linnea had been fully briefed on what little they knew of the Baldies. It was so little, missing any hint of motivation, that Eveleen knew that personal experience would be more convincing than mere reference to old reports. "I can't guess. So far, the Baldies have not exactly been subtle when they see us. If that was them, it could have been a test, or a warning, even. They obviously didn't want to risk being seen, for they could easily have waited and attacked Stav and Kosta. Seen or heard: the men would have set up a shout, and maybe those fishers would have come running. The camp attack was probably done fast and silent."
    Linnea nodded and blanched slightly. Eveleen wondered if she was thinking of the Baldies' efforts in human mind control, which had worked with unpredictable results. Ross's scarred hand was one result, though admittedly he had been wearing one of their shimmery-fabric suits when it occurred. "I don't think the Baldies could do their mind tricks with a whole crowd of determined fishers. I think they have to concentrate on us one at a time. And as for the ship being attacked next, Stav and Kosta have it well protected. They won't get it as easily as they got that camp."
    "All right, then," Linnea said, in a determinedly bright voice. "So let's see if we can find anything that might answer some of our questions." She smiled. "And at the same time regard this as a shopping opportunity of a lifetime."
    Eveleen laughed. When they reached the spot where the trail joined a bigger road, packed hard from years of pounding by biped and quadruped feet, they fell silent, melding into the crowd heading toward Akrotiri.
    The clatter of voices rose around them. Eveleen listened to everyday chatter as they neared the great gates. The sacred horns rose up against the sky, silhouetted against the milky blue. Already the volcanic haze was spoiling the pure brilliance of morning.
    Linnea clutched her basket protectively against her. It was an ordinary basket heaped with small packages wrapped in cloth and leather. The ones on top were indeed the food they were meant to suggest; her equipment nestled underneath. Eveleen preferred wearing hers under her clothing, to keep her hands free.
    Not that there was any overt threat here. Eveleen realized that Linnea had stopped, and alarm flared briefly through her until she saw Linnea resting her basket on a low wall as she watched a group of magnificently dressed young women parading down the street, their arms full of crocus flowers. Somehow, somewhere, someone had managed to grow flowers, despite the increasingly cruel slaps of Nature all around them.
    Eveleen, staring after them, remembered how often she'd read statements about human adaptability. Here was living proof. She realized she'd expected furtive sneaking about, or outright fear, and not people laughing, talking, carrying on with their lives.
    A group of younger girls, sudden as starlings, danced around them, singing, their voices high and birdlike in the open air.
    Linnea drew a deep breath.
    "The saffron makers," Eveleen guessed, remembering her research.
    A single nod.
    The procession wound its way past them, making for one of the great buildings in which religious ceremonies took place. As they wound their way along the narrow street, they could still hear singing coming from the open windows of a low building that was still left standing.
    Pungent smells assailed them: fish, goat, the pervasive stink of burning rock. Dyers stirred great pots, the fires beneath pale in the glary light. Strong herbal odors drifted on the thick, dusty air. At the sides of the street rubble had been piled neatly; men of