Ancestor's World

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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***

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.