Ancient Shores (Ancient Shores, Book 1) by Jack McDevitt

By Jack McDevitt

November 2007 Retail ePub

It became up in a North Dakota wheat box: a triangle, like a shark's fin, sticking up from the black loam. Tom Lasker did what any farmer might have performed. He dug it up. And chanced on a ship, made up of a fiberglass-like fabric with an totally most unlikely atomic quantity. What it was once doing buried below a dozen toes of prairie soil thousand miles from any ocean, not anyone knew. real, Tom Lasker's wheat box had as soon as been at the coastline of an outstanding inland sea, yet that used to be decades in the past -- 10000 years ago.A go back to technological know-how fiction on a grand scale, such as the easiest of Heinlein, Simak, and Clarke, historical shorelines is the main bold and fascinating SF triumph of the last decade, a daring speculative experience that doesn't lessen from the large questions -- and the massive solutions.

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Unlike the river docks of their home this was a brine harbour, so there were no vodyanoi stevedores. Lounging against walls were the mountebanks and freelance scum of any port. “We have to be careful,” Cutter said. “We need a Shankellbound ship, and mostly that means cactus crew. You know what we have to do. We can’t face cactacae. ” “There’ll be tramp steamers,” said Ihona. “Pirates, most of them . ” She looked vaguely around her. Cutter spasmed and was quite still. Someone spoke to him. That voice again, up close whispering into his ear.

Cutter did not answer. ” Elsie said. She was talking about their quarry. “He always knew where it was, or thereabouts, he told me,” Cutter said. “He hinted he got messages from it. Said he heard from a contact in the city that they’re looking for the Council. ” Cutter had not brought the note, had been so hurt by its terse vagueness. “Showed me on a map once where he thought it was. I told you. ” As if it were just like that. They reached the base of a steep rise at twilight, found a rivulet and drank from it with vast relief.

Maybe they’ll have other things to think on than this war. So maybe you want to help us. ” With misshaped hands to his mouth the tardy gave a cry as base as animal pain. His lament rumbled over the grass. The animals of the hot night paused, and in the still there was an answer. Another cry, from miles off, that Cutter felt in his guts. Again and again the tardy sounded, announcing himself, and over the hours of that night a little corps of the ge’ain came to him on huge and painful steps. There were five, and they were various: some more than twenty feet tall, some barely half that, limbs broken and reset, unshapely.

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