Ancient Shores 01 Ancient Shores by Jack McDevitt

Author:Jack McDevitt [McDevitt, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction, Adventure, Romance
ISBN: 9780061802102
Google: SDFmYvzHCNYC
Amazon: B00121SICI
Publisher: Harper Voyager
Published: 1996-01-01T22:00:00+00:00

Arky Redfern grew up near Fort Totten on the Devil’s Lake reservation. He was the youngest of five, the first to collect a degree. That his siblings had pursued early marriages and dead-end jobs had broken the heart of his father, who’d promised to do what he could to support any of his children seeking a higher education. Redfern was given his father’s bow to mark the occasion of his graduation from the law school at George Mason University.

He had also received encouragement from James Walker, one of the tribal councilmen, who had remarked proudly that the government no longer had all the lawyers. Redfern was fired with the idea of becoming the defender of the Mini Wakan Oyaté, as the Devil’s Lake Sioux called themselves in their own language. (The term meant People of the Spirit Lake.) He’d passed the bar exam on the first try, and he returned to North Dakota to establish a practice writing wills and overseeing divorces, which paid reasonably well. He also became the tribal legal representative, which didn’t pay so well. But it had its rewards.

At about the time Matt Taylor was looking for a course of action, Redfern was taking Paxton Wells into the reservation to make a new offer in person. Wells, wrapped in a somber mood, had apparently decided that the lawyer was hopelessly against him and had given up all efforts to placate the younger man. He sat staring moodily out the window at the flat countryside.

It had finally turned warm. Piles of melting snow were heaped along the side of the road, and there was some flooding.

The tribal chambers were located in a blue brick single-story structure known as the Blue Building. Old Glory and the flag of the Mini Wakan Oyaté fluttered in a crisp wind. Redfern pulled into the parking lot.

“This it?” said Wells, gazing at the open countryside stretching away in all directions.

Redfern knew Wells’s type: Unless he was dealing with those he knew to be his superiors or those in a position to injure him, he wore an air of restrained selfimportance. That attitude was in place now because he perceived the lawyer as no more than a means to an end, a guide to the Sioux equivalent of a CEO. That was, of course, a mistake.

They climbed out of the car, and Redfern led the way inside.

The Blue Building was home to the post office, the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the Indian Health Service, and the tribal offices. Redfern let the tribal secretary know they were there and headed for the chairman’s office.

James Walker would not have been easy to pick out of a crowd. He was less than average height, and might have struck Wells as a man more likely to be at home in a grocery store than in a council hall. There was no hint of authority in his mien or his voice, nor was there a suggestion of the steel that could manifest itself when the need arose. His eyes were dark and friendly, his bearing congenial.

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