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eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: Araqnia is an archeological puzzle--one Dr. Speidel is determined to solve. But the ancient civilization has a very dangerous surprise in store?

eBook Publisher: Rosetta Solutions, Inc., Published: 1974
Fictionwise Release Date: February 2002

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [228 KB], eReader (PDB) [85 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [62 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [56 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [112 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [124 KB], hiebook (KML) [177 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [131 KB], iSilo (PDB) [51 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [64 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [107 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [88 KB]
Words: 19000
Reading time: 54-76 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
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Every morning, for many years, right after he turned off the alarm clock, and whether he was on campus or in the field, Professor Speidel had permitted himself a brief visionary moment.

He saw a list of names:

Jean Champollion, Rosetta Stone, 1822.

Sir Henry Layard, Nineveh, 1845.

Heinrich Schliemann, Troy, 1870.

Sir Flinders Petrie, Egypt, 1880.

Sir Arthur Evans, Knossos, 1900.

Sir Leonard Woolley, Ur, 1922.

Hon. Jacques Derain, Ferria, 2095.

DR. REITER SPEIDEL, Araqnia, 21.

Yes!

He might have doubts and reservations about some things. He doubted that the terrestrial Stone Age stopped and the Bronze Age began sharply at 2,000 B.C. He doubted that Egypt was older than Sumer. He doubted that the Mayan cities had died because of local soil exhaustion. But there was one thing that he knew for certain, and which he did not doubt. And that was that he, and he alone, was destined to discover the home civilization of the elusive Araqnids. The name of Speidel would be entered in the hall of fame along with other archeological greats. And from this fame would come great influence and power, and money. He would wave his hand, and scores of assistants would put together beautifully illustrated texts on Araqnia. The stereo frontispiece would show him leaning modestly on a shovel, beside a complete piece of the most delicate Araqnid statuary, done doubtless in alabaster. The statue would be sitting on a black velvet cloth spread out at the very spot where it had been teased out of the dig site. He would be smiling. It would be a faint, very wise, very confident smile.

Everything was certain but the date. This morning, as he slowly rose from his cot and fished for his slippers, he had a presentiment that he would make it this summer. He had a good group on this field seminar. One or two exceptions; of course, such as he always had in a group this size. But by and large, most were competent. In a couple of weeks he would be finished here at the base line, and he would send them out in several search parties to other likely sites where Araqnid artifacts had already been found. They knew what to look for. Somewhere on this very Earth-like planet of Ferria were the ruins of a city with a technology so advanced that they had visited all the outlying sun systems of the local star cluster over three thousand years ago. But then, very suddenly, they had disappeared, almost without a trace.

It would have to be this year. He was seventy. The Department was going to retire him. Lack-Coeur, the Departmental Head, had told him so, months before the expedition. "No chance of staying on afterward, Speidel. Nothing in the budget. Sorry."

"But what if I find Araqnia this trip?"

"No. The answer is still the same. Firstly, there's no such thing as Araqnia. Secondly, even if there were, there's still the question of the budget. Thirdly, you are seventy years old."

Well, no matter. He had immediately written all the foundations and museums. Somewhere there must be a place for him. But the replies had come back, one by one, each one a kick in the stomach. Every few days he got another one. "Our staff full for the coming season."

God, it was hell to be old. Thirty years ago, when he had yet to write the first edition of Comparative Archaeology, he had got a dozen offers when he closed up his first expedition. There was still hope, of course. He had yet to hear from Interstellar Geographic. They had financed Derain, the discoverer of this planet, fifty years ago. He should have a TX from them any day now. He had given them three proposals of varying scope and expense, all directed to finding the lost city. The third and cheapest proposal was simply to toss up an orbiting satellite to make a combination photo-sonar scan of the entire planet, with computerized enhancements. Geographic was his last hope.

He switched the tent light on, shaved and dressed quickly, and got out his notes for the morning lecture. A few minutes later the twin suns of Algol burst over the horizon like a nuclear explosion. From down the camp street he could hear the chattering begin. Why did young people have to make so much noise?

The youngsters seemed to feel a duty to make a racket day and night. With the lights-out signal, when sane people should be composing themselves for slumber, the camp put on a new burst of energy. Night brought out the guitars, the concertinas, the singers, and the two moons. One big moon and one little moon, skipping and dancing as it orbited the big one. And there was giggling, music, and waltzing on the sward for all hours, probably with liquor. At night he buttoned his tent flap tight and refused to inquire as to what might be going on out there. God knows what all they did. But they looked fresh and bright in the morning. That was what counted. He did not really care what they did so long as they were ready for another good day's work at the dig.

They made him think back to his own student days. He thought of girls, beer, and drinking songs. Why had he never married? He was out in the field too much. It would not have been right to ask a woman to share the hard life at the dig site with him. And yet, these young people today ... There were plenty of girls in the groups he had brought here, year after year. And several married couples. The Thorins, for example. The girls did not seem to mind the rough life. But of course they would change when the babies started coming. No, archeology was no life for a woman.

He considered the way the young women dressed. Faded blue jeans stretched tightly across their rumps. In his generation it would never have been done. In his student days the girls had worn dresses in the field. Khaki, generally. Occasionally, perhaps a split skirt. Times had changed, but he had not. Did that mean he was truly getting old? He had to turn up something on this trip. Not that it would help him at the University. The course would have a different teacher next summer, no matter what happened. Too bad. He'd taken a group here for twelve years.

Archaeology 411. Excavations on Ferria. Examination of artifacts. Study of parallel evolution of Araqnid-Llanoan culture. 3 credits.

Araqnia, where are you?

He could hear the young voices in the mess tent, half a kilometer away. What were they talking about? Him? Perhaps.

He knew their name for him. Rider the Spider. They thought him a monomaniac. Well, perhaps he was. It was the only way to make a name in this field. Perhaps he was like Captain Ahab in search of the great white whale. He saw good and evil only in terms of what helped or hindered his search for the fabled Araqnia. It permitted a crystal-clear morality. Sometimes he awoke in a sweat at night, dreaming that he had died before he had found the city. Get hold of an obsession and never let go. That was the way the others had done it. And so would he.

He smiled grimly. Let them chirp and chatter, if that is what they had to do. Just so long as they turned up an artifact or two today.

He looked up the camp street. Across the little valley and up in the range of low hills he could make out the scattered buildings of the Wolfram Mining Company. The chief engineer had studied under him, many years ago. Last evening they had sat down to supper together in the crude mining mess hall. The engineer was sympathetic to the professor's problems. "Professor, all you need is to find this city, and then you will have so much fame that every foundation on earth will come looking for you. Maybe you are not digging fast enough. Maybe you should borrow one of my blastavators for a couple of days. Goes through solid rock like butter."

Speidel had laughed. "I appreciate it, Zachary. Truly I do. But I'll have to pass up the offer. If we dig faster than a centimeter an hour, we're sure to miss something."

Zachary Stone shook his head. "Well, if you change your mind, just let me know. I will send a machine anywhere you say, anywhere on the planet."

"I" Speidel sneezed suddenly, then fished for his handkerchief.

"Gesundheit!" declared the engineer, looking at him narrowly. "Professor, you are catching something."

"Nonsense. It's just the afternoon mistral. Starts up on the Plateau of Sylva. Flows down the valley every afternoon." He blew his nose, then buttoned his jacket carefully around his throat.

"Sylva? The volcano?"

"That area, yes. The cone has been extinct for centuries. The lava flows made the plateau. It's all forested over, now. There's nothing there."

"Maybe we should send a 'vator up. Plow around in the lava a little."

"Not worth it. Araqnia is not on Sylva. All the signs point elsewhere. We've picked up artifacts in a dozen places, but nothing on Sylva."

"Maybe it's there, just buried."

"Then it's no good to me. I've got to locate and catalog things I can find quickly. Unless I get something from Interstellar Geographic, this is my last trip. I've got to show results, and I've got to send the kids out where I know they can find something."

"Sure, Professor. It's your show. Just let me know if I can help."

It was good to have friends. But there was nothing the engineer could do for him. At least not at this dig.