RISE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR
M.A. Rothman & D.J. Butler
It’s hard to think of two authors with greater contrast than D.J Butler and M.A. Rothman. Butler, a Baen author and editor known for his tall stature, guitar work and calm head, and Rothman, a software engineer turned self-published indie firebrand. It’s the literary equivalent of a jam session between Fred Rogers and Gene Simmons, so one can only imagine the kind of story it would take to bring them together.
As it turns out, the resulting story is a LitRPG that crosses the streams of time and multiple genres, roping in everything from aliens to the ancient Egyptians along the way. And if this jam session leaves you wanting more, be sure to get a copy of Time Trials, when it releases in March 2023.
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Thirty feet beneath the desert sands of the Sahara, François passed through a hidden chamber and started down a long tunnel hewn in the bedrock. It had been thousands of years since anyone had breathed in this stale air, and despite the heat that seeped down from the blazing surface, he felt a shiver run up his back. The sounds of picks against stone—followed by curses in Arabic—echoed around him. His diggers were having a tough time making progress at the end of the tunnel.
Lifting up an LED lamp, François studied the etched markings that looked nothing like the Egyptian hieroglyphs he’d seen at other dig sites. These were cruder, simpler. They lacked refinement and the little flourishes of the scribal schools.
“I have no doubt about it: these are predynastic markings,” said a German-accented voice behind him.
François frowned. “Gunther, I didn’t hire you to date them, I hired you to help me decipher them.”
Gunther continued undeterred. “The writing is in the same style as what we found on the tablets at Nabta Playa. Same characters. Same frustrating vocabulary.”
François turned to face the Egyptologist. “By ‘frustrating,’ I take it you mean you can’t do it.”
“I’m sorry. But I know someone who might be able to help.”
“No. I told you—we’re keeping this out of sight of the academics. This is my find, and I’m not about to let some self-important professor or government official claim this as their discovery.”
Gunther looked boyish for his age, and he now had a boy’s look of embarrassment about him. “I understand that. But the guy I’m thinking about left academia for a lot of the same reasons you despise it. He got sick of the politics of it all and left Egyptology to go do something more useful. Last I talked with him, he was making furniture.”
A metallic clank sounded from down the tunnel and a stream of Arabic curses ripped the air. A moment later Abdullah, the senior digger, approached. He carried a broken pick in one hand and a lantern in the other.
“What happened?” François asked in Arabic.
The burly Egyptian held up his broken digging tool and shrugged. “Sayyid, the stone is tougher than anything I’ve ever encountered. This is the second one of these I have destroyed.”
François took the broken pick from the digger and patted his shoulder. “You’re doing good work, Abdullah. I’ll see about getting you some better digging tools.”
“Thank you, Sayyid. You’re most generous.”
As Abdullah continued toward the main chamber to fetch a new pick, François studied the broken one in the light of the lantern. After a moment, he held it out for Gunther to see.
“Look at this. This is a tungsten-carbide tip. The same stuff that’s used by the military to dig holes through mountains. And see how fine-grained the metal is? This thing didn’t break because of some casting flaw or flaw in the hardening process. I’m having a very hard time thinking Bronze Age Egyptians dug this tunnel. I’m telling you, this place was dug out by aliens.”
This wasn’t the first time François had voiced such a suspicion. Both the chamber and the tunnel seemed beyond the capabilities of any ancient civilization.
Any ancient human civilization.
But Gunther just chuckled. “It’s your money, François. You can test any hypothesis you want.”
François sighed. Gunther never took the possibility seriously.
“This carpenter of yours,” he said. “What’s his name?”
“Marty.”
“Can he be trusted to adhere to a non-disclosure agreement?”
Gunther nodded. “I don’t see why not.”
“Then reach out to this Marty. Tell him what’s expected and only as much as he needs to know. And tell him there’s a twenty-thousand-euro signing bonus just for coming out and taking a crack at it.” When Gunther didn’t immediately set off, Francois waved him on. “Go. Get us our language expert.”
As Gunther walked briskly from the tunnel, François ran a thumb over the broken pick’s tip and looked around him. The walls might look like sandstone, but sandstone didn’t break tungsten-carbide tips. So what were they really made of?
There was only one answer that made any sense. He knew the rest of the world would think him crazy for even considering it, but the elimination of explanations that could not be true left him with only the one possibility:
Aliens existed, and they had visited Earth.