George Zebrowski - The Star Web

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The Star Web by George Zebrowski
Chapter One
A Voice From The Cold
Something had come to life beneath the Antarctic ice, something that was bleeding patterned but
unrecognizable radio signals, pulsing strongly enough to be reported by the earthwatch station in polar
orbit, whispering from the edge of the world, from a place where there should have been only silence.
Standing on the white surface under a clear blue sky, Juan Obrion imagined a presence buried deeply
beneath his heavy boots. Around him the packed ice and snow filled the Antarctic valley like ice cream in
a rocky bowl, leaving only the mountainous rim to sight.
What was it? How deep, he wondered. A few hundred feet, a mile? The mountains were almost three
miles high. How large a device was it? It did not seem to be a natural phenomena. What was its power
source? How long had it been here, and what had moved it to speak?
He turned and walked back to the snowcab where the rest of the investigation team was unpacking the
electronic gear that would help pinpoint the source of the strange signals.
The group included Lena Dravic, a Soviet-Norwegian paleontologist, Magnus Rassmussen, UN
electronic inspections expert, Malachi Moede from Kenya, mechanic, tractor operator, amateur
astron-omer-jack-of-all-trades and military mercenary who had given up UN trouble shooting to help in
the adventure of developing earth's own alien environment, Antarctica. Juan Obrion was an exobiologist
who had turned polar expeditions director.
A week ago Titus Summet, coordinator of UN Earth Resources Security, had ordered them to search
out this thing regardless of delay to other work. Juan knew that the others were as impatient as he to get
to the end of the matter and return to their own projects before the Antarctic summer came to an end. He
could feel their resentment at having to be here; it was the same as his own.
Yet there was something strange about this place, something inevitable in the presence of such a
mysterious phenomena in the icebound Antarctic valley. For a moment it amused him to watch the way
his mind conjured up uncritical suspicions independently of his approval. A scrap of information, an
irrational image, even a fond wish that something could be true—all this went into the mix that supported
the emergence of a variety of judgements and conclusions. And if a sudden fact appeared to support any
kind of structure, simple or elaborate, it would have the effect of a spark in a volatile mixture; he would
rush toward the implications.
The entire situation here was beginning to look like his kind of problem, and he found himself enjoying it.
He valued the intellectual and emotional perception of the unknown, knowing that together with the
catalyst of curiosity the process released the play of human creativity. Mind and knowledge are finite,
while what can be known seems endless, and what can be imagined is endless. The intensity of
enjoyment made life worth living, he thought, while the unknown holds us in suspense between suspicion
and discovery…
He walked up to the tractor cab, threw back the hood of his parka and climbed inside where Malachi
Moede was listening to the radio wail of whatever was embedded in the ice.
"Why aren't you helping outside, Mai?"
The black Kenyan smiled at him, showing teeth like milk in an inkwell. "Magnus doesn't trust anyone with
his gear except Lena, claims she's more careful, the old chauvinist bounder."
The radio sound silenced them for a moment. It reminded Juan of a perfectly formed carrier signal, an
alarm repeating endlessly, devoid of all except prearranged information.
"Why did they send you?" Malachi asked. "And why me? Why duplicate abilities? What does Summet
know that he hasn't told us?"
"Somebody got Titus all worked up about the importance of this thing—probably a military—enough for
him to send out two hounds. Makes him feel better. But you and I are different, we know a lot of other
things too."
Through the forward windshield they could see Magnus Rassmussen and Lena Dravic pulling the small
radar sled across the ice. The sled gained speed but they stopped it at a previously set thousand yard red
flag marker.
"There are only a few explanations about this," Juan said, "and I can throw most of them away."
Malachi sighed. "Back at Oxford during my childhood there was a feeling that the universe had all been
collected, by Queen Victoria actually, and we were not to show surprise at anything startling—as if we
could look it up for ourselves in the place where they store extraordinary things. I wonder what the
increase in knowledge has done to them. Ignorance is probably good manners now." He paused. "Tell
me what you think is going on here."
Juan shrugged. "You guess first."
"After you—you're ready with at least one or two thoughts, maybe they'll suggest something to me."
"Okay, one it's something natural we've never encountered before. Two, it's something belonging to a
UN member. Three, it's extraterrestrial. Four, it's from the past."
"That's it?"
"All I've got, Mai."
Rassmussen and Lena Dravic looked like lumpy bears coming back across the ice. Juan stared at them
as he listened to Malachi's answer.
"Your first idea reminds me of the flap thirty years ago about signals from intelligent life out in the galaxy,
and that turned out to be a rotating neutron star—a pulsar—emitting signals like a lighthouse. Completely
natural but it seemed very intentional at the time—but that was the only time. I don't think this belongs to
a UN member, or anybody else—"
"They told you more than they told me, I see."
"I was to tell you. That leaves your last two guesses. When you say something from the past, I take it you
mean an advanced civilization?"
"It would have to be."
"The extraterrestrial theory is always an open one, I suppose…"
"Or your information is bad and it does belong to a UN member. It wouldn't be the first time someone
has lied to the UN."
Lena opened the cab door next to Juan and shouted, "Shall we finish setting up the camp quarters now?
We don't have all year."
"We'd better, Juan," Malachi said as he opened the door on his side. "It's better to work in the dear old
sunlight."
At night the frozen continent seemed to receive its chill from the endless icy stars wheeling about the
south pole. The insulated hut was a black shadow standing on a blue-white plain. The mountains were
black teeth on the horizon. Four human figures emerged and stood looking up at the sky…
"There it is," Juan Obrion said, pointing.
From behind the molar-like mountains a bright star rose, .Polar Earth Station One, climbing slowly
toward the zenith.
Obrion led the way to the snowcab. He opened the door and climbed inside. Malachi and Rass-mussen
climbed in next to him in the front seat. Lena pulled herself into the back seat in one fluid motion. Malachi
slammed the door shut and sat back heavily. Rassmussen's tall thin frame seemed hunched over the
glowing instrument panel.
Juan waited for the second hand of the clock to reach the appointed moment and opened the channel to
the station in the sky. Rassmussen pushed the button which activated the radar substation he and Lena
had set up earlier.
Malachi made voice contact. "Signals very clear. What are your coordinates for the location of the
source?"
Lena had turned on a light over the rolling map drum in the back seat.
An impersonal voice from the orbital station began to read off co-ordinates.
When it was finished Lena said, "But that's here, all around us. How large can this thing be?"
"Triangulation with your substation is accurate," Earthwatch One said, "your source must lie in the circle
where you are the center and the radius extends to the substation, perhaps beyond… we are also picking
up mascon readings from this area. The material below you is exceptionally dense compared to the
surroundings."
Juan opened the channel to the mysterious signal. Suddenly the perfectly symmetrical wail seemed like a
crying in a huge empty auditorium where the house lights were stars. The sound was set in a great silence,
a solitude that suggested an opened vastness, a space of feeling and pride beyond anything Juan had ever
known…
There was nothing left to do now except make preparations to excavate.
In the morning the big copters appeared with the heavy digging machinery. Juan Obrion watched them as
they beat across the blue from the north like giant insects and set down one by one within the circle of
red flags which now outlined the area of ignorance. Summet had promised fifteen machines, with all the
equipment and supplies necessary to the task, together with a hundred men to do the heavy labor. He
had been true to his word.
By noon one heavy steel rotary digger had gone down a hundred feet to shatter itself against a hard
surface of some kind; by one o'clock the same thing had happened in a spot two hundred feet away.
Two big scoops were brought into place and they began to dig a large hole between the two smaller
holes made by the rotaries. Fifty feet down the scoops ran out of reach,- forcing the workers to stop.
The rest of the day was spent in widening the hole and constructing a forty five degree ramp of packed
snow down into the crater for one of the smaller scoops to use.
As it grew dark, Juan and Malachi watched the excavators set up huge floodlights around the site, along
with the portable generators which picked up their daily power load through the microwave transmissions
from orbital solar plants. The compact batteries could store up to seventy-two hours of electrical power,
more than enough to last until the next feed from orbit. One by one the microwave dishes were lined up
to catch the power station as it came up over the horizon, and each ear would sweep one hundred eighty
degrees until the source was lost to sight at the other edge of the world. Against the darkening blue of the
sky, the ears were black circles, expectant sentries listening inside a hollow universe…
Juan watched as the small scoop rolled down into the crater to eat away at the hard ice at the bottom.
The ice began to look dark in the harsh glare of the blue-white plasma lamps.
The crews were working in shifts around the clock, under strict orders. Lena and Rassmussen had long
ago gone to sleep. Juan and Malachi had come out twice during the night.
"The color of that ice," Malachi said, "it's not just the lights."
"It bothered me too," Juan said.
Suddenly there was a grinding sound and the scoop was quiet. Juan moved to his left at the edge to get a
better view.
At the bottom of the crater a section of something black protruded from the ice like a portion of some
huge swimming beast trapped below, no longer capable of motion through whatever sea had first
contained it.
Juan walked past Malachi and down the ramp. Malachi followed. The workers had stepped back from
what they had uncovered. The claw of the scoop was frozen in mid air. The operator had climbed out
onto the tread and was staring at what he had found.
Juan came up to the thing and squatted down to feel the surface with his gloved hand. He made a fist and
struck it. One of the diggers came up to him and handed him a small geologist's hammer. Juan struck
once lightly. The only sound was a dull metallic thud. In a wild moment he had almost expected the beast
to move and shake the ice…
"We're going to try going through this," Malachi said kneeling down next to him. "I don't think this
belongs to anyone we know, old man."
"How big do you think it is?"
"No way to tell, yet. The first dig holes are two hundred feet apart and this is in the middle. We could drill
more holes and widen them out like this one."
"You pick the spot and give the orders," Juan said. "Then we had better get some sleep. Lena and
Magnus will wake us if anything new happens."
Juan stood up and led the way out of the crater. There was a faint hint of dawn light coming up from
behind the mountains. For a moment he wondered what he was doing here, what this crazy dig-ging was
all about, and what were all these unlikely theories he and Malachi had started coming up with. He
staggered toward the hut thinking of sleep.
Lena was shaking him awake, gently.
"Juan, there's an opening, wake up."
He opened his eyes and saw the high cheekbones and blue eyes of her face hovering over him. Behind
her Malachi was sitting in a chair drinking coffee. The white coffee cup seemed to match his teeth, and
for a moment before his vision cleared Juan thought it was a huge tooth. Through the small window in the
direction of his feet he could see it was evening again. Suddenly he resented Antarctica. Where were the
sunny beaches and the simple pleasures he had not known for so long? Where was the love affair he had
put off for so long now? What was this thing under the ice which was quickly becoming a nagging puzzle?
He imagined a city standing on the soil of a continent locked in ice. Whatever it turned out to be, he knew
he would resent it.
Slowly he got up and slipped into his insulated coverall which went on over the thermal indoor suits they
all wore. "What do you mean, Lena?" he asked as Malachi gave him a cup of coffee.
"We've found an opening into the thing," Malachi said, "she only repeated it nine times."
Obrion started pacing next to his bunk while sipping his coffee. "I expected that there would be one." He
put the cup on a chair. "Let's get out there."
Blue light was streaming upward from the crater. As Juan followed Malachi down into the new open-ing,
the light radiated upward as if cast by a blue sun below the horizon.
Magnus Rassmussen was standing over a circular opening, his profile thrown into a strange shadow cast
upward by the blue glare. Juan came up to the well of light and stood looking down as if into an oceanic
eye. Lena and Malachi walked around to his left and stared down silently.
"Mai, you come with me," Obrion said.
Lena and Rassmussen did not protest as Juan sat down on the edge of the opening and let his feet hang
down inside. The blue seemed warm and he felt as if he were entering the waters of an exotic bath. His
feet brushed against a wall and found ladder-like ridges. He turned and lowered himself on his gloved
hands until he could grasp one of the ridges with his left hand.
"It's only five feet to the bottom," Lena said. "We dropped a line before."
Rassmussen dropped the line again as she spoke. "It's there if you need it, Juan," the engineer said.
Juan reached out for the next ridge with his boot. Suddenly his foot slipped. He grasped the line and slid
down quickly. Looking up immediately he saw Malachi coming down after him. Lena and Magnus were
dark figures above, giants in the lighted circle.
The footing was solid. In a moment Malachi was standing next to him. Obrion peered around the
chamber, trying to guess its size.
"You go left," Obrion said, "I'll go right—but not too far."
"Juan!" Lena shouted from above. "The cover is closing—"
He looked up in time to see a glowing red circle. Then the opening was gone, with nothing to suggest that
there had ever been one. Quickly he walked direcdy under the place where it had been. Mai came up
and stood next to him.
The circle glowed and Juan was looking at Lena and Magnus again. "It's automatic," Lena said loudly.
"The diggers said it appeared out of nowhere the first time also."
"I see now," Malachi said. "When there was no one inside here the opening was triggered by anyone who
came near outside. But while we're inside, only we can open it. That's a safety feature of a lock system, it
seems, completely automatic." He looked around. "There's got to be an inner entrance leading inside, so
that we can clear the chamber for others to use from outside. But that probably won't open until the one
above closes. The only way to find it is to make a circuit of the chamber."
"Do you think this could be a city?" Obrion asked. "Was it once under water—hence the lock?"
"We'll know more when we get inside," Malachi said as he started to feel his way around the room.
"I don't think there's anyone here," Juan said. He stepped to one side and the opening above faded away
in a faint red glow. "We'll get trekking packs and take a look-see trip inside before someone puts a
clamp on the whole find. It would be just like Titus to come down here himself and rob us. If we're good
enough to leave our work to find this thing, then we should get the credit, don't you think?"
"Righto, Juan—-do you realize what this means? Incredible, but there is a buried culture in Antarctica
… you don't suppose this could be a hoax, an elaborate plant made by some eccentric millionaire?"
"Suits me fine, whatever it is," Obrion said. "I'll get the others and we'll get to work."
"It couldn't be a hoax," Malachi added, "not with that kind of lock."
As they stood to one side looking up at the circle of night through which they had entered, it glowed and
disappeared.
"Hello, I've found it—the inner door!" Malachi shouted.
Obrion turned and saw an orange glow spilling out from the new circle. He walked forward and stepped
through into a corridor which seemed covered with hard obsidian. Overhead, orange-yellow lamps
curved away to the left. The black floor reflected the lights as a dull white streak.
The others stepped through behind him. Obrion waited until the portal had disappeared before leading
the way forward. They would explore while the crew slept above them, exhausted from the digging.
Obrion had gained eight to ten hours before the foreman called in a report, at best a day before Summet
arrived with his baggage of worldly consequences and locust-like experts, including UN military security
teams. He shuddered at what the security and military personnel would see in this thing. It was certain
they would try to turn it to their advantage in terms of appropriations and practical authority.
Obrion loosened a shoulder strap on his backpack, threw back the hood of his parka and adjusted the
position of the emergency light on his hooded cap. As he walked forward, he started to feel very
pro-tective about the structure, as if he had been its architect, almost as if it were enlisting his help,
leading him on with promises of strange rewards, stirring his curiosity in a way he had not known since he
had been a small boy…
"The curve of the corridor is a spiral leading down," Malachi said from behind. "My level indicates we're
moving lower into this thing."
"Look at the markings on the walls," Lena said.
Obrion stopped. Immediately ahead was a large circular opening cut in the floor. The corridor continued
on the other side. They walked up to it together and looked down.
The passage was filled with bright yellow light and went straight down as far as they could see. Warm air
was coming up from it, air that seemed to be overly rich in oxygen. Obrion took a coin out of his pocket
and dropped it in. The coin floated down slowly, as if something were holding it in a vise-like grip.
"Curious," Rassmussen said as he watched, "it stays flat, in the position it had when you let go."
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!" The sound came from behind them in the corridor. They all turned suddenly.
Next to Obrion, Malachi staggered back from the load of his pack and stepped into the opening in the
floor.
"Juan, help me," he said desperately.
Obrion turned in time to see him moving downward. He fell to his knees at the edge, as did Lena and
Magnus. They all reached down with their hands, but Malachi was too far down, falling slowly away, yet
held aloft as if by some force, a man in an invisible elevator. Obrion could see him moving his lips as if in
prayer, but all sound seemed cut off.
Gradually his figure dwindled to the size of a toy doll, then to a dark point, and in another instant Malachi
Moede was gone.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!" The sound repeated itself behind them, as if to confirm with a banshee's glee the
loss of Malachi, one of Africa's new men, newly swallowed by a mechanical leviathan hibernating in the
land of cold.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!"
Obrion, Lena and Rassmussen got up and turned to face whatever was coming down the curving
corridor after them.
"It was louder," Lena said.
For a few moments Juan heard only their breathing, and even that grew quieter as they waited. The
passage seemed to be filled with a blue mist.
Footsteps.
"Juan, what could it be?" Lena whispered.
Obrion shook his head, motioning her to be silent.
Rassmussen came up and stood at his left, readying himself. Obrion slipped off his pack and placed it at
his feet. Rassmussen did the same. They had no weapons except their bare hands.
At the bend of the passage two figures appeared in silhouette, coming partially into view and stopping,
two cutouts made of black paper, standing perfectly still…
Then Obrion noticed that they were growing larger, shadows coming forward to engulf them, threatening
as if in a bad dream. This is the real world, he said to himself silently; but all the events here were
fantastic. The structure he was in was fantastic, yet cer-tainly real; its very reality seemed to promise that
the store of the fantastically real was far from exhausted. Slowly Obrion walked forward to meet the
shadows.
Chapter Two
The Seekers
The shadows seemed to retreat as he approached them.
"Juan!" Lena shouted with concern in her voice.
Suddenly the shadows dissolved into two human figures. The one on the right was tall, with blonde hair
and blue eyes. He was stocky even for a man wearing a snowsuit. The man next to him was middle sized,
with graying brown hair and a familiar set of bushy eyebrows, their brown wires still untouched by gray.
"Titus Summet!" Obrion shouted. "What are you doing here?" The anger rose up in him. "Do you realize
what your intruding has just cost us—we've lost Malachi—"
"Ivan Dimitryk, this is Juan Obrion—¦"
"Titus, there's no time to stand and chat. You helped cause a serious accident."
"Where?" Juan saw the frightened smile on the UN Director's face.
"Come see."
He led them back to Lena and Rassmussen, and for a moment they all stared down into the drop.
"He must be dead," Summet said. "I don't see how anyone could survive a fall like that. Let's get out of
here. We'll be setting up a large base dome before getting into this thing any more." Suddenly Juan hated
the older man's cold British tones, his lack of concern for Malachi's life, as well as the rude hint that he
was about to assume command.
"We don't think he's dead, Titus," Juan said.
"Oh, why?"
"Well, you see, he didn't exactly fall. It seemed more like he floated down. He's in another section of this
thing and we've got to find him."
"What do you think, Rassmussen?" Summet asked.
"I tend to agree with Juan."
"Very well, we shall come back when we're better equipped for a search."
Juan was still angry as he led the way out.
Summet had insisted on the weapons. Obrion did not like wearing a gun, and he could tell that Lena
tolerated her own as she would a jawbone club attached to her waist. They had brought additional
provisions and first-aid supplies to add to their backpacks which they had left near the drop tube.
At the drop, Obrion led the way around, followed by Lena, Summet, Rassmussen and Ivan Dimitryk.
Ahead the passage continued in a slow curve, leading downward like a spiralling wormhole cutting
through an apple. Juan played with the image suggested by the corridor: a solid sphere locked in the
ageless ice. The impression seemed very immediate, almost as if it had been placed into his mind.
Malachi, you can't be dead, the thought intruded. He could not accept the picture of his friend's body
lying broken at the bottom of the strange well. Then he realized that there should be doors in a corridor,
unless the passage was for some kind of vehicle.
"Juan," Lena said behind him as they walked, "there's a sound coming from ahead, can't you hear it?"
He stopped and listened. Gradually a high whine became audible enough to be more than suggestion.
"I can hear it," Summet said. Juan detected a note of fear in his voice, while in his own mind grew the
image of a snakelike vehicle pushing through the curving passage to crush them.
"Quick, everyone against the wall!" Obrion shouted.
They all took a few steps to their right and waited with backs to the wall. As he started to lean against the
surface, Obrion felt it yield and he stumbled backward under the weight of his pack—
—and found himself in a brightly lit room, alone.
The silence was oppressive. The harsh white light made the skin of his hands seem almost transparent.
Around him were benches of various sizes, and standing things that looked like cabinets. Juan sat down
to catch his breath. He heard his heart beating loudly in his chest. He heard his pulse in his ears… distant
plodding footsteps.
Suddenly the ceiling turned a dull red and he felt heat penetrate to every part of his body. He started to
sweat in his heavy clothing. Then the ceiling changed back to white and he felt a cool breeze rush through
the room. There was a sweet scent in the air, pleasant yet similar to the sweetness of pure oxygen.
He turned and walked back in the direction he thought he had come from. A bright red oval appeared in
the section of wall. He reached out to touch it and his hand disappeared. He pulled it back and looked at
it. There was nothing wrong. Putting both arms out in front, he walked into the glowing oval—and
stepped out into the curving passage. There was no one to his right or left. He turned around in time to
see the portal fade away. He stepped up to the place where it had been and put out his hand. The
doorway appeared again, and disappeared when he pulled his hand back.
As he stood there, he realized that no technology of his time could possibly have produced this kind of
doorway. This entire place was a functioning relic from a past which could not possibly have existed. He
felt a stirring of prideful resentment toward the past culture that could have built this entire structure. It
was the kind of thing one might expect of humanity's future, a goal to work toward. If the past had
achieved what he saw, then the present was a time of decline. How would the world receive such
evidence of its lesser status?
Back along the passage, the others began to appear as each in turn learned the mechanism of the doors.
Most likely the entire length of the winding passage was spaced with entranceways, probably on both
sides. For a moment the room he had left reminded him of a bath.
There was a look of personal pride on Summet's face. "Juan, we're going no further—these rooms come
first. We have got to start taking photographs. I've just seen some very curious things. What happened to
you?"
"I think I just took a bath… I'm not sure. Titus, all this, it doesn't disturb you?"
"Not very much, really. Why should it? It's the archeological find of the century. Whatever it is, we'll
figure it out."
"What do you think it is, Titus?" Rassmussen asked from behind him.
The director turned around to face Magnus, then turned back to Obrion. "You're all trying to needle me.
I warn you…" Then he smiled. "Why not, I try to be in a good mood."
"Well, what do you think this is?" Lena asked.
The worldly man shrugged his wide shoulders, wrinkled his bushy brown eyebrows and said, "For one
thing, it's an Earth Resource as of right now, and fully protected by my… by the authority of UN
Resources Security. Everyone will get his share— nations, scientists, everyone, depending on why they
need it and what good it will do. For now, everyone out back topside! That's an official order."
Juan looked at Ivan Dimitryk, who stood next to the director. There was a satisfied look on his face.
Lena sighed. "You're forgetting we have to look for Malachi."
"I'll take the responsibility, Dravic. Now move, or I'll go get some security police." He started to herd
them before him, preferring to bring up the rear with Dimitryk. "We'll all search better after we get some
sleep. Oh, leave your packs near the entrance. No sense carting them around."
"Shut up, Titus," Obrion said. "You can order us about, but we're still bright enough to think of little things
for ourselves."
In the quiet Juan remembered how Malachi had openly mocked the director, in cutting ways that would
always be superior to the angry kick in the pants Titus deserved.
As he lay in his bunk, Juan wondered about what they were getting into. Summet had become very
nervous by the time they had gotten back to quarters, as if he were afraid that some disaster would rob
him of his prize. Obrion's own work seemed a distant thought next to Malachi's absence and the thought
of exploring the buried structure. There would be years of work here…
He should have insisted that the search for Malachi go forward immediately, but they were all tired and
needed what sleep was left in the remaining night hours. He fell asleep dreaming of sea birds crying loudly
under a burning sun…
Behind the partition in her corner of the cabin, Lena was warm under the electric blanket. Malachi was
wheeling away from her into the bowels of a nameless construction and she remembered the feeling of
helplessness which was a cold whirlwind passing through all of them. Yet she felt reasonably sure that
Malachi had not fallen to his death. She could not imagine the strong African dead.
Summet was a meddler. Juan had told her of his troubles with the director. The man had to be
emotionally blackmailed to get things done. Facts counted only as convincers. Summet depended on
those around him for advice, and often got the best through a process of elimination and delay; but a thing
still had to look good politically to be implemented. The director was a device brought into being by
circumstances involving science and world affairs. Politicos trusted him and world science knew that he
could be convinced by their best spokesmen. She tried to imagine Titus Summet as the environmental
biologist he had been trained to be, and failed.
Summet depended on Juan's combination of skills. There were not many exobiologists who had his
organizational abilities and high standing in the scientific community. In Summet's position of power Juan
would have been envied. A tall, black-haired aristocrat from a Spanish-American California family, Juan
摘要：

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：76 页 大小：187.91KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-23

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