Ancestor's World: A Novel of
StarBridge
T. Jackson King
A. C. Crispin
For Paula, who understands
This book is an Ace original edition, and has never been previously published.
ANCESTOR'S WORLD
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the authors
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace edition / July 1996
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1996 by A.C. Crispin and T. Jackson King.
Cover art by Duane O. Myers.
Maps by T. Jackson King
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Acknowledgments
First, I would like to thank Ann Crispin for the opportunity to participate in a StarBridge adventure. Ann's suggestions and input helped shape this story in vital ways, especially with "her" character Mahree Burroughs. Also, I've loved every StarBridge story and I hope this one is a worthy addition to the grand string of adventures that have been enjoyed by readers young and old.
Information on "mud" chemicals and their function in drilling rigs was provided to me by my brother-in-law, Didier Vincent of Paris, France. He is a real mud engineer, having worked on rigs from Borneo to Nigeria to the North Sea. Another helper with details was Donna Logan, Reference Librarian for the Medford Branch Library.
As a professional archaeologist, I must thank those teachers who taught me well: my M.A. Committee Chairman, Dr. Clement Meighan--he sparked within me a love of ancient cultures and the puzzle-solving that has always been part of archaeology; Dr. Franklin Fenenga, who took me along on my first field dig in the plague-infested foothills of the Sierra Nevadas and who taught me how to play penny-ante poker while quite drunk; Dr. William Lipe, a fine archaeologist whose integrity and professionalism I came to respect and admire in the eight years I worked with him at the Dolores
Archaeological Project in Colorado; and the Institute of Archaeology at UCLA, a place where my multidisciplinary interests were accepted and encouraged.
As a writer, I also owe many acknowledgments to authors past and present.
Those who influenced me the most include Rudyard Kipling, Robert Heinlein, Poul Anderson, James White, Roger Zelazny, and Andre Norton. I could name more, but will leave it there.
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Author's Note
A fine sourcebook on Etsane's homeland is Ethiopia: A Country Study, (Washington, DC: Library of Congress, 1993), edited by Thomas P.
Ofcansky and LaVerle Berry. An excellent academic text on Dynastic Egypt is A History Of Ancient Egypt by Nicolas Grimal (Oxford, England: Blackwell Publishers, 1992.) Many books exist on the opening of Pharaoh
Tutankhamun's tomb by Howard Carter, but the one that inspired me was The Treasures of Tutankhamun by I. E. S. Edwards (New York: The Viking Press, 1972). Readers interested in African culture and history may turn to The African Experience by Roland Oliver (New York: HarperCollins, 1991), a quality book full of wonder and tragedy.
My favorite ethnographic sourcebook for current day peoples is the Atlas of Man, edited by John Gaisford (London: Marshall Cavendish Rooks Limited, 1978). An older but still excellent textbook on basic anthropology is Human Nature: An Introduction to Cultural Anthropology by James F. Downs (New York: Glencoe Press, 1973). A fine overview of world archaeology can be found in the Larousse Encyclopedia of Archaeology (London: Hamlyn, 1972), edited by Gilbert Charles-Picard. Two fine works on the deciphering of ancient languages are Breaking The Maya Code by Michael D. Coe (New York: Thames and Hudson Inc., 1992) and A Forest Of Kings by Linda Scheie and David Freidel (New York: Quill/ William Morrow, 1990). For those who want to know how rich and complex field archaeology can be, they can do no better than to read Archaeology: Theories, Methods, and Practice by Colin Renfrew and Paul Bahn (New York: Thames and Hudson Inc., 1991). Reading any of these works will quickly dispel the notion that
"ancient astronauts" founded any of our great civilizations, when in fact our forebears were people of great knowledge, ability, and vision.
The details of earthfill dam construction were observed during the damming of the Dolores River Valley in Colorado, where I learned to respect the hard work, long hours, and
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professional knowledge exhibited by inspectors, excavators, grout pumpers, construction engineers, and honorable contractors. Not all dams are bad, and McPhee Dam now provides much needed water for drinking and
growing crops.
Sadly, slavery still exists. The annual reports of the British group Anti-Slavery International document its presence in twenty-eight nations, including the variant forms of debt bondage, tenant serfdom, forced marriage, and the selling of children into hard labor or prostitution. Since 1839, Anti- Slavery International has educated about this abornination and lobbied for its complete eradication. Readers who wish to learn more or to support this long-established group may contact them at: Anti-Slavery International, The Stableyard, Broomgrove Road, London SW9 9TL, England.
Lastly, I commend to readers the study of anthropology, archaeology, linguistics, and ancient history--it is an adventure that can last a lifetime. You may find that studying the past is a wonderful way to value early accomplishments, while appreciating the present.
--T. Jackson King.
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ANCESTOR'S WORLD
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CHAPTER 1 The Gleam of Gold
Sweating nervously, Doctor Gordon Mitchell placed his chisel against the interstice of the tomb wall, wedging it carefully into the ancient mortar. He tapped once ... twice. Then, satisfied that it was placed correctly, he drew back his arm and struck a ringing blow with his mallet.
Hard exercise in the still, hot air made him gasp for breath as he hammered, each blow carefully gauged. A wrong move might prove disastrous. This was a Royal Tomb of the First Dynasty of the Na-Dina aliens, and whatever secrets lay behind this wall had lain there for six thousand years. Was it possible the tomb was intact? He'd have that answer within the next few minutes....
For six millennia an unbroken dynasty of Na-Dina Kings and Queens had ruled this planet they called Halish meg a-tum --Ancestor's World. The blue-scaled, reptilian aliens, who balanced upright on their tails like kangaroos, worshipped their ancestors as devoutly as they did their gods.
Ancestor's World perched dangerously on the edge of Sorrow Sector, and had been unknown to the Cooperative League of Systems until First Contact was made by the human-owned Nordlund Combine. When the reigning government made plans with Nordlund to industrialize Ancestor's 2
World as rapidly as possible, despite the loss of their most ancient ruins, the Traditionalist faction of the Na-Dina had sent out a cry for help to the CLS.
The Traditionalist plea had been barely tolerated by the Modernist faction, who believed that rapid industrialization was their only route to respect among the star-spanning Known Worlds.
There were fifteen CLS-member homeworlds, now, including Earth and the Simiu homeworld, Hurrreeah.
Only homeworlds--as opposed to colonized planets--counted as "Known"
Worlds, though CLS membership was extended to an entire species.
Gordon continued to hammer, ignoring the loud, excited breathing of his Simiu assistant, Khuharkk', who crouched four-footed beside him. Beside the alien an autocam hovered, silently recording, controlled by a gold sensor beneath the young Simiu's eye.
Khuharkk' was welcome company this far into the dusty blackness. They had excavated their way into a long tunnel that led in from the tomb's cliffside entrance. According to the paintings that lined the tunnel, this wall separated them from the burial chamber of A-Um Rakt, founding Deity- King of the Na-Dina dynasties. With the care of a diamond cutter, Gordon moved the chisel sideways along the line of white cement, extending his opening cut into the wall of stone blocks.
"Professor?" growled Khuharkk' in heavily accented English, edging closer as he spoke.
Gordon paused in mid-swing and sighed as the chisel head was suddenly eclipsed by a furred shadow. "Yes?"
"Should I fetch the autosifters?"
Mitchell shook his head. "This is delicate work. Best done by hand. And, Khuharkk'... you're blocking the light."
The young Simiu scuttled sideways with an embarrassed snort, and the baboonlike shadow that had blocked Gordon's view shifted, leaving the light cast by the hovering light-globe unobstructed.
"Thank you," Gordon said, shortly. "And about those autosifters ... didn't Greyshine teach you the limitations of
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automatic diggers? Now stay quiet, and watch. You'll learn something."
"Yes, Professor," the Simiu muttered, sounding distressed.
Gordon experienced a flare of guilt. He hadn't always been this short-tempered. But much of his patience and good humor had disappeared after his divorce, after his wife, Jayna, had remarried the moment the ink was dry ... after his daughters, Moira and Casey, had grown distant and gone off into space with their mother. His temper had worsened when he'd lost the academic roll of the dice and become a has-been to his professional colleagues. Just another washed-up field archaeologist...
"No!" he yelled, and slammed the mallet against the chisel. White dust flew as the line of cement cracked. The stone blocks loosened.
Nearly there... I'll show them....
Tap tap. Tap tap again. Gordon paused, mallet poised, as the stone floor beneath his knees shivered like a giant animal ridding itself of a stinging insect.
Just another tremor... It had been nerve-wracking, at first, adjusting to the incessant seismic activity on this planet. Some days there were as many as thirty or forty discernible quakes, others "only" four or five. Gordon had had so much trouble sleeping during his first weeks here that he'd had to drink himself into a stupor to get any rest.
When the tremor stopped, he worked the chisel along a rectangular path, deftly cracking the cement. Soon he'd loosened a block of stone as wide as his shoulders. He could now push it inward, into the chamber, into a place where new air had not penetrated for millennia.
Gordon liked the Na-Dina, and admired their steadfast devotion to the past and their dead, though he found their bureaucracy as frustrating as he did any other. Na-Dina stood about two meters in height, and birthed their young in eggs. Their blue skin was adorned with painted ideoglyph designs denoting their parentage, social caste, and unbroken ancestral lineage. The aliens' devotion to their long-dead ancestors had drawn him here when the Traditionalists
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on the Council of Elders had petitioned the CLS for an archaeologist to help them preserve their past. Gordon gestured to his assistant. "Anchor rope."
"Here, Professor." Khuharkk' handed him a rope with a suction device at one end. The Simiu hesitated, then said slowly, "Should I summon Beloran? He did say that if we found anything we were to call him immediately."
Mitchell scowled. "No, dammit, Beloran would come up with a dozen Na-Dina regulations and rites to follow. He wouldn't let us look inside for a week! He could be here if he wanted to be, but I'm not stopping work to go find him."
Carefully, Mitchell pressed the suction device against the brown block. Then he pushed at the stone, belaying its movement with the rope. It slid inward, then dropped down.
Musty air puffed against Gordon's face, its scent odorless. He gasped, heart slamming, nearly drunk on the old excitement. What lay within? In seconds, he would know. In moments, he could begin to solve the puzzle, bring to life a dead culture so that the past would live again.
"The torch," he said tightly. "Let's see what's inside."
"Here, Doctor Mitchell."
"Thanks."
Pressing his thumb against the torch's control pad, Gordon shone a beam of yellow light through the hole in the tomb wall and peered inside.
"Professor?"
Gordon couldn't believe his eyes. His skin chilled, and the hairs on his arms raised up. "Oh, my God!"
The human caught a whiff of the alien's musky, not unpleasant odor as the alien crowded closer. "What? What do you see?"
Gordon wanted to laugh ecstatically, but he controlled himself, because he had a feeling that if he didn't, he might weep instead. "Wonderful things," he said, thinking of another archaeologist long ago back on his home world.
"Wonderful things, Khuharkk'."
Gold gleamed brightly inside the tomb. The sunlike sheen of gold lay everywhere. It covered the chamber's
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circular wall, where gold foil had been applied to the carved stone glyphs of First Dynasty Na-Dina, an undeciphered ideoglyph language. It shone from the ceiling, where blue paint and golden circles pictured the heavens above Ancestor's World. It sparkled on the floor, where funerary objects lay scattered, as if the honored attendants who'd served the First King had stepped away only for a moment. But what gleamed most brightly, most brilliantly, lay in the middle of the dark-shadowed chamber.
The sarcophagus of the King.
Shaped like the Royal Barge that even today sailed the muddy brown waters of the River of Life, the great river beside which Na-Dina civilization had grown up, the sarcophagus of King A-Um Rakt had been fashioned from gold. And not gold foil, either. It must weigh hundreds of pounds, Gordon thought. He mentally converted that to kilos, then stubbornly thought again of pounds, because he'd been born and raised in the Smoky Mountains of east Tennessee, where many humans still clung to old ways.
"By God, now they'll respect me," he growled in a voice almost as guttural and harsh as his assistant's. "I-- we are going to be famous, Khuharkk'! As famous as Schliemann, Emerson, Alva, and Finder-of-Knowledge of the Heeyoon."
"May I see, Professor?" Khuharkk' was fairly quivering with eagerness.
Gordon smiled to himself, recalling the excitement of his own first dig, twenty-five years ago. He looked over his shoulder and into the violet eyes of his Simiu assistant. "Sure. Come. Come look at eternity!" He waved the alien youth forward.
What Khuharkk' saw made his neckfur stand on end, and his tufted tail rise up. Gordon also noticed how the Simiu's lips pulled back, revealing long, deadly canines. As the youth peered into the hole, his dark orange and red streaked bodyfur fluffed out even more, making him look much larger than he was. Finally, his assistant pulled back and turned to face him.
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Khuharkk's eyes shone. "It... it's ... oh, Professor! Wonderful! It's wonderful!"
"It sure the hell is," Mitchell agreed, grinning broadly. "Hey, Khuharkk', still think you want to be just an Interrelator for the CLS? You could go full time as an archaeologist after this dig!"
The Simiu sighed. "Maybe I will. That's what Professor Grey shine wants me to do."
Khuharkk' moved forward again, this time poking his muzzled face all the way through the hole, sneezing a little as the influx of fresh air into the ancient chamber brought with it some of the dust that hung in the tunnel. The alien's shoulders
stiffened. "Professor? Move the torch to the right!"
Gordon did as requested, moving up closer to Khuharkk'. "What's the matter? Don't tell me it's been looted?"
"No!" Khuharkk' said, sounding incredulous. "Something else. Something I...
I don't believe it! Look down ... low on the floor, at the foot of the stone bier on which rests the sarcophagus." The Simiu backed out of the way.
Squeezing his eyes shut against the fall of mortar dust, Mitchell poked his head through the hole in the wall, squirmed to bring the hand torch inside, and swept its yellow beam downward. The better angle revealed something he hadn't seen when first he'd peered into the chamber. Something else besides gold gleamed inside, but it shone vibrant purple.
Shining like dark amethysts were an incised, jewel- studded sphere; a narrow, fluted drinking vessel; and a small, boxlike shrine. All three items lay on the floor at the foot of King A-Um Rakt's sarcophagus. They shone so brightly because they were made of purple metal, and because they did not belong here.
Dear God, they're Mizari artifacts!
Specifically, a Constellation Globe, a Sacred Shrizzs and a Star-Shrine lay at the foot of the alien being who, six thousand years ago, had begun the march of civilization for the Na-Dina people. But these objects had been made by reptilian, limbless Mizari, the founders of the Cooperative 7
League of Systems. The CLS was the alien-run league that humanity had received full membership in nearly three years ago.
The Lost Colony! How else could these things have been here for six thousand years?
Long ago, a group of ancient Mizari had left their home- world, turned their starships toward the starry depths, and departed for worlds unknown to their current descendants. A year or so ago, the archaeological world had experienced a brief flurry when the eminent Heeyoon archaeologist Greyshine had reported a Star Shrine discovered at the Lamont Cliffs, near StarBridge Academy.
But that "find" had turned out to be a hoax, though it had, in its turn, led to a landmark discovery when the Ancient Dais was uncovered in an adjoining tunnel deep within the body of the little asteroid. Studies of what culture had created that artifact were still ongoing.
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