The Issahar Artifacts Read online

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  THE ISSAHAR ARTIFACTS

  By J. F. BONE

  _Lincoln said it eons ago.... It took a speck of one-celled plant life on a world parsecs away to prove it for all the galaxy._

  The following manuscript was discovered during the excavation of alateral connecting link between the North-South streamways in NarhilProvince near Issahar on Kwashior. The excavator, while passing througha small valley about 20 yursts south of the city, was jammed by a massof oxidized and partially oxidized metallic fragments. On most worldsthis would not be unusual, but Kwashior has no recorded history ofmetallic artifacts. The terrestrial operator, with unusual presence ofmind, reported the stoppage immediately. Assasul, the DistrictEngineering monitor, realized instantly that no metallic debris shouldexist in that area, and in consequence ordered a most careful excavationin the event that the artifacts might have cultural significance.

  The debris proved to be the remnants of an ancient spaceship similar tothose described in Sector Chronicles IV through VII, but of much smallersize and cruder design--obviously a relic of pre-expansion days. Withinthe remnants of the ship was found a small box of metal covered withseveral thicknesses of tar and wax impregnated fabric which had beenmostly destroyed. The metal itself was badly oxidized, but served toprotect an inner wooden box that contained a number of thin sheets of afragile substance composed mainly of cellulose which were brown andcrumbling with age. The sheets were covered with runes of _linguaantiqua_ arranged in regular rows, inscribed by hand with a carbon-basedink which has persisted remarkably well despite the degenerativeprocesses of time. Although much of the manuscript is illegible,sufficient remains to settle for all time the Dannar-MarraketControversy and lend important corroborating evidence to the CassahebThesis of Terrestrial migrations.

  The genuineness of this fragment has been established beyond doubt.Radiocarbon dating places its age at ten thousand plus or minus onehundred cycles, which would place it at the very beginning of theIntellectual Emergence. Its importance is beyond question. Itsimplications are shocking despite the fact that they conform to many ofthe early legends and form a solid foundation for Dannar's Thesis whichhas heretofore been regarded as implausible. In the light of thismaterial, the whole question of racial origins may well have to bereevaluated. Without further comment, the translated text is presentedherewith. You may draw your own conclusions. Go with enlightenment.

  -BARRAGOND- Monitor of Cultural Origins and Relics Kwashior Central Repository

  * * * * *

  I have decided after some thought, to write this journal. It is, Isuppose, a form of egotism--for I do not expect that it shall ever beread in the event that I am unable to leave this place. Yet it affordsme a certain satisfaction to think that a part of me will remain longafter I have returned to dust. In any event, I feel that one is nottruly dead if a part of his personality remains. Many of the ancientssuch as Homer, Phidias, Confucius, Christ, da Vinci, Lincoln, Einstein,Churchill--and many others--live on through their works when otherwisethey would long since have been forgotten and thus be truly dead.Earth's history is full of such examples. And while I have noexpectation of an immortality such as theirs, it flatters my ego tothink that there will be some part of me which also will survive ...

  _(Note: There are several lines following this which are obliterated,defaced or unreadable. There are more to follow. In the future such gapsin the content will be indicated thus: ...)_

  ... I expect that it is a basic trait of character, for spacemen must begregarious, and although I am not truly a spaceman I have been in spaceand, in consequence, my character is no different from myex-crewmates--at least in that respect. I think as time passes I shallmiss the comfort of companionship, the sense of belonging to a group,the card games, the bull sessions, the endless speculation on what comesnext, or what we will do when the voyage is over and we are again onEarth ...

  ... I particularly recall Gregory. Odd, but I never knew his surname, ormaybe it was his given name, for Gregory could function as well in onerespect as the other. He would boast continually of what he would do towine, women, and song once we returned to Earth. Poor Gregory. Themeteor that hulled our ship struck squarely through the engine roomwhere he was on duty. Probably he never knew that he had died. At leasthis fate had the mercy of being brief. Certainly it is not like mine. Itwas ... given ...

  There was plenty of time for the survivors to reach the lifeboats, andin our decimated condition there were plenty of boats--which increasedour chances of living by a factor of four ... I suppose that it wasfoolish to give way to the feeling of every man for himself but I am nota spaceman trained to react automatically to emergencies. Neither am I anavigator or a pilot, although I can fly in an emergency. I am abiologist, a specialist member of the scientific staff--essentially anindividualist. I knew enough to seal myself in, push the eject buttonand energize the drive. However, I did not know that a lifeboat had noacceleration compensators, and by the time the drive lever returned toneutral, I was far out in space and thoroughly lost. I could detect nolifeboats in the vicinity nor could I raise any on the radio. I laterfound that a transistor malfunctioned, but by then I was well out ofrange, stranded between the stars in the black emptiness of space. Afterreading the manual on lifeboat operation there was but one course open.I selected the nearest G-type star, set the controls on automatic, andwent into cold sleep. There was nothing else to do. If I remained awakeI would be dead of oxygen starvation long before I reached a habitableworld. The only alternative was the half-death of frozen sleep and thelong wait until the boat came within range of the sun I had selected.

  * * * * *

  I awoke in orbit around this world, and after I recovered full use of myfaculties and checked the analyzer, I decided to land. I'm afraid I dida rather bad job of it, since I used the chemical rockets too late, andthe plasma jets scorched a considerable amount of acreage in the meadowwhere I finally came to rest. However, the residual radioactivity islow, and it is safe enough to walk outside.... The life boat is lyingbeside a small stream which empties into a circular pool of blue waterin the center of a small meadow. The fiery trail of the jets and rocketshas burned a hundred-foot-wide path across the meadow, and the upperedge of the pool, and ends in a broad, blackened circle surrounding theboat. I came down too fast the last few feet, and the drive tubes are acrumpled mess inextricably fused with the bent landing pads. This boatwill never fly again without extensive repairs which I cannot perform.But the hull is otherwise sound, and I am comfortable enough except fora few rapidly healing bruises and contusions. In a few days I should bewell enough to explore....

  I am surprised that this world is so capable of supporting human life.The consensus of scientific opinion has been that less than one out of50,000 planets would be habitable. Yet I have struck paydirt on thefirst try. Perhaps I am lucky. At any rate I am alive, and my lifeboat,while somewhat damaged by an inept landing, is still sufficiently intactto serve as a shelter, and the survival kits are undamaged, which shouldmake my stay here endurable if not pleasant ... and we are learning agreat deal about our galaxy with the development of the interstellardrive--not the least of which is that authoritative opinion is mereopinion and far from authoritative.

  This world on which I find myself is in every respect but one similar toEarth. There is no animate life--only plants. No birds fly, no insectsbuzz, no animals rustle the silent underbrush. The only noise is thewind in the trees and grasses. I am utterly alone. It is a strangefeeling, this l
oneliness. There is a feeling of freedom in it, a releasefrom the too-close proximity of my fellow men. There is the pleasure ofabsolute privacy. But this will undoubtedly pall. Already I find that Iam anxious for someone to talk to, someone with whom I can share ideasand plans. There ...

  ... which I cannot explain. But one thing is certain. My firstimpression of this place was wrong. The life here, if not animate, is atleast intelligent--and it is not friendly. Yet neither does it hate. Itobserves me with a slow, methodical curiosity that I can sense at thevery threshold of consciousness. It is a peculiar sensation that isquite indescribable--unpleasant--but hardly terrifying. I suppose I canfeel it more than a normal person because I am a biologist and it ispart of my training and specialized skill to achieve a certain rapportwith my surroundings. I first noticed it yesterday. It came suddenly,without warning, a vague uneasiness, like the feeling when one awakensfrom a partially remembered but unpleasant dream. And it has beenincreasing ever since.

  * *