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When archaeologist Julie Chavez discovers an ancient tomb in Africa's Great Rift Valley, she sets in motion a world-shaking chain of events. In pursuit of her mother's lifelong goal, Julie learns that eight artifacts, strange gemstones, have survived from Pleistocene times. Under many owners they've influenced the course of human history. Now Julie has brought them from legend into reality, unleashing potent forces.

This novel is complete at 170,000 words.

10 October 2036

Ignoring the white dust coating her hand, Julie Chavez wiped the sweat from her forehead.

Thoroughly streaked, her jet-black hair was almost as gray as her mother's had been. After three days of digging, Julie knew they were getting close. The volcanic strata they'd found matched the old descriptions well.

Julie's field handcomp chimed, a plaintive sound. She had worked right though her team's lunch break, making its programmed reminder irrelevant. The chiming died abruptly. Balancing on the unstable slope, Julie snatched the little device from its perch on a boulder just in time to see its screen darken.

"Oh, no. Not you, too," she told it, then pressed its touchpad.

The handcomp did not respond, leaving a physical reset as the only hope for its revival. Julie jammed a dry twig into the reset cavity and waited. The handcomp tried valiantly to boot up, displaying its name, software version, and the logo of its maker, Mitela Electroptics of Johannesburg.

The screen blanked. Faint popping noises emanated from within, accompanied by a whiff of burning plastic.

With enough clout to wrangle permission to search the area, Mitela Electroptics was sponsoring Julie's expedition. Accustomed to success, Mitela spared no expense to equip the dig. Even so, the clinging grit had defeated the last of Nguma Davies' prototype field handcomps. The stuff wasn't very good for humans either, but Julie and the rest of the team were willing to risk that.

Julie frowned, then threw the dead handcomp. It arced up and outward some thirty meters, then down another forty. It sailed right over the camp and landed smack on top of the garbage heap, a dark spot amid the dust that covered everything.

Carefully she reached into the narrow hole she'd dug and, grunting with the effort, wiggled loose another stone. Before she could grasp it the stone fell inward. Blackness gaped beyond.

She grabbed a flashlight from her tool bag and trained its powerful beam into the cave. The space within was narrow, and about ten meters deep. Two meters below, at the foot of the wall that sealed the cave, the floor looked surprisingly clean.

Chiseled runes marked the walls. Julie had only seen four actual fragments of the Dawn Language in her entire life. Prior to her mother's discoveries no one had seen it at all, or more properly, had not recognized it as such. One of those fragments told of the very cave before her.

Julie tugged loose several more stones, noting they had been shaped into rough blocks. These she set aside for later examination. Unbuttoning her shirt pocket, she pulled out a notebook. It was real paper, held in a loose-leaf binder. Her stubbornly old-fashioned mother had never trusted electronic databases. This eccentricity now proved crucial, for the handcomps would provide no further data.
Inching her slender frame into the opening, Julie worked her way forward until she had a clear view of the entire cave. Shifting her gaze from the notebook's well-thumbed pages to the inscription, she worked out a rough translation.

HERE *** *** FATHER AND MOTHER
*** *** *** MASTER
*** *** *** TEACHERS
BELOVED *** LOST *** ***
*** LOVE *** LOSS
BEWARE *** *** GIFTS
*** *** *** *** PEACE
*** *** *** SON WRITES ***

Not a full translation, Julie thought, but a pretty damn good after a hundred thirty thousand years. Enough to understand the gist of it.

A grave robber had been there, soon after its original sealing. Surely he'd been as awed as she, for unlike his vandal brethren in later years, he had tread carefully within this hallowed space. For him the Other World hovered close at hand. And the Gifts he'd stolen had been used, and misused, down through the course of human history.

Ignoring the choking powder from the slopes above, Julie wriggled out of the opening and stared at the sky. The empty firmament held no signs, gave no acknowledgment, though she felt her discovery must already be known elsewhere. Defying the canon of Einstein, that elsewhere might be very distant indeed.

Julie brought the notebook up. Tears blurred her mother's spindly handwriting. She whispered an oath, or perhaps it was an apology. Julie spoke as if her mother was there, crouched beside her in the blazing African sun.

"All these years. You knew, Mom. The Ténéré Desert ruins, the Hittite libraries, the Hidden Jews of the Southwest. But this was too much. 'Every genius has one screw loose,' that's what they said about the great Lydia Chavez. I used to hear them talking in the hallways, those times you tried to explain."

Julie swallowed hard. "I never imagined I'd have to finish this for you. Now it'll be like those old Vincent Price movies, with that mad scientist routine of his. 'You dared mock my theories?' They'll have to admit you were right all along." If half the bad guys in the world don't get us first, she amended with a shudder.

The heat was intense, and Julie paused to drain her canteen. She'd have waited for a cooler season, but circumstances rushed things. She shouted to her team, four archaeology students and seven guides. The camp tents, huddled at the bottom of a dry wash, matched colors with the sere landscape. Camouflage made good sense, this far into the strife-torn African hinterlands.

Joseph Kaleema was the only one up and about. The tall Masai wasn't bothered by the heat, for he'd grown up in a village not two hundred kilometers distant. Surviving the multiple disasters that had ravaged his people, he'd escaped alone. Julie was amazed at his willingness to return.

Everyone except Joseph was in their tents, trying to escape the sun. Responding to her summons, the team began laboriously climbing the barren hillside.

Persis Mahalatti bounded ahead. Sweating and out of breath, but driving herself hard, she reached Julie's perch well before the others. "Have you found something?" Then she saw the opening and gasped.

In silent reply, Julie drew a necklace from beneath her shirt. Its gold locket bore a stylized Hattic script a mere thirty-two centuries old. The jewel within responded to the nearness of its original owners, crumbled bones though they must surely be.

Blue fire surrounded the locket, penetrating Julie's hand. As they watched, the fire ascended her body, flickering without warmth. It formed an aura about her head, deeper in hue than the African sky. They knew from experiment that no ordinary camera would record the eerie luminescence. Gathering itself, and without any wind, the shimmering blueness flowed into the opening.

"We found it," Julie breathed. No outward exultation swelled her voice. The statement itself carried all the weight of history.

Julie covered the entrance of the tomb with a weighted tarpaulin, then scattered dust and pebbles across it. "No use advertising things," she told her crew.

The local tribesmen, with survival a greater imperative than curiosity, had wandered away. No one could watch from above; not without risking costly drones and spy satellites. The conquering dictators, threatened on all sides, were that paranoid. Their powerful defense laser atop Mount Kilimanjaro brooked no argument.

The crew assembled in the largest tent.

"We have to get all our ducks in a row before we announce our findings," Julie said. "With the cave dwellings up north, and now the tomb itself, I think we have good evidence. Enough to convince most of the skeptics."

Several of her crew glanced at their wristies, perhaps seeking information on what a regiment of ducks had to do with their situation.

"And the news media?" Persis asked.

"Eden," Julie said wistfully. "My grandmother Lucinda was a devout Catholic. She believed every word of the Bible, no matter what the politicians tried to tell everybody. My mother had reason to act without publicity, and if anyone doubted her wisdom, our . . . uh, previous encounters show that her prudence was a good idea."

Joining them via satellite link were Sawyer and Angelica March, two of Julie's oldest friends. At least the video equipment, somewhat protected by the tent's filtering system, remained functional.
Angelica's voice came over the link. "Hardly any area of scholarship can remain unaffected. Theory and belief will be challenged to the core."

"That's exactly what I'M worried about," Julie replied. "Individuals often react poorly to such a challenge, and organizations can be even worse."

Joseph Kaleema spoke up. "Dr. Chavez, I can tell you how the government here will react. That is, if you spin it right, as you westerners do so well. We have found the original ancestors of humanity. Here by the Great Rift Valley, within the territory of the Nigerian Empire." Bitterness etched his voice. "Their leaders will rush to our side, and I think we should allow them to take all the credit they care to."

"Which will be every bit of it," Julie said, "especially for local consumption. The people at Mitela won't be happy, but I have to agree. Really, it’s amazing those Black Stalins let us in here at all."

"You know something else?" Angelica said. "They'll make Joseph a hero, since he's a local. It'll be a spectacle, but the rest of the world might not believe them."

"I understand," Joseph said. "I am willing to endure it."

"Thanks," Julie said. "I think we can turn that skepticism to our advantage."

The meeting ended and the team members headed back to their own tents.

Before Julie broke the satellite connection, Angelica came back on. "Julie, I need to tell you something. Your mother does know."

By the end of the following day they had examined the tomb methodically. Several tools and personal items were recovered, and carefully packed away.

The team gathered for dinner. Overwhelmed by events, everyone was subdued.

Julie sipped her iced tea thoughtfully. "Did I ever tell you guys how I heard about Eden in the first place?"

© 2006 by Paul Carlson

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