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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19145-h.zip b/19145-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cee377c --- /dev/null +++ b/19145-h.zip diff --git a/19145-h/19145-h.htm b/19145-h/19145-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6a51b9d --- /dev/null +++ b/19145-h/19145-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7576 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Time Traders, by Andre Norton + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + p.ad {margin-left: 3%; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + .right {position: absolute; right: 10%;} + .tr { text-align: center; + margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; + background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: solid black 1px; + } + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Time Traders, by Andre Norton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Time Traders + +Author: Andre Norton + +Release Date: August 29, 2006 [EBook #19145] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIME TRADERS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Irma Spehar and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h1 style="padding-bottom: 1em">THE TIME TRADERS</h1><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="1" cellpadding="10" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td> +<h3>BY ANDRE NORTON</h3> + + +<p class="center"><i>Science Fiction</i></p> + +<p class="center">THE STARS ARE OURS!</p> + +<p class="center">STAR BORN</p> + +<p class="center">THE TIME TRADERS</p> + + +<p class="center" style="padding-top: 1em"><i>Historical Fiction</i></p> + +<p class="center">YANKEE PRIVATEER</p> + +<p class="center" style="padding-top: 1em"><i>Edited by Andre Norton</i></p> + +<p class="center">BULLARD OF THE SPACE PATROL</p> + +<p class="center">SPACE SERVICE</p> + +<p class="center">SPACE PIONEERS</p> + +<p class="center">SPACE POLICE<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> +</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<h1 style="padding-top: 2em; text-align: right">◂ <i>Andre Norton</i></h1> + + +<h1 style="font-size: 40px">THE TIME</h1> + +<h1 style="text-indent: 6em; font-size: 40px">TRADERS</h1> + + +<p class="center"><span class="floatl"> +<a id="illo2"></a> +<img class="plain" src="images/illo2.png" alt="logo" /> +</span>CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK</p> + +<h3 style="padding-top: 1em">THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY</h3> + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + + +<div style="text-align: right"><i>Published by</i> The World Publishing Company<br /> +2231 West 110th Street,Cleveland 2, Ohio</div> + +<div style="text-align: right; padding-top: 1em"><i>Published simultaneously in Canada by</i><br /> +Nelson, Foster & Scott Ltd.</div> + + +<div style="text-align: right; padding-top: 1em"><i>Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 58-11154</i></div> + +<div style="text-align: right; padding-top: 1em">SECOND PRINTING</div> + +<div style="text-align: right; padding-top: 2em">2WP759</div> + +<div style="text-align: right">Copyright © 1958 by The World Publishing Company<br /> +All rights reserved. No +part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written +permission from the publisher, except for brief passages included in a +review appearing in a newspaper or magazine. Printed in the United +States of America.</div> + +<p class="tr">Transcriber's note: <br /> + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright +on this publication was renewed.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_TIME_TRADERS" id="THE_TIME_TRADERS"></a>THE TIME TRADERS</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_1" id="CHAPTER_1"></a>CHAPTER 1</h2> + + +<p>To anyone who glanced casually inside the detention room the young man +sitting there did not seem very formidable. In height he might have been +a little above average, but not enough to make him noticeable. His brown +hair was cropped conservatively; his unlined boy's face was not one to +be remembered—unless one was observant enough to note those light-gray +eyes and catch a chilling, measuring expression showing now and then for +an instant in their depths.</p> + +<p>Neatly and inconspicuously dressed, in this last quarter of the +twentieth century his like was to be found on any street of the city ten +floors below—to all outward appearances. But that other person under +the protective coloring so assiduously cultivated could touch heights of +encased and controlled fury which Murdock himself did not understand and +was only just learning to use as a weapon against a world he had always +found hostile.</p> + +<p>He was aware, though he gave no sign of it, that a guard was watching +him. The cop on duty was an old hand—he probably expected some reaction +other than passive acceptance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> from the prisoner. But he was not going +to get it. The law had Ross sewed up tight this time. Why didn't they +get about the business of shipping him off? Why had he had that +afternoon session with the skull thumper? Ross had been on the defensive +then, and he had not liked it. He had given to the other's questions all +the attention his shrewd mind could muster, but a faint, very faint, +apprehension still clung to the memory of that meeting.</p> + +<p>The door of the detention room opened. Ross did not turn his head, but +the guard cleared his throat as if their hour of mutual silence had +dried his vocal cords. "On your feet, Murdock! The judge wants to see +you."</p> + +<p>Ross rose smoothly, with every muscle under fluid control. It never paid +to talk back, to allow any sign of defiance to show. He would go through +the motions as if he were a bad little boy who had realized his errors. +It was a meek-and-mild act that had paid off more than once in Ross's +checkered past. So he faced the man seated behind the desk in the other +room with an uncertain, diffident smile, standing with boyish +awkwardness, respectfully waiting for the other to speak first.</p> + +<p>Judge Ord Rawle. It was his rotten luck to pull old Eagle Beak on his +case. Well, he would simply have to take it when the old boy dished it +out. Not that he had to remain stuck with it later....</p> + +<p>"You have a bad record, young man."</p> + +<p>Ross allowed his smile to fade; his shoulders slumped. But under +concealing lids his eyes showed an instant of cold defiance.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," he agreed in a voice carefully cultivated to shake +convincingly about the edges. Then suddenly all Ross's pleasure in the +skill of his act was wiped away. Judge Rawle was not alone; that blasted +skull thumper was sitting there, watching<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> the prisoner with the same +keenness he had shown the other day.</p> + +<p>"A very bad record for the few years you have had to make it." Eagle +Beak was staring at him, too, but without the same look of penetration, +luckily for Ross. "By rights, you should be turned over to the new +Rehabilitation Service...."</p> + +<p>Ross froze inside. That was the "treatment," icy rumors of which had +spread throughout his particular world. For the second time since he had +entered the room his self-confidence was jarred. Then he clung with a +degree of hope to the phrasing of that last sentence.</p> + +<p>"Instead, I have been authorized to offer you a choice, Murdock. One +which I shall state—and on record—I do not in the least approve."</p> + +<p>Ross's twinge of fear faded. If the judge didn't like it, there must be +something in it to the advantage of Ross Murdock. He'd grab it for sure!</p> + +<p>"There is a government project in need of volunteers. It seems that you +have tested out as possible material for this assignment. If you sign +for it, the law will consider the time spent on it as part of your +sentence. Thus you may aid the country which you have heretofore +disgraced——"</p> + +<p>"And if I refuse, I go to this rehabilitation. Is that right, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly consider you a fit candidate for rehabilitation. Your +record—" He shuffled through the papers on his desk.</p> + +<p>"I choose to volunteer for the project, sir."</p> + +<p>The judge snorted and pushed all the papers into a folder. He spoke to a +man waiting in the shadows. "Here then is your volunteer, Major."</p> + +<p>Ross bottled in his relief. He was over the first hump. And since his +luck had held so far, he might be about to win all the way....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>The man Judge Rawle called "Major" moved into the light. At the first +glance Ross, to his hidden annoyance, found himself uneasy. To face up +to Eagle Beak was all part of the game. But somehow he sensed one did +not play such games with this man.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, your honor. We will be on our way at once. This weather is +not very promising."</p> + +<p>Before he realized what was happening, Ross found himself walking meekly +to the door. He considered trying to give the major the slip when they +left the building, losing himself in a storm-darkened city. But they did +not take the elevator downstairs. Instead, they climbed two or three +flights up the emergency stairs. And to his humiliation Ross found +himself panting and slowing, while the other man, who must have been a +good dozen years his senior, showed no signs of discomfort.</p> + +<p>They came out into the snow on the roof, and the major flashed a torch +skyward, guiding in a dark shadow which touched down before them. A +helicopter! For the first time Ross began to doubt the wisdom of his +choice.</p> + +<p>"On your way, Murdock!" The voice was impersonal enough, but that very +impersonality got under one's skin.</p> + +<p>Bundled into the machine between the silent major and an equally quiet +pilot in uniform, Ross was lifted over the city, whose ways he knew as +well as he knew the lines on his own palm, into the unknown he was +already beginning to regard dubiously. The lighted streets and +buildings, their outlines softened by the soft wet snow, fell out of +sight. Now they could mark the outer highways. Ross refused to ask any +questions. He could take this silent treatment; he <i>had</i> taken a lot of +tougher things in the past.</p> + +<p>The patches of light disappeared, and the country opened out. The plane +banked. Ross, with all the familiar landmarks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> of his world gone, could +not have said if they were headed north or south. But moments later not +even the thick curtain of snowflakes could blot out the pattern of red +lights on the ground, and the helicopter settled down.</p> + +<p>"Come on!"</p> + +<p>For the second time Ross obeyed. He stood shivering, engulfed in a +miniature blizzard. His clothing, protection enough in the city, did +little good against the push of the wind. A hand gripped his upper arm, +and he was drawn forward to a low building. A door banged and Ross and +his companion came into a region of light and very welcome heat.</p> + +<p>"Sit down—over there!"</p> + +<p>Too bewildered to resent orders, Ross sat. There were other men in the +room. One, wearing a queer suit of padded clothing, a bulbous headgear +hooked over his arm, was reading a paper. The major crossed to speak to +him and after they conferred for a moment, the major beckoned Ross with +a crooked finger. Ross trailed the officer into an inner room lined with +lockers.</p> + +<p>From one of the lockers the major pulled a suit like the pilot's, and +began to measure it against Ross. "All right," he snapped. "Climb into +this! We haven't all night."</p> + +<p>Ross climbed into the suit. As soon as he fastened the last zipper his +companion jammed one of the domed helmets on his head. The pilot looked +in the door. "We'd better scramble, Kelgarries, or we may be grounded +for the duration!"</p> + +<p>They hurried back to the flying field. If the helicopter had been a +surprising mode of travel, this new machine was something straight out +of the future—a needle-slim ship poised on fins, its sharp nose lifting +vertically into the heavens. There was a scaffolding along one side, +which the pilot scaled to enter the ship.</p> + +<p>Unwillingly, Ross climbed the same ladder and found that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> he must wedge +himself in on his back, his knees hunched up almost under his chin. To +make it worse, cramped as those quarters were, he had to share them with +the major. A transparent hood snapped down and was secured, sealing them +in.</p> + +<p>During his short lifetime Ross had often been afraid, bitterly afraid. +He had fought to toughen his mind and body against such fears. But what +he experienced now was no ordinary fear; it was panic so strong that it +made him feel sick. To be shut in this small place with the knowledge +that he had no control over his immediate future brought him face to +face with every terror he had ever known, all of them combined into one +horrible whole.</p> + +<p>How long does a nightmare last? A moment? An hour? Ross could not time +his. But at last the weight of a giant hand clamped down on his chest, +and he fought for breath until the world exploded about him.</p> + +<p>He came back to consciousness slowly. For a second he thought he was +blind. Then he began to sort out one shade of grayish light from +another. Finally, Ross became aware that he no longer rested on his +back, but was slumped in a seat. The world about him was wrung with a +vibration that beat in turn through his body.</p> + +<p>Ross Murdock had remained at liberty as long as he had because he was +able to analyze a situation quickly. Seldom in the past five years had +he been at a loss to deal with any challenging person or action. Now he +was aware that he was on the defensive and was being kept there. He +stared into the dark and thought hard and furiously. He was convinced +that everything that was happening to him this day was designed with +only one end in view—to shake his self-confidence and make him pliable. +Why?</p> + +<p>Ross had an enduring belief in his own abilities and he also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> possessed +a kind of shrewd understanding seldom granted to one so young. He knew +that while Murdock was important to Murdock, he was none too important +in the scheme of things as a whole. He had a record—a record so bad +that Rawle might easily have thrown the book at him. But it differed in +one important way from that of many of his fellows; until now he had +been able to beat most of the raps. Ross believed this was largely +because he had always worked alone and taken pains to plan a job in +advance.</p> + +<p>Why now had Ross Murdock become so important to someone that they would +do all this to shake him? He was a volunteer—for what? To be a guinea +pig for some bug they wanted to learn how to kill cheaply and easily? +They'd been in a big hurry to push him off base. Using the silent +treatment, this rushing around in planes, they were really working to +keep him groggy. So, all right, he'd give them a groggy boy all set up +for their job, whatever it was. Only, was his act good enough to fool +the major? Ross had a hunch that it might not be, and that really hurt.</p> + +<p>It was deep night now. Either they had flown out of the path of the +storm or were above it. There were stars shining through the cover of +the cockpit, but no moon.</p> + +<p>Ross's formal education was sketchy, but in his own fashion he had +acquired a range of knowledge which would have surprised many of the +authorities who had had to deal with him. All the wealth of a big city +library had been his to explore, and he had spent much time there, +soaking up facts in many odd branches of learning. Facts were very +useful things. On at least three occasions assorted scraps of knowledge +had preserved Ross's freedom, once, perhaps his life.</p> + +<p>Now he tried to fit together the scattered facts he knew about his +present situation into some proper pattern. He was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> inside some new type +of super-super atomjet, a machine so advanced in design that it would +not have been used for anything that was not an important mission. Which +meant that Ross Murdock had become necessary to someone, somewhere. +Knowing that fact should give him a slight edge in the future, and he +might well need such an edge. He'd just have to wait, play dumb, and use +his eyes and ears.</p> + +<p>At the rate they were shooting along they ought to be out of the country +in a couple of hours. Didn't the Government have bases half over the +world to keep the "cold peace"? Well, there was nothing for it. To be +planted abroad someplace might interfere with plans for escape, but he'd +handle that detail when he was forced to face it.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly Ross was on his back once more, the giant hand digging +into his chest and middle. This time there were no lights on the ground +to guide them in. Ross had no intimation that they had reached their +destination until they set down with a jar which snapped his teeth +together.</p> + +<p>The major wriggled out, and Ross was able to stretch his cramped body. +But the other's hand was already on his shoulder, urging him along. Ross +crawled free and clung dizzily to a ladderlike disembarking structure.</p> + +<p>Below there were no lights, only an expanse of open snow. Men were +moving across that blank area, gathering at the foot of the ladder. Ross +was hungry and very tired. If the major wanted to play games, he hoped +that such action could wait until the next morning.</p> + +<p>In the meantime he must learn where "here" was. If he had a chance to +run, he wanted to know the surrounding territory. But that hand was on +his arm, drawing him along toward a door that stood half-open. As far as +Ross could see, it led to the interior of a hillock of snow. Either the +storm or men had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> done a very good cover-up job, and somehow Ross knew +the camouflage was intentional.</p> + +<p>That was Ross's introduction to the base, and after his arrival his view +of the installation was extremely limited. One day was spent in +undergoing the most searching physical he had ever experienced. And +after the doctors had poked and pried he was faced by a series of other +tests no one bothered to explain. Thereafter he was introduced to +solitary, that is, confined to his own company in a cell-like room with +a bunk that was more comfortable than it looked and an announcer in a +corner of the ceiling. So far he had been told exactly nothing. And so +far he had asked no questions, stubbornly keeping up his end of what he +believed to be a tug of wills. At the moment, safely alone and lying +flat on his bunk he eyed the announcer, a very dangerous young man and +one who refused to yield an inch.</p> + +<p>"Now hear this...." The voice transmitted through that grill was +metallic, but its rasp held overtones of Kelgarries' voice. Ross's lips +tightened. He had explored every inch of the walls and knew that there +was no trace of the door which had admitted him. With only his bare +hands to work with he could not break out, and his only clothes were the +shirt, sturdy slacks, and a pair of soft-soled moccasins that they had +given him.</p> + +<p>"... to identify ..." droned the voice. Ross realized that he must have +missed something, not that it mattered. He was almost determined not to +play along any more.</p> + +<p>There was a click, signifying that Kelgarries was through braying. But +the customary silence did not close in again. Instead, Ross heard a +clear, sweet trilling which he vaguely associated with a bird. His +acquaintance with all feathered life was limited to city sparrows and +plump park pigeons, neither of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> which raised their voices in song, but +surely those sounds were bird notes. Ross glanced from the mike in the +ceiling to the opposite wall and what he saw there made him sit up, with +the instant response of an alerted fighter.</p> + +<p>For the wall was no longer there! Instead, there was a sharp slope of +ground cutting down from peaks where the dark green of fir trees ran +close to the snow line. Patches of snow clung to the earth in sheltered +places, and the scent of those pines was in Ross's nostrils, real as the +wind touching him with its chill.</p> + +<p>He shivered as a howl sounded loudly and echoed, bearing the age-old +warning of a wolf pack, hungry and a-hunt. Ross had never heard that +sound before, but his human heritage subconsciously recognized it for +what it was—death on four feet. Similarly, he was able to identify the +gray shadows slinking about the nearest trees, and his hands balled into +fists as he looked wildly about him for some weapon.</p> + +<p>The bunk was under him and three of the four walls of the room enclosed +him like a cave. But one of those gray skulkers had raised its head and +was looking directly at him, its reddish eyes alight. Ross ripped the +top blanket off the bunk with a half-formed idea of snapping it at the +animal when it sprang.</p> + +<p>Stiff-legged, the beast advanced, a guttural growl sounding deep in its +throat. To Ross the animal, larger than any dog he had even seen and +twice as vicious, was a monster. He had the blanket ready before he +realized that the wolf was not watching him after all, and that its +attention was focused on a point out of his line of vision.</p> + +<p>The wolfs muzzle wrinkled in a snarl, revealing long yellow-white teeth. +There was a singing twang, and the animal leaped into the air, fell +back, and rolled on the ground, biting despairingly at a shaft +protruding from just behind its ribs. It howled again, and blood broke +from its mouth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross was beyond surprise now. He pulled himself together and got up, to +walk steadily toward the dying wolf. And he wasn't in the least amazed +when his outstretched hands flattened against an unseen barrier. Slowly, +he swept his hands right and left, sure that he was touching the wall of +his cell. Yet his eyes told him he was on a mountain side, and every +sight, sound, and smell was making it real to him.</p> + +<p>Puzzled, he thought a moment and then, finding an explanation that +satisfied him, he nodded once and went back to sit at ease on his bunk. +This must be some superior form of TV that included odors, the illusion +of wind, and other fancy touches to make it more vivid. The total effect +was so convincing that Ross had to keep reminding himself that it was +all just a picture.</p> + +<p>The wolf was dead. Its pack mates had fled into the brush, but since the +picture remained, Ross decided that the show was not yet over. He could +still hear a click of sound, and he waited for the next bit of action. +But the reason for his viewing it still eluded him.</p> + +<p>A man came into view, crossing before Ross. He stooped to examine the +dead wolf, catching it by the tail and hoisting its hindquarters off the +ground. Comparing the beast's size with the hunter's, Ross saw that he +had not been wrong in his estimation of the animal's unusually large +dimensions. The man shouted over his shoulder, his words distinct +enough, but unintelligible to Ross.</p> + +<p>The stranger was oddly dressed—too lightly dressed if one judged the +climate by the frequent snow patches and the biting cold. A strip of +coarse cloth, extending from his armpit to about four inches above the +knee, was wound about his body and pulled in at the waist by a belt. The +belt, far more ornate than the cumbersome wrapping, was made of many +small chains<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> linking metal plates and supported a long dagger which +hung straight in front. The man also wore a round blue cloak, now swept +back on his shoulders to free his bare arms, which was fastened by a +large pin under his chin. His footgear, which extended above his calves, +was made of animal hide, still bearing patches of shaggy hair. His face +was beardless, though a shadowy line along his chin suggested that he +had not shaved that particular day. A fur cap concealed most of his +dark-brown hair.</p> + +<p>Was he an Indian? No, for although his skin was tanned, it was as fair +as Ross's under that weathering. And his clothing did not resemble any +Indian apparel Ross had ever seen. Yet, in spite of his primitive +trappings, the man had such an aura of authority, of self-confidence, +and competence that it was clear he was top dog in his own section of +the world.</p> + +<p>Soon another man, dressed much like the first, but with a rust-brown +cloak, came along, pulling behind him two very reluctant donkeys, whose +eyes rolled fearfully at sight of the dead wolf. Both animals wore packs +lashed on their backs by ropes of twisted hide. Then another man came +along, with another brace of donkeys. Finally, a fourth man, wearing +skins for covering and with a mat of beard on his cheeks and chin, +appeared. His uncovered head, a bush of uncombed flaxen hair, shone +whitish as he knelt beside the dead beast, a knife with a dull-gray +blade in his hand, and set to work skinning the wolf with appreciable +skill. Three more pairs of donkeys, all heavily laden, were led past the +scene before he finished his task. Finally, he rolled the bloody skin +into a bundle and gave the flayed body a kick before he ran lightly +after the disappearing train of pack animals.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_2" id="CHAPTER_2"></a>CHAPTER 2</h2> + + +<p>Ross, absorbed in the scene before him, was not prepared for the sudden +and complete darkness which blotted out not only the action but the +light in his own room as well.</p> + +<p>"What—?" His startled voice rang loudly in his ears, too loudly, for +all sound had been wiped out with the light. The faint swish of the +ventilating system, of which he had not been actively aware until it had +disappeared, was also missing. A trace of the same panic he had known in +the cockpit of the atomjet tingled along his nerves. But this time he +could meet the unknown with action.</p> + +<p>Ross slowly moved through the dark, his hands outstretched before him to +ward off contact with the wall. He was determined that somehow he would +discover the hidden door, escape from this dark cell....</p> + +<p>There! His palm struck flat against a smooth surface. He swept out his +hand—and suddenly it passed over emptiness. Ross explored by touch. +There <i>was</i> a door and now it was open. For a moment he hesitated, upset +by a nagging little fear that if he stepped through he would be out on +the hillside with the wolves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's stupid!" Again he spoke aloud. And, just because he did feel +uneasy, he moved. All the frustrations of the past hours built up in him +a raging desire to do something—anything—just so long as it was what +<i>he</i> wanted to do and not at another's orders.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Ross continued to move slowly, for the space beyond that +open door was as deep and dark a pit as the room he left. To squeeze +along one wall, using an outstretched arm as a guide, was the best +procedure, he decided.</p> + +<p>A few feet farther on, his shoulder slipped from the surface and he half +tumbled into another open door. But there was the wall again, and he +clung to it thankfully. Another door ... Ross paused, trying to catch +some faint sound, the slightest hint that he was not alone in this +blindman's maze. But without even air currents to stir it, the blackness +itself took on a thick solidity which encased him as a congealing jelly.</p> + +<p>The wall ended. Ross kept his left hand on it, flailed out with his +right, and felt his nails scrape across another surface. The space +separating the two surfaces was wider than any doorway. Was it a +cross-corridor? He was about to make a wider arm sweep when he heard a +sound. He was not alone.</p> + +<p>Ross went back to the wall, flattening himself against it, trying to +control the volume of his own breathing in order to catch the slightest +whisper of the other noise. He discovered that lack of sight can confuse +the ear. He could not identify those clicks, the wisp of fluttering +sound that might be air displaced by the opening of another door.</p> + +<p>Finally, he detected something moving at floor level. Someone or +something must be creeping, not walking, toward him. Ross pushed back +around the corner. It never occurred to him to challenge that crawler. +There was an element of danger in this strange encounter in the dark; it +was not meant to be a meeting between fellow explorers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>The sound of crawling was not steady. There were long pauses, and Ross +became convinced that each rest was punctuated by heavy breathing as if +the crawler was finding progress a great and exhausting effort. He +fought the picture that persisted in his imagination—that of a wolf +snuffling along the blacked-out hall. Caution suggested a quick retreat, +but Ross's urge to rebellion held him where he was, crouching, straining +to see what crept toward him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a blinding flare of light, and Ross's hands went to +cover his dazzled eyes. And he heard a despairing, choked exclamation +from near to floor level. The same steady light that normally filled +hall and room was bright again. Ross found himself standing at the +juncture of two corridors—momentarily, he was absurdly pleased that he +had deduced that correctly—and the crawler—?</p> + +<p>A man—at least the figure was a two-legged, two-armed body reasonably +human in outline—was lying several yards away. But the body was so +wrapped in bandages and the head so totally muffled, that it lacked all +identity. For that reason it was the more startling.</p> + +<p>One of the mittened hands moved slightly, raising the body from the +ground so it could squirm forward an inch or so. Before Ross could move, +a man came running into the corridor from the far end. Murdock +recognized Major Kelgarries. He wet his lips as the major went down on +his knees beside the creature on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Hardy! Hardy!" That voice, which carried the snap of command whenever +it was addressed to Ross, was now warmly human. "Hardy, man!" The +major's hands were on the bandaged body, lifting it, easing the head and +shoulders back against his arm. "It's all right, Hardy. You're +back—safe. This is the base, Hardy." He spoke slowly, soothingly, with +the steadiness one would use to comfort a frightened child.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>Those mittened paws which had beat feebly into the air fell onto the +bandage-wreathed chest. "Back—safe—" The voice from behind the face +mask was a rusty croak.</p> + +<p>"Back, safe," the major assured him.</p> + +<p>"Dark—dark all around again—" protested the croak.</p> + +<p>"Just a power failure, man. Everything's all right now. We'll get you +into bed."</p> + +<p>The mitten pawed again until it touched Kelgarries' arm; then it flexed +a little as if the hand under it was trying to grip.</p> + +<p>"Safe—?"</p> + +<p>"You bet you are!" The major's tone carried firm reassurance. Now +Kelgarries looked up at Ross as if he knew the other had been there all +the time.</p> + +<p>"Murdock, get down to the end room. Call Dr. Farrell!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir!" The "sir" came so automatically that Ross had already +reached the end room before he realized he had used it.</p> + +<p>Nobody explained matters to Ross Murdock. The bandaged Hardy was claimed +by the doctor and two attendants and carried away, the major walking +beside the stretcher, still holding one of the mittened hands in his. +Ross hesitated, sure he was not supposed to follow, but not ready either +to explore farther or return to his own room. The sight of Hardy, +whoever he might be, had radically changed Ross's conception of the +project he had too speedily volunteered to join.</p> + +<p>That what they did here was important, Ross had never doubted. That it +was dangerous, he had early suspected. But his awareness had been an +abstract concept of danger, not connected with such concrete evidence as +Hardy crawling through the dark. From the first, Ross had nursed vague +plans for escape; now he knew he must get out of this place lest he end +up a twin for Hardy.</p> + +<p>"Murdock?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>Having heard no warning sound from behind, Ross whirled, ready to use +his fists, his only weapons. But he did not face the major, or any of +the other taciturn men he knew held positions of authority. The +newcomer's brown skin was startling against the neutral shade of the +walls. His hair and brows were only a few shades darker; but the general +sameness of color was relieved by the vivid blue of his eyes.</p> + +<p>Expressionless, the dark stranger stood quietly, his arms hanging +loosely by his sides, studying Ross, as if the younger man was some +problem he had been assigned to solve. When he spoke, his voice was a +monotone lacking any modulation of feeling.</p> + +<p>"I am Ashe." He introduced himself baldly; he might have been saying +"This is a table and that is a chair."</p> + +<p>Ross's quick temper took spark from the other's indifference. "All +right—so you're Ashe!" He strove to make a challenge of it. "And what +is that supposed to mean?"</p> + +<p>But the other did not rise to the bait. He shrugged. "For the time being +we have been partnered——"</p> + +<p>"Partnered for what?" demanded Ross, controlling his temper.</p> + +<p>"We work in pairs here. The machine sorts us ..." he answered briefly +and consulted his wrist watch. "Mess call soon."</p> + +<p>Ashe had already turned away, and Ross could not stand the other's lack +of interest. While Murdock refused to ask questions of the major or any +others on that side of the fence, surely he could get some information +from a fellow "volunteer."</p> + +<p>"What is this place, anyway?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The other glanced back over his shoulder. "Operation Retrograde."</p> + +<p>Ross swallowed his anger. "Okay, but what do they do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> here? Listen, I +just saw a fellow who'd been banged up as if he'd been in a concrete +mixer, creeping along this hall. What sort of work do they do here? And +what do we have to do?"</p> + +<p>To his amazement Ashe smiled, at least his lips quirked faintly. "Hardy +got under your skin, eh? Well, we have our percentage of failures. They +are as few as it's humanly possible to make, and they give us every +advantage that can be worked out for us——"</p> + +<p>"Failures at what?"</p> + +<p>"Operation Retrograde."</p> + +<p>Somewhere down the hall a buzzer gave a muted whirr.</p> + +<p>"That's mess call. And I'm hungry, even if you're not." Ashe walked away +as if Ross Murdock had ceased to exist.</p> + +<p>But Ross Murdock did exist, and to him that was an important fact. As he +trailed along behind Ashe he determined that he was going to continue to +exist, in one piece and unharmed, Operation Retrograde or no Operation +Retrograde. And he was going to pry a few enlightening answers out of +somebody very soon.</p> + +<p>To his surprise he found Ashe waiting for him at the door of a room from +which came the sound of voices and a subdued clatter of trays and +tableware.</p> + +<p>"Not many in tonight," Ashe commented in a take-it-or-leave-it tone. +"It's been a busy week."</p> + +<p>The room was rather sparsely occupied. Five tables were empty, while the +men gathered at the remaining two. Ross counted ten men, either already +eating or coming back from a serving hatch with well-filled trays. All +of them were dressed in slacks, shirt, and moccasins like himself—the +outfit seemed to be a sort of undress uniform—and six of them were +ordinary in physical appearance. The other four differed so radically +that Ross could barely conceal his amazement.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p>Since their fellows accepted them without comment, Ross silently stole +glances at them as he waited behind Ashe for a tray. One pair were +clearly Oriental; they were small, lean men with thin brackets of long +black mustache on either side of their mobile mouths. Yet he had caught +a word or two of their conversation, and they spoke his own language +with the facility of the native born. In addition to the mustaches, each +wore a blue tattoo mark on the forehead and others of the same design on +the backs of their agile hands.</p> + +<p>The second duo were even more fantastic. The color of their flaxen hair +was normal, but they wore it in braids long enough to swing across their +powerful shoulders, a fashion unlike any Ross had ever seen. Yet any +suggestion of effeminacy certainly did not survive beyond the first +glance at their ruggedly masculine features.</p> + +<p>"Gordon!" One of the braided giants swung halfway around from the table +to halt Ashe as he came down the aisle with his tray. "When did you get +back? And where is Sanford?"</p> + +<p>One of the Orientals laid down the spoon with which he had been +vigorously stirring his coffee and asked with real concern, "Another +loss?"</p> + +<p>Ashe shook his head. "Just reassignment. Sandy's holding down Outpost +Gog and doing well." He grinned and his face came to life with an +expression of impish humor Ross would not have believed possible. "He'll +end up with a million or two if he doesn't watch out. He takes to trade +as if he were born with a beaker in his fist."</p> + +<p>The Oriental laughed and then glanced at Ross. "Your new partner, Ashe?"</p> + +<p>Some of the animation disappeared from Ashe's brown face; he was +noncommittal again. "Temporary assignment. This is Murdock." The +introduction was flat enough to daunt Ross.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> "Hodaki, Feng," he +indicated the two Easterners with a nod as he put down his tray. +"Jansen, Van Wyke." That accounted for the blonds.</p> + +<p>"Ashe!" A man arose at the other table and came to stand beside theirs. +Thin, with a dark, narrow face and restless eyes, he was much younger +than the others, younger and not so well controlled. He might answer +questions if there was something in it for him, Ross decided, and filed +the thought away.</p> + +<p>"Well, Kurt?" Ashe's recognition was as dampening as it could be, and +Ross's estimation of the younger man went up a fraction when the snub +appeared to have no effect upon him.</p> + +<p>"Did you hear about Hardy?"</p> + +<p>Feng looked as if he were about to speak, and Van Wyke frowned. Ashe +made a deliberate process of chewing and swallowing before he replied. +"Naturally." His tone reduced whatever had happened to Hardy to a +matter-of-fact proceeding far removed from Kurt's implied melodrama.</p> + +<p>"He's smashed up ... kaput...." Kurt's accent, slight in the beginning, +was thickening. "Tortured...."</p> + +<p>Ashe regarded him levelly. "You aren't on Hardy's run, are you?"</p> + +<p>Still Kurt refused to be quashed. "Of course, I'm not! You know the run +I am in training for. But that is not saying that such can not happen as +well on my run, or yours, or yours!" He pointed a stabbing finger at +Feng and then at the blond men.</p> + +<p>"You can fall out of bed and break your neck, too, if your number comes +up that way," observed Jansen. "Go cry on Millaird's shoulder if it +hurts you that much. You were told the score at your briefing. You know +why you were picked...."</p> + +<p>Ross caught a faint glance aimed at him by Ashe. He was still totally in +the dark, but he would not try to pry any in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>formation from this crowd. +Maybe part of their training was this hush-hush business. He would wait +and see, until he could get Kurt aside and do a little pumping. +Meanwhile he ate stolidly and tried to cover up his interest in the +conversation.</p> + +<p>"Then you are going to keep on saying 'Yes, sir,' 'No, sir,' to every +order here——?"</p> + +<p>Hodaki slammed his tattooed hand on the table. "Why this foolishness, +Kurt? You well know how and why we are picked for runs. Hardy had the +deck stacked against him through no fault of the project. That has +happened before; it will happen again——"</p> + +<p>"Which is what I have been saying! Do you wish it to happen to you? +Pretty games those tribesmen on your run play with their prisoners, do +they not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up!" Jansen got to his feet. Since he loomed at least five +inches above Kurt and probably could have broken him in two over one +massive knee, his order was one to be considered. "If you have any +complaints, go make them to Millaird. And, little man"—he poked a +massive forefinger into Kurt's chest—"wait until you make that first +run of yours before you sound off so loudly. No one is sent out without +every ounce of preparation he can take. But we can't set up luck in +advance, and Hardy was unlucky. That's that. We got him back, and that +was lucky for him. He'd be the first to tell you so." He stretched. "I'm +for a game—Ashe? Hodaki?"</p> + +<p>"Always so energetic," murmured Ashe, but he nodded as did the small +Oriental.</p> + +<p>Feng smiled at Ross. "Always these three try to beat each other, and so +far all the contests are draws. But we hope ... yes, we have hopes...."</p> + +<p>So Ross had no chance to speak to Kurt. Instead, he was drawn into the +knot of men who, having finished their meal,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> entered a small arena with +a half circle of spectator seats at one side and a space for contestants +at the other. What followed absorbed Ross as completely as the earlier +scene of the wolf killing. This too was a fight, but not a physical +struggle. All three contenders were not only unlike in body, but as Ross +speedily came to understand, they were also unlike in their mental +approach to any problem.</p> + +<p>They seated themselves crosslegged at the three points of a triangle. +Then Ashe looked from the tall blond to the small Oriental. "Territory?" +he asked crisply.</p> + +<p>"Inland plains!" That came almost in chorus, and each man, looking at +his opponent, began to laugh.</p> + +<p>Ashe himself chuckled. "Trying to be smart tonight, boys?" he inquired. +"All right, plains it is."</p> + +<p>He brought his hand down on the floor before him, and to Ross's +astonishment the area around the players darkened and the floor became a +stretch of miniature countryside. Grassy plains rippled under the wind +of a fair day.</p> + +<p>"Red!"</p> + +<p>"Blue!"</p> + +<p>"Yellow!"</p> + +<p>The choices came quickly from the dusk masking the players. And upon +those orders points of the designated color came into being as small +lights.</p> + +<p>"Red—caravan!" Ross recognized Jansen's boom.</p> + +<p>"Blue—raiders!" Hodaki's choice was only an instant behind.</p> + +<p>"Yellow—unknown factor."</p> + +<p>Ross was sure that sigh came from Jansen. "Is the unknown factor a +natural phenomenon?"</p> + +<p>"No—tribe on the march."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" Hodaki was considering that. Ross could picture his shrug.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>The game began. Ross had heard of chess, of war games played with +miniature armies or ships, of games on paper which demand from the +players a quick wit and a trained memory. This game, however, was all +those combined, and more. As his imagination came to life the moving +points of light were transformed into the raiders, the merchants' +caravan, the tribe on the march. There was ingenious deployment, a +battle, a retreat, a small victory here, to be followed by a bigger +defeat there. The game might have gone on for hours. The men about him +muttered, taking sides and arguing heatedly in voices low enough not to +drown out the moves called by the players. Ross was thrilled when the +red traders avoided a very cleverly laid ambush, and indignant when the +tribe was forced to withdraw or the caravan lost points. It was the most +fascinating game he had ever seen, and he realized that the three men +ordering those moves were all masters of strategy. Their respective +skills checkmated each other so equally that an outright win was far +away.</p> + +<p>Then Jansen laughed, and the red line of the caravan gathered in a tight +knot. "Camped at a spring," he announced, "but with plenty of sentries +out." Red sparks showed briefly beyond that center core. "And they'll +have to stay there for all of me. We could keep this up till doomsday, +and nobody would crack."</p> + +<p>"No"—Hodaki contradicted him—"someday one of you will make a little +mistake and then——"</p> + +<p>"And then whatever bully boys you're running will clobber us?" asked +Jansen. "That'll be the day! Anyway, truce for now."</p> + +<p>"Granted!"</p> + +<p>The lights of the arena went on and the plains vanished into a dark, +tiled floor. "Any time you want a return engagement it'll be fine with +me," said Ashe, getting up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>Jansen grinned. "Put that off for a month or so, Gordon. We push into +time tomorrow. Take care of yourselves, you two. I don't want to have to +break in another set of players when I come back."</p> + +<p>Ross, finding it difficult to shake off the illusion which had held him +entranced, felt a slight touch on his shoulder and glanced up. Kurt +stood behind him, apparently intent upon Jansen and Hodaki as they +argued over some point of the game.</p> + +<p>"See you tonight." The boy's lips hardly moved, a trick Ross knew from +his own past. Yes, he <i>would</i> see Kurt tonight, or whenever he could. He +was going to learn what it was this odd company seemed determined to +keep as their own private secret.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_3" id="CHAPTER_3"></a>CHAPTER 3</h2> + + +<p>Ross stood cautiously against the wall of his darkened room, his head +turned toward the slightly open door. A slight shuffling sound had +awakened him, and he was now as ready as a cat before her spring. But he +did not hurl himself at the figure now easing the door farther open. He +waited until the visitor was approaching the bunk before he slid along +the wall, closing the door and putting his shoulders against it.</p> + +<p>"What's the pitch?" Ross demanded in a whisper.</p> + +<p>There was a ragged breath, maybe two, then a little laugh out of the +dark. "You are ready?" The visitor's accent left no doubt as to his +identity. Kurt was paying him the promised visit.</p> + +<p>"Did you think that I wouldn't be?"</p> + +<p>"No." The dim figure sat without invitation on the edge of the bunk. "I +would not be here otherwise, Murdock. You are plenty ... have plenty on +the ball. You see, I have heard things about you. Like me, you were +tricked into this game. Tell me, is it not true that you saw Hardy +tonight."</p> + +<p>"You hear a lot, don't you?" Ross was noncommittal.</p> + +<p>"I hear, I see, I learn more than these big mouths, like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> major with +all his do's and don'ts. That I can tell you! You saw Hardy. Do <i>you</i> +want to be a Hardy?"</p> + +<p>"Is there any danger of that?"</p> + +<p>"Danger!" Kurt snorted. "Danger—you have not yet known the meaning of +danger, little man. Not until now. I ask you again, do you want to end +like Hardy? They have not yet looped you in with all their big talk. +That is why I came here tonight. If you know what is good for you, +Murdock, you will make a break before they tape you——"</p> + +<p>"Tape me?"</p> + +<p>Kurt's laugh was full of anger, not amusement. "Oh, yes. They have many +tricks here. They are big brains, eggheads, all of them with their +favorite gadgets. They put you through a machine to get you registered +on a tape. Then, my boy, you cannot get outside the base without ringing +all the alarms! Neat, eh? So if you want to make a break, you must try +it before they tape you."</p> + +<p>Ross did not trust Kurt, but he was listening to him attentively. The +other's argument sounded convincing to one whose general ignorance of +science led him to be as fearful of the whole field as his ancestors had +been of black magic. As all his generation, he was conditioned to +believe that all kinds of weird inventions were entirely possible and +probable—usually to be produced in some dim future, but perhaps today.</p> + +<p>"They must have you taped," Ross pointed out.</p> + +<p>Kurt laughed again, but this time he was amused. "They believe that they +have. Only they are not as smart as they believe, the major and the +rest, including Millaird! No, I have a fighting chance to get out of +this place, only I cannot do it alone. That is why I have been waiting +for them to bring in a new guy I could get to before they had him pinned +down for good. You are tough, Murdock. I saw your record, and I'm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +betting that you did not come here with the intention of staying. +So—here is your chance to go along with one who knows the ropes. You +will not have such a good one again."</p> + +<p>The longer Kurt talked, the more convincing he was. Ross lost a few of +his suspicions. It was true that he had come prepared to run at the +first possible opportunity, and if Kurt had everything planned, so much +the better. Of course, it was possible that Kurt was a stool pigeon, +leading him on as a test. But that was a chance Ross would have to take.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Murdock, maybe you think it's easy to break out of here. Do +you know where we are, boy? We're near enough to the North Pole as makes +no difference! Are you going to leg it back some hundreds of miles +through thick ice and snow? A nice jaunt if you make it. I do not think +that you can—not without plans and a partner who knows what he is +about."</p> + +<p>"And how <i>do</i> we go? Steal one of those atomjets? I'm no pilot—are +you?"</p> + +<p>"They have other things besides a-j's here. This place is strictly +hush-hush. Even the a-j's do not set down too often for fear they will +be tracked by radar. Where have you been, boy? Don't you know the Reds +are circling around up here? These fellows watch for Red activity, and +the Reds watch them. They play it under the table on both sides. We get +our supplies overland by cats——"</p> + +<p>"Cats?"</p> + +<p>"Snow sleds, like tractors," the other answered impatiently. "Our stuff +is dumped miles to the south, and the cats go down once a month to bring +it back. There's no trick to driving a cat, and they tear off the +miles——"</p> + +<p>"How many miles to the south?" inquired Ross skeptically. Granted Kurt +was speaking the truth, travel over an arctic wil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>derness in a stolen +machine was risky, to say the least. Ross had only a very vague idea of +the polar regions, but he was sure that they could easily swallow up the +unwary forever.</p> + +<p>"Maybe only a hundred or so, boy. But I have more than one plan, and I'm +willing to risk <i>my</i> neck. Do you think I intend to start out blind?"</p> + +<p>There was that, of course. Ross had early sized up his visitor as one +who was first of all interested in his own welfare. He wouldn't risk his +neck without a definite plan in mind.</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you say, Murdock? Are you with me or not?"</p> + +<p>"I'll take some time to chew it over——"</p> + +<p>"Time is what you do not have, boy. Tomorrow they will tape you. +Then—no over the wall for you."</p> + +<p>"Suppose you tell me your trick for fooling the tape," Ross countered.</p> + +<p>"That I cannot do, seeing as how it lies in the way my brain is put +together. Do you think I can break open my skull and hand you a piece of +what is inside? No, you jump with me tonight or else I must wait to grab +the next one who lands here."</p> + +<p>Kurt stood up. His last words were spoken matter-of-factly, and Ross +believed he meant exactly what he said. But Ross hesitated. He wanted to +try for freedom, a desire fed by his suspicions of what was going on +here. He neither liked nor trusted Kurt, but he thought he understood +him—better than he understood Ashe or the others. Also, with Kurt he +was sure he could hold his own; it would be the kind of struggle he had +experienced before.</p> + +<p>"Tonight...." he repeated slowly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, tonight!" There was new eagerness in Kurt's voice, for he sensed +that the other was wavering. "I have been preparing for a long time, but +there must be two of us. We have to take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> turns driving the cat. There +can be no rest until we are far to the south. I tell you it will be +easy. There are food caches arranged along the route for emergencies. I +have a map marked to show where they are. Are you coming?"</p> + +<p>When Ross did not answer at once the other moved closer to him.</p> + +<p>"Remember Hardy? He was not the first, and he will not be the last. They +use us up fast here. That is why they brought you so quickly. I tell +you, it is better to take your chance with me than on a run."</p> + +<p>"And what is a run?"</p> + +<p>"So they have not yet briefed you? Well, a run is a little jaunt back +into history—not nice comfortable history such as you learned out of a +book when you were a little kid. No, you are dropped back into some +savage time before history——"</p> + +<p>"That's impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Yes? You saw those two big blond boys tonight, did you not? Why do you +suppose they sport those braids? Because they are taking a little trip +into the time when he-men wore braids, and carried axes big enough to +crack a man open! And Hodaki and his partner.... Ever hear of the +Tartars? Maybe you have not, but once they nearly overran most of +Europe."</p> + +<p>Ross swallowed. He now knew where he had seen braids pictured on +warriors—the Vikings! And Tartars, yes, that movie about someone named +Khan, Genghis Khan! But to return into the past was impossible.</p> + +<p>Yet, he remembered the picture he had watched today with the wolf slayer +and the shaggy-haired man who wore skins. Neither of these was of his +own world! Could Kurt be telling the truth? Ross's vivid memory of the +scene he had witnessed made Kurt's story more convincing.</p> + +<p>"Suppose you get sent back to a time where they do not like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> strangers," +Kurt continued. "Then you are in for it. That is what happened to Hardy. +And it is not good—not good at all!"</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>Kurt snorted. "<i>That</i> they do not tell you until just before you take +your first run. I do not want to know why. But I do know that I am not +going to be sent into any wilderness where a savage may run a spear +through me just to prove something or other for Major John Kelgarries, +or for Millaird either. I will try my plan first."</p> + +<p>The urgency in Kurt's protest carried Ross past the wavering point. He, +too, would try the cat. He was only familiar with this time and world; +he had no desire to be sent into another one.</p> + +<p>Once Ross had made his decision, Kurt hurried him into action. Kurt's +knowledge of the secret procedures at the base proved excellent. Twice +they were halted by locked doors, but only momentarily, for Kurt had a +tiny gadget, concealed in the palm of his hand, which had only to be +held over a latch to open a recalcitrant door.</p> + +<p>There was enough light in the corridors to give them easy passage, but +the rooms were dark, and twice Kurt had to lead Ross by the hand, +avoiding furniture or installations with the surety of one who had +practiced that same route often. Murdock's opinion of his companion's +ability underwent several upward revisions during that tour, and he +began to believe that he was really in luck to have found such a +partner.</p> + +<p>In the last room, Ross willingly followed Kurt's orders to put on the +fur clothing Kurt passed to him. The fit was not exact, but he surmised +that Kurt had chosen as well as possible. A final door opened, and they +stepped out into the polar night of winter. Kurt's mittened hand grasped +Ross's, pulling him along. Together, they pushed back the door of a +hangar shed to get at their escape vehicle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>The cat was a strange machine, but Ross was given no time to study it. +He was shoved into the cockpit, a bubble covering settled down over +them, closing them in, and the engine came to life under Kurt's urging. +The cat must be traveling at its best pace, Ross thought. Yet the crawl +which took them away from the mounded snow covering the base seemed +hardly better than a man could make afoot.</p> + +<p>For a short time Kurt headed straight away from the starting point, but +Ross soon heard him counting slowly to himself as if he were timing +something. At the count of twenty the cat swung to the right and made a +wide half circle which was copied at the next count of twenty by a +similar sweep in the opposite direction. After this pattern had been +repeated for six turns, Ross found it difficult to guess whether they +had ever returned to their first course. When Kurt stopped counting he +asked, "Why the dance pattern?"</p> + +<p>"Would you rather be scattered in little pieces all over the landscape?" +the other snapped. "The base doesn't need fences two miles high to keep +us in, or others out; they take other precautions. You should thank +fortune we got through that first mine field without blowing...."</p> + +<p>Ross swallowed, but he refused to let Kurt know that he was rattled. "So +it isn't as easy to get away as you said?"</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" Kurt began counting again, and Ross had some cold +apprehensive moments in which to reflect upon the folly of quick +decisions and wonder bleakly why he had not thought things through +before he leaped.</p> + +<p>Again they sketched a weaving pattern in the snow, but this time the +arcs formed acute angles. Ross glanced now and then at the intent man at +the wheel. How had Kurt managed to memorize this route? His urge to +escape the base must certainly be a strong one.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>Back and forth they crawled, gaining only a few yards in each of those +angled strikes to right or left.</p> + +<p>"Good thing these cats are atomic powered," Kurt commented during one of +the intervals between mine fields. "We'd run out of fuel otherwise."</p> + +<p>Ross fought down the impulse to move his feet away from any possible +contact point with the engine. These machines must be safe to ride in, +but the bogy of radiation was frightening. Luckily, Kurt was now back to +a straight track, with no more weaving.</p> + +<p>"We are out!" Kurt said with exultation. But he added no more than just +the reassurance of their escape.</p> + +<p>The cat crawled on. To Ross's eyes there was no trail to follow, no +guideposts, yet Kurt steered ahead with confidence. A little later he +pulled to a stop and said to Ross, "We have to drive turn and turn +about—your turn."</p> + +<p>Ross was dubious. "Well, I can drive a car—but this——"</p> + +<p>"Is fool proof." Kurt caught him up. "The worst was getting through the +mine fields, and we are out of that now. See here—" his hand made a +shadow on the lighted instrument panel, "this will keep you straight. If +you can steer a car, you can steer this. Watch!" He started up again and +once more swung the cat to the left.</p> + +<p>A light on the panel began to blink at a rate which increased rapidly as +they veered farther away from their original course.</p> + +<p>"See? You keep that light steady, and you are on course. If it begins to +blink, you cast about until it steadies again. Simple enough for a baby. +Take over and see."</p> + +<p>It was hard to change places in the sealed cabin of the cat, but they +were successful, and Ross took the wheel gingerly. Following Kurt's +directions, he started ahead, his eyes focused on the light rather than +the white expanse before him. And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> after a few minutes of strain he +caught the hang of it. As Kurt had promised, it was very simple. After +watching him for a while, his instructor gave a grunt of satisfaction +and settled down for a nap.</p> + +<p>Once the first excitement of driving the cat wore off, the operation +tended to become monotonous. Ross caught himself yawning, but he kept at +his post with dogged stubbornness. This had been Kurt's game all the way +through—so far—and he was certainly not going to resign his first +chance to show that he could be of use also. If there had only been some +break in the eternal snow, some passing light or goal to be seen ahead, +it would not have been so bad. Finally, every now and then, Ross had to +jiggle off course just enough so that the warning blink of light would +alert him and keep him from falling asleep. He was unaware that Kurt had +awakened during one of those maneuvers until the other spoke. "Your own +private alarm clock, Murdock? Okay, I do not quarrel with anyone who +uses his head. But you had better get some shut-eye, or we will not keep +rolling."</p> + +<p>Ross was too tired to protest. They changed places, and he curled up as +best he could on his small share of seat. Only now that he was free to +sleep, he realized he no longer wanted to. Kurt must have thought Ross +had fallen asleep, for after perhaps two miles of steady grinding along, +he moved cautiously behind the wheel. Ross saw by the trace of light +from the instrument panel that his companion was digging into the breast +of his parka to bring out a small object which he held against the wheel +of the cat with one hand, while with the other he tapped out an +irregular rhythm.</p> + +<p>To Ross the action made no sense. But he did not miss the other's sigh +of relief as he restored his treasure to hiding once more, as if some +difficult task was now behind him. Shortly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> afterward the cat ground to +a stop, and Ross sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What's the matter? Engine +trouble?"</p> + +<p>Kurt had folded his arms across the wheel. "No. It is just that we are +to wait here——"</p> + +<p>"Wait? For what? Kelgarries to come along and pick us up?"</p> + +<p>Kurt laughed. "The major? How I wish that he <i>would</i> arrive presently. +What a surprise he would receive! Not two little mice to be put back +into their cages, but the tiger cat, all claws and fangs!"</p> + +<p>Ross sat up straighter. This now had the bad smell of a frame, a frame +with himself planted right in the middle. He figured out the +possibilities and came up with an answer which would smear Ross Murdock +all over any map. If Kurt were waiting to meet friends out here, they +could only be of one brand.</p> + +<p>For most of his short life Ross had been engaged in a private war +against the restrictions imposed upon him by a set of legal rules to +which something within him would not conform. And he had, during those +same years filled with attacks, retreats, and strategic maneuvering, +formulated a code of rules by which to play his dangerous game. He had +not murdered, and he would never follow the path Kurt took. To one who +was supremely impatient of restraint, the methods and aims of Kurt's +employers were not only impossibly fantastic and illogical—they were to +be opposed to the last ounce of any man's energy.</p> + +<p>"Your friends late?" He tried to sound casual.</p> + +<p>"Not yet, and if you now plan to play the hero, Murdock, think better of +it!" Kurt's tone held the crack of an order—that note Ross had so much +disliked in the major's voice. "This is an operation which has been most +carefully planned and upon which a great deal depends. No one shall +spoil it for us now——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The Reds planted you on the project, eh?" Ross wanted to keep the other +talking to give himself a chance to think. And this was one time he had +to think, clearly and with speed.</p> + +<p>"There is no need for me to tell you the sad tale of my life, Murdock. +And you would doubtless find much of it boring. If you wish to continue +to live—for a while, at least—you will remain quiet and do as you are +told."</p> + +<p>Kurt must be armed, for he would not be so confident unless he had a +weapon he could now turn on Ross. On the other hand, if what Ross +guessed were true, this <i>was</i> the time to play the hero—when there was +only Kurt to handle. Better to be a dead hero than a live captive in the +hands of Kurt's dear friends across the pole.</p> + +<p>Without warning, Ross threw his body to the left, striving to pin Kurt +against the driver's side of the cabin, his hands clawing at the fur +ruff bordering the other's hood, trying for a throat hold. Perhaps it +was Kurt's over-confidence which betrayed him and left him open to a +surprise attack. He struggled hard to bring up his arm, but both his +weight and Ross's held him tight. Ross caught at his wrist, noticing a +gleam of metal.</p> + +<p>They threshed about, the bulkiness of the fur clothing hampering them. +Ross wondered fleetingly why the other had not made sure of him earlier. +As it was he fought with all his vigor to keep Kurt immobile, to try and +knock him out with a lucky blow.</p> + +<p>In the end Kurt aided in his own defeat. When Ross relaxed somewhat, the +other pushed against him, only to have Ross flinch to one side. Kurt +could not stop himself, and his head cracked against the wheel of the +cat. He went limp.</p> + +<p>Ross made the most of the next few moments. He brought his belt from +under his parka, twisting it around Kurt's wrists with no gentleness. +Then he wriggled about, changing places with the unconscious man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had no idea of where to go, but he was sure he was going to get +away—at the cat's top speed—from that point. And with that in mind and +only a limited knowledge of how to manage the machine, Ross started up +and turned in a wide circle until he was sure the cat was headed in the +opposite direction.</p> + +<p>The light which had guided them was still on. Would reversing its +process take him back to the base? Lost in the immensity of the cold +wilderness, he made the only choice possible and gunned the cat again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_4" id="CHAPTER_4"></a>CHAPTER 4</h2> + + +<p>Once again Ross sat waiting for others to decide his future. He was as +outwardly composed as he had been in Judge Rawle's chambers, but +inwardly he was far more apprehensive. Out in the wilderness of the +polar night he had had no chance for escape. Heading away from Kurt's +rendezvous, Ross had run straight into the search party from the base, +had seen in action that mechanical hound that Kurt had said they would +put on the fugitives' trail—the thing which would have gone on hunting +them until its metal rusted into powder. Kurt's boasted immunity to that +tracker had not been as good as he had believed, though it had won them +a start.</p> + +<p>Ross did not know just how much it might count in his favor that he had +been on his way back, with Kurt a prisoner in the cat. As his waiting +hours wore on he began to think it might mean very little indeed. This +time there was no show on the wall of his cell, nothing but time to +think—too much of that—and no pleasant things to think about.</p> + +<p>But he had learned one valuable lesson on that cold expedition. +Kelgarries and the others at the base were the most formi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>dable +opponents he had ever met, and all the balance of luck and equipment lay +on their side of the scales. Ross was now convinced that there could be +no escape from this base. He had been impressed by Kurt's preparations, +knowing that some of them were far beyond anything he himself could have +devised. He did not doubt that Kurt had come here fully prepared with +every ingenious device the Reds could supply.</p> + +<p>At least Kurt's friends had had a rude welcome when they did arrive at +the meeting place. Kelgarries had heard Ross out and then had sent ahead +a team. Before Ross's party had reached the base there had been a blast +which split the arctic night wide open. And Kurt, conscious by then, had +shown his only sign of emotion when he realized what it meant.</p> + +<p>The door to Ross's cell room clicked, and he swung his feet to the +floor, sitting up on his bunk to face his future. This time he made no +attempt to put on an act. He was not in the least sorry he had tried to +get away. Had Kurt been on the level, it would have been a bright play. +That Kurt was not, was just plain bad luck.</p> + +<p>Kelgarries and Ashe entered, and at the sight of Ashe the taut feeling +in Ross's middle loosened a bit. The major might come by himself to pass +sentence, but he would not bring Ashe along if the sentence was a really +harsh one.</p> + +<p>"You got off to a bad start here, Murdock." The major sat down on the +edge of the wall shelf which doubled as a table. "You're going to have a +second chance, so consider yourself lucky. We know you aren't another +plant of our enemies, a fact that saves your neck. Do you have anything +to add to your story?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir." He was not adding that "sir" to curry any favor; it came +naturally when one answered Kelgarries.</p> + +<p>"But you have some questions?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross met that with the truth. "A lot of them."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you ask them?"</p> + +<p>Ross smiled thinly, an expression far removed and years older than his +bashful boy's grin of the shy act. "A wise guy doesn't spill his +ignorance. He uses his eyes and ears and keeps his trap shut——"</p> + +<p>"And goes off half cocked as a result...." the major added. "I don't +think you would have enjoyed the company of Kurt's paymaster."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know about him then—not when I left here."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and when you discovered the truth, you took steps. Why?" For the +first time there was a trace of feeling in the major's voice.</p> + +<p>"Because I don't like the line-up on his side of the fence."'</p> + +<p>"That single fact has saved your neck this time, Murdock. Step out of +line once more, and nothing will help you. But just so we won't have to +worry about that, suppose you ask a few of those questions."</p> + +<p>"How much of what Kurt fed me is the truth?" Ross blurted out. "I mean +all that stuff about shooting back in time."</p> + +<p>"All of it." The major said it so quietly that it carried complete +conviction.</p> + +<p>"But why—how—?"</p> + +<p>"You have us on a spot, Murdock. Because of your little expedition, we +have to tell you more now than we tell any of our men before the final +briefing. Listen, and then forget all of it except what applies to the +job at hand.</p> + +<p>"The Reds shot up Sputnik and then Muttnik.... When—? Twenty-five years +ago. We got up our answers a little later. There were a couple of +spectacular crashes on the moon, then that space station that didn't +stay in orbit, after that—stalemate. In the past quarter century we've +had no voyages into space,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> nothing that was prophesied. Too many bugs, +too many costly failures. Finally we began to get hints of something +big, bigger than any football roaming the heavens.</p> + +<p>"Any discovery in science comes about by steps. It can be traced back +through those steps by another scientist. But suppose you were +confronted by a result which apparently had been produced without any +preliminaries. What would be your guess concerning it?"</p> + +<p>Ross stared at the major. Although he didn't see what all this had to do +with time-jumping, he sensed that Kelgarries was waiting for a serious +answer, that somehow Ross would be judged by his reply.</p> + +<p>"Either that the steps were kept strictly secret," he said slowly, "or +that the result didn't rightfully belong to the man who said he +discovered it."</p> + +<p>For the first time the major regarded him with approval. "Suppose this +discovery was vital to your life—what would you do?"</p> + +<p>"Try to find the source!"</p> + +<p>"There you have it! Within the past five years our friends across the +way have come up with three such discoveries. One we were able to trace, +duplicate, and use, with a few refinements of our own. The other two +remain rootless; yet they are linked with the first. We are now +attempting to solve that problem, and the time grows late. For some +reason, though the Reds now have their super, super gadgets, they are +not yet ready to use them. Sometimes the things work, and sometimes they +fail. Everything points to the fact that the Reds are now experimenting +with discoveries which are not basically their own——"</p> + +<p>"Where did they get them? From another world?" Ross's imagination came +to life. Had a successful space voyage been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> kept secret? Had there been +contact made with another intelligent race?</p> + +<p>"In a way it's another world, but the world of time—not space. Seven +years ago we got a man out of East Berlin. He was almost dead, but he +lived long enough to record on tape some amazing data, so wild it was +almost dismissed as the ravings of delirium. But that was after Sputnik, +and we didn't dare disregard any hints from the other side of the Iron +Curtain. So the recording was turned over to our scientists, who proved +it had a core of truth.</p> + +<p>"Time travel has been written up in fiction; it has been discussed +otherwise as an impossibility. Then we discover that the Reds have it +working——"</p> + +<p>"You mean, they go into the future and bring back machines to use now."</p> + +<p>The major shook his head. "Not the future, the past."</p> + +<p>Was this an elaborate joke? Somewhat heatedly Ross snapped out the +answer to that. "Look here, I know I haven't the education of your big +brains, but I do know that the farther back you go into history the +simpler things are. We ride in cars; only a hundred years ago men drove +horses. We have guns; go back a little and you'll find them waving +swords and shooting guys with bows and arrows—those that don't wear tin +plate on them to stop being punctured——"</p> + +<p>"Only they were, after all," commented Ashe. "Look at Agincourt, m'lad, +and remember what arrows did to the French knights in armor."</p> + +<p>Ross disregarded the interruption. "Anyway"—he stuck doggedly to his +point—"the farther back you go, the simpler things are. How are the +Reds going to find anything in history we can't beat today?"</p> + +<p>"That is a point which has baffled us for several years now,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> the major +returned. "Only it is not <i>how</i> they are going to find it, but <i>where</i>. +Because somewhere in the past of this world they have contacted a +civilization able to produce weapons and ideas so advanced as to baffle +our experts. We have to find that source and either mine it ourselves or +close it off. As yet we're still trying to find it."</p> + +<p>Ross shook his head. "It must be a long way back. Those guys who +discover tombs and dig up old cities—couldn't they give you some hints? +Wouldn't a civilization like that have left something we could find +today?"</p> + +<p>"It depends," Ashe remarked, "upon the type of civilization. The +Egyptians built in stone, grandly. They used tools and weapons of +copper, bronze, and stone, and they were considerate enough to operate +in a dry climate which preserved relics well. The cities of the Fertile +Crescent built in mud brick and used stone, copper, and bronze tools. +They also chose a portion of the world where climate was a factor in +keeping their memory green.</p> + +<p>"The Greeks built in stone, wrote their books, kept their history to +bequeath it to their successors, and so did the Romans. And on this side +of the ocean the Incas, the Mayas, the unknown races before them, and +the Aztecs of Mexico all built in stone and worked in metal. And stone +and metal survive. But what if there had been an early people who used +plastics and brittle alloys, who had no desire to build permanent +buildings, whose tools and artifacts were meant to wear out quickly, +perhaps for economic reasons? What would they leave us—considering, +perhaps, that an ice age had intervened between their time and ours, +with glaciers to grind into dust what little they did possess?</p> + +<p>"There is evidence that the poles of our world have changed and that +this northern region was once close to being tropical.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> Any catastrophe +violent enough to bring about a switch in the poles of this planet might +well have wiped out all traces of a civilization, no matter how +superior. We have good reason to believe that such a people must have +existed, but we must find them.</p> + +<p>"And Ashe is a convert from the skeptics—" the major slipped down from +his perch on the wall shelf—"he is an archaeologist, one of your tomb +discoverers, and knows what he is talking about. We must do our hunting +in time earlier than the first pyramid, earlier than the first group of +farmers who settled by the Tigris River. But we have to let the enemy +guide us to it. That's where you come in."</p> + +<p>"Why me?"</p> + +<p>"That is a question to which our psychologists are still trying to find +the answer, my young friend. It seems that the majority of the people of +the several nations linked together in this project have become too +civilized. The reactions of most men to given sets of circumstances have +become set in regular patterns and they cannot break that conditioning, +or if personal danger forces them to change those patterns, they are +afterward so adrift they cannot function at their highest potential. +Teach a man to kill, as in war, and then you have to recondition him +later.</p> + +<p>"But during these same wars we also develop another type. He is the born +commando, the secret agent, the expendable man who lives on action. +There are not many of this kind, and they are potent weapons. In +peacetime that particular collection of emotions, nerve, and skills +becomes a menace to the very society he has fought to preserve during a +war. He is pressured by the peaceful environment into becoming a +criminal or a misfit.</p> + +<p>"The men we send out from here to explore the past are not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> only given +the best training we can possibly supply for them, but they are all of +the type once heralded as the frontiersman. History is sentimental about +that type—when he is safely dead—but the present finds him difficult +to live with. Our time agents are misfits in the modern world because +their inherited abilities are born out of season now. They must be young +enough and possess a certain brand of intelligence to take the stiff +training and to adapt, and they must pass our tests. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>Ross nodded. "You want crooks because they are crooks——"</p> + +<p>"No, not because they are crooks, but because they are misfits in their +time and place. Don't, I beg of you, Murdock, think that we are +operating a penal institution here. You would never have been recruited +if you hadn't tested out to suit us. But the man who may be labeled +murderer in his own period might rank as a hero in another, an extreme +example, but true. When we train a man he not only can survive in the +period to which he is sent, but he can also pass as a native born in +that era——"</p> + +<p>"What about Hardy?"</p> + +<p>The major gazed into space. "There is no operation which is foolproof. +We have never said that we don't run into trouble or that there is no +danger in this. We have to deal with both natives of different times, +and if we are lucky and hit a hot run, with the Reds. They suspect that +we are casting about, hunting their trail. They managed to plant Kurt +Vogel on us. He had an almost perfect cover and conditioning. Now you +have it straight, Murdock. You satisfy our tests, and you'll be given a +chance to say yes or no before your first run. If you say no and refuse +duty, it means you must become an exile and stay here. No man who has +gone through our training can return to normal life; there is too much +chance of his being picked up and sweated by the opposition."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Never?"</p> + +<p>The major shrugged. "This may be a long-term operation. We hope not, but +there is no way of telling now. You will be in exile until we either +find what we want or fail entirely. That is the last card I have to lay +on the table." He stretched. "You're slated for training tomorrow. Think +it over and then let us know your answer when the time comes. Meanwhile, +you are to be teamed with Ashe, who will see to putting you through the +course."</p> + +<p>It was a big hunk to swallow, but once down, Ross found it digestible. +The training opened up a whole new world to him. Judo and wrestling were +easy enough to absorb, and he thoroughly enjoyed the workouts. But the +patient hours of archery practice, the strict instruction in the use of +a long-bladed bronze dagger were more demanding. The mastering of one +new language and then another, the intensive drill in unfamiliar social +customs, the memorizing of strict taboos and ethics were difficult. Ross +learned to keep records in knots on hide thongs and was inducted into +the art of primitive bargaining and trade. He came to understand the +worth of a cross-shaped tin ingot compared to a string of amber beads +and some well-cured white furs. He now understood why he had been shown +a traders' caravan during that first encounter with the purpose behind +Operation Retrograde.</p> + +<p>During the training days his feeling toward Ashe changed materially. A +man could not work so closely with another and continue to resent his +attitude; either he blew up entirely, or he learned to adjust. His awe +at Ashe's vast amount of practical knowledge, freely offered to serve +his own blundering ignorance, created a respect for the man which might +have become friendship, had Ashe ever relaxed his own shield of +impersonal efficiency. Ross did not try to breach the barrier between +them mainly because he was sure that the reason for it was the fact<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +that he was a "volunteer." It gave him an odd new feeling he avoided +trying to analyze. He had always had a kind of pride in his record; now +he had begun to wish sometimes that it was a record of a different type.</p> + +<p>Men came and went. Hodaki and his partner disappeared, as did Jansen and +his. One lost track of time within that underground warren which was the +base. Ross gradually discovered that the whole establishment covered a +large area under an external crust of ice and snow. There were +laboratories, a well-appointed hospital, armories which stocked weapons +usually seen only in museums, but which here were free of any signs of +age, and ready for use. There were libraries with mile upon mile of tape +recordings as well as films. Ross could not understand everything he +heard and saw, but he soaked up all he could so that once or twice, when +drifting off to sleep at night, he thought of himself as a sponge which +had nearly reached its total limit of absorption.</p> + +<p>He learned to wear naturally the clumsy kilt-tunic he had seen on the +wolf slayer, to shave with practiced assurance, using a leaf-shaped +bronze razor, to eat strange food until he relished the taste. Making +lesson time serve a double duty, he lay under sunlamps while listening +to tape recordings, until his skin darkened to a weathered hue +resembling Ashe's. There was always talk to listen to, important talk +which he was afraid to miss.</p> + +<p>"Bronze." Ashe weighed a dagger in his hand one day. Its hilt, made of +dark horn studded with an intricate pattern of tiny golden nail heads, +had a gleam not unlike that of the blade. "Do you know, Murdock, that +bronze can be tougher than steel? If it wasn't that iron is so much more +plentiful and easier to work, we might never have come out of the Bronze +Age? Iron is cheaper and easier found, and when the first smith learned +to work it, an end came to one way of life, a beginning to another.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, bronze is important to us here, and so are the men who worked it. +Smiths were sacred in the old days. We know that they made a secret of +their trade which overrode the bounds of district, tribe, and race. A +smith was welcome in any village, his person safe on the road. In fact, +the roads themselves were under the protection of the gods; there was +peace on them for all wayfarers. The land was wide then, and it was +empty. The tribes were few and small, and there was plenty of room for +the hunter, the farmer, the trader. Life was not such a scramble of man +against man, but rather of man against nature——"</p> + +<p>"No wars?" asked Ross. "Then why the bow-and-dagger drill?"</p> + +<p>"Wars were small affairs, disputes between family clans or tribes. As +for the bow, there were formidable things in the forests—giant animals, +wolves, wild boars——"</p> + +<p>"Cave bears?"</p> + +<p>Ashe sighed with weary patience. "Get it through your head, Murdock, +that history is much longer than you seem to think. Cave bears and the +use of bronze weapons do not overlap. No, you will have to go back maybe +several thousand years earlier and then hunt your bear with a +flint-tipped spear in your hand if you are fool enough to try it."</p> + +<p>"Or take a rifle with you." Ross made a suggestion he had longed to +voice for some time.</p> + +<p>Ashe rounded on him swiftly, and Ross knew him well enough now to +realize that he was seriously displeased.</p> + +<p>"That is just what you don't do, Murdock, not from this base, as you +well know by now. You take no weapon from here which is not designed for +the period in which your run lies. Just as you do not become embroiled +while on that run in any action which might influence the course of +history."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross went on polishing the blade he held. "What would happen if someone +did break that rule?"</p> + +<p>Ashe put down the dagger he had been playing with. "We don't know—we +just don't know. So far we have operated in the fringe territory, +keeping away from any district with a history which we can trace +accurately. Maybe some day—" his eyes were on a wall of weapon racks he +plainly did not see—"maybe some day we can stand and watch the rise of +the pyramids, witness the march of Alexander's armies.... But not yet. +We stay away from history, and we are sure that the Reds are doing the +same. It has become the old problem once presented by the atom bomb. +Nobody wants to upset the balance and take the consequences. Let us find +their outpost and we'll withdraw our men from all the other runs at +once."</p> + +<p>"What makes everyone so sure that they have an outpost somewhere? +Couldn't they be working right at the main source, sir?"</p> + +<p>"They could, but for some reason they are not. As for how we know that +much, it's information received." Ashe smiled thinly. "No, the source is +much farther back in time than their halfway post. But if we find that, +then we can trail them. So we plant men in suitable eras and hope for +the best. That's a good weapon you have there, Murdock. Are you willing +to wear it in earnest?"</p> + +<p>The inflection in that question caught Ross's full attention. His gray +eyes met those blue ones. This was it—at long last.</p> + +<p>"Right away?"</p> + +<p>Ashe picked up a belt of bronze plates strung together with chains, a +twin to that Ross had seen worn by the wolf slayer. He held it out to +the younger man. "You can take your trial run any time—tomorrow."</p> + +<p>Ross drew a deeper breath. "Where—to when?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"An island which will later be Britain. When? About two thousand <span class="smcap">b.c.</span> +Beaker traders were beginning to open their stations there. This is your +graduation exercise, Murdock."</p> + +<p>Ross fitted the blade he had been polishing into the wooden sheath on +the belt. "If you say I can do it, I'm willing to try."</p> + +<p>He caught that glance Ashe shot at him, but he could not read its +meaning. Annoyance? Impatience? He was still puzzling over it when the +other turned abruptly and left him alone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_5" id="CHAPTER_5"></a>CHAPTER 5</h2> + + +<p>He might have said yes, but that didn't mean, Ross discovered, that he +was to be shipped off at once to early Britain. Ashe's "tomorrow" proved +to be several days later. The cover was that of a Beaker trader, and +Ross's impersonation was checked again and again by experts, making sure +that the last detail was correct and that no suspicion of a tribesman, +no mistake on Ross's part would betray him.</p> + +<p>The Beaker people were an excellent choice for infiltration. They were +not a closely knit clan, suspicious of strangers and alert to any +deviation from the norm, as more race-conscious tribes might be. For +they lived by trade, leaving to Ross's own time the mark of their +far-flung "empire" in the beakers found in graves scattered in clusters +of a handful or so from the Rhineland to Spain, and from the Balkans to +Britain.</p> + +<p>They did not depend only upon the taboo of the trade road for their +safety, for the Beakermen were master bowmen. A roving people, they +pushed into new territory to establish posts, living amicably among +peoples with far different customs—the Downs farmers, horse herders, +shore-side fisherfolk.</p> + +<p>With Ashe, Ross passed a last inspection. Their hair had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> not grown long +enough to require braiding, but they did have enough to hold it back +from their faces with hide headbands. The kilt-tunics of coarse +material, duplicating samples brought from the past, were harsh to the +skin and poorly fitting. But the workmanship of their link-and-plate +bronze belts, the sleek bow guards strapped to their wrists, and the +bows themselves approached fine art. Ashe's round cloak was the blue of +a master trader, and he wore wealth in a necklace of polished wolf's +teeth alternating with amber beads. Ross's more modest position in the +tribe was indicated not only by his red-brown cloak, but by the fact +that his personal jewelry consisted only of a copper bracelet and a +cloak pin with a jet head.</p> + +<p>He had no idea how the time transition was to be made, nor how one might +step from the polar regions of the Western Hemisphere to the island of +Britain lying off the Eastern. And it was a complicated business as he +discovered.</p> + +<p>The transition itself was a fairly simple, though disturbing, process. +One walked a short corridor and stood for an instant on a plate while +the light centered there curled about in a solid core, shutting one off +from floor and wall. Ross gasped for breath as the air was sucked out of +his lungs. He experienced a moment of deathly sickness with the +sensation of being lost in nothingness. Then he breathed again and +looked through the dying wall of light to where Ashe waited.</p> + +<p>Quick and easy as the trip through time had been, the journey to Britain +was something else. There could be only one transfer point if the secret +was to be preserved. But men from that point must be moved swiftly and +secretly to their appointed stations. Ross, knowing the strict rules +concerning the transportation of objects from one time to another, +wondered how that travel could be effected. After all, they could not +spend months, or even years, getting across continents and seas.</p> + +<p>The answer was ingenious. Three days after they had stepped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> through the +barrier of time at the outpost, Ross and Ashe balanced on the rounded +back of a whale. It was a whale which would deceive anyone who did not +test its hide with a harpoon, and whalers with harpoons large enough to +trouble such a monster were yet well in the future.</p> + +<p>Ashe slid a dugout into the water, and Ross climbed into that unsteady +craft, holding it against the side of the disguised sub until his +partner joined him. The day, misty and drizzling, made the shore they +aimed for a half-seen line across the water. With a shiver born of more +than cold, Ross dipped his paddle and helped Ashe send their crude boat +toward that half-hidden strip of land.</p> + +<p>There was no real dawn; the sky lightened somewhat, but the drizzle +continued. Green patches showed among the winter-denuded trees back from +the beach, but the countryside facing them gave an impression of untamed +wilderness. Ross knew from his briefing that the whole of Britain was as +yet only sparsely settled. The first wave of hunter-fishers to establish +villages had been joined by other invaders who built massive tombs and +had an elaborate religion. Small village-forts had been linked from hill +to hill by trackways. There were "factories," which turned out in bulk +such fine flint weapons and tools that a thriving industry was in full +operation, not yet having been superseded by the metal imported by the +Beaker merchants. Bronze was still so rare and costly that only the head +man of a village could hope to own one of the long daggers. Even the +arrowheads in Ross's quiver were chipped of flint.</p> + +<p>They drew the dugout well up onto the shore and ran it into a shallow +depression in the bank, heaping stones and brush about for its +concealment. Then Ashe intently surveyed the surrounding country, +seeking a landmark.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Inland from here...." Ashe used the language of the Beakermen, and Ross +knew that from now on he must not only live as a trader, but also think +as one. All other memories must be buried under the false one he had +learned; he must be interested in the present rate of exchange and the +chance for profit. The two men were on their way to Outpost Gog, where +Ashe's first partner, the redoubtable Sanford, was playing his role so +well.</p> + +<p>The rain squished in their hide boots, made sodden strings of their +cloaks, plastered their woven caps to their thick mats of hair. Yet Ashe +bore steadily on across the land with the certainty of one following a +marked trail. His self-confidence was rewarded within the first half +mile when they came out upon one of the link trackways, its beaten +surface testifying to constant use.</p> + +<p>Here Ashe turned eastward, stepping up the pace to a ground-covering +trot. The peace of the road held—at least by day. By night only the +most hardened and desperate outlaws would brave the harmful spirits +roving in the dark.</p> + +<p>All the lore that had been pounded into him at the base began to make +some sense to Ross as he followed his guide, sniffing strange wet smells +from the brush, the trees, and the damp earth; piecing together in his +mind what he had been taught and what he now saw for himself, until it +made a tight pattern.</p> + +<p>The track they were following sloped slightly upward, and a change in +the wind brought to them a sour odor, blanking out all normal scents. +Ashe halted so suddenly that Ross almost plowed into him. But he was +alerted by the older man's attitude.</p> + +<p>Something had been burned! Ross drew in a deep lungful of the smell and +then wished that he had not. It was wood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>—burned wood—and something +else. Since this was not possibly normal, he was prepared for the way +Ashe melted into cover in the brush.</p> + +<p>They worked their way, sometimes crawling on their bellies, through the +wet stands of dead grass, taking full advantage of all cover. They +crouched at the top of the hill while Ashe parted the prickly branches +of an evergreen bush to make them a window.</p> + +<p>The black patch left by the fire, which had come from a ruin above, had +spread downhill on the opposite side of the valley. Charred posts still +stood like lone teeth in a skull to mark what must have once been one of +the stockade walls of a post. But all they now guarded was a desolation +from which came that overpowering stench.</p> + +<p>"Our post?" Ross asked in a whisper.</p> + +<p>Ashe nodded. He was studying the scene with an intent absorption which, +Ross knew, would impress every important detail upon his mind. That the +place had been burned was clear from the first. But why and by whom was +a problem vital to the two lurking in the brush.</p> + +<p>It took them almost an hour to cross the valley—an hour of hiding, +casting about, searching. They had made a complete circle of the +destroyed post and Ashe stood in the shadow of a copse, rubbing clots of +mud from his hands and frowning up at the charred posts.</p> + +<p>"They weren't rushed. Or if they were, the attackers covered their trail +afterward—" Ross ventured.</p> + +<p>The older man shook his head. "Tribesmen would not have muddled a trail +if they had won. No, this was no regular attack. There have been no +signs of a war party coming or leaving."</p> + +<p>"Then what?" demanded Ross.</p> + +<p>"Lightning for one thing—and we'd better hope it was that.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> Or—" +Ashe's blue eyes were very cold and bleak, as cold and bleak as the +countryside about them.</p> + +<p>"Or—?" Ross dared to prompt him.</p> + +<p>"Or we have made contact with the Reds in the wrong way!"</p> + +<p>Ross's hand instinctively went to the dagger at his belt. Little help a +dagger would be in an unequal struggle like this! They were only two in +a thin web of men strung out through centuries of time with orders to +seek out that which did not fit properly into the pattern of the past: +to locate the enemy wherever in history or prehistory he had gone to +earth. Had the Reds been searching, too, and was this first disaster +their victory?</p> + +<p>The time traders had their evidence when they at last ventured into what +had been the heart of Outpost Gog. Ross, inexperienced as he was in such +matters, could not mistake the signs of the explosion. There was a +crater on the crown of the hill, and Ashe stood apart from it, eying the +fragments about them—scorched wood, blackened stone.</p> + +<p>"The Reds?"</p> + +<p>"It must have been. This damage was done by explosives."</p> + +<p>It was clear why Outpost Gog could not report the disaster. The attack +had destroyed their one link with the post on this time level; the +concealed communicator had gone up with the blast.</p> + +<p>"Eleven—" Ashe's finger tapped on the ornate buckle of his wide belt. +"We have about ten days to stick it out," he added, "and it seems we may +be able to use them to better advantage than just letting you learn how +it feels to walk about some four thousand years before you were born. We +have to find out—if we can—what happened here and why!"</p> + +<p>Ross gazed at the mess. "Dig?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Some digging is indicated."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + +<p>So they dug. Finally, black with charcoal smudges and sick with the +evidences of death they had chanced upon, they collapsed on the cleanest +spot they could find.</p> + +<p>"They must have hit at night," Ashe said slowly. "Only at that time +would they find everyone here. Men don't trust a night filled with +ghosts, and our agents conform to local custom as usual. All of the post +people could be erased with one bomb at night."</p> + +<p>All except two of them had been true Beaker traders, including women and +children. No Beaker trading post was large, and this one was unusually +small. The attacker had wiped out some twenty people, eighteen of them +innocent victims.</p> + +<p>"How long ago?" Ross wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Maybe two days. And this attack came without any warning, or Sandy +would have sent a message. He had no suspicions at all; his last reports +were all routine, which means that if they were on to him—and they must +have been, judging by the results—he was not even aware of it."</p> + +<p>"What do we do now?"</p> + +<p>Ashe looked at him. "We wash—no—" he corrected himself—"we don't! We +go to Nodren's village. We are frightened, grief-stricken. We have found +our kinsmen dead under strange circumstances. We ask questions of one to +whom I am known as an inhabitant of this post."</p> + +<p>So, covered with dirt, they walked along the trackway toward the +neighboring village with a weariness they did not have to counterfeit.</p> + +<p>The dog sighted or perhaps scented them first. It was a rough-coated +beast, showing its fangs with a wolflike ferocity. But it was smaller +than a wolf, and it barked between its warning snarls. Ashe brought his +bow from beneath the shelter of his cloak and held it ready.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ho, one comes to speak with Nodren—Nodren of the Hill!"</p> + +<p>Only the dog snapped and snarled. Ashe rubbed his forearm across his +face, the gesture of a weary and heartsick man, smearing the ash and +grime into an awesome mask.</p> + +<p>"Who speaks to Nodren—?" There was a different twist to the +pronunciation of some words, but Ross was able to understand.</p> + +<p>"One who has hunted with him and feasted with him. The one who gave into +his hand the friendship gift of the ever-sharp knife. It is Assha of the +traders——"</p> + +<p>"Go far from us, man of ill luck. You who are hunted by the evil +spirits." The last was a shrill cry.</p> + +<p>Ashe remained where he was, facing into the bushes which hid the +tribesman.</p> + +<p>"Who speaks for Nodren yet not with the voice of Nodren?" he demanded. +"This is Assha who asks. We have drunk blood together and faced the +white wolf and the wild boar in their fury. Nodren lets not others speak +for him, for Nodren is a man and a chief!"</p> + +<p>"And you are cursed!" A stone flew through the air, striking a rain pool +and spattering mud on Ashe's boots. "Go and take your evil with you!"</p> + +<p>"Is it from the hand of Nodren or Nodren's young men that doom came upon +those of my blood? Have war arrows passed between the place of the +traders and the town of Nodren? Is that why you hide in the shadows so +that I, Assha, cannot look upon the face of one who speaks boldly and +throws stones?"</p> + +<p>"No war arrows between us, trader. <i>We</i> do not provoke the spirits of +the hills. No fire comes from the sky at night to eat us up with a noise +of many thunders. Lurgha speaks in such thunders; Lurgha's hand smites +with such fire. You have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> the Wrath of Lurgha upon you, trader! Keep +away from us lest Lurgha's wrath fall upon us also."</p> + +<p>Lurgha was the local storm god, Ross recalled. The sound of thunder and +fire coming out of the sky at night—the bomb! Perhaps the very method +of attack on the post would defeat Ashe's attempt to learn anything from +these neighbors. The superstitions of the people would lead them to shun +both the site of the post and Ashe himself as cursed and taboo.</p> + +<p>"If the Wrath of Lurgha had struck at Assha, would Assha still live to +walk upon this road?" Ashe prodded the ground with the tip of his +bowstave. "Yet Assha walks, as you see him; Assha talks, as you hear +him. It is ridiculous to answer him with the nonsense of little +children——"</p> + +<p>"Spirits so walk and talk to unlucky men," retorted the man in hiding. +"It may be the spirit of Assha who does so now—"</p> + +<p>Ashe made a sudden leap. There was a flurry of action behind the bush +screen and he reappeared, dragging into the gray light of the rainy day +a wriggling captive, whom he bumped without ceremony onto the beaten +earth of the road.</p> + +<p>The man was bearded, wearing his thick mop of black hair in a round +topknot secured by a hide loop. He wore a skin tunic, now in +considerable disarray, which was held in place with a woven, tasseled +belt.</p> + +<p>"Ho, so it is Lal of the Quick Tongue who speaks so loudly of spirits +and the Wrath of Lurgha!" Ashe studied his captive. "Now, Lal, since you +speak for Nodren—which I believe will greatly surprise him—you will +continue to tell me of this Wrath of Lurgha from the night skies and +what has happened to Sanfra, who was my brother, and those others of my +kin. I am Assha, and you know of the wrath of Assha and how it ate up +Twist-tooth, the outlaw, when he came in with his evil men. The Wrath of +Lurgha is hot, but so too is the wrath of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> Assha." Ashe contorted his +face in such a way that Lal squirmed and looked away. When the tribesman +spoke, all his former authority and bluster had gone.</p> + +<p>"Assha knows that I am as his dog. Let him not turn upon me his +swift-cutting big knife, nor the arrows from his lightning bow. It was +the Wrath of Lurgha which smote the place on the hill, first the thunder +of his fist meeting the earth, and then the fire which he breathed upon +those whom he would slay——"</p> + +<p>"And this you saw with your own eyes, Lal?"</p> + +<p>The shaggy head shook an emphatic negative. "Assha knows that Lal is no +chief who can stand and look upon the wonders of Lurgha's might and keep +his eyes in his head. Nodren himself saw this wonder——"</p> + +<p>"And if Lurgha came in the night, when all men keep to their homes and +leave the outer world to the restless spirits, how did Nodren see his +coming?"</p> + +<p>Lal crouched lower to the ground, his eyes darting to the bushes and the +freedom they promised, then back to Ashe's firmly planted boots.</p> + +<p>"I am not a chief, Assha. How could I know in what way or for what +reason Nodren saw the coming of Lurgha——?"</p> + +<p>"Fool!" A second voice, that of a woman, spat the word from the brush +which fringed the roadway. "Speak to Assha with a straight tongue. If he +is a spirit, he will know that you do not tell him the truth. And if he +has been spared by Lurgha...." She showed her wonderment with a hiss of +indrawn breath.</p> + +<p>So urged, Lal mumbled sullenly, "It is said that there came a message +for one to witness the Wrath of Lurgha in its descent upon the +outlanders so that Nodren and the men of Nodren would truly know that +the traders were cursed, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> should be put to the spear should they +come here again——"</p> + +<p>"This message—how was it brought? Did the voice of Lurgha sound in +Nodren's ear alone, or came it by the tongue of some man?"</p> + +<p>"Ahee!" Lal lay flat on the ground, his hands over his ears.</p> + +<p>"Lal is a fool and fears his own shadow as it skips before him on a +sunny day!" Out of the bushes stepped a young woman, obviously of some +importance in her own group. Walking with a proud stride, her eyes +boldly met Ashe's. A shining disk hung about her neck on a thong, and +another decorated the woven belt of her cloth tunic. Her hair was bound +in a thread net fastened with jet pins.</p> + +<p>"I greet Cassca, who is the First Sower." There was a formal note in +Ashe's voice. "But why should Cassca hide from Assha?"</p> + +<p>"There has been death on your hill, Assha—" she sniffed—"you smell of +it now—Lurgha's death. Those who come from that hill may well be some +who no longer walk in their bodies." Cassca placed her fingers +momentarily on Ashe's outstretched palm before she nodded. "No spirit +are you, Assha, for all know that a spirit is solid to the eye, but not +to the touch. So it would seem that you were not burned up by Lurgha, +after all."</p> + +<p>"This matter of a message from Lurgha—" he prompted.</p> + +<p>"It came out of the empty air in the hearing not only of Nodren, but +also of Hangor, Effar, and myself, Cassca. For we stood at that time +near the Old Place...." She made a curious gesture with the fingers of +her right hand. "It will soon be the time of sowing, and though Lurgha +brings sun and rain to feed the grain, yet it is in the Great Mother +that the seed lies. Upon her business only women may go into the Inner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +Circle." She gestured again. "But as we met to make the first sacrifice +there came music out of the air such as we have never heard, voices +singing like birds in a strange tongue." Her face assumed an awesome +expression. "Afterward a voice said that Lurgha was angered with the +hill of the men-from-afar and that in the night he would send his Wrath +against them, and that Nodren must witness this thing so that he could +see what Lurgha did to those he would punish. So it was done by Nodren. +And there was a sound in the air——"</p> + +<p>"What kind of a sound?" Ashe asked quietly.</p> + +<p>"Nodren said it was a hum and there was the dark shadow of Lurgha's bird +between him and the stars. Then came the smiting of the hill with +thunder and lightning, and Nodren fled, for the Wrath of Lurgha is a +fearsome thing. Now do the people come to the Great Mother's Place with +many fine offerings that she may stand between them and that Wrath."</p> + +<p>"Assha thanks Cassca, who is the handmaiden of the Great Mother. May the +sowing prosper and the reaping be good this year!" Ashe said finally, +ignoring Lal, who still groveled on the road.</p> + +<p>"You go from this place, Assha?" she asked. "For though I stand under +the protecting hand of the Mother and so do not fear, yet there are +others who will raise their spears against you for the honor of Lurgha."</p> + +<p>"We go, and again thanks be to you, Cassca."</p> + +<p>He turned back the way they had come, and Ross fell in beside him as the +woman watched them out of sight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_6" id="CHAPTER_6"></a>CHAPTER 6</h2> + + +<p>"That bird of Lurgha's—" said Ross, once they were out of sight of +Cassca and Lal, "could it have been a plane?"</p> + +<p>"Sounds like it," snapped his companion. "If the Reds have done their +work efficiently, and there's no reason to suppose otherwise, then there +is no use in contacting either Dorhta's town or Munga's. The same +announcement concerning the Wrath of Lurgha was probably made there—to +their good purpose, not ours."</p> + +<p>"Cassca didn't seem to be overly impressed with Lurgha's curse, not as +much as the man was."</p> + +<p>"She is the closest thing to a priestess that this tribe knows, and she +serves a goddess older and more powerful than Lurgha—the Mother Earth, +the Great Mother, goddess of fertility and growth. Nodren's people +believe that unless Cassca performs her mysteries and sows part of the +first field in the spring there won't be any harvest. Consequently, she +is secure in her office and doesn't fear the Wrath of Lurgha too much. +These people are now changing from one type of worship to another, but +some of Cassca's beliefs will persist clear down to our day,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> taking on +the coating of 'magic' and a lot of other enameling along the way."</p> + +<p>Ashe had been talking as a man talks to cover up furious thinking. Now +he paused again and turned toward the sea. "We have to stick it out +somewhere until the sub comes to pick us up. We'll need shelter."</p> + +<p>"Will the tribesmen be after us?"</p> + +<p>"They may well be. Let the right men get to talking up a holy +extermination of those upon whom the Wrath of Lurgha has fallen and we +could be in for plenty of trouble. Some of those men are trained hunters +and trackers, and the Reds may have planted an agent to report the +return of anyone to our post. Just now we're about the most important +time travelers out, for we know the Reds have appeared on this line. +They must have a large post here, too, or they couldn't have sent a +plane on that raid. You can't build a time transport large enough to +take through a considerable amount of material. Everything used by us in +this age has to be assembled on this side, and the use of all machines +is limited to where they can not be seen by any natives. Luckily large +sections of this world are mostly wilderness and unpopulated in the +areas where we operate the base posts. So if the Reds have a plane, it +was put together here, and that means a big post somewhere." Again Ashe +was thinking aloud as he pushed ahead of Ross into the fringes of a +wood. "Sandy and I scouted this territory pretty well last spring. There +is a cave about half a mile to the west; it will shelter us for +tonight."</p> + +<p>Ashe's plans would probably have been easily accomplished if the cave +had been unoccupied. Without incident they came down into a hollow +through which trickled a small stream, its banks laced with a thin +edging of ice. Under Ashe's direction Ross collected an armload of +firewood. He was no woodsman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> and his prolonged exposure to the chilling +drizzle made him eager for even the very rough shelter of a cave, so +eager that he plunged forward carelessly. His foot came down on a +slippery patch of mud, sending him sprawling on his face. There was a +growl, and a white bulk rushed him. The cloak, rucked up about his +throat and shoulders, then saved his life, for only stout cloth was +caught between those fangs.</p> + +<p>With a startled cry, Ross rolled as he might have to escape a man's +attack, struggling to unsheath his dagger. A white-hot flash of pain +scored his upper arm. The breath was driven out of him as a fight raged +over his prone body; he heard grunts, snarls, and was severely pommeled. +Then he was free as the bodies broke away. Shaken, he got to his knees. +A short distance away the fight was still in progress. He saw Ashe +straddle the body of a huge white wolf, his legs clamped about the +animal's haunches, his hooked arm under the beast's head, forcing it up +and back while his dagger rose and sank twice in the underparts of the +heaving body.</p> + +<p>Ross held his own weapon ready. He leaped from a half crouch, and his +dagger sank cleanly home behind the short ribs. One of their blows must +have reached the animal's heart. With an almost human cry the wolf +stiffened convulsively. Then it was still. Ashe squatted near it, +methodically driving his dagger into the moist soil to clean the blade.</p> + +<p>A red rivulet trickled down his thigh where the lower edge of his +kilt-tunic had been ripped up to the link belt. He was breathing hard, +but otherwise he was as composed as always. "These sometimes hunt in +pairs at this season," he observed. "Be ready with your bow—"</p> + +<p>Ross strung his with the cord he had been keeping dry within the breast +folds of his tunic. He fitted an arrow to the string, grateful to be a +passable marksman. The slash on his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> arm smarted in protest as he moved, +and he noted that Ashe did not try to get up.</p> + +<p>"A bad one?" Ross indicated the blood now thickening into a stream along +Ashe's thigh.</p> + +<p>Ashe pulled away the torn tunic and exposed a nasty looking gash on the +outside of his hip. He pressed his palm against the gaping wound and +motioned Ross to scout ahead. "See if the cave is clear. We can't do +anything until we know that."</p> + +<p>Reluctantly Ross followed the stream until he found the cave, a +snug-looking place with an overhang to keep it dry. The unpleasant smell +of a lair hung about its mouth. He chose a stone from the stream, +chucked it into the dark opening, and waited. The stone rattled as it +struck an inner wall, but there was no other sound. A second stone from +a different angle followed the first, with the same results. Ross was +now certain that the cave was unoccupied. Once they were inside with a +fire going at the entrance, they could hope to keep it free of +intruders. A little heartened, he cast about a bit upstream and then +turned back to where he had left Ashe.</p> + +<p>"No male?" the other greeted him. "This is a female, and she was close +to whelping—" He nudged the white wolf with his toe. His hands held a +pad of rags against his hip, and his face was shaded with pain.</p> + +<p>"Nothing in the cave anyway. Let's see about this...." Ross laid aside +the bow and kneeled to examine Ashe's thigh wound. His own slash was +more of a smarting graze, but this tear was deep and ugly.</p> + +<p>"Second plate—belt—" Ashe got the words out between set teeth, and +Ross clicked open the hidden recess in the other's bronze belt to bring +out a small packet. Ashe made a wry face as he swallowed three of the +pills within. Ross mashed another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> pill onto the bandage he prepared, +and when the last cumbersome fold was secure Ashe relaxed.</p> + +<p>"Let us hope that works," he commented a little bleakly. "Now come here +where I can get my hands on you and let me see your scratch. Animal +bites can be a nasty business."</p> + +<p>Bandaged in turn, with the bitterness of the anti-septo pill on his +tongue, Ross helped Ashe limp upstream to the cave. He left the older +man outside while he cleaned up the floor of the cave and then made his +companion as comfortable as he could on a bed of bracken. The fire Ross +had longed for was built. They stripped off their sodden clothing and +hung it to dry. Ross wrapped a bird he had shot in clay and tucked it +under the hot coals to be roasted.</p> + +<p>They had surely had bad luck, he thought, but they were now undercover, +had a fire, and food of a sort. His arm ached, sharp pain shooting from +fingers to elbow when he moved it. Though Ashe made no complaint, Ross +gauged that the older man's discomfort was far worse than his own, and +he carefully hid all signs of his own twinges.</p> + +<p>They ate the bird, saltless, and with their fingers. Ross savored each +greasy bite, licking his hands clean afterward while Ashe lay back on +the improvised bed, his face gaunt in the half light of the fire.</p> + +<p>"We are about five miles from the sea here. There is no way of raising +our base now that Sandy's installation is gone. I'll have to lay up, +since I can't risk any more loss of blood. And you're not too good in +the woods—"</p> + +<p>Ross accepted that valuation with a new humbleness. He was only too well +aware that if it had not been for Ashe, he and not the white wolf would +have died down in the valley. Yet a strange shyness kept him from trying +to put his thanks into words. The only kind of amends he could make for +the other's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> hurt was to provide hands, feet, and strength for the man +who did know what to do and how to do it.</p> + +<p>"We'll have to hunt—" he ventured.</p> + +<p>"Deer," Ashe caught him up. "But the marsh at the mouth of this stream +provides a better hunting ground than inland. If the wolf laired here +very long, she has already frightened away any large game. It isn't the +matter of food which bothers me——"</p> + +<p>"It is being tied up here," Ross filled in for him with some daring. +"But look here, I'll take orders. This is your territory, and I'm green +at the game. You tell me what to do, and I'll do it the best that I +can." He glanced up to find Ashe surveying him intently, but as usual +there was no readable expression on the other's brown face.</p> + +<p>"The first thing to do is get the wolf's hide," Ashe said briskly. "Then +bury the carcass. You'd better drag it up here to work on it. If her +mate is hanging around, he might try to jump you."</p> + +<p>Why Ashe should think it necessary to acquire the wolf skin puzzled +Ross, but he asked no questions. His skinning task took four times as +long and was far from being the neat job the shock-haired man of the +record tape had accomplished. Ross had to wash himself off in the stream +before piling stones over the corpse in temporary burial. When he pulled +his bloody burden back to the cave, Ashe lay with his eyes closed. Ross +thankfully sat on his own pile of bracken and tried not to notice the +throbbing ache in his arm.</p> + +<p>He must have fallen asleep, for when he roused it was to see Ashe crawl +over to mend the dying fire from their store of wood. Ross, angry at +himself, beat the other to the task.</p> + +<p>"Get back," he said roughly. "This is my job. I didn't mean to fail."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>Surprisingly, Ashe settled back without a word, leaving Ross to sit by +the fire, a fire he was very glad to have a moment or so later when a +wailing howl sounded down-wind. If this was not the white wolf's mate, +then it was another of her kin who prowled the upper reaches of the +small valley.</p> + +<p>The next day, having provided Ashe with a supply of firewood, Ross went +to try his luck in the marsh. The thick drizzle which had hung over the +land the day before was gone, and he faced a clear, bright morning, +though the breeze had an icy snap. But it was a good morning to be alive +and out in the open, and Ross's spirits rose.</p> + +<p>He tried to put to use all the woodlore he had learned at the base. But +it was one thing to learn something academically and another to put that +learning into practice. He was uncomfortably certain that Ashe would not +have found his showing very good.</p> + +<p>The marsh was a series of pools between rank growths of leafless willows +and coarse tufts of grass, with hillocks of firmer soil rising like +islands. Ross, approaching with caution, was glad of it, for from one of +those hillocks arose a trail of white smoke, and he saw a black blot +which was probably a rude hut. Why one should choose to live in the +midst of such country he could not guess, though it might be merely the +temporary camp of some hunter.</p> + +<p>Ross also saw thousands of birds feeding greedily on the dried seed of +the marsh grasses, paddling in the pools, and setting up a clamor to +drive a man mad. They did not seem in the least disturbed by that +distant camper.</p> + +<p>Ross had reason to be proud of his marksmanship that morning. He had in +his quiver perhaps half a dozen of the lighter shafts made for shooting +birds. In place of the finely chipped and wickedly barbed flint points +used for heavier<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> game, these were tipped with needle-sharp, light bone +heads. He had a string of four birds looped together by their feet +within almost as many minutes. For the flocks rose in their first alarm +only to settle again to feast.</p> + +<p>Then he knocked over a hare—a fat giant of its race—that stared at him +brazenly from a tussock. The hare kicked back into a pool in its death +struggle, however, and Ross was forced to leave cover to retrieve its +body. But he was alert and he stood up, dagger out and ready, to greet +the man who parted the bushes to watch him.</p> + +<p>For a long minute gray eyes stared into brown ones, and then Ross noted +the other's bedraggled and tattered dress. The kilt-tunic smudged with +mud, scorched and charred along one edge, was styled like his own. The +fellow wore his hair fastened back with a band, unlike the topknot of +the local tribesman.</p> + +<p>Ross, his dagger still ready, broke the silence first. "I am a believer +in the fire and the fashioned metal, the climbing sun, and the moving +water." He repeated the recognition speech of the Beakermen.</p> + +<p>"The fire warms by the grace of Tulden, the metal is fashioned by the +mystery of the smith, the sun climbs without our aid, and who can stop +the water from running?" The stranger's voice was hoarse. Now that Ross +had time to examine him more closely he saw the dark bruise on his +exposed shoulder, the raw red mark of a burn running across the man's +broad chest. He dared to test his surmise concerning the other.</p> + +<p>"I am of the kin of Assha. We returned to the hill——"</p> + +<p>"Ashe!"</p> + +<p>Not "Assha" but "Ashe!" Ross, though sure of that pronunciation, was +still cautious. "You are from the hill place, where Lurgha smote with +thunder and fire?"</p> + +<p>The man slid his long legs across the log which had been his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> shelter. +The burn across his chest was not his only brand, for Ross noticed +another red stripe, puffed and fiery looking, which swelled the calf of +one leg. The man studied Ross closely, and then his fingers moved in a +sign which to the uninitiated native might have been one for the warding +off of evil, but which to Ross was the "thumbs up" of his own age.</p> + +<p>"Sanford?"</p> + +<p>At that name the man shook his head. "McNeil," he named himself. "Where +is Ashe?"</p> + +<p>He might really be what he seemed, but on the other hand, he could be a +Red spy. Ross had not forgotten Kurt. "What happened?" he parried one +question with another.</p> + +<p>"Bomb. The Reds must have spotted us, and we didn't have a chance. We +weren't expecting any trouble. I'd been down to see about a missing +burden donkey and was about halfway back up the hill when she hit. When +I came to I was all the way down the hill with part of the fort on top +of me. The rest.... Well, you saw the place, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>Ross nodded. "What are you doing here?"</p> + +<p>McNeil spread his hands in a tired little gesture. "I tried to talk to +Nodren, but they stoned me away. I knew that Ashe was coming through and +hoped to reach him when he hit the beach, but I was too late. Then I +figured he would pass here to make contact with the sub, so I was +waiting it out until I saw you. Where is Ashe?"</p> + +<p>It all sounded logical enough. Still, with Ashe injured, Ross was taking +no chances. He pushed his dagger back into its sheath and picked up the +hare. "Stay here," he told McNeil, "I'll be back——"</p> + +<p>"But—wait! Where's Ashe, you young fool? We have to get together."</p> + +<p>Ross went on. He was sure that the stranger was in no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> shape to race +after him, and he would lay a muddled trail before he returned to the +cave valley. If this man was a Red plant, he would have to reckon with +one who had already met Kurt Vogel.</p> + +<p>The laying of that muddled trail took time. It was past midday when Ross +came back to Ashe, who was sitting up by the mouth of the cave at the +fire, using his dagger to fashion a crutch out of a length of sapling. +He surveyed Ross's burden with approval, but lost interest in the +promise of food as soon as the other reported his meeting in the marsh.</p> + +<p>"McNeil—chap with brown hair, brown eyes, a right eyebrow which quirks +up toward his hairline when he smiles?"</p> + +<p>"Brown hair and eyes, okay—and he didn't smile any."</p> + +<p>"Chip broken off a front tooth—upper right?"</p> + +<p>Ross shut his eyes to visualize the stranger. Yes, there had been a +small break on a front tooth. He nodded.</p> + +<p>"That's McNeil. Not that you didn't do right not to bring him here +without being sure. What made you so watchful? Kurt?"</p> + +<p>Again Ross nodded. "And what you said about the Reds' planting someone +here to wait for us."</p> + +<p>Ashe scratched the bristles on his chin. "Never underrate them—we don't +dare do that. But the man you met is McNeil, and we'd better get him +here. Can you bring him?"</p> + +<p>"I think he's able to get about, in spite of that leg. From his story +he's been stirring around."</p> + +<p>Ashe bit absent-mindedly into a piece of hare and swore mildly when he +burned his tongue. "Odd that Cassca didn't tell us about him. Unless she +thought there was no use causing trouble by admitting they had driven +him away. You going now?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross moved around the fire. "Might as well. He didn't look too +comfortable. And I'll bet he's hungry."</p> + +<p>He took the direct route back to the marsh, but this time no thread of +smoke spiraled into the air. Ross hesitated. That shelter on the small +island was surely the place where McNeil had holed up. Should he try to +work his way out to it now? Or had something happened to the man while +he was gone?</p> + +<p>Again that sixth sense of impending disaster, which is perhaps bred into +some men, alerted Ross. Why he turned suddenly and backed against a +bushy willow, he could not have explained. However, because he did so +the loop of hide rope meant for his throat hit his shoulder harmlessly. +It fell to the ground, and he stamped one boot down on it. Then it was +the work of seconds to grasp it and give it a quick jerk. The surprised +man who held the other end was brought sprawling into the open.</p> + +<p>Ross had seen that round face before. "Lal of the town of Nodren." He +found words to greet the ropeman even as his knee came up against the +fellow's jaw, jarring Lal so that he dropped a flint knife. Ross kicked +it into the willows. "What do you hunt here, Lal?"</p> + +<p>"Traders!" The voice was weak, but it held heat.</p> + +<p>The tribesman did not try to struggle against Ross's hold, and Ross, +gripping him by the nape of the neck, moved through a screen of brush to +a hollow. Luckily there was no water cupped there, for McNeil lay in the +bottom of that dip, his arms tied tightly behind him and his ankles +lashed together with no thought for the pain of his burned leg.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_7" id="CHAPTER_7"></a>CHAPTER 7</h2> + + +<p>Ross whirled the rope which had been meant to bring him down around Lal. +He lashed the tribesman's arms tight to his body before he knelt to cut +loose his fellow time traveler. Lal now huddled against the far wall of +the cup, fear in every line of his small body. So apparent was this fear +that Ross felt no satisfaction at turning the tables on him. Instead he +felt increasingly uneasy.</p> + +<p>"What is this all about?" he asked McNeil as he stripped off his bonds +and helped him up.</p> + +<p>McNeil massaged his wrists, took a step or two, and grimaced with pain. +"Our friend seeks to be an obedient servant of Lurgha."</p> + +<p>Ross picked up his bow. "The tribe is out to hunt us?"</p> + +<p>"Lurgha has ordered—out of thin air again—that any traders who escaped +are to be brought in and introduced to him personally at the sacrifice +for the enrichment of the fields!"</p> + +<p>The old, old gift of blood and life at the spring sowing. Ross recalled +grisly details from his cram lessons. Any wandering stranger or enemy +tribesman taken in a raid before that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> day would meet such a fate. On +unlucky years when people were not available a deer or wolf might serve. +But the best sacrifice of all was a man. So Lurgha had decreed—from the +air—that traders were his meat? What of Ashe? Let any hunter from the +village track him down.</p> + +<p>"We have to move fast," Ross told McNeil as he took up the rope which +made a leading cord for Lal. Ashe would want to question the tribesman +about this second order from Lurgha.</p> + +<p>Impatient as Ross was, he had to mend his pace to accommodate McNeil. +The man from the hill post was close to the end of his strength. He had +started off bravely enough, but now he wavered. Ross sent Lal ahead with +a sharp push, ordering him to stay there, while he went to McNeil's aid. +It was well into the afternoon before they came up the stream and saw +the fire before the cave.</p> + +<p>"Macna!" Ashe hailed Ross's companion with the native version of his +name. "And Lal. But what do you here, Lal of Nodren's town?"</p> + +<p>"Mischief." Ross helped McNeil within the cave and to the pile of brush +which was his own bed. "He was hunting traders as a present for Lurgha."</p> + +<p>"So—" Ashe turned upon the tribesman—"and by whose word did you go +hunting my kinsman, Lal? Was it Nodren's? Has he forgotten the blood +bond between us? For it was in the name of Lurgha himself that that bond +was made——"</p> + +<p>"Aaaah—" The tribesman squatted down against the wall where Ross had +shoved him. Unable to hide his head in his arms, he brought his face +down upon his knees so that only his shaggy topknot of hair was exposed. +Ross realized, with stupefaction, that the little man was crying like a +child, his hunched shoulders rising and falling with the force of his +sobs. "Aaaah—" he wailed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ashe allowed him a moment or two of noisy grief and then limped over to +grasp his topknot and pull up his head. Lal's eyes were screwed tightly +shut, but there were tears on his cheeks, and his mouth twisted in +another wail.</p> + +<p>"Be quiet!" Ashe shook him, but not too harshly. "Have you yet felt the +bite of my sharp knife? Has an arrow holed your skin? You are alive, and +you could be dead. Show that you are glad you live and continue to +breathe by telling us what you know, Lal."</p> + +<p>The woman Cassca had displayed a measure of intelligence and ease at +their meeting upon the road. But it was very plain that Lal was of +different stuff, a simple man in whose head few ideas could find house +room at one time. And to him the present was all black. Little by little +they dragged the story out of him.</p> + +<p>Lal was poor, so poor that he had never dared dream of owning for +himself some of the precious things the hill traders displayed to the +wealthy of Nodren's town. But he was also a follower of the Great +Mother's, rather than one who made sacrifices to Lurgha. Lurgha was the +god for warriors and great men; he was too high to concern himself with +such as Lal.</p> + +<p>So when Nodren reported the end of the hill post under the storm fist of +Lurgha, Lal had been impressed only to a point. He was still convinced +it was none of his concern, and instead he began thinking of the +treasures which might lie hidden in the destroyed buildings. It occurred +to him that Lurgha's Wrath had been laid upon the men who had owned +them, but perhaps it would not stretch to the fine things themselves. So +he had gone secretly to the hill to explore.</p> + +<p>What he had seen there had utterly converted him to a belief in the fury +of Lurgha and he had been frightened out of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> simple wits, fleeing +without making the search he had intended. But Lurgha had seen him +there, had read his impious thoughts....</p> + +<p>At that point Ashe interrupted the stream of Lal's story. How had Lurgha +seen Lal?</p> + +<p>Because—Lal shuddered, began to cry again, and spoke the next few +sentences haltingly—that very morning when he had gone out to hunt wild +fowl in the marshes Lurgha had spoken to <i>him</i>, to Lal, who was less +than a flea creeping upon a worn-out fur rug.</p> + +<p>And how had Lurgha spoken? Ashe's voice was softer, gentle.</p> + +<p>Out of the air, even as he had spoken to Nodren, who was a chief. He +said that he had seen Lal in the hill post, and so Lal was his meat. But +not yet would he eat him, not if Lal served him in other ways. And he, +Lal, had lain flat on the ground before the bodiless voice of Lurgha and +had sworn that he would serve Lurgha to the end of his life.</p> + +<p>Then Lurgha had told him to hunt down one of the evil traders who was +hiding in the marshes, and bind him with ropes. Then he was to call the +men of the village and together they would carry the prisoner to the +hill where Lurgha had loosed his wrath, and there they would leave him. +Later they might return and take what they found there and use it to +bless the fields at sowing time, and all would be well with Nodren's +village. And Lal had sworn that he would do as Lurgha bade, but now he +could not. So Lurgha would eat him up—he was a man without hope.</p> + +<p>"Yet," Ashe said even more gently, "have you not served the Great Mother +all these years, giving to her a portion of the first fruits even when +the yield of your one field was small?"</p> + +<p>Lal stared at him, his woebegone face still smeared with tears. It took +a second or two for the question to penetrate his fear-clouded mind. +Then he nodded timidly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Has she not dealt with you well in return, Lal? You are a poor man, +that is true. But you are not gaunt of belly, even though this is the +thin season when men fast before the coming of the new harvest. The +Great Mother watches over her own. And it is she who has brought you to +us now. For this I say to you, Lal, and I, Assha of the traders, speak +with a straight tongue. The Lurgha who struck our post, who spoke to you +from the air, means you no good——"</p> + +<p>"Aaaah!" wailed Lal. "So do I know, Assha. He is of the blackness and +the wandering spirits of the dark!"</p> + +<p>"Just so. Thus he is no kin to the mother, for she is of the light and +of good things, of the new grain, and the newborn lambs for your flocks, +of the maids who wed with men and bring forth sons to lift their +fathers' spears, daughters to spin by the hearth and sow the yellow +grain in the furrows. Lurgha's quarrel lies with us, Lal, not with +Nodren nor with you. And we take upon us that quarrel." He limped into +the outer air where the shadows of evening were beginning to creep +across the ground.</p> + +<p>"Hear me, Lurgha," he called into the coming night, "I am Assha of the +traders, and upon myself I take your hate. Not upon Lal, nor upon +Nodren, nor upon the people who live in Nodren's town, shall your wrath +lie. Thus do I say it!"</p> + +<p>Ross, noticing that Ashe concealed from Lal a wave of his hand, was +prepared for some display meant to impress the tribesman. It came in a +spectacular burst of green fire beyond the stream. Lal wailed again, but +when that fire was followed by no other manifestation he ventured to +raise his head once more.</p> + +<p>"You have seen how Lurgha answered me, Lal. Toward me only will his +wrath be turned. Now—" Ashe limped back and dragged out the white wolf +skin, dropping it before Lal—"this you will give to Cassca that she may +make a curtain for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> the Mother's home. See, it is white and so rare that +the Mother will be pleased with such a fine gift. And you will tell her +all that has chanced and how you believe in her powers over the powers +of Lurgha, and the Mother will be well pleased with you. But you shall +say nothing to the men of the village, for this quarrel is between +Lurgha and Assha now and not for the meddling of others."</p> + +<p>He unfastened the rope which bound Lal's arms. Lal reached out a hand to +the wolf skin, his eyes filled with wonderment. "This is a fine thing +you give me, Assha, and the Mother will be pleased, for in many years +she has not had such a curtain for her secret place. Also, I am but a +little man; the quarrels of great ones are not for me. Since Lurgha has +accepted your words this is none of my affair. Yet I will not go back to +the village for a while—with your permission, Assha. For I am a man of +loose and wagging tongue and oftentimes I speak what I do not really +wish to say. So if I am asked questions, I answer. If I am not there to +be asked such questions, I cannot answer."</p> + +<p>McNeil laughed, and Ashe smiled. "Well enough, Lal. Perhaps you are a +wiser man than you think. But also I do not believe you should stay +here."</p> + +<p>The tribesman was already nodding. "That do I say, too, Assha. You are +now facing the Wrath of Lurgha, and with that I wish no part. Thus I +shall go into the marsh for a while. There are birds and hares to hunt, +and I shall work upon this fine skin so that when I take it to the +Mother it shall indeed be a gift worth her smiles. Now, Assha, I would +go before the night comes if it pleases you."</p> + +<p>"Go with good fortune, Lal." Ashe stood apart while the tribesman ducked +his head in a shy, awkward farewell to the others, pattering out into +the valley.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What if they pick him up?" McNeil asked wearily.</p> + +<p>"I don't think they can," Ashe returned. "And what would you do—keep +him here? If we tried that, he'd scheme to escape and try to turn the +tables on us. Now he'll keep away from Nodren's village and out of sight +for the time being. Lal's not too bright in some ways, but he's a good +hunter. If he has reason for hiding out, it'll take a better hunter to +track him. At least we know now that the Reds are afraid they did not +make a clean sweep here. What happened, McNeil?"</p> + +<p>While he was telling his story in more detail both Ashe and Ross worked +on his burns, making him comfortable. Then Ashe sat back as Ross +prepared food.</p> + +<p>"How did they spot the post?" Ashe rubbed his chin and frowned at the +fire.</p> + +<p>"Only way I can guess is that they picked up our post signal and +pinpointed the source. That means they must have been hunting us for +some time."</p> + +<p>"No strangers about lately?"</p> + +<p>McNeil shook his head. "Our cover wasn't broken that way. Sanford was a +wonder. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn he was born one of +the Beaker folk. He had a network of informants running all the way from +here into Brittany. Amazing how he was able to work without arousing any +suspicions. I suppose his being a member of the smiths' guild was a big +help. He could pick up a lot of news from any village where there was +one at work. And I tell you," McNeil propped himself up on his elbow to +exclaim more vehemently—"there wasn't a whisper of trouble from here +clear across the channel and pretty far to the north. We were already +sure the south was clean before we ever took cover as Beakers, +especially since their clans are thick in Spain."</p> + +<p>Ashe chewed a broiled wing reflectively. "Their permanent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> base with the +transport <i>has</i> to be somewhere within the bounds of the territory they +hold in our own time."</p> + +<p>"They could plant it in Siberia and laugh at us," McNeil exploded. "No +hope of our getting in there——"</p> + +<p>"No." Ashe threw the stripped bone into the fire and licked grease from +his fingers. "Then they would be faced with the old problem of distance. +If what they are exploiting lay within their modern boundaries, we would +never have tumbled to the thing in the first place. What the Reds want +must lie outside their twentieth century holdings, a slender point in +our favor. Therefore they will plant their shift point as close to it as +they can. Our transportation problem is more difficult than theirs will +ever be.</p> + +<p>"You know why we chose the arctic for our base; it lies in a section of +the world never populated by other than roving hunters. But I'll wager +anything you want to name that their point is somewhere in Europe where +they have people to contend with. If they are using a plane, they can't +risk its being seen——"</p> + +<p>"I don't see why not," Ross broke in. "These people couldn't possibly +know what it was—Lurgha's bird—magic—"</p> + +<p>Ashe shook his head. "They must have the interference-with-history worry +as much as we have. Anything of our own time has to be hidden or +disguised in such a way that the native who may stumble upon it will +never know it is man-made. Our sub is a whale to all appearances. +Possibly their plane is a bird, but neither can bear too close an +examination. We don't know what could result from a leak of real +knowledge in this or any primitive time ... how it might change +history——"</p> + +<p>"But," Ross advanced what he believed to be the best argument against +that reasoning, "suppose I handed Lal a gun and taught him to use it. He +couldn't duplicate the weapon—the technology required lies so far +beyond this age. These people couldn't reproduce such a thing."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"True enough. On the other hand, don't belittle the ingenuity of the +smiths or the native intelligence of men in any era. These tribesmen +might not be able to reproduce your gun, but it would set them thinking +along new lines. We might find that they would think our time right out +of being. No, we dare not play tricks with the past. This is the same +situation we faced immediately after the discovery of the atom bomb. +Everybody raced to produce that new weapon and then sat around and +shivered for fear we'd be crazy enough to use it on each other.</p> + +<p>"The Reds have made new discoveries which we have to match, or we will +go under. But back in time we have to be careful, both of us, or perhaps +destroy the world we do live in."</p> + +<p>"What do we do now?" McNeil wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Murdock and I came here only for a trial run. It's his test. The sub is +to call for us about nine days from now."</p> + +<p>"So if we sit tight—if we <i>can</i> sit tight—" McNeil lay down +again—"they will take us out. Meanwhile we have nine days."</p> + +<p>They spent three more days in the cave. McNeil was on his feet and +impatient to leave before Ashe was able to hobble well enough to travel. +Though Ross and McNeil took turns at hunting and guard duty, they saw no +signs that the tribesmen were tracking them. Apparently Lal had done as +he promised, withdrawing to the marsh and hiding there apart from his +people.</p> + +<p>In the gray of pre-dawn on the fourth day Ashe wakened Ross. Their fire +had been buried with earth, and already the cave seemed bleak. They ate +venison roasted the night before and went out into the chill of a fog. A +little way down the valley McNeil joined them out of the mist from his +guard post. Keeping their pace to one which favored Ashe's healing +wound, they made their way inland in the direction of the track linking +the villages.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>Crossing that road they continued northward, the land beginning to rise +under them. Far away they heard the blatting of sheep, the bark of a +dog. In the fog, Ross stumbled in a shallow ditch beyond which lay a +stubbled field. Ashe paused to look about him, his nostrils expanding as +if he were a hound smelling out their trail.</p> + +<p>The three went on, crossing a whole series of small, irregular fields. +Ross was sure that the yield from any of these cleared strips must be +scanty. The fog was thickening. Ashe pressed the pace, using his +handmade crutch carefully. He gave an audible sigh of relief when they +were faced at last by two stone monoliths rising like pillars. A third +stone lay across them, forming a rude arch through which they saw a +narrow valley running back into the hills.</p> + +<p>Through the fog Ross could sense the eerie strangeness of the valley +beyond the massive gate. He would have said that he was not +superstitious, that he had merely studied these tribal beliefs as +lessons; he had not accepted them. Yet now, if he had been alone, he +would have avoided that place and turned aside from the valley, for that +which waited within was not for him. To his secret relief Ashe paused by +the arch to wait.</p> + +<p>The older man gestured the other two into cover. Ross obeyed willingly, +though the dank drops of condensing fog dripped on his cloak and wet his +face as he brushed against prickly-leafed shrubs. Here were walls of +evergreen plants and dwarfed pines almost as if this tunnel of +year-round greenery had been planted with some purpose in mind. Once his +companions had concealed themselves, Ashe called, shrill but sweetly, +with a bird's rising notes. Three times he made that sound before a +figure moved in the fog, the rough gray-white of its long cloak melting +in the wisps of mist.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>Down that green tunnel, out of the heart of the valley, the other came, +a loop of cloak concealing the entire figure. It halted right in back of +the arch and Ashe, making a gesture to the others to stay where they +were, faced the muffled stranger.</p> + +<p>"Hands and feet of the Mother, she who sows what may be reaped——"</p> + +<p>"Outland stranger who is under the Wrath of Lurgha," the other mocked +him in the voice of Cassca. "What do you want, outlander, that you dare +to come here where no man may enter?"</p> + +<p>"That which you know. For on the night when Lurgha came you also +saw——"</p> + +<p>Ross heard the hiss of a sharply drawn breath. "How knew you that, +outlander?"</p> + +<p>"Because you serve the Mother and you are jealous for her and her +service. If Lurgha is a mighty god, you wanted to see his acts with your +own eyes."</p> + +<p>When she finally answered, there was anger as well as frustration in her +voice. "And you know of my shame then, Assha. For Lurgha came—on a bird +he came, and he did even as he said he would. So now the village will +make offerings to Lurgha and beg his favor, and the Mother will no more +have those to harken to her words and offer her the first fruits——"</p> + +<p>"But from whence came this bird which was Lurgha, can you tell me that, +she who waits upon the Mother?"</p> + +<p>"What difference does it make from what direction Lurgha came? That does +not add nor take from his power." Cassca moved beneath the arch. "Or +does it in some strange way, Assha?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it does. Only tell me."</p> + +<p>She turned slowly and pointed over her right shoulder. "From that way he +came, Assha. Well did I watch, knowing that I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> was the Mother's and that +even Lurgha's thunderbolts could not eat me up. Does knowing that make +Lurgha smaller in your eyes, Assha? When he has eaten up all that is +yours and your kin with it?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," Assha repeated. "I do not think Lurgha will come so again."</p> + +<p>She shrugged, and the heavy cloak flapped. "That shall be as it shall +be, Assha. Now go, for it is not good that any man come hither."</p> + +<p>Cassca paced back into the heart of the green tunnel, and Ross and +McNeil came out of concealment. McNeil faced in the direction she had +pointed. "Northeast—" he commented thoughtfully, "the Baltic lies in +that quarter."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_8" id="CHAPTER_8"></a>CHAPTER 8</h2> + + +<p>"... and that is about all." Ten days later Ashe, a dressing on his leg +and a few of the pain lines smoothed from his face, sat on a bunk in the +arctic time post nursing a mug of coffee in his hands and smiling, a +little crookedly, at Nelson Millaird.</p> + +<p>Millaird, Kelgarries, Dr. Webb, all the top brass of the project had not +only come through the transfer point to meet the three from Britain but +were now crammed into the room, nearly pushing Ross and McNeil through +the wall. Because this was it! What they had hunted for +months—years—now lay almost within their grasp.</p> + +<p>Only Millaird, the director, did not seem so confident. A big man with a +bushy thatch of coarse graying hair and a heavy, fleshy face, he did not +look like a brain. Yet Ross had been on the roster long enough to know +that it was Millaird's thick and hairy hands that gathered together all +the loose threads of Operation Retrograde and deftly wove them into a +workable pattern. Now the director leaned back in a chair which was too +small for his bulk, chewing thoughtfully on a toothpick.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So we have the first whiff of a trail," he commented without elation.</p> + +<p>"A pretty strong lead!" Kelgarries broke in. Too excited to sit still, +the major stood with his back against the door, as alert as if he were +about to turn and face the enemy. "The Reds wouldn't have moved against +Gog if they did not consider it a menace to them. Their big base must be +in this time sector!"</p> + +<p>"<i>A</i> big base," Millaird corrected. "The one we are after, no. And right +now they may be switching times. Do you think they will sit here and +wait for us to show up in force?" But Millaird's tone, intended to +deflate, had no effect on the major.</p> + +<p>"And just how long would it take them to dismantle a big base?" that +officer countered. "At least a month. If we shoot a team in there in a +hurry—"</p> + +<p>Millaird folded his huge hands over his barrel-shaped body and laughed, +without a trace of humor. "Just where do we send that team, Kelgarries? +Northeast of a coastal point in Britain is a rather vague direction, to +say the least. Not," he spoke to Ashe now, "that you didn't do all you +could, Ashe. And you, McNeil, nothing to add?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. They jumped us out of the blue when Sandy thought he had every +possible line tapped, every safeguard working. I don't know how they +caught on to us, unless they located our beam to this post. If so, they +must have been deliberately hunting us for some time, because we only +used the beam as scheduled——"</p> + +<p>"The Reds have patience and brains and probably some more of their +surprise gadgets to help them. We have the patience and the brains, but +not the gadgets. And time is against us. Get anything out of this, +Webb?" Millaird asked the hitherto silent third member of his ruling +committee.</p> + +<p>The quiet man adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> a +flattish nose which did not support them very well. "Just another point +to add to our surmises. I would say that they are located somewhere near +the Baltic Sea. There are old trade routes there, and in our own time it +is a territory closed to us. We never did know too much about that +section of Europe. Their installation may be close to the Finnish +border. They could disguise their modern station under half a dozen +covers; that is strange country."</p> + +<p>Millaird's hands unfolded and he produced a notebook and pen from a +shirt pocket. "Won't hurt to stir up some of the present-day agents of +the M.I. and the rest. They might just come up with a useful hint. So +you'd say the Baltic. But that is a big slice of country."</p> + +<p>Webb nodded. "We have one advantage—the old trade routes. In the Beaker +period they are pretty well marked. The major one into that section was +established for the amber trade. The country is forested, but not so +heavily as it was in an earlier period. The native tribes are mostly +roving hunters, and fishermen along the coast. But they have had contact +with traders." He shoved his glasses back into place with a nervous +gesture. "The Reds may run into trouble themselves there at this +time——"</p> + +<p>"How?" Kelgarries demanded.</p> + +<p>"Invasion of the ax people. If they have not yet arrived, they are due +very soon. They formed one of the big waves of migratory people, who +flooded the country, settled there. Eventually they became the Norse or +Celtic stock. We don't know whether they stamped out the native tribes +they found there or assimilated them."</p> + +<p>"That might be a nice point to have settled more definitely," McNeil +commented. "It could mean the difference between getting your skull +split and continuing to breathe."</p> + +<p>"I don't think they would tangle with the traders. Evidence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> found today +suggests that the Beaker folk simply went on about their business in +spite of a change in customers," Webb returned.</p> + +<p>"Unless they were pushed into violence." Ashe handed his empty mug to +Ross. "Don't forget Lurgha's Wrath. From now on our enemies might take a +very dim view of any Beaker trade posts near their property."</p> + +<p>Webb shook his head slowly. "A wholesale attack on Beaker establishments +would constitute a shift in history. The Reds won't dare that, not just +on general suspicion. Remember, they are not any more eager to tinker +with history than we are. No, they will watch for us. We will have to +stop communication by radio——"</p> + +<p>"We can't!" snapped Millaird vehemently. "We can cut it down, but I +won't send the boys out without some means of quick communication. You +lab boys put your brains to work and see what you can turn out in the +way of talk boxes that they can't snoop. Time!" He drummed on his knee +with his thick fingers. "It all comes back to a question of time."</p> + +<p>"Which we do not have," Ashe observed in his usual quiet voice. "If the +Reds are afraid they have been spotted, they must be dismantling their +post right now, working around the clock. We'll never again have such a +good chance to nail them. We must move now."</p> + +<p>Millaird's lids drooped almost shut; he might have been napping. +Kelgarries stirred restlessly by the door, and Webb's round face had +settled into what looked like permanent lines of disapproval.</p> + +<p>"Doc," Millaird spoke over his shoulder to the fourth man of his +following, "what is your report?"</p> + +<p>"Ashe must be under treatment for at least five days.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> McNeil's burns +aren't too bad, and Murdock's slash is almost healed."</p> + +<p>"Five days—" Millaird droned, and then flashed a glance at the major. +"Personnel. We're tied down without any useful personnel. Who in +processing could be switched without tangling them up entirely?"</p> + +<p>"No one. I can recall Jansen and Van Wyke. These ax people might be a +good cover for them." The momentary light in Kelgarries' eyes faded. +"No, we have no proper briefing and can't get it until the tribe does +appear on the map. I won't send any men in cold. Their blunders would +not only endanger them but might menace the whole project."</p> + +<p>"So that leaves us with you three," Millaird said. "We'll recall what +men we can and brief them again as fast as possible. But you know how +long that will take. In the meantime——"</p> + +<p>Ashe spoke directly to Webb. "You can't pinpoint the region closer than +just the Baltic?"</p> + +<p>"We can do this much," the other answered him slowly, and with obvious +reluctance. "We can send the sub cruising offshore there for the next +five days. If there is any radio activity—any communication—we should +be able to trace the beams. It all depends upon whether the Reds have +any parties operating from their post. Flimsy——"</p> + +<p>"But something!" Kelgarries seized upon it with the relief of one who +needed action.</p> + +<p>"And they will be waiting for just such a move on our part," Webb +continued deliberately.</p> + +<p>"All right, so they'll be watching!" the major said, about to lose his +temper, "but it is about the only move we can make to back up the boys +when they do go in."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>He whipped around the door and was gone. Webb got up slowly. "I will +work over the maps again," he told Ashe. "We haven't scouted that area, +and we don't dare send a photo-plane over it now. Any trip in will be a +stab in the dark."</p> + +<p>"When you have only one road, you take it," Ashe replied. "I'll be glad +to see anything you can show me, Miles."</p> + +<p>If Ross had believed that his pre-trial-run cramming had been a rigorous +business, he was soon to laugh at that estimation. Since the burden of +the next jump would rest on only three of them—Ashe, McNeil, and +himself—they were plunged into a whirlwind of instruction, until Ross, +dazed and too tired to sleep on the third night, believed that he was +more completely bewildered than indoctrinated. He said as much sourly to +McNeil.</p> + +<p>"Base has pulled back three other teams," McNeil replied. "But the men +have to go to school again, and they won't be ready to come on for maybe +three, four weeks. To change runs means unlearning stuff as well as +learning it——"</p> + +<p>"What about new men?"</p> + +<p>"Don't think Kelgarries isn't out now beating the bushes for some! Only, +we have to be fitted to the physical type we are supposed to represent. +For instance, set a small, dark-headed pugnose among your Norse sea +rovers, and he's going to be noticed—maybe remembered too well. We +can't afford to take that chance. So Kelgarries had to discover men who +not only look the part but are also temperamentally fitted for this job. +You can't plant a fellow who thinks as a seaman—not a seaman, you +understand, but one whose mind works in that pattern—among a wandering +tribe of cattle herders. The protection for the man and the project lies +in his being fitted into the right spot at the right time."</p> + +<p>Ross had never really thought of that point before. Now he realized that +he and Ashe and McNeil were of a common mold.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> All about the same +height, they shared brown hair and light eyes—Ashe's blue, his own +gray, and McNeil's hazel—and they were of similar build, small-boned, +lean, and quick-moving. He had not seen any of the true Beakermen except +on the films. But now, recalling those, he could see that the three time +traders were of the same general physical type as the far-roving people +they used as a cover.</p> + +<p>It was on the morning of the fifth day while the three were studying a +map Webb had produced that Kelgarries, followed at his own weighty pace +by Millaird, burst in upon them.</p> + +<p>"We have it! This time <i>we</i> have the luck! The Reds slipped. Oh, how +they slipped!"</p> + +<p>Webb watched the major, a thin little smile pulling at his pursed mouth. +"Miracles sometimes do happen," he remarked. "I suppose the sub has a +fix for us."</p> + +<p>Kelgarries passed over the flimsy strip of paper he had been waving as a +banner of triumph. Webb read the notation on it and bent over the map, +making a mark with one of those needle-sharp pencils which seemed to +grow in his breast pocket, ready for use. Then he made a second mark.</p> + +<p>"Well, it narrows it a bit," he conceded. Ashe looked in turn and +laughed.</p> + +<p>"I would like to hear your definition of 'narrow' sometime, Miles. +Remember we have to cover this on foot, and a difference of twenty miles +can mean a lot."</p> + +<p>"That mark is quite a bit in from the sea." McNeil offered his own +protest when he saw the marking. "We don't know that country—"</p> + +<p>Webb shoved his glasses back for the hundredth time that morning. "I +suppose we could consider this critical, condition red," he said in such +a dubious tone that he might have been begging someone to protest his +statement. But no one did. Millaird was busy with the map.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think we do, Miles!" He looked to Ashe. "You'll parachute in. The +packs with which you will be equipped are special stuff. Once you have +them off sprinkle them with a powder Miles will provide and in ten +minutes there won't be enough of them left for anyone to identify. We +haven't but a dozen of these, and we can't throw them away except in a +crisis. Find the base and rig up the detector. Your fix in this time +will be easy—but it is the other end of the line we must have. Until +you locate that, stick to the job. Don't communicate with us until you +have it!"</p> + +<p>"There is the possibility," Ashe pointed out, "the Reds may have more +than one intermediate post. They probably have played it smart and set +up a series of them to spoil a direct trace, as each would lead only to +another farther back in time——"</p> + +<p>"All right. If that proves true, just get us the next one back," +Millaird returned. "From that we can trace them along if we must send in +some of the boys wearing dinosaur skins later. We <i>have</i> to find their +primary base, and if that hunt goes the hard way, well, we do it the +hard way."</p> + +<p>"How did you get the fix?" McNeil asked.</p> + +<p>"One of their field parties ran into trouble and yelled for help."</p> + +<p>"Did they get it?"</p> + +<p>The major grinned. "What do you think? You know the rules—and the ones +the Reds play by are twice as tough on their own men."</p> + +<p>"What kind of trouble?" Ashe wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"Some kind of a local religious dispute. We do our best with their code, +but we're not a hundred per cent perfect in reading it. I gather they +were playing with a local god and got their fingers burned."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lurgha again, eh?" Ashe smiled.</p> + +<p>"Foolish," Webb said impatiently. "That is a silly thing to do. You were +almost over the edge of prudence yourself, Gordon, with that Lurgha +business. To use the Great Mother was a ticklish thing to try, and you +were lucky to get out of it so easily."</p> + +<p>"Once was enough," Ashe agreed. "Though using it may have saved our +lives. But I assure you I am not starting a holy war or setting up as a +prophet."</p> + +<p>Ross had been taught something of map reading, but mentally he could not +make what he saw on paper resemble the countryside. A few landmarks, if +there were any outstanding ones, were all he could hope to impress upon +his memory until he was actually on the ground.</p> + +<p>Landing there according to Millaird's instruction was another experience +he would not have chosen of his own accord. To jump was a matter of +timing, and in the dark with a measure of rain thrown in, the action was +anything but pleasant. Leaving the plane in a blind, follow-the-leader +fashion, Ross found the descent into darkness one of the worst trials he +had yet faced. But he did not make too bad a landing in the small +parklike expanse they had chosen for their target.</p> + +<p>Ross pulled loose his harness and chute, dragging them to what he judged +to be the center of the clearing. Hearing a plaintive bray from the air, +he dodged as one of the two burden asses sent to join them landed and +began to kick at its trappings. The animals they had chosen were the +most docile available and they had been given sedation before the jump +so that now, feeling Ross's hands, the donkey stood quietly while Ross +stripped it of its hanging straps.</p> + +<p>"Rossa—" The sound of his Beaker name called through the dark brought +Ross facing in the other direction.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here, and I have one of the donkeys."</p> + +<p>"And I the other!" That was McNeil.</p> + +<p>Their eyes adjusted to a gloom which was not as thick as it would be in +the forest and they worked fast. Then they dragged the parachutes +together in a heap. The rain would, Webb had assured them, add to the +rapid destruction wrought by the chemical he had provided. Ashe shook it +over the pile, and there was a faint greenish glow. Then they moved away +to the woodland and made camp for the balance of the night.</p> + +<p>So much of their whole exploit depended upon luck, and this small part +had been successful. Unless some agent had been stationed to watch for +their arrival Ross believed they could not be spotted.</p> + +<p>The rest of their plan was elastic. Posing as traders who had come to +open a new station, they were to stay near a river which drained a lake +and then angled southward to the distant sea. They knew this section was +only sparsely settled by small tribes, hardly larger than family clans. +These people were generations behind the civilized level of the +villagers of Britain—roving hunters who followed the sweep of game +north or south with the seasons.</p> + +<p>Along the seashore the fishermen had established more permanent holdings +which were slowly becoming towns. There were perhaps a few hardy pioneer +farmers on the southern fringes of the district, but the principle +reason traders came to this region was to get amber and furs. The Beaker +people dealt in both.</p> + +<p>Now as the three sheltered under the wide branches of a towering pine +Ashe fumbled with a pack and brought out the "beaker" which was the +identifying mark of his adopted people. He measured into it a portion of +the sour, stimulating drink which the traders introduced wherever they +went. The cup<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> passed from hand to hand, its taste unpleasant on the +tongue, but comfortingly warm to one's middle.</p> + +<p>They took turns keeping the watch until the gray of false dawn became +the clearer light of morning. After breakfasting on flat cakes of meal, +they packed the donkeys, using the same knots and cross lashing which +were the mark of real Beaker traders. Their bows protected from dampness +under their cloaks, they set out to find the river and their path +southward.</p> + +<p>Ashe led, Ross towed the donkeys, and McNeil brought up the rear. In the +absence of a path they had to set a ragged course, keeping to the edge +of the clearing until they saw the end of the lake.</p> + +<p>"Woodsmoke," Ashe commented when they had completed two thirds of their +journey. Ross sniffed and was able to smell it too. Nodding to Ashe, +McNeil oozed into nothingness between the trees with an ease Murdock +envied. As they waited for him to return, Ross became conscious of +another life about them, one busy with its own concerns, which were in +no way those of human beings, except that food and perhaps shelter were +to be reckoned among them.</p> + +<p>In Britain, Ross had known there were others of his kind about, but this +was different. Here, he could have believed it if he had been told he +was the first man to walk this way.</p> + +<p>A squirrel ran out on a tree limb and surveyed the two men with curious +beady eyes, then clung head down on the tree trunk to see them better. +One of the donkeys tossed its head, and the squirrel was gone with a +flirt of its tail. Although it was quiet, there was a hum underneath the +surface which Ross tried to analyze, to identify the many small sounds +which went into its making.</p> + +<p>Perhaps because he was trying so hard, he noted the faint noise. His +hand touched Ashe's arm and a slight movement of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> his head indicated the +direction of the sound. Then, as fluidly as he had melted into the +woods, McNeil returned. "Company," he said in a soft voice.</p> + +<p>"What kind?"</p> + +<p>"Tribesmen, but wilder than any I've seen, even on the tapes. We are +certainly out on the fringes now. These people look about cave level. I +don't think they've ever heard of traders."</p> + +<p>"How many?"</p> + +<p>"Three, maybe four families. Most of the males must be out hunting, but +there're about ten children and six or seven women. I don't think +they've had good luck lately by the look of them."</p> + +<p>"Maybe their luck and ours are going to turn together," Ashe said, +motioning Ross forward with the donkeys. "We will circle about them to +the river and then try bartering later. But I do want to establish +contact."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_9" id="CHAPTER_9"></a>CHAPTER 9</h2> + + +<p>"Not to be too hopeful—" McNeil rubbed his arm across his hot face—"so +far, so good." After kicking from his path some of the branches Ross had +lopped from the trees they had been felling, he went to help his +companion roll another small log up to a shelter which was no longer +temporary. If there had been any eyes other than the woodland hunters' +to spy upon them, they would have seen only the usual procedure of the +Beaker traders, busily constructing one of their posts.</p> + +<p>That they were being watched by the hunters, all three were certain. +That there might be other spies in the forest, they had to assume for +their own safety. They might prowl at night, but in the daytime all of +the time agents kept within the bounds of the roles they were acting.</p> + +<p>Barter with the head men of the hunting clan had brought those shy +people into the camp of the strangers who had such wonders to exchange +for tanned deer hides and better furs. The news of the traders' arrival +spread quickly during the short time they had been here, so that two +other clans had sent men to watch the proceedings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>With the trade came news which the agents sifted and studied. Each of +them had a list of questions to insert into their conversations with the +tribesmen if and when that was possible. Although they did not share a +common speech with the forest men, signs were informative and certain +nouns could be quickly learned. In the meantime Ashe became friendly +with the nearest and first of the clan groups they discovered, going +hunting with the men as an excuse to penetrate the unknown section they +must quarter in their search for the Red base.</p> + +<p>Ross drank river water and mopped his own hot face. "If the Reds aren't +traders," he mused aloud, "what <i>is</i> their cover?"</p> + +<p>McNeil shrugged. "A hunting tribe—fishermen—"</p> + +<p>"Where would they get the women and children?"</p> + +<p>"The same way they get their men—recruit them in our own time. Or in +the way lots of tribes grew during periods of stress."</p> + +<p>Ross set down the water jug. "You mean, kill off the men, take over +their families?" This was a cold-bloodedness he found sickening. +Although he had always prided himself on his toughness, several times +during his training at the project he had been confronted by things +which shook his belief in his own strong stomach and nerve.</p> + +<p>"It has been done," McNeil remarked bleakly, "hundreds of times by +invaders. In this setup—small family clans, widely scattered—that move +would be very easy."</p> + +<p>"They would have to pose as farmers, not hunters," Ross pointed out. +"They couldn't move a base around with them."</p> + +<p>"All right, so they set up a farming village. Oh, I see what you +mean—there isn't any village around here. Yet they are here, maybe +underground."</p> + +<p>How right their guesses were they learned that night when Ashe returned, +a deer's haunch on his shoulder. Ross knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> him well enough by now to +sense his preoccupation. "You found something?"</p> + +<p>"A new set of ghosts," Ashe replied with a strange little smile.</p> + +<p>"Ghosts!" McNeil pounced upon that. "The Reds like to play the +supernatural angle, don't they? First the voice of Lurgha and now +ghosts. What do these ghosts do?"</p> + +<p>"They inhabit a bit of mountainous territory southeast of here, a +stretch strictly taboo for all hunters. We were following a bison track +until the beast headed for the ghost country. Then Ulffa called us off +in a hurry. It seems that the hunter who goes in there after his quarry +never reappears, or if he does, it's in a damaged condition, blown upon +by ghosts and burned to death! That's one point."</p> + +<p>He sat down by the fire and stretched his arms wearily. "The second is a +little more disturbing for us. A Beaker camp about twenty miles south of +here, as far as I can judge, was exterminated just a week ago. The +message was passed to me because I was thought to be a kinsman of the +slain——"</p> + +<p>McNeil sat up. "Done because they were hunting us?"</p> + +<p>"Might well be. On the other hand, the affair may have been just one of +general precaution."</p> + +<p>"The ghosts did it?" Ross wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"I asked that. No, it seems that strange tribesmen overran it at night."</p> + +<p>"At night?" McNeil whistled.</p> + +<p>"Just so." Ashe's tone was dry. "The tribes do not fight that way. +Either someone slipped up in his briefing, or the Reds are overconfident +and don't care about the rules. But it was the work of tribesmen, or +their counterfeits. There is also a nasty rumor speeding about that the +ghosts do not relish traders<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> and that they might protest intrusions of +such with penalties all around——"</p> + +<p>"Like the Wrath of Lurgha," supplied Ross.</p> + +<p>"There is a certain repetition in this which suggests a lot to the +suspicious mind," Ashe agreed.</p> + +<p>"I'd say no more hunting expeditions for the present," McNeil said. "It +is too easy to mistake a friend for a deer and weep over his grave +afterward."</p> + +<p>"That is a thought which entered my mind several times this afternoon," +Ashe agreed. "These people are deceptively simple on the surface, but +their minds do not work along the same patterns as ours. We try to +outwit them, but it takes only one slip to make it fatal. In the +meantime, I think we'd better make this place a little more snug, and it +might be well to post sentries as unobtrusively as possible."</p> + +<p>"How about faking some signs of a ruined camp and heading into the blue +ourselves?" McNeil asked. "We could strike for the ghost mountains, +traveling by night, and Ulffa's crowd would think we were finished off."</p> + +<p>"An idea to keep in mind. The point against it would be the missing +bodies. It seems that the tribesmen who raided the Beaker camp left some +very distasteful evidence of what happened to the camp's personnel. And +those we can't produce to cover our trail."</p> + +<p>McNeil was not yet convinced. "We might be able to fake something along +that line, too——"</p> + +<p>"We may have to fake nothing," Ross cut in softly. He was standing close +to the edge of the clearing where they were building their hut, his hand +on one of the saplings in the palisade they had set up so laboriously +that day. Ashe was beside him in an instant.</p> + +<p>"What is it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross's hours of listening to the sounds of the wilderness were his +measuring gauge now. "That bird has never called from inland before. It +is the blue one we've seen fishing for frogs along the river."</p> + +<p>Ashe, not even glancing at the forest, went for the water jug. "Get your +trail supplies," he ordered.</p> + +<p>Their leather pouches which held enough iron rations to keep them going +were always at hand. McNeil gathered them from behind the fur curtain +fronting their half-finished cabin. Again the bird called, its cry +piercing and covering a long distance. Ross could understand why a +careless man would select it for the signal. He crossed the clearing to +the donkeys' shelter, slashing through their nose halters. Probably the +patient little beasts would swiftly fall victims to some forest +prowlers, but at least they would have their chance to escape.</p> + +<p>McNeil, his cloak slung about him to conceal the ration bags, picked up +the leather bucket as if he were merely going down to the river for +water, and came to join Ross. They believed that they were carrying it +off well, that the camp must appear normal to any lurkers in the woods. +But either they had made some slip or the enemy was impatient. An arrow +sped out of the night to flash across the fire, and Ashe escaped death +only because he had leaned forward to feed the flames. His arm swung out +and sent the water in the jar hissing onto the blaze as he himself +rolled in the other direction.</p> + +<p>Ross plunged for the brush with McNeil. Lying flat on the half-frozen +ground, they started to work their way to the river bank where the open +area would make surprise less possible.</p> + +<p>"Ashe?" he whispered and felt McNeil's warm breath on his cheek as he +replied:</p> + +<p>"He'll make it the other way! He's the best we have for this sort of +job."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>They made a worm's progress, twice lying, with dagger in hand, while +they listened to a faint rustle which betrayed the passing of one of the +attackers. Both times Ross was tempted to rise and try to cut off the +stranger, but he fought down the impulse. He had learned a control of +himself that would have been impossible for him a few months earlier.</p> + +<p>The glimmer of the river was pale through the clumps of bushes which +sometimes grew into the flood. In this country winter still clung +tenaciously in shadowy places with cups of leftover snow, and there was +a bite in the wind and water. Ross rose to his knees with an involuntary +gasp as a scream cut through the night. He wrenched around toward the +camp, only to feel McNeil's hand clamp on his forearm.</p> + +<p>"That was a donkey," whispered McNeil urgently. "Come on, let's go down +to that ford we discovered!"</p> + +<p>They turned south, daring now to trot, half bent to the ground. The +river was swollen with spring floods which were only now beginning to +subside, but two days earlier they had noticed a sandbar at one spot. By +crossing that shelf across the bed, they might hope to put water between +them and the unknown enemy tonight. It would give them a breathing +space, even though Ross privately shrank from the thought of plowing +into the stream. He had seen good-sized trees swirling along in the +current only yesterday. And to make such a dash in the dark....</p> + +<p>From McNeil's throat burst a startling sound which Ross had last heard +in Britain—the questing howl of a hunting wolf. The cry was answered +seconds later from downstream.</p> + +<p>"Ashe!"</p> + +<p>They worked their way along the edge of the water with continued care, +until they came upon Ashe at last, so much a part of his background that +Ross started when the lump he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> had taken for a bush hunched forward to +join them. Together they made the river crossing and turned south again +to head for the mountains. It was then that disaster struck.</p> + +<p>Ross heard no birdcall warning this time. Though he was on guard, he +never sensed the approach of the man who struck him down from behind. +One moment he had been trailing McNeil and Ashe; the next moment was +black nothingness.</p> + +<p>He was aware of a throb of pain which carried throughout his body and +then localized in his head. Forcing open his eyes, the dazzle of light +was like a spear point striking directly into his head, intensifying his +pain to agony. He brought his hand up to his face and felt stickiness +there.</p> + +<p>"Assha—" He believed he called that aloud, but he did not even hear his +own voice. They were in a valley; a wolf had attacked him out of the +bushes. Wolf? No, the wolf was dead, but then it came alive again to +howl on a river bank.</p> + +<p>Ross forced his eyes open once more, enduring the pain of beams he +recognized as sunshine. He turned his head to avoid the glare. It was +hard to focus, but he fought to steady himself. There was some reason +why it was necessary to move, to get away. But away from what and where? +When Ross tried to think he could only see muddled pictures which had no +connection.</p> + +<p>Then a moving object crossed his very narrow field of vision, passing +between him and a thing he knew was a tree trunk. A four-footed creature +with a red tongue hanging from its jaws. It came toward him +stiff-legged, growling low in its throat, and sniffed at his body before +barking in short excited bursts of sound.</p> + +<p>The noise hurt his head so much that Ross closed his eyes. Then a shock +of icy liquid thrown into his face aroused him to make a feeble protest +and he saw, hanging over him in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> strange upside-down way, a bearded +face which he knew from the past.</p> + +<p>Hands were laid on him and the roughness with which he was moved sent +Ross spiraling back into the dark once again. When he aroused for the +second time it was night and the pain in his head was dulled. He put out +his hands and discovered that he lay on a pile of fur robes, and was +covered by one.</p> + +<p>"Assha—" Again he tried that name. But it was not Assha who came in +answer to his feeble call. The woman who knelt beside him with a horn +cup in her hand had neatly braided hair in which gray strands showed +silver by firelight. Ross knew he had seen her before, but again where +and when eluded him. She slipped a sturdy arm under his head and raised +him while the world whirled about. The edge of the horn cup was pressed +to his lips, and he drank bitter stuff which burned in his throat and +lit a fire in his insides. Then he was left to himself once again and in +spite of his pain and bewilderment he slept.</p> + +<p>How many days he lay in the camp of Ulffa, tended by the chief's head +wife, Ross found it hard to reckon. It was Frigga who had argued the +tribe into caring for a man they believed almost dead when they found +him, and who nursed Ross back to life with knowledge acquired through +half a hundred exchanges between those wise women who were the doctors +and priestesses of these roaming peoples.</p> + +<p>Why Frigga had bothered with the injured stranger at all Ross learned +when he was able to sit up and marshal his bewildered thoughts into some +sort of order. The matriarch of the tribe thirsted for knowledge. That +same urge which had led her to certain experiments with herbs, had made +her consider Ross a challenge to her healing skill. When she knew that +he would live she determined to learn from him all he had to give.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ulffa and the men of the tribe might have eyed the metal weapons of the +traders with awe and avid desire, but Frigga wanted more than trade +goods. She wanted the secret of the making of such cloth as the +strangers wore, everything she could learn of their lives and the lands +through which they had come. She plied Ross with endless questions which +he answered as best he could, for he lay in an odd dreamy state where +only the present had any reality. The past was dim and far away, and +while he was now and then dimly aware that he had something to do, he +forgot it easily.</p> + +<p>The chief and his men prowled the half-built station after the attackers +had withdrawn, bringing back with them a handful of loot—a bronze +razor, two skinning knives, some fishhooks, a length of cloth which +Frigga appropriated. Ross eyed this spoil indifferently, making no claim +upon it. His interest in everything about him was often blanked out by +headaches which kept him limp on his bed, uncaring and stupid for hours +or even full days.</p> + +<p>He gathered that the tribe had been living in fear of an attack from the +same raiders who had wiped out the trading post. But at last their +scouts returned with the information that the enemy had gone south.</p> + +<p>There was one change of which Ross was not aware but which might have +startled both Ashe and McNeil. Ross Murdock had indeed died under that +blow which had left him unconscious beside the river. The young man whom +Frigga had drawn back to sense and a slow recovery was Rossa of the +Beaker people. This same Rossa nursed a hot desire for vengeance against +those who had struck him down and captured his kinsmen, a feeling which +the family tribe who had rescued him could well understand.</p> + +<p>There was the same old urgency pushing him to try his strength now, to +keep to his feet even when they were un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>steady. His bow was gone, but +Ross spent hours fashioning another, and he traded his copper bracelet +for the best dozen arrows in Ulffa's camp. The jet pin from his cloak he +presented to Frigga with all his gratitude.</p> + +<p>Now that his strength was coming back he could not rest easy in the +camp. He was ready to leave, even though the gashes on his head were +still tender to the touch. Ulffa indulgently planned a hunt southward, +and Rossa took the trail with the tribesmen.</p> + +<p>He broke with the clan hunters when they turned aside at the beginning +of the taboo land. Ross, his own mind submerged and taken over by his +Beaker cover, hesitated too. Yet he could not give up, and the others +left him there, his eyes on the forbidden heights, unhappy and tormented +by more than the headaches which still came and went with painful +regularity. In the mountains lay what he sought—a hidden something +within his brain told him that over and over—but the mountains were +taboo, and he should not venture into them.</p> + +<p>How long he might have hesitated there if he had not come upon the +trail, Ross did not know. But on the day after the hunters of Ulffa's +clan left, a glint of sunlight striking between two trees pointed out a +woodsman's blaze on a third tree trunk. The two halves of Ross's memory +clicked together for an instant as he examined that cut. He knew that it +marked a trace and he pushed on, hunting a second cut and then a third. +Convinced that these would lead him into the unknown territory, Ross's +desire to explore overcame the grafted superstitions of his briefing.</p> + +<p>There were other signs that this was an often-traveled route: a spring +cleared of leaves and walled with stone, a couple of steps cut in the +turf on a steep slope. Ross moved warily, alert to any sound. He might +not be an expert woodsman, but he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> was learning fast, perhaps the faster +because his false memories now supplanted the real ones.</p> + +<p>That night he built no fire, crawling instead into the heart of a rotted +log to sleep, awakening once to the call of a wolf and another time at +the distant crash of a dead tree yielding to wind.</p> + +<p>In the morning he was about to climb back to the trail he had prudently +left the night before when he saw five bearded, fur-clad men looking +much the same as Ulffa's people. Ross hugged the earth and watched them +pass out of sight before he followed.</p> + +<p>All that day he wove an up-and-down trail behind the small band, +sometimes catching sight of them as they topped a rise well ahead or +stopped to eat. It was late afternoon when he crept cautiously to the +top of a ridge and gazed down into a valley.</p> + +<p>There was a town in that valley, sturdy houses of logs behind a +stockade. He had seen towns vaguely like it before, yet it had a +dreamlike quality as if it were not as real as it appeared.</p> + +<p>Ross rested his chin on his arms and watched that town and the people +moving in it. Some were fur-clad hunters, but others dressed quite +differently. He started up with a little cry at the sight of one of the +men who had walked so swiftly from one house to the next; surely he was +a Beaker trader!</p> + +<p>His unease grew stronger with every moment he watched, but it was the +oddness he sensed in that town which bothered him and not any warning +that he, himself, was in danger. He had gotten to his knees to see +better when out of nowhere a rope sang through the air, settling about +his chest with a vicious jerk which not only drove the air from his +lungs but pinioned his arms tight to his body.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_10" id="CHAPTER_10"></a>CHAPTER 10</h2> + + +<p>Having been cuffed and battered into submission more quickly than would +have been possible three weeks earlier, Murdock now stood sullenly +surveying the man who, though he dressed like a Beaker trader, persisted +in using a language Ross did not know.</p> + +<p>"We do not play as children here." At last the man spoke words Ross +could understand. "You will answer me or else others shall ask the +questions, and less gently. I say to you now—who are you and from where +do you come?"</p> + +<p>For a moment Ross glowered across the table at him, his inbred +antagonism to authority aroused by that contemptuous demand, but then +common sense cautioned. His initial introduction to this village had +left him bruised and with one of his headaches. There was no reason to +let them beat him until he was in no shape to make a break for freedom +when and if there was an opportunity.</p> + +<p>"I am Rossa of the traders," he returned, eying the man with a carefully +measured stare. "I came into this land in search of my kinsmen who were +taken by raiders in the night."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>The man, who sat on a stool by the table, smiled slowly. Again he spoke +in the strange tongue, and Ross merely stared stolidly back. His words +were short and explosive sounding, and the man's smile faded; his +annoyance grew as he continued to speak.</p> + +<p>One of Ross's two guards ventured to interrupt, using the Beaker +language. "From where did you come?" He was a quiet-faced, slender man, +not like his companion, who had roped Murdock from behind and was of the +bully breed, able to subdue Ross's wildcat resistance in a very short +struggle.</p> + +<p>"I came to this land from the south," Ross answered, "after the manner +of my people. This is a new land with furs and the golden tears of the +sun to be gathered and bartered. The traders move in peace, and their +hands are raised against no man. Yet in the darkness there came those +who would slay without profit, for what reason I have no knowing."</p> + +<p>The quiet man continued the questioning and Ross answered fully with +details of the past of one Rossa, a Beaker merchant. Yes, he was from +the south. His father was Gurdi, who had a trading post in the warm +lands along the big river. This was Rossa's first trip to open new +territory. He had come with his father's blood brother, Assha, who was a +noted far voyager, and it was an honor to be chosen as donkey-leader for +such a one as Assha. With Assha had been Macna, one who was also a far +trader, though not as noted as Assha.</p> + +<p>Of a certainty, Assha was of his own race! Ross blinked at that +question. One need only to look upon him to know that he was of trader +blood and no uncivilized woodsrunner. How long had he known Assha? Ross +shrugged. Assha had come to his father's post the winter before and had +stayed with them through the cold season. Gurdi and Assha had mingled +blood after he pulled Gurdi free from the river in flood. Assha had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +lost his boat and trade goods in that rescue, so Gurdi had made good his +loss this year. Detail by detail he gave the story. In spite of the fact +that he provided these details glibly, sure that they were true, Ross +continued to be haunted by an odd feeling that he was indeed reciting a +tale of adventure which had happened long ago and to someone else. +Perhaps that pain in his head made him think of these events as very +colorless and far away.</p> + +<p>"It would seem"—the quiet man turned to the one behind the table—"that +this is indeed one Rossa, a Beaker trader."</p> + +<p>But the man looked impatient, angry. He made a sign to the other guard, +who turned Ross around roughly and sent him toward the door with a +shove. Once again the leader gave an order in his own language, adding a +few words more with a stinging snap that might have been a threat or a +warning.</p> + +<p>Ross was thrust into a small room with a hard floor and not even a skin +rug to serve as a bed. Since the quiet man had ordered the removal of +the ropes from Ross's arms, he leaned against the wall, rubbing the pain +of returning circulation away from his wrists and trying to understand +what had happened to him and where he was. Having spied upon it from the +heights, he knew it wasn't an ordinary trading station, and he wanted to +know what they did here. Also, somewhere in this village he hoped to +find Assha and Macna.</p> + +<p>At the end of the day his captors opened the door only long enough to +push inside a bowl and a small jug. He felt for those in the dusk, +dipping his fingers into a lukewarm mush of meal and drinking the water +from the jug avidly. His headache dulled, and from experience Ross knew +that this bout was almost over. If he slept, he would waken with a +clearer mind and no pain. Knowing he was very tired, he took the +precaution of curling up directly in front of the door so that no one +could enter without arousing him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was still dark when he awoke with a curious urgency remaining from a +dream he could not remember. Ross sat up, flexing his arms and shoulders +to combat the stiffness which had come with his cramped sleep. He could +not rid himself of a feeling that there was something to be done and +that time was his enemy.</p> + +<p>Assha! Gratefully he seized on that. He must find Assha and Macna, for +the three of them could surely discover a way to get out of this +village. That was what was so important!</p> + +<p>He had been handled none too gently, and they were holding him a +prisoner. But Ross believed that this was not the worst which could +happen to him here, and he must be free before the worst did come. The +question was, How could he escape? His bow and dagger were gone, and he +did not even have his long cloak pin for a weapon, since he had given +that to Frigga.</p> + +<p>Running his hands over his body, Ross inventoried what remained of his +clothing and possessions. He unfastened the bronze chain-belt still +buckled in his kilt tunic, swinging the length speculatively in one +hand. A masterpiece of craftsmanship, it consisted of patterned plates +linked together with a series of five finely wrought chains and a front +buckle in the form of a lion's head, its protruding tongue serving as a +hook to support a dagger sheath. Its weight promised a weapon of sorts, +which when added to the element of surprise might free him.</p> + +<p>By rights they would be expecting him to produce some opposition, +however. It was well known that only the best fighters, the shrewdest +minds, followed the traders' roads. It was a proud thing to be a trader +in the wilderness, a thought that warmed Ross now as he waited in the +dark for what luck and Ba-Bal of the Bright Horns would send. Were he +ever to return to Gurdi's post, Ba-Bal, whose boat rode across the sky +from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> dawn to dusk, would have a fine ox, jars of the first brewing, and +sweet-smelling amber laid upon his altar.</p> + +<p>Ross had patience which he had learned from the mixed heritage of his +two pasts, the real and the false graft. He could wait as he had waited +many times before—quiet, and with outward ease—for the right moment to +come. It came now with footsteps ringing sharply, halting before his +cell door.</p> + +<p>With the noiseless speed of a hunting cat, Ross flung himself from +behind the door to a wall, where he would be hidden from the newcomer +for that necessary instant or two. If his attack was to be successful, +it must occur inside the room. He heard the sound of a bar being slid +out of its brackets, and he poised himself, the belt rippling from his +right hand.</p> + +<p>The door was opening inward, and a man stood silhouetted against the +outer light. He muttered, looking toward the corner where Ross had +thrown his single garment in a roll which might just resemble, for the +needed second or two, a man curled in slumber. The man in the doorway +took the bait, coming forward far enough for Ross to send the door +slamming shut as he himself sprang with the belt aimed for the other's +head.</p> + +<p>There was a startled cry, cut off in the middle as the belt plates met +flesh and bone in a crushing force. Luck was with him! Ross caught up +his kilt and belted it around him after he had made a hurried +examination of the body now lying at his feet. He was not sure that the +man was dead, but at any rate he was completely unconscious. Ross +stripped off the man's cloak, located his dagger, freed it from the belt +hook, and snapped it on his own.</p> + +<p>Then inch by inch Ross edged open the door, peering through the crack. +As far as he could see, the hall was empty, so he jerked the portal +open, and dagger in hand, sprang out, ready<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> for attack. He closed the +door, slipping the bar back into its brackets. If the man inside revived +and pounded for attention, his own friends might think it was Ross and +delay investigating.</p> + +<p>But the escape from the cell was the easiest part of what he planned to +do, as Ross well knew. To find Assha and Macna in this maze of rooms +occupied by the enemy was far more difficult. Although he had no idea in +which of the village buildings they might be confined, this one was the +largest and seemed to be the headquarters of the chief men, which meant +it could also serve as their prison.</p> + +<p>Light came from a torch in a bracket halfway down the hall. The wood +burned smokily, giving off a resinous odor, and to Ross the glow was +sufficient illumination. He slipped along as close to the wall as he +could, ready to freeze at the slightest sound. But this portion of the +building might well have been deserted, for he saw or heard no one. He +tried the only two doors opening out of the hall, but they were secured +on the other side. Then he came to a bend in the corridor, and stopped +short, hearing a murmur of low voices.</p> + +<p>If he had used a hunter's tricks of silent tread and vigilant wariness +before, Ross was doubly on guard now as he wriggled to a point from +which he could see beyond that turn. Mere luck prevented him from giving +himself away a moment later.</p> + +<p>Assha! Assha, alive, well, apparently under no restraint, was just +turning away from the same quiet man who had had a part in Ross's +interrogation. That was surely Assha's brown hair, his slender wiry body +draped with a Beaker's kilt. A familiar tilt of the head convinced Ross, +though he could not see the man's face. The quiet man went down the +hall, leaving Assha before a door. As he passed through it Ross sped +forward and followed him inside.</p> + +<p>Assha had crossed the bare room and was standing on a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> glowing plate in +the floor. Ross, aroused to desperate action by some fear he did not +understand, leaped after him. His left hand fell upon Assha's shoulder, +turning the man half around as Ross, too, stepped upon the patch of +luminescence.</p> + +<p>Murdock had only an instant to realize that he was staring into the face +of an astonished stranger. His hand flashed up in an edgewise blow which +caught the other on the side of the throat, and then the world came +apart about them. There was a churning, whirling sickness which griped +and bent Ross almost double across the crumpled body of his victim. He +held his head lest it be torn from his shoulders by the spinning thing +which seemed based behind his eyes.</p> + +<p>The sickness endured only for a moment, and some buried part of Ross's +mind accepted it as a phenomenon he had experienced before. He came out +of it gasping, to focus his attention once more on the man at his feet.</p> + +<p>The stranger was still breathing. Ross stooped to drag him from the +plate and began binding and gagging him with lengths torn from his kilt. +Only when his captive was secure did he begin looking about him +curiously.</p> + +<p>The room was bare of any furnishings and now, as he glanced at the +floor, Ross saw that the plate had lost its glow. The Beaker trader +Rossa rubbed sweating palms on his kilt and thought fleetingly of forest +ghosts and other mysteries. Not that the traders bowed to those ghosts +which were the plague of lesser men and tribes, but anything which +suddenly appeared and then disappeared without any logical explanation, +needed thinking on. Murdock pulled the prisoner, who was now reviving, +to the far end of the room and then went back to the plate with the +persistence of a man who refused to treat with ghosts and wanted +something concrete to explain the unexplainable. Though he rubbed his +hands across the smooth surface of the plate, it did not light up +again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>His captive having writhed himself half out of the corner of the room, +Ross debated the wisdom of another silencing—say a tap on the skull +with the heavy hilt of his dagger. Deciding against it because he might +need a guide, he freed the victim's ankle bonds and pulled him to his +feet, holding the dagger ready where the man could see it. Were there +any more surprises to be encountered in this place, Assha's double would +test them first.</p> + +<p>The door did not lead to the same corridor, or even the same kind of +corridor Ross had passed through moments earlier. Instead they entered a +short passage with walls of some smooth stuff which had almost the sheen +of polished metal and were sleek and cold to the touch. In fact, the +whole place was chill, chill as river water in the spring.</p> + +<p>Still herding the prisoner before him, Ross came to the nearest door and +looked within, to be faced by incomprehensible frames of metal rods and +boxes. Rossa of the traders marveled and stared, but again, he realized +that what he saw was not altogether strange. Part of one wall was a +board on which small lights flashed and died, to flash again in winks of +bright color. A mysterious object made of wire and disks hung across the +back of a chair standing near-by.</p> + +<p>The bound man lurched for the chair and fell, rolling toward the wall. +Ross pushed him on until he was hidden behind one of the metal boxes. +Then he made the rounds of the room, touching nothing, but studying what +he could not understand. Puffs of warm air came in through grills near +the floor, but the room had the same general chill as the hall outside.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the lights on the board had become more active, flashing on +and off in complex patterns. Ross now heard a buzzing, as if a swarm of +angry insects were gathered for an attack. Crouching beside his captive, +Ross watched the lights, trying to discover the source of the sound.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>The buzz grew shriller, almost demanding. Ross heard the tramp of heavy +footgear in the corridor, and a man entered the room, crossing +purposefully to the chair. He sat down and drew the wire-and-disk frame +over his head. His hands moved under the lights, but Ross could not +guess what he was doing.</p> + +<p>The captive at Murdock's side tried to stir, but Ross's hand pinned him +quiet. The shrill noise which had originally summoned the man at the +lights was interrupted by a sharp pattern of long-and-short sounds, and +his hands flew even more quickly while Ross took in every detail of the +other's clothing and equipment. He was neither a shaggy tribesman nor a +trader. He wore a dull-green outer garment cut in one piece to cover his +arms and legs as well as his body, and his hair was so short that his +round skull might have been shaven. Ross rubbed the back of his wrist +across his eyes, experiencing again that dim other memory. Odd as this +man looked, Murdock had seen his like before somewhere, yet the +background had not been Gurdi's post on the southern river. Where and +when had he, Rossa, ever been with such strange beings? And why could he +not remember it all more clearly?</p> + +<p>Boots sounded once more in the hall, and another figure strode in. This +one wore furs, but he, too, was no woods hunter, Ross realized as he +studied the newcomer in detail. The loose overshirt of thick fur with +its hood thrown back, the high boots, and all the rest were not of any +primitive fashioning. And the man had four eyes! One pair were placed +normally on either side of his nose, and the other two, black-rimmed and +murky, were set above on his forehead.</p> + +<p>The fur-clad man tapped the one seated at the board. He freed his head +partially from the wire cage so that they could talk together in a +strange language while lights continued to flash and the buzzing died +away. Ross's captive wriggled with renewed vigor and at last thrashed +free a foot to kick at one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> of the metal installations. The resulting +clang brought both men around. The one at the board tore his head cage +off as he jumped to his feet, while the other brought out a gun.</p> + +<p>Gun? One little fraction of Ross's mind wondered at his recognition of +that black thing and of the danger it promised, even as he prepared for +battle. He pushed his captive across the path of the man in fur and +threw himself in the other direction. There was a blast to make a +torment in his head as he hurled toward the door.</p> + +<p>So intent was Ross upon escape that he did not glance behind but skidded +out on his hands and knees, thus fortunately presenting a poor target to +the third man coming down the hall. Ross's shoulder hit the newcomer at +thigh level, and they tangled in a struggling mass which saved Ross's +life as the others burst out behind them.</p> + +<p>Ross fought grimly, his hands and feet moving in blows he was not +conscious of planning. His opponent was no easy match and at last Ross +was flattened, in spite of his desperate efforts. He was whirled over, +his arms jerked behind him, and cold metal rings snapped about his +wrists. Then he was rolled back, to lie blinking up at his enemies.</p> + +<p>All three men gathered over him, barking questions which he could not +understand. One of them disappeared and returned with Ross's former +captive, his mouth a straight line and a light in his eyes Ross +understood far better than words.</p> + +<p>"You are the trader prisoner?" The man who looked like Assha leaned over +Murdock, patches of red on his tanned skin where the gag and wrist bonds +had been.</p> + +<p>"I am Rossa, son of Gurdi, of the traders," Ross returned, meeting what +he read in the other's expression with a ready defiance. "I was a +prisoner, yes. But you did not keep me one for long then, nor shall you +now."</p> + +<p>The man's thin upper lip lifted. "You have done yourself ill,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> my young +friend. We have a better prison here for you, one from which you shall +not escape."</p> + +<p>He spoke to the other men, and there was the ring of an order in his +voice. They pulled Ross to his feet, pushing him ahead of them. During +the short march Ross used his eyes, noticing things he could not +identify in the rooms through which they passed. Men called questions +and at last they paused long enough, Ross firmly in the hold of the +fur-clad guard, for the other two to put on similar garments.</p> + +<p>Ross had lost his cloak in the fight, but no fur shirt was given him. He +shivered more and more as the chill which clung to that warren of rooms +and halls bit into his half-clad body. He was certain of only one thing +about this place; he could not possibly be in the crude buildings of the +valley village. However, he was unable to guess where he was and how he +had come there.</p> + +<p>Finally, they went down a narrow room filled with bulky metal objects of +bright scarlet or violet that gleamed weirdly and were equipped with +rods along which all the colors of the rainbow ringed. Here was a round +door, and when one of the guards used both hands to tug it open, the +cold that swept in at them was a frigid breath that burned as it touched +bare skin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_11" id="CHAPTER_11"></a>CHAPTER 11</h2> + + +<p>It took Ross a while to learn that the dirty-white walls of this tunnel +which were almost entirely opaque, with dark objects showing dimly +through them here and there, were of solid ice. A black wire was hooked +overhead and at regular intervals hung with lights which did nothing to +break the sensation of glacial cold about them.</p> + +<p>Ross shuddered. Every breath he drew stung in his lungs; his bare +shoulders and arms and the exposed section of thigh between kilt and +boot were numb. He could only move on stiffly, pushed ahead by his +guards when he faltered. He guessed that were he to lose his footing +here and surrender to the cold, he would forfeit the battle entirely and +with it his life.</p> + +<p>He had no way of measuring the length of the boring through the solid +ice, but they were at last fronted by another opening, a ragged one +which might have been hacked with an ax. They emerged from it into the +wildest scene Ross had ever seen. Of course, he was familiar with ice +and snow, but here was a world surrendered completely to the brutal +force of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> winter in a strange, abnormal way. It was a still, dead +white-gray world in which nothing moved save the wind which curled the +drifts.</p> + +<p>His guards covered their eyes with the murky lenses they had worn pushed +up on their foreheads within the shelter, for above them sunlight +dazzled on the ice crest. Ross, his eyes smarting, kept his gaze +centered on his feet. He was given no time to look about. A rope was +produced, a loop of it flipped in a noose about his throat, and he was +towed along like a leashed dog. Before them was a path worn in the snow, +not only by the passing of booted feet, but with more deeply scored +marks as if heavy objects had been sledded there. Ross slipped and +stumbled in the ruts, fearing to fall lest he be dragged. The numbness +of his body reached into his head. He was dizzy, the world about him +misting over now and again with a haze which arose from the long +stretches of unbroken snow fields.</p> + +<p>Tripping in a rut, he went down upon one knee, his flesh too numbed now +to feel the additional cold of the snow, snow so hard that its crust +delivered a knife's cut. Unemotionally, he watched a thin line of red +trickle in a sluggish drop or two down the blue skin of his leg. The +rope jerked him forward, and Ross scrambled awkwardly until one of his +captors hooked a fur mitten in his belt and heaved him to his feet once +more.</p> + +<p>The purpose of that trek through the snow was obscure to Ross. In fact, +he no longer cared, save that a hard rebel core deep inside him would +not let him give up as long as his legs could move and he had a scrap of +conscious will left in him. It was more difficult to walk now. He +skidded and went down twice more. Then, the last time he slipped, he +sledded past the man who led him, sliding down the slope of a +glass-slick slope. He lay at the foot, unable to get up. Through the +haze<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> and deadening blanket of the cold he knew that he was being pulled +about, shaken, generally mishandled; but this time he could not respond. +Someone snapped open the rings about his wrists.</p> + +<p>There was a call, echoing eerily across the ice. The fumbling about his +body changed to a tugging and once more he was sent rolling down the +slope. But the rope was now gone from his throat, and his arms were +free. This time when he brought up hard against an obstruction he was +not followed.</p> + +<p>Ross's conscious mind—that portion of him that was Rossa, the +trader—was content to lie there, to yield to the lethargy born of the +frigid world about him. But the subconscious Ross Murdock of the Project +prodded at him. He had always had a certain cold hatred which could +crystalize and become a spur. Once it had been hatred of circumstances +and authority; now it became hatred for those who had led him into this +wilderness with the purpose, as he knew now, of leaving him to freeze +and die.</p> + +<p>Ross pulled his hands under him. Though there was no feeling in them, +they obeyed his will clumsily. He levered himself up and looked around. +He lay in a narrow crevicelike cut, partly walled in by earth so frozen +as to resemble steel. Crusted over it in long streaks from above were +tongues of ice. To remain here was to serve his captors' purpose.</p> + +<p>Ross inched his way to his feet. This opening, which was intended as his +grave, was not so deep as the men had thought it in their hurry to be +rid of him. He believed that he could climb out if he could make his +body answer to his determination.</p> + +<p>Somehow Ross made that supreme effort and came again to the rutted path +from which they had tumbled him. Even if he could, there was no sense in +going along that rutted trail, for it led back to the ice-encased +building from which he had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> brought. They had thrust him out to +die; they would not take him in.</p> + +<p>But a road so well marked must have some goal, and in hopes that he +might find shelter at the other end, Ross turned to the left. The trace +continued down the slope. Now the towering walls of ice and snow were +broken by rocky teeth as if they had bitten deep upon this land, only to +be gnawed in return. Rounding one of those rock fangs, Ross looked at a +stretch of level ground. Snow lay here, but the beaten-down trail led +straight through it to the rounded side of a huge globe half buried in +the ground, a globe of dark material which could only be man-made.</p> + +<p>Ross was past caution. He must get to warmth and shelter or he was done +for, and he knew it. Wavering and weaving, he went on, his attention +fixed on the door ahead—a closed oval door. With a sob of exhausted +effort, Ross threw himself against it. The barrier gave, letting him +fall forward into a queer glimmering radiance of bluish light.</p> + +<p>The light rousing him because it promised more, he crawled on past +another door which was flattened back against the inner wall. It was +like making one's way down a tube. Ross paused, pressing his lifeless +hands against his bare chest under the edge of his tunic, suddenly +realizing that there was warmth here. His breath did not puff out in +frosty streamers before him, nor did the air sear his lungs when he +ventured to draw in more than shallow gulps.</p> + +<p>With that realization a measure of animal caution returned to him. To +remain where he was, just inside the entrance, was to court disaster. He +must find a hiding place before he collapsed, for he sensed he was very +near the end of his ability to struggle. Hope had given him a flash of +false strength, the impetus to move, and he must make the most of that +gift.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>His path ended at a wide ladder, coiling in slow curves into gloom below +and shadows above. He sensed that he was in a building of some size. He +was afraid to go down, for even looking in that direction almost +finished his sense of balance, so he climbed up.</p> + +<p>Step by step, Ross made that painful journey, passing levels from which +three or four hallways ran out like the radii of a spider's web. He was +close to the end of his endurance when he heard a sound, echoed, +magnified, from below. It was someone moving. He dragged his body into +the fourth level where the light was very faint, hoping to crawl far +enough into one of the passages to remain unseen from the stair. But he +had gone only part-way down his chosen road when he collapsed, panting, +and fell back against the wall. His hands pawed vainly against that +sleek surface. He was falling through it!</p> + +<p>Ross had a second, perhaps two, of stupefied wonder. Lying on a soft +surface, he was enfolded by a warmth which eased his bruised and frozen +body. There was a sharp prick in his thigh, another in his arm, and the +world was a hazy dream until he finally slept in the depths of +exhaustion.</p> + +<p>There were dreams, detailed ones, and Ross stirred uneasily as his sleep +thinned to waking. He lay with his eyes closed, fitting together odd +bits of—dreams? No, he was certain that they were memories. Rossa of +the Beaker traders and Ross Murdock of the project were again fused into +one and the same person. How it had happened he did not know, but it was +true.</p> + +<p>Opening his eyes, he noticed a curved ceiling of soft blue which misted +at the edges into gray. The restful color acted on his troubled, waking +mind like a soothing word. For the first time since he had been struck +down in the night his headache was gone. He raised his hand to explore +that old hurt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> near his hairline that had been so tender only yesterday +that it could not bear pressure. There remained only a thin, rough line +like a long-healed scar, that was all.</p> + +<p>Ross lifted his head to look about him. His body lay supported in a +cradlelike arrangement of metal, almost entirely immersed in a red +gelatinous substance with a clean, aromatic odor. Just as he was no +longer cold, neither was he hungry. He felt as fit as he ever had in his +life. Sitting up in the cradle, he stroked the jelly away from his +shoulders and chest. It fell from him cleanly, leaving no trace of +grease or dampness on his skin.</p> + +<p>There were other fixtures in the small cylinderlike chamber besides that +odd bed in which he had lain. Two bucket-shaped seats were placed at the +narrow fore part of the room and before those seats was a system of +controls he could not comprehend.</p> + +<p>As Ross swung his feet to the floor there was a click from the side +which brought him around, ready for trouble. But the noise had been +caused by the opening of a door into a small cupboard. Inside the +cupboard lay a fat package. Obviously this was an invitation to +investigate the offering.</p> + +<p>The package contained a much folded article of fabric, compressed and +sealed in a transparent bag which he fumbled twice before he succeeded +in releasing its fastening. Ross shook out a garment of material such as +he had never seen before. Its sheen and satin-smooth surface suggested +metal, but its stuff was as supple as fine silk. Color rippled across it +with every twist and turn he gave to the length—dark blue fading to +pale violet, accented with wavering streaks of vivid and startling +green.</p> + +<p>Ross experimented with a row of small, brilliant-green studs which made +a transverse line from the right shoulder to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> left hip, and they +came apart. As he climbed into the suit the stuff modeled to his body in +a tight but perfect fit. Across the shoulders were bands of green to +match the studs, and the stockinglike tights were soled with a thick +substance which formed a cushion for his feet.</p> + +<p>He pressed the studs together, felt them lock, and then stood smoothing +that strange, beautiful fabric, unable to account for either it or his +surroundings. His head was clear; he could remember every detail of his +flight up to the time he had fallen through the wall. And he was certain +that he had passed through not only one, but two, of the Red time posts. +Could this be the third? If so, was he still a captive? Why would they +leave him to freeze in the open country one moment and then treat him +this way later?</p> + +<p>He could not connect the ice-encased building from which the Reds had +taken him with this one. At the sound of another soft noise Ross glanced +over his shoulder just in time to see the cradle of jelly, from which he +had emerged, close in upon itself until its bulk was a third of its +former size. Compact as a box, it folded up against the wall.</p> + +<p>Ross, his cushioned feet making no sound, advanced to the bucket-chairs. +But lowering his body into one of them for a better look at what vaguely +resembled the control of a helicopter—like the one in which he had +taken the first stage of his fantastic journey across space and time—he +did not find it comfortable. He realized that it had not been +constructed to accommodate a body shaped precisely like his own.</p> + +<p>A body like his own.... That jelly bath or bed or whatever it was.... +The clothing which adapted so skillfully to his measurements....</p> + +<p>Ross leaned forward to study the devices on the control board, +confirming his suspicions. He had made the final jump<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> of them all! He +was now in some building of that alien race upon whose existence +Millaird and Kelgarries had staked the entire project. This was the +source, or one of the sources, from which the Reds were getting the +knowledge which fitted no modern pattern.</p> + +<p>A world encased in ice and a building with strange machinery. This +thing—a cylinder with a pilot's seat and a set of controls. Was it an +alien place? But the jelly bath—and the rest of it.... Had his presence +activated that cupboard to supply him with clothing? And what had become +of the tunic he was wearing when he entered?</p> + +<p>Ross got up to search the chamber. The bed-bath was folded against the +wall, but there was no sign of his Beaker clothing, his belt, the hide +boots. He could not understand his own state of well being, the lack of +hunger and thirst.</p> + +<p>There were two possible explanations for it all. One was that the aliens +still lived here and for some reason had come to his aid. The other was +that he stood in a place where robot machinery worked, though those who +had set it up were no longer there. It was difficult to separate his +memory of the half-buried globe he had seen from his sickness of that +moment. Yet he knew that he had climbed and crawled through emptiness, +neither seeing nor hearing any other life. Now Ross restlessly paced up +and down, seeking the door through which he must have come, but there +was not even a line to betray such an opening.</p> + +<p>"I want out," he said aloud, standing in the center of the cramped room, +his fists planted on his hips, his eyes still searching for the vanished +door. He had tapped, he had pushed, he had tried every possible way to +find it. If he could only remember how he had come in! But all he could +recall was leaning against a wall which moved inward and allowed him to +fall. But where had he fallen? Into that jelly bath?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross, stung by a sudden idea, glanced at the ceiling. It was low enough +so that by standing on tiptoes he could drum his fingers on its surface. +Now he moved to the place directly above where the cradle had swung +before it had folded itself away.</p> + +<p>Rapping and poking, his efforts were rewarded at last. The blue curve +gave under his assault. He pushed now, rising on his toes, though in +that position he could exert little pressure. Then as if some faulty +catch had been released, the ceiling swung up so that he lost his +footing and would have fallen had he not caught the back of one of the +bucket-seats.</p> + +<p>He jumped and by hooking his hands over the edge of the opening, was +able to work his way up and out, to face a small line of light. His +fingers worked at that, and he opened a second door, entering a familiar +corridor.</p> + +<p>Holding the door open, Ross looked back, his eyes widening at what he +saw. For it was plain now that he had just climbed out of a machine with +the unmistakable outline of a snub-nosed rocket. The small flyer—or a +jet, or whatever it was—had been fitted into a pocket in the side of +the big structure as a ship into a berth, and it must have been set +there to shoot from that enclosing chamber as a bullet is shot from a +rifle barrel. But why?</p> + +<p>Ross's imagination jumped from fact to theory. The torpedo craft could +be an atomic jet. All right, he had been in bad shape when he fell into +it by chance and the bed machine had caught him as if it had been +created for just such a duty. What kind of a small plane would be +equipped with a restorative apparatus? Only one intended to handle +emergencies, to transport badly injured living things who had to leave +the building in a hurry.</p> + +<p>In other words, a lifeboat!</p> + +<p>But why would a building need a lifeboat? That would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> rather standard +equipment for a ship. Ross stepped into the corridor and stared about +him with open and incredulous wonder. Could this be some form of ship, +grounded here, deserted and derelict, and now being plundered by the +Reds? The facts fitted! They fitted so well with all he had been able to +discover that Ross was sure it was true. But he determined to prove it +beyond all doubt.</p> + +<p>He closed the door leading to the lifeboat berth, but not so securely +that he could not open it again. That was too good a hiding place. On +his cushioned feet he padded back to the stairway, and he stood there +listening. Far below were sounds, a rasp of metal against metal, a low +murmur of muted voices. But from above there was nothing, so he would +explore above before he ventured into that other danger zone.</p> + +<p>Ross climbed, passing two more levels, to come out into a vast room with +a curving roof which must fill the whole crown of the globe. Here was +such a wealth of machines, controls, things he could not understand that +he stood bewildered, content for the moment merely to look. There +were—he counted slowly—five control boards like those he had seen in +the small escape ship. Each of these was faced by two or three of the +bucket-seats, only these swung in webbing. He put his hand on one, and +it bobbed elastically.</p> + +<p>The control boards were so complicated that the one in the lifeboat +might have been a child's toy in comparison. The air in the ship had +been good; in the lifeboat it had held the pleasant odor of the jelly; +but here Ross sniffed a faint but persistent hint of corruption, of an +old malodor.</p> + +<p>He left the vantage point by the stairs and paced between the control +boards and their empty swinging seats. This was the main control room, +of that he was certain. From this point all the vast bulk beneath him +had been set in motion, sailed here and there. Had it been on the sea, +or through the air?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> The globe shape suggested an air-borne craft. But a +civilization so advanced as this would surely have left some remains. +Ross was willing to believe that he could be much farther back in time +than 2000 <span class="smcap">b.c.</span>, but he was still sure that traces of those who could +build a thing like this would have existed in the twentieth century <span class="smcap">a.d.</span></p> + +<p>Maybe that was how the Reds had found this. Something they had turned up +within their country—say, in Siberia, or some of the forgotten corners +of Asia—had been a clue.</p> + +<p>Having had little schooling other than the intensive cramming at the +base and his own informal education, the idea of the race who had +created this ship overawed Ross more than he would admit. If the project +could find this, turn loose on it the guys who knew about such things.... +But that was just what they were striving for, and he was the only +project man to have found the prize. Somehow, someway, he had to get +back—out of this half-buried ship and its icebound world—back to where +he could find his own people. Perhaps the job was impossible, but he had +to try. His survival was considered impossible by the men who had thrown +him into the crevice, but here he was. Thanks to the men who had built +this ship, he was alive and well.</p> + +<p>Ross sat down in one of the uncomfortable seats to think and thus +avoided immediate disaster, for he was hidden from the stairs on which +sounded the tap of boots. A climber, maybe two, were on their way up, +and there was no other exit from the control cabin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_12" id="CHAPTER_12"></a>CHAPTER 12</h2> + + +<p>Ross dropped from the web-slung chair to the floor and made himself as +small as possible under the platform at the front of the cabin. Here, +where there was a smaller control board and two seats placed closely +together, the odd, unpleasant odor clung and became stronger to Ross's +senses as he waited tensely for the climbers to appear. Though he had +searched, there was nothing in sight even faintly resembling a weapon. +In a last desperate bid for freedom he crept back to the stairwell.</p> + +<p>He had been taught a blow during his training period, one which required +a precise delivery and, he had been warned, was often fatal. He would +use it now. The climber was very close. A cropped head arose through the +floor opening, and Ross struck, knowing as his hand chopped against the +folds of a fur hood that he had failed.</p> + +<p>But the impetus of that unexpected blow saved him after all. With a +choked cry the man disappeared, crashing down upon the one following +him. A scream and shouts were heard from below, and a shot ripped up the +well as Ross scrambled away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> from it. He might have delayed the final +battle, but they had him cornered. He faced that fact bleakly. They need +only sit below and let nature take its course. His session in the +lifeboat had restored his strength, but a man could not live forever +without food and water.</p> + +<p>However, he had bought himself perhaps a yard of time which must be put +to work. Turning to examine the seats, Ross discovered that they could +be unhooked from their webbing swings. Freeing all of them, he dragged +their weight to the stairwell and jammed them together to make a +barricade. It could not hold long against any determined push from +below, but, he hoped, it would deflect bullets if some sharpshooter +tried to wing him by ricochet. Every so often there was the crash of a +shot and some shouting, but Ross was not going to be drawn out of cover +by that.</p> + +<p>He paced around the control cabin, still hunting for a weapon. The +symbols on the levers and buttons were meaningless to him. They made him +feel frustrated because he imagined that among that countless array were +some that might help him out of the trap if he could only guess their +use.</p> + +<p>Once more he stood by the platform thinking. This was the point from +which the ship had been sailed—in the air or on some now frozen sea. +These control boards must have given the ship's master the means not +only of propelling the vast bulk, but of unloading and loading cargo, +lighting, heating, ventilation, and perhaps defense! Of course, every +control might be dead now, but he remembered that in the lifeboat the +machines had worked successfully, fulfilled expertly the duty for which +they had been constructed.</p> + +<p>The only step remaining was to try his luck. Having made his decision, +Ross simply shut his eyes as he had in a very short and almost forgotten +childhood, turned around three times, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> pointed. Then he looked to +see where luck had directed him.</p> + +<p>His finger indicated a board before which there had been three seats, +and he crossed to it slowly, with a sense that once he touched the +controls he might inaugurate a chain of events he could not stop. The +crash of a shot underlined the fact that he had no other recourse.</p> + +<p>Since the symbols meant nothing, Ross concentrated on the shapes of the +various devices and chose one which vaguely resembled the type of light +switch he had always known. Since it was up, he pressed it down, +counting to twenty slowly as he waited for a reaction. Below the switch +was an oval button marked with two wiggles and a double dot in red. Ross +snapped it level with the panel, and when it did not snap back, he felt +somehow encouraged. When the two levers flanking that button did not +push in or move up and down, Ross pulled them out without even waiting +to count off.</p> + +<p>This time he had results! A crackling of noise with a singsong rhythm, +the volume of which, low at first, arose to a drone filled the cabin. +Ross, deafened by the din, twisted first one lever and then the other +until he had brought the sound to a less piercing howl. But he needed +action, not just noise; he moved from behind the first chair to the next +one. Here were five oval buttons, marked in the same vivid green as that +which trimmed his clothing—two wiggles, a dot, a double bar, a pair of +entwined circles, and a crosshatch.</p> + +<p>Why make a choice? Recklessness bubbled to the surface, and Ross pushed +all the buttons in rapid succession. The results were, in a measure, +spectacular. Out of the top of the control board rose a triangle of +screen which steadied and stood firm while across it played a rippling +wave of color. Meanwhile the singsong became an angry squawking as if in +protest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, he had something, even if he didn't know what it was! And he had +also proved that the ship was alive. However, Ross wanted more than a +squawk of exasperation, which was exactly what the noise had become. It +almost sounded, Ross decided as he listened, as if he were being +expertly chewed out in another language. Yes, he wanted more than a +series of squawks and a fanciful display of light waves on a screen.</p> + +<p>At the section of board before the third and last seat there was less +choice—only two switches. As Ross flicked up the first the pattern on +the screen dwindled into a brown color shot with cream in which there +was a suggestion of a picture. Suppose one didn't put the switch all the +way up? Ross examined the slot in which the bar moved and now noted a +series of tiny point marks along it. Selective? It would not do any harm +to see. First he hurried back to the cork of chairs he had jammed into +the stairwell. The squawks were now coming only at intervals, and Ross +could hear nothing to suggest that his barrier was being forced.</p> + +<p>He returned to the lever and moved it back two notches, standing +open-mouthed at the immediate result. The cream-and-brown streaks were +making a picture! Moving another notch down caused the picture to +skitter back and forth on the screen. With memories of TV tuning to +guide him, Ross brought the other lever down to a matching position, and +the dim and shadowy images leaped into clear and complete focus. But the +color was still brown, not the black and white he had expected.</p> + +<p>Only, he was also looking into a face! Ross swallowed, his hand grasping +one of the strings of chair webbing for support. Perhaps because in some +ways it did resemble his own, that face was more preposterously +nonhuman. The visage on the screen was sharply triangular with a small, +sharply pointed chin and a jaw line running at an angle from a broad +upper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> face. The skin was dark, covered largely with a soft and silky +down, out of which hooked a curved and shining nose set between two +large round eyes. On top of that astonishing head the down rose to a +peak not unlike a cockatoo's crest. Yet there was no mistaking the +intelligence in those eyes, nor the other's amazement at sight of Ross. +They might have been staring at each other through a window.</p> + +<p>Squawk ... squeek ... squawk.... The creature in the mirror—on the +vision plate—or outside the window—moved its absurdly small mouth in +time to those sounds. Ross swallowed again and automatically made +answer.</p> + +<p>"Hello." His voice was a weak whistle, and perhaps it did not reach the +furry-faced one, for he continued his questions if questions they were. +Meanwhile Ross, over his first stupefaction, tried to see something of +the creature's background. Though the objects were slightly out of +focus, he was sure he recognized fittings similar to those about him. He +must be in communication with another ship of the same type and one +which was not deserted!</p> + +<p>Furry-face had turned his head away to squawk rapidly over his shoulder, +a shoulder which was crossed by a belt or sash with an elaborate +pattern. Then he got up from his seat and stood aside to make room for +the one he had summoned.</p> + +<p>If Furry-face had been a startling surprise, Ross was now to have +another. The man who now faced him on the screen was totally different. +His skin registered as pale—cream-colored—and his face was far more +human in shape, though it was hairless as was the smooth dome of his +skull. When one became accustomed to that egg slickness, the stranger +was not bad-looking, and he was wearing a suit which matched the one +Ross had taken from the lifeboat.</p> + +<p>This one did not attempt to say anything. Instead, he stared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> at Ross +long and measuringly, his eyes growing colder and less friendly with +every second of that examination. Ross had resented Kelgarries back at +the project, but the major could not match Baldy for the sheer weight of +unpleasant warning he could pack into a look. Ross might have been +startled by Furry-face, but now his stubborn streak arose to meet this +implied challenge. He found himself breathing hard and glaring back with +an intensity which he hoped would get across and prove to Baldy that he +would not have everything his own way if he proposed to tangle with +Ross.</p> + +<p>His preoccupation with the stranger on the screen betrayed Ross into the +hands of those from below. He heard their attack on the barricade too +late. By the time he turned around, the cork of seats was heaved up and +a gun was pointing at his middle. His hands went up in small reluctant +jerks as that threat held him where he was. Two of the fur-clad Reds +climbed into the control chamber.</p> + +<p>Ross recognized the leader as Ashe's double, the man he had followed +across time. He blinked for just an instant as he faced Ross and then +shouted an order at his companion. The other spun Murdock around, +bringing his hands down behind him to clamp his wrists together. Once +again Ross fronted the screen and saw Baldy watching the whole scene +with an expression suggesting that he had been shocked out of his +complacent superiority.</p> + +<p>"Ah...." Ross's captors were staring at the screen and the unearthly man +there. Then one flung himself at the control panel and his hands whipped +back and forth, restoring to utter silence both screen and room.</p> + +<p>"What are you?" The man who might have been Ashe spoke slowly in the +Beaker tongue, drilling Ross with his stare as if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> by the force of his +will alone he could pull the truth out of his prisoner.</p> + +<p>"What do you think I am?" Ross countered. He was wearing the uniform of +Baldy, and he had clearly established contact with the time owners of +this ship. Let that worry the Red!</p> + +<p>But they did not try to answer him. At a signal he was led to the stair. +To descend that ladder with his hands behind him was almost impossible, +and they had to pause at the next level to unclasp the handcuffs and let +him go free. Keeping a gun on him carefully, they hurried along, trying +to push the pace while Ross delayed all he could. He realized that in +his recognition of the power of the gun back in the control chamber, his +surrender to its threat, he had betrayed his real origin. So he must +continue to confuse the trail to the project in every possible way left +to him. He was sure that this time they would not leave him in the first +convenient crevice.</p> + +<p>He knew he was right when they covered him with a fur parka at the +entrance to the ship, once more manacling his hands and dropping a noose +leash on him.</p> + +<p>So, they were taking him back to their post here. Well, in the post was +the time transporter which could return him to his own kind. It would +be, it must be possible to get to that! He gave his captors no more +trouble but trudged, outwardly dispirited, along the rutted way through +the snow up the slope and out of the valley.</p> + +<p>He did manage to catch a good look at the globe-ship. More than half of +it, he judged, was below the surface of the ground. To be so buried it +must either have lain there a long time or, if it were an air vessel, +crashed hard enough to dig itself that partial grave. Yet Ross had +established contact with another ship like it, and neither of the +creatures he had seen were human, at least not human in any way he +knew.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross chewed on that as he walked. He believed that those with him were +looting the ship of its cargo, and by its size, that cargo must be a +large one. But cargo from where? Made by what hands, what <i>kind</i> of +hands? Enroute to what port? And how had the Reds located the ship in +the first place? There were plenty of questions and very few answers. +Ross clung to the hope that somehow he had endangered the Reds' job here +by activating the communication system of the derelict and calling the +attention of its probable owners to its fate.</p> + +<p>He also believed that the owners might take steps to regain their +property. Baldy had impressed him deeply during those few moments of +silent appraisal, and he knew he would not like to be on the receiving +end of any retaliation from the other. Well, now he had only one chance, +to keep the Reds guessing as long as he could and hope for some turn of +fate which would allow him to try for the time transport. How the plate +operated he did not know, but he had been transferred here from the +Beaker age and if he could return to that time, escape might be +possible. He had only to reach the river and follow it down to the sea +where the sub was to make rendezvous at intervals. The odds were +overwhelmingly against him, and Ross knew it. But there was no reason, +he decided, to lie down and roll over dead to please the Reds.</p> + +<p>As they approached the post Ross realized how much skill had gone into +its construction. It looked as if they were merely coming up to the +outer edge of a glacier tongue. Had it not been for the track in the +snow, there would have been no reason to suspect that the ice covered +anything but a thick core of its own substance. Ross was shoved through +the white-walled tunnel to the building beyond.</p> + +<p>He was hurried through the chain of rooms to a door and thrust through, +his hands still fastened. It was dark in the cubby<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> and colder than it +had been outside. Ross stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to +the gloom. It was several moments after the door had slammed shut that +he caught a faint thud, a dull and hollow sound.</p> + +<p>"Who is here?" he used the Beaker speech, determining to keep to the +rags of his cover, which probably was a cover no longer. There was no +reply, but after a pause that distant beat began again. Ross stepped +cautiously forward, and by the simple method of running fullface into +the walls, discovered that he was in a bare cell. He also discovered +that the noise lay behind the left-hand wall, and he stood with his ear +flat against it, listening. The sound did not have the regular rhythm of +a machine in use—there were odd pauses between some blows, others came +in a quick rain. It was as if someone were digging!</p> + +<p>Were the Reds engaged in enlarging their icebound headquarters? Having +listened for a considerable time, Ross doubted that, for the sound was +too irregular. It seemed almost as if the longer pauses were used to +check up on the result of labor—was it the extent of the excavation or +the continued preservation of secrecy?</p> + +<p>Ross slipped down along the wall, his shoulders still resting against +it, and rested with his head twisted so he could hear the tapping. +Meanwhile he flexed his wrists inside the hoops which confined them, and +folding his hands as small as possible, tried to slip them through the +rings. The only result was that he chafed his skin raw to no advantage. +They had not taken off his parka, and in spite of the chill about him, +he was too warm. Only that part of his body covered by the suit he had +taken from the ship was comfortable; he could almost believe that it +possessed some built-in conditioning device.</p> + +<p>With no hope of relief Ross rubbed his hands back and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> forth against the +wall, scraping the hoops on his wrists. The distant pounding had ceased, +and this time the pause lengthened into so long a period that Ross fell +asleep, his head falling forward on his chest, his raw wrists still +pushed against the surface behind him.</p> + +<p>He was hungry when he awoke, and with that hunger his rebellion sparked +into flame. Awkwardly he got to his feet and lurched along to the door +through which he had been thrown, where he proceeded to kick at the +barrier. The cushiony stuff forming the soles of his tights muffled most +of the force of those blows, but some noise was heard outside, for the +door opened and Ross faced one of the guards.</p> + +<p>"Food! I want to eat!" He put into the Beaker language all the +resentment boiling in him.</p> + +<p>The fellow ignoring him, reached in a long arm, and nearly tossing the +prisoner off balance, dragged him out of the cell. Ross was marched into +another room to face what appeared to be a tribunal. Two of the men +there he knew—Ashe's double and the quiet man who had questioned him +back in the other time station. The third, clearly one of greater +authority, regarded Ross bleakly.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" the quiet man asked.</p> + +<p>"Rossa, son of Gurdi. And I would eat before I make talk with you. I +have not done any wrong that you should treat me as a barbarian who has +stolen salt from the trading post——"</p> + +<p>"You are an agent," the leader corrected him dispassionately, "of whom +you will tell us in due time. But first you shall speak of the ship, of +what you found there, and why you meddled with the controls.... Wait a +moment before you refuse, my young friend." He raised his hand from his +lap, and once again Ross faced an automatic. "Ah, I see that you know +what I hold—odd knowledge for an innocent Bronze Age<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> trader. And +please have no doubts about my hesitation to use this. I shall not kill +you, naturally," the man continued, "but there are certain wounds which +supply a maximum of pain and little serious damage. Remove his parka, +Kirschov."</p> + +<p>Once more Ross was unmanacled, the fur stripped from him. His questioner +carefully studied the suit he wore under it. "Now you will tell us +exactly what we wish to hear."</p> + +<p>There was a confidence in that statement which chilled Ross; Major +Kelgarries had displayed its like. Ashe had it in another degree, and +certainly it had been present in Baldy. There was no doubt that the +speaker meant exactly what he said. He had at his command methods which +would wring from his captive the full sum of what he wanted, and there +would be no consideration for that captive during the process.</p> + +<p>His implied threat struck as cold as the glacial air, and Ross tried to +meet it with an outward show of uncracked defenses. He decided to pick +and choose from his information, feeding them scraps to stave off the +inevitable. Hope dies very hard, and Ross having been pushed into +corners long before his work at the project, had had considerable +training in verbal fencing with hostile authority. He would volunteer +nothing.... Let it be pulled from him reluctant word by word! He would +spin it out as long as he could and hope that time might fight for him.</p> + +<p>"You are an agent...."</p> + +<p>Ross accepted this statement as one he would neither affirm nor deny.</p> + +<p>"You came to spy under the cover of a barbarian trader," smoothly, +without pause, the man changed language in mid-sentence, slipping from +the Beaker speech into English.</p> + +<p>But long experience in meeting the dangerous with an expression of +complete lack of comprehension was Ross's weapon now. He stared somewhat +stupidly at his interrogator with that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> bewildered, boyish look he had +so long cultivated to bemuse enemies in his past.</p> + +<p>Whether he could have held out long against the other's skill—for Ross +possessed no illusions concerning the type of examiner he now faced—he +was never to know. Perhaps the drastic interruption that occurred the +next moment saved for Ross a measure of self-esteem.</p> + +<p>There was a distant boom, hollow and thunderous. Underneath and around +them the floor, walls, and ceiling of the room moved as if they had been +pried from their setting of ice and were being rolled about by the +exploring thumb and forefinger of some impatient giant.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_13" id="CHAPTER_13"></a>CHAPTER 13</h2> + + +<p>Ross swayed against a guard, was fended off, and bounced against the +wall as the man shouted words Ross could not understand. A determined +roar from the leader brought a semblance of order, but it was plain that +they had not been expecting this. Ross was hustled out of the room back +to his cell. His guards were opening the cell door when a second shock +was felt and he was thrust into safekeeping with no ceremony.</p> + +<p>He half crouched against the questionable security of the wall, waiting +through two more twisting earth waves, both of which were accompanied or +preceded by dull sounds. Bombing! That last wrench was really bad. Ross +found himself lying on the floor, feeling tremors rippling along the +earth. His stomach knotted convulsively with a fear unlike any he had +known before. It was as if the very security of the world had been +jerked from under him.</p> + +<p>But that last explosion—if it was an explosion—appeared to be the end. +Ross sat up gingerly after several long moments during which no more +shocks moved the floor and walls. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> line of light marked the door, +showing cracks where none had previously existed. Ross, not yet ready to +try standing erect, was heading toward it on his hands and knees when a +sharp noise behind him brought him to a stop.</p> + +<p>There was no light to see by, but he was certain that the scrape of +metal against metal sounded from the far side of the wall. He crawled +back and put his ear to the surface. Now he heard not only that +scraping, but an undercurrent of clicks, chippings....</p> + +<p>Under his exploring hands the surface remained as smooth as ever, +however. Then suddenly, perhaps a foot from his head, there sounded a +rip of metal. The wall was being holed from the other side! Ross caught +a flicker of very weak light, and moving in it was the point of a tool +pulling at the smooth surface of the wall. It broke away with a brittle +sound, and a hand holding a light reached through the aperture.</p> + +<p>Ross wondered if he should catch that wrist, but the hope that the +digger might just possibly be an ally kept him motionless. After the +hand with the light whipped back beyond the wall, a wide section gave +away and a hunched figure crawled through, followed by a second. In the +limited glow he saw the first tunneler clearly enough.</p> + +<p>"Assha!"</p> + +<p>Ross was unprepared for what followed his cry. The lean brown man moved +with a panther's striking speed, and Ross was forced back. A hand like a +steel ring on his throat shut the breath away from his bursting lungs; +the other's muscular body held him flat in spite of his struggles. The +light of the small flash glowed inches beyond his eyes as he fought to +fill his lungs. Then the hand on his throat was gone and he gasped, a +little dizzy.</p> + +<p>"Murdock! What are you doing—?" Ashe's clipped voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> was muffled by +another sudden explosion. This time the earth tremors not only hurled +them from their feet, but seemed to run along the walls and across the +ceiling. Ross, burying his face in the crook of his arm, could not rid +himself of the fear that the building was being slowly twisted into +scrap. When the shock was over he raised his head.</p> + +<p>"What's going on?" He heard McNeil ask.</p> + +<p>"Attack." That was Ashe. "But why, and by whom—don't ask me! You are a +prisoner, I suppose, Murdock?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir." Ross was glad that his voice sounded normal enough.</p> + +<p>He heard someone sigh and guessed it was McNeil. "Another digging +party." There was tired disgust in that.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," Ross appealed to that section of the dark where +Ashe had been. "Have you been here all the time? Are you trying to dig +your way out? I don't see how you can cut out of this glacier that we're +parked under——"</p> + +<p>"Glacier!" Ashe's exclamation was as explosive as the tremors. "So we're +inside a glacier! That explains it. Yes, we've been here—"</p> + +<p>"On ice!" McNeil commented and then laughed. "Glacier—ice—that's +right, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"We're collaborating," Ashe continued. "Supplying our dear friends with +a lot of information they already have and some flights of fancy they +never dreamed about. However, they didn't know we had a few surprise +packets of our own strewn about. It's amazing what the boys back at the +project can pack away in a belt, or between layers of hide in a boot. So +we've been engaged in some research of our own——"</p> + +<p>"But I didn't have any escape gadgets." Ross was struck by the +unfairness of that.</p> + +<p>"No," Ashe agreed, his voice even and cold, "they are not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> entrusted to +first-run men. You might slip up and use them at the wrong moment. +However, you appear to have done fairly well...."</p> + +<p>The heat of Ross's rising anger was chilled by the noise which cracked +over their heads, ground to them through the walls, flattened and +threatened them. He had thought those first shocks the end of this ice +burrow and the world; he knew that this one was.</p> + +<p>And the silence that followed was as threatening in its way as the +clamor had been. Then there was a shout, a shriek. The space of light +near the cell door was widening as that barrier, broken from its lock, +swung open slowly. The fear of being trapped sent the men in that +direction.</p> + +<p>"Out!"</p> + +<p>Ross was ready enough to respond to that order, but they were stopped by +a crackle of sound that could be only one thing—rapid-fire guns. +Somewhere in this warren a fight was in progress. Ross, remembering the +arrogant face of the bald ship's officer, wondered if this was not an +attack in force—the aliens against the looting Reds. If so, would the +ship people distinguish between those found here. He feared not.</p> + +<p>The room outside was clear, but not for long. As they lay watching, two +men backed in, then whirled to stare at each other. A voice roared from +beyond as if ordering them back to some post. One of them took a step +forward in reluctant obedience, but the other grabbed his arm and pulled +him away. They turned to run, and an automatic cracked.</p> + +<p>The man nearest Ross gave a queer little cough and folded forward to his +knees, sprawling on his face. His companion stared at him wildly for an +instant, and then skidded into the passage beyond, escaping by inches a +shot which clipped the door as he lunged through it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>No one followed, for outside there was a crescendo of noise—shouting, +cries of pain, an unidentifiable hissing. Ashe darted into the room, +taking cover by the body. Then he came back, the fellow's gun in his +hand, and with a jerk of his head summoned the other two. He motioned +them on in a direction away from the sounds of battle.</p> + +<p>"I don't get all this," McNeil commented as they reached the next +passage. "What's going on? Mutiny? Or have our boys gotten through?"</p> + +<p>"It must be the ship people," Ross answered.</p> + +<p>"What ship?" Ashe caught him up swiftly.</p> + +<p>"The big one the Reds have been looting——"</p> + +<p>"Ship?" echoed McNeil. "And <i>where</i> did you get that rig?" In the bright +light it was easy to see Ross's alien dress. McNeil fingered the elastic +material wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"From the ship," Ross returned impatiently. "But if the ship people are +attacking, I don't think they will notice any difference between us and +the Reds...."</p> + +<p>There was a burst of ear-splitting sound. For the third time Ross was +thrown from his feet. This time the burrow lights flickered, dimmed, and +went out.</p> + +<p>"Oh, fine," commented McNeil bitterly out of the dark. "I never did care +for blindman's buff."</p> + +<p>"The transfer plate—" Ross clung to his own plan of escape—"if we can +reach that—"</p> + +<p>The light which had served Ashe and McNeil in their tunneling clicked +on. Since the earth shocks appeared to be over for a while, they moved +on, with Ashe in the lead and McNeil bringing up the rear. Ross hoped +Ashe knew the way. The sound of fighting had died out, so one side or +the other must have gained the victory. They might have only a few +moments left to pass undetected.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross's sense of direction was fairly acute, but he could not have gone +so unerringly to what he sought as Ashe did. Only he did not lead them +to the room with the glowing plate, and Ross stifled a protest as they +came instead to a small record room.</p> + +<p>On a table were three spools of tape which Ashe caught up avidly, +thrusting two in the front of his baggy tunic, passing the third to +McNeil. Then he sped about trying the cupboards on the walls, but all +were locked. His hand falling from the last latch, Ashe came back to the +door where Ross waited.</p> + +<p>"To the plate!" Ross urged.</p> + +<p>Ashe surveyed the cupboards once more regretfully. "If we could have +just ten minutes here——"</p> + +<p>McNeil snorted. "Listen, you may yearn to be the filling in an ice +sandwich, but I don't! Another shock and we'll be buried so deep even a +drill couldn't find us. Let's get out now. The kid is right about +that—if we still can."</p> + +<p>Once more Ashe took the lead and they wove through ghostly rooms to what +must have been the heart of the post—the transfer point. To Ross's +unvoiced relief the plate was glowing. He had been nagged by the fear +that when the lights blew out the transfer plate might also have been +affected. He jumped for the plate.</p> + +<p>Neither Ashe nor McNeil wasted time in joining him there. As they clung +together there was a cry from behind them, underlined by a shot. Ross, +feeling Ashe sag against him, caught him in his arms. By the reflected +glow of the plate he saw the Red leader of the post and behind him, his +hairless face hanging oddly bodiless in the gloom, was the alien. Were +those two now allies? Before Ross could be sure that he had really seen +them, the wracking of space time caught him and the rest of the room +faded away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + +<p>"... free. Get a move on!"</p> + +<p>Ross glanced across Ashe's bowed shoulders to McNeil's excited face. The +other was pulling at Ashe, who was only half-conscious. A stream of +blood from a hole in his bare shoulder soaked the upper edge of his +Beaker tunic, but as they steadied him between them, he gained some +measure of awareness and moved his feet as they pulled him off the +plate.</p> + +<p>Well, they were free if only for a few seconds, and there was no +reception committee waiting for them. Ross gave thanks silently for +those two small favors. But if they were now returned to the Bronze Age +village, they were still in enemy territory. With Ashe wounded, the odds +against them were so high it was almost hopeless.</p> + +<p>Working hurriedly with strips torn from McNeil's kilt, they managed to +stop the flow of blood from Ashe's wound. Although he was still groggy, +he was fighting, driven by the fear which whipped them all—time was one +of their foremost enemies. Ross, Ashe's gun in hand, kept watch on the +transfer plate, ready to shoot at anything appearing there.</p> + +<p>"That will have to do!" Ashe pulled free from McNeil. "We must move." He +hesitated, and then pulling the spools of tape from his bloodstained +tunic, passed them to McNeil. "You'd better carry these."</p> + +<p>"All right," the other answered almost absently.</p> + +<p>"Move!" The force of that order from Ashe sent them into the corridor +beyond. "The plate...."</p> + +<p>But the plate remained clear. And Ross noted that they must have +returned to the proper time, for the walls about them were the logs and +stone of the village he remembered.</p> + +<p>"Someone coming through?"</p> + +<p>"Should be—soon."</p> + +<p>They fled, the hide boots of the other two making only the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> faintest +whisper of sound, Ross's foam-soled feet none at all. He could not have +found the door to the outer world, but again Ashe guided them, and only +once did they have to seek cover. At last they faced a barred door. Ashe +leaned against the wall, McNeil supporting him, as Ross pulled free the +locking beam. They let themselves out into the night.</p> + +<p>"Which way?" McNeil asked.</p> + +<p>To Ross's surprise Ashe did not turn to the gate in the outer stockade. +Instead he gestured at the mountain wall in the opposite direction. +"They'll expect us to try for the valley pass. So we had better go up +the slope there."</p> + +<p>"That has the look of a tough climb," ventured McNeil.</p> + +<p>Ashe stirred. "When it becomes too tough for me"—his voice was dry—"I +shall say so, never fear."</p> + +<p>He started out with some of his old ease of movement, but his companions +closed in on either side, ready to offer aid. Ross often wondered later +if they could have won free of the village on their own efforts that +night. He was sure their resolution would have been equal to the +attempt, but their escape would have depended upon a fabulous run of +luck such as men seldom encounter.</p> + +<p>As it was, they had just reached a pool of shadow beside a small hut +some two buildings away from the one they had fled, when the fireworks +began. As if on signal the three fugitives threw themselves flat. From +the roof of the building at the center of the village a pencil of +brilliant-green light pointed straight up into the sky, and around that +spear of radiance the roof sprouted tongues of more natural +red-and-yellow flames. Figures shot from doors as the fire lapped down +the peak of the roof.</p> + +<p>"Now!" In spite of the rising clamor, Ashe's voice carried to his two +companions.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>The three sprinted for the palisade, mingling with bewildered men who +ran out of the other cabins. The waves of fire washed on, providing +light, too much light. Ashe and McNeil could pass as part of the crowd, +but Ross's unusual clothing might be easily marked.</p> + +<p>Others were running for the wall. Ross and McNeil boosted Ashe to the +top, saw him over in safety. McNeil followed. Ross was just reaching to +draw himself up when he was enveloped in a beam of light.</p> + +<p>A high, screeching call, unlike any shout he had heard, split the +clamor. Frantically Ross tried for a hold, knowing that he was +presenting a perfect target for those behind. He gained the top of the +stockade, looked down into a black block of shadow, not knowing whether +Ashe and McNeil were waiting for him or had gone ahead. Hearing that +strange cry again, Ross leaped blindly out into the darkness.</p> + +<p>He landed badly, hitting hard enough to bruise, but thanks to the skill +he had learned for parachuting, he broke no bones. He got to his feet +and blundered on in the general direction of the mountain Ashe had +picked as their goal. There were others coming over the wall of the +village and moving through the shadows, so he dared not call out for +fear of alerting the enemy.</p> + +<p>The village had been set in the widest part of the valley. Behind its +stockade the open ground narrowed swiftly, like the point of a funnel, +and all fugitives from the settlement had to pass through that channel +to escape. Ross's worst fear was that he had lost contact with Ashe and +McNeil, and that he would never be able to pick up their trail in the +wilderness ahead.</p> + +<p>Thankful for the dark suit he wore which was protective covering in the +night, he twice ducked into the brush to allow parties of refugees to +pass him. Hearing them speak the guttural clicking speech he had learned +from Ulffa's people, Ross<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> deduced that they were innocent of the +village's real purpose. These people were convinced they had been +attacked by night demons. Perhaps there had only been a handful of Reds +in that hidden retreat.</p> + +<p>Ross pulled himself up a hard climb, and pausing to catch his breath, +looked back. He was not overly surprised to see figures moving leisurely +about the village examining the cabins, perhaps in search of the +inhabitants. Each of those searchers was clad in a form-fitting suit +that matched his own, and their bulbous hairless heads gleamed white in +the firelight. Ross was astonished to see that they passed straight +through walls of flame, apparently unconcerned and unsinged by the heat.</p> + +<p>The human beings trapped in the town wailed and ran, or lay and beat +their heads and hands on the ground, supine before the invaders. Each +captive was dragged back to a knot of aliens near the main building. +Some were hurled out again into the dark, unharmed; a few others were +retained. A sorting of prisoners was plainly in progress. There was no +question that the ship people had followed through into this time, and +that they had their own arrangements for the Reds.</p> + +<p>Ross had no desire to learn the particulars. He started climbing again, +finding the pass at last. Beyond, the ground fell away again, and Ross +went forward into the full darkness of the night with a vast surge of +thankfulness.</p> + +<p>Finally, he stopped simply because he was too weary, too hungry, to keep +on his feet without stumbling, and a fall in the dark on these heights +could be costly. Ross discovered a small hollow behind a stunted tree +and crept into it as best he could, his heart laboring against his ribs, +a hot stab of pain cutting into his side with every breath he drew.</p> + +<p>He awoke all at once with the snap of a fighting man who is alert to +ever present danger. A hand lay warm and hard<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> over his mouth, and above +it his eyes met McNeil's. When he saw that Ross was awake McNeil +withdraw his hand. The morning sunlight was warm about them. Moving +clumsily because of his stiff, bruised body, Ross crawled out of the +hollow. He looked around, but McNeil stood there alone. "Ashe?" Ross +questioned him.</p> + +<p>McNeil, showing a haggard face covered with several days' growth of +rusty-brown beard, nodded his head toward the slope. Fumbling inside his +kilt, he brought out something clenched in his fist and offered it to +Ross. The latter held out his palm and McNeil covered it with a handful +of coarse-ground grain. Just to look at the stuff made Ross long for a +drink, but he mouthed it and chewed, getting up to follow McNeil down +into the tree-grown lower slopes.</p> + +<p>"It's not good." McNeil spoke jerkily, using Beaker speech. "Ashe is out +of his head some of the time. That hole in his shoulder is worse than we +thought it was, and there's always the threat of infection. This whole +wood is full of people flushed out of that blasted village! Most of +them—all I've seen—are natives. But they have it firmly planted in +their minds now that there are devils after them. If they see you +wearing that suit——"</p> + +<p>"I know, and I'd strip if I could," Ross agreed. "But I'll have to get +other clothing first; I can't run bare in this cold."</p> + +<p>"That might be safer," McNeil growled. "I don't know just what happened +back there, but it certainly must have been plenty!"</p> + +<p>Ross swallowed a very dry mouthful of grain and then stooped to scoop up +some leftover snow in the shadow of a tree root. It was not as +refreshing as a real drink, but it helped. "You said Ashe is out of his +head. What do we do for him, and what are your plans?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We have to reach the river, somehow. It drains to the sea, and at its +mouth we are supposed to make contact with the sub."</p> + +<p>The proposal sounded impossible to Ross, but so many impossible things +had happened lately he was willing to go along with the idea—as long as +he could. Gathering up more snow, he stuffed it into his mouth before he +followed the already disappearing McNeil.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_14" id="CHAPTER_14"></a>CHAPTER 14</h2> + + +<p>"... that's my half of it. The rest of it you know." Ross held his hands +close to the small fire sheltered in the pit he had helped dig and +flexed his cold-numbed fingers in the warmth.</p> + +<p>From across the handful of flames Ashe's eyes, too bright in a +fever-flushed face, watched him demandingly. The fugitives had taken +cover in an angle where the massed remains of an old avalanche provided +a cave-pocket. McNeil was off scouting in the gray drizzle of the day, +and their escape from the village was now some forty-eight hours behind +them.</p> + +<p>"So the crackpots were right, after all. They only had their times +mixed." Ashe shifted on the bed of brush and leaves they had raked +together for his comfort.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand——"</p> + +<p>"Flying saucers," Ashe returned with an odd little laugh. "It was a wild +possibility, but it was on the books from the start. This certainly will +make Kelgarries turn red——"</p> + +<p>"Flying saucers?"</p> + +<p>Ashe must be out of his head from the fever, Ross sup<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>posed. He wondered +what he should do if Ashe tried to get up and walk away. He could not +tackle a man with a bad hole in his shoulder, nor was he certain he +could wrestle Ashe down in a real fight.</p> + +<p>"That globe-ship was never built on this world. Use your head, Murdock. +Think about your furry-faced friend and the baldy with him. Did either +look like normal Terrans to you?"</p> + +<p>"But—a spaceship!" It was something that had so long been laughed to +scorn. When men had failed to break into space after the initial +excitement of the satellite launchings, space flight had become a matter +for jeers. On the other hand, there was the evidence collected by his +own eyes and ears, his own experience. The services of the lifeboat had +been techniques outside of his experience.</p> + +<p>"This was insinuated once"—Ashe was lying flat now, gazing +speculatively up at the projection of logs and earth which made them a +partial roof—"along with a lot of other bright ideas, by a gentleman +named Charles Fort, who took a lot of pleasure in pricking what he +considered to be vastly over-inflated scientific pomposity. He gathered +together four book loads of reported incidents of unexplainable +happenings which he dared the scientists of his day to explain. And one +of his bright suggestions was that such phenomena as the vast artificial +earthworks found in Ohio and Indiana were originally thrown up by space +castaways to serve as S O S signals. An intriguing idea, and now perhaps +we may prove it true."</p> + +<p>"But if such spaceships were wrecked on this world, I still don't see +why we didn't find traces of them in our own time."</p> + +<p>"Because that wreck you explored was bedded in a glacial era. Do you +have any idea how long ago that was, counting from our own time? There +were at least three glacial periods—and we don't know in which one the +Reds went visiting. That<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> age began about a million years before we were +born, and the last of the ice ebbed out of New York State some +thirty-eight thousand years ago, boy. That was the early Stone Age, +reckoning it by the scale of human development, with an extremely thin +population of the first real types of man clinging to a few warmer +fringes of wilderness.</p> + +<p>"Climatic changes, geographical changes, all altered the face of our +continents. There was a sea in Kansas; England was part of Europe. So, +even though as many as fifty such ships were lost here, they could all +have been ground to bits by the ice flow, buried miles deep in quakes, +or rusted away generations before the first really intelligent man +arrived to wonder at them. Certainly there couldn't be too many such +wrecks to be found. What do you think this planet was, a flypaper to +attract them?"</p> + +<p>"But if ships crashed here once, why didn't they later when men were +better able to understand them?" Ross countered.</p> + +<p>"For several reasons—all of them possible and able to be fitted into +the fabric of history as we know it on this world. Civilizations rise, +exist, and fall, each taking with it into the limbo of forgotten things +some of the discoveries which made it great. How did the Indian +civilizations of the New World learn to harden gold into a useable point +for a cutting weapon? What was the secret of building possessed by the +ancient Egyptians? Today you will find plenty of men to argue these +problems and half a hundred others.</p> + +<p>"The Egyptians once had a well-traveled trade route to India. Bronze Age +traders opened up roads down into Africa. The Romans knew China. Then +came an end to each of these empires, and those trade routes were +forgotten. To our European ancestors of the Middle Ages, China was +almost a legend, and the fact that the Egyptians had successfully sailed +around the Cape of Good Hope was unknown. Suppose our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> space voyagers +represented some star-born confederacy or empire which lived, rose to +its highest point, and fell again into planet-bound barbarism all before +the first of our species painted pictures on a cave wall?</p> + +<p>"Or take it that this world was an unlucky reef on which too many ships +and cargoes were lost, so that our whole solar system was posted, and +skippers of star ships thereafter avoided it? Or they might even have +had some rule that when a planet developed a primitive race of its own, +it was to be left strictly alone until it discovered space flight for +itself."</p> + +<p>"Yes." Every one of Ashe's suppositions made good sense, and Ross was +able to believe them. It was easier to think that both Furry-face and +Baldy were inhabitants of another world than to think their kind existed +on this planet before his own species was born. "But how did the Reds +locate that ship?"</p> + +<p>"Unless that information is on the tapes we were able to bring along, we +shall probably never know," Ashe said drowsily. "I might make one +guess—the Reds have been making an all-out effort for the past hundred +years to open up Siberia. In some sections of that huge country there +have been great climatic changes almost overnight in the far past. +Mammoths have been discovered frozen in the ice with half-digested +tropical plants in their stomach. It's as if the beasts were given some +deep-freeze treatment instantaneously. If in their excavations the Reds +came across the remains of a spaceship, remains well enough preserved +for them to realize what they had discovered, they might start questing +back in time to find a better one intact at an earlier date. That theory +fits everything we know now."</p> + +<p>"But why would the aliens attack the Reds now?"</p> + +<p>"No ship's officers ever thought gently of pirates." Ashe's eyes closed.</p> + +<p>There were questions, a flood of them, that Ross wanted to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> ask. He +smoothed the fabric on his arm, that stuff which clung so tightly to his +skin yet kept him warm without any need for more covering. If Ashe were +right, on what world, what kind of world, had that material been woven, +and how far had it been brought that he could wear it now?</p> + +<p>Suddenly McNeil slid into their shelter and dropped two hares at the +edge of the fire.</p> + +<p>"How goes it?" he said, as Ross began to clean them.</p> + +<p>"Reasonably well," Ashe, his eyes still closed, replied to that before +Ross could. "How far are we from the river? And do we have company?"</p> + +<p>"About five miles—if we had wings." McNeil answered in a dry tone. "And +we have company all right, lots of it!"</p> + +<p>That brought Ashe up, leaning forward on his good elbow. "What kind?"</p> + +<p>"Not from the village." McNeil frowned at the fire which he fed with +economic handfuls of sticks. "Something's happening on this side of the +mountains. It looks as if there's a mass migration in progress. I +counted five family clans on their way west—all in just this one +morning."</p> + +<p>"The village refugees' stories about devils might send them packing," +Ashe mused.</p> + +<p>"Maybe." But McNeil did not sound convinced. "The sooner we head +downstream, the better. And I hope the boys will have that sub waiting +where they promised. We do possess one thing in our favor—the spring +floods are subsiding."</p> + +<p>"And the high water should have plenty of raft material." Ashe lay back +again. "We'll make those five miles tomorrow."</p> + +<p>McNeil stirred uneasily and Ross, having cleaned and spitted the hares, +swung them over the flames to broil. "Five miles in this country," the +younger man observed, "is a pretty good day's march"—he did not add as +he wanted to—"for a well man."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will make it," Ashe promised, and both listeners knew that as long as +his body would obey him he meant to keep that promise. They also knew +the futility of argument.</p> + +<p>Ashe proved to be a prophet to be honored on two counts. They did make +the trek to the river the next day, and there was a wealth of raft +material marking the high-water level of the spring flood. The +migrations McNeil had reported were still in progress, and the three men +hid twice to watch the passing of small family clans. Once a respectably +sized tribe, including wounded men, marched across their route, seeking +a ford at the river.</p> + +<p>"They've been badly mauled," McNeil whispered as they watched the people +huddled along the water's edge while scouts cast upstream and down, +searching for a ford. When they returned with the news that there was no +ford to be found, the tribesmen then sullenly went to work with flint +axes and knives to make rafts.</p> + +<p>"Pressure—they are on the run." Ashe rested his chin on his good +forearm and studied the busy scene. "These are not from the village. +Notice the dress and the red paint on their faces. They're not like +Ulffa's kin either. I wouldn't say they were local at all."</p> + +<p>"Reminds me of something I saw once—animals running before a forest +fire. They can't all be looking for new hunting territory," McNeil +returned.</p> + +<p>"Reds sweeping them out," Ross suggested. "Or could the ship people—?"</p> + +<p>Ashe started to shake his head and then winced. "I wonder...." The +crease between his level brows deepened. "The ax people!" His voice was +still a whisper, but it carried a note of triumph as if he had fitted +some stubborn jigsaw piece into its proper place.</p> + +<p>"Ax people?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Invasion of another people from the east. They turned up in prehistory +about this period. Remember, Webb spoke of them. They used axes for +weapons and tamed horses."</p> + +<p>"Tartars"—McNeil was puzzled—"This far west?"</p> + +<p>"Not Tartars, no. You needn't expect those to come boiling out of middle +Asia for some thousands of years yet. We don't know too much about the +ax people, save that they moved west from the interior plains. +Eventually they crossed to Britain; perhaps they were the ancestors of +the Celts who loved horses too. But in their time they were a tidal +wave."</p> + +<p>"The sooner we head downstream, the better." McNeil stirred restlessly, +but they knew that they must keep to cover until the tribesmen below +were gone. So they lay in hiding another night, witnessing on the next +morning the arrival of a smaller party of the red-painted men, again +with wounded among them. At the coming of this rear guard the activity +on the river bank rose close to frenzy.</p> + +<p>The three men out of time were doubly uneasy. It was not for them to +merely cross the river. They had to build a raft which would be +water-worthy enough to take them downstream—to the sea if they were +lucky. And to build such a sturdy raft would take time, time they did +not have now.</p> + +<p>In fact, McNeil waited only until the last tribal raft was out of bow +shot before he plunged down to the shore, Ross at his heels. Since they +lacked even the stone tools of the tribesmen, they were at a +disadvantage, and Ross found he was hands and feet for Ashe, working +under the other's close direction. Before night closed in they had a +good beginning and two sets of blistered hands, as well as aching backs.</p> + +<p>When it was too dark to work any longer, Ashe pointed back over the +track they had followed. Marking the mountain pass was a light. It +looked like fire, and if it was, it must be a big one for them to be +able to sight it across this distance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Camp?" McNeil wondered.</p> + +<p>"Must be," Ashe agreed. "Those who built that blaze are in such numbers +that they don't have to take precautions."</p> + +<p>"Will they be here by tomorrow?"</p> + +<p>"Their scouts might, but this is early spring, and forage can't have +been too good on the march. If I were the chief of that tribe, I'd turn +aside into the meadow land we skirted yesterday and let the herds graze +for a day, maybe more. On the other hand, if they need water——"</p> + +<p>"They will come straight ahead!" McNeil finished grimly. "And we can't +be here when they arrive."</p> + +<p>Ross stretched, grimacing at the twinge of pain in his shoulders. His +hands smarted and throbbed, and this was just the beginning of their +task. If Ashe had been fit, they might have trusted to logs for support +and swum downstream to hunt a safer place for their shipbuilding +project. But he knew that Ashe could not stand such an effort.</p> + +<p>Ross slept that night mainly because his body was too exhausted to let +him lie awake and worry. Roused in the earliest dawn by McNeil, they +both crawled down to the water's edge and struggled to bind stubbornly +resisting saplings together with cords twisted from bark. They +reinforced them at crucial points with some strings torn from their +kilts, and strips of rabbit hide saved from their kills of the past few +days. They worked with hunger gnawing at them, having no time now to +hunt. When the sun was well westward they had a clumsy craft which +floated sluggishly. Whether it would answer to either pole or improvised +paddle, they could not know until they tried it.</p> + +<p>Ashe, his face flushed and his skin hot to the touch, crawled on board +and lay in the middle, on the thin heap of bedding they had put there +for him. He eagerly drank the water they carried to him in cupped hands +and gave a little sigh of relief as Ross wiped his face with wet grass, +muttering something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> about Kelgarries which neither of his companions +understood.</p> + +<p>McNeil shoved off and the bobbing craft spun around dizzily as the +current pulled it free from the shore. They made a brave start, but luck +deserted them before they had gotten out of sight of the spot where they +embarked.</p> + +<p>Striving to keep them in mid-current, McNeil poled furiously, but there +were too many rocks and snagged trees projecting from the banks. Sharing +that sweep of water with them, and coming up fast, was a full-sized +tree. Twice its mat of branches caught on some snag, holding it back, +and Ross breathed a little more freely, but it soon tore free again and +rolled on, as menacing as a battering ram.</p> + +<p>"Get closer to shore!" Ross shouted the warning. Those great, twisted +roots seemed aimed straight at the raft, and he was sure if that mass +struck them fairly, they would not have a chance. He dug in with his own +pole, but his hasty push did not meet bottom; the stake in his hands +plunged into some pothole in the hidden river bed. He heard McNeil cry +out as he toppled into the water, gasping as the murky liquid flooded +his mouth, choking him.</p> + +<p>Half dazed by the shock, Ross struck out instinctively. The training at +the base had included swimming, but to fight water in a pool under +controlled conditions was far different from fighting death in a river +of icy water when one had already swallowed a sizable quantity of that +flood.</p> + +<p>Ross had a half glimpse of a dark shadow. Was it the edge of the raft? +He caught at it desperately, skinning his hands on rough bark, dragged +on by it. The tree! He blinked his eyes to clear them of water, to try +to see. But he could not pull his exhausted body high enough out of the +water to see past the screen of roots; he could only cling to the small +safety he had won and hope that he could rejoin the raft somewhere +downstream.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<p>After what seemed like a very long time he wedged one arm between two +water-washed roots, sure that the support would hold his head above the +surface. The chill of the stream struck at his hands and head, but the +protection of the alien clothing was still effective, and the rest of +his body was not cold. He was simply too tired to wrest himself free and +trust again to the haphazard chance of making shore through the +gathering dusk.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a shock jarred his body and strained the arm he had thrust +among the roots, wringing a cry out of him. He swung around and brushed +footing under the water; the tree had caught on a shore snag. Pulling +loose from the roots, he floundered on his hands and knees, falling +afoul of a mass of reeds whose roots were covered with stale-smelling +mud. Like a wounded animal he dragged himself through the ooze to higher +land, coming out upon an open meadow flooded with moonlight.</p> + +<p>For a while he lay there, his cold, sore hands under him, plastered with +mud and too tired to move. The sound of a sharp barking aroused him—an +imperative, summoning bark, neither belonging to a wolf nor a hunting +fox. He listened to it dully and then, through the ground upon which he +lay, Ross felt as well as heard the pounding of hoofs.</p> + +<p>Hoofs—horses! Horses from over the mountains—horses which might mean +danger. His mind seemed as dull and numb as his hands, and it took quite +a long time for him to fully realize the menace horses might bring.</p> + +<p>Getting up, Ross noticed a winged shape sweeping across the disk of the +moon like a silent dart. There was a single despairing squeak out of the +grass about a hundred feet away, and the winged shape arose again with +its prey. Then the barking sound once more—eager, excited barking.</p> + +<p>Ross crouched back on his heels and saw a smoky brand of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>light moving +along the edge of the meadow where the band of trees began. Could it be +a herd guard? Ross knew he had to head back toward the river, but he had +to force himself on the path, for he did not know whether he dared enter +the stream again. But what would happen if they hunted him with the dog? +Confused memories of how water spoiled scent spurred him on.</p> + +<p>Having reached the rising bank he had climbed so laboriously before, +Ross miscalculated and tumbled back, rolling down into the mud of the +reed bed. Mechanically he wiped the slime from his face. The tree was +still anchored there; by some freak the current had rammed its rooted +end up on a sand spit.</p> + +<p>Above in the meadow the barking sounded very close, and now it was +answered by a second canine belling. Ross wormed his way back through +the reeds to the patch of water between the tree and the bank. His few +poor efforts at escape were almost half-consciously taken; he was too +tired to really care now.</p> + +<p>Soon he saw a four-footed shape running along the top of the bank, +giving tongue. It was then joined by a larger and even more vocal +companion. The dogs drew even with Ross, who wondered dully if the +animals could sight him in the shadows below, or whether they only +scented his presence. Had he been able, he would have climbed over the +log and taken his chances in the open water, but now he could only lie +where he was—the tangle of roots between him and the bank serving as a +screen, which would be little enough protection when men came with +torches.</p> + +<p>Ross was mistaken, however, for his worm's progress across the reed bed +had liberally besmeared his dark clothing and masked the skin of his +face and hands, giving him better cover<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> than any he could have +wittingly devised. Though he felt naked and defenseless, the men who +trailed the hounds to the river bank, thrusting out the torch over the +edge to light the sand spit, saw nothing but the trunk of the tree +wedged against a mound of mud.</p> + +<p>Ross heard a confused murmur of voices broken by the clamor of the dogs. +Then the torch was raised out of line of his dazzled eyes. He saw one of +the indistinct figures above cuff away a dog and move off, calling the +hounds after it. Reluctantly, still barking, the animals went. Ross, +with a little sob, subsided limply in the uncomfortable net of roots, +still undiscovered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_15" id="CHAPTER_15"></a>CHAPTER 15</h2> + + +<p>It was such a small thing, a tag of ragged stuff looped about a length +of splintered sapling. Ross climbed stiffly over the welter of drift +caught on the sand spit and pulled it loose, recognizing the string even +before he touched it. That square knot was of McNeil's tying, and as +Murdock sat down weakly in the sand and mud, nervously fingering the +twisted cord, staring vacantly at the river, his last small hope died. +The raft must have broken up, and neither Ashe nor McNeil could have +survived the ultimate disaster.</p> + +<p>Ross Murdock was alone, marooned in a time which was not his own, with +little promise of escape. That one thought blanked out his mind with its +own darkness. What was the use of getting up again, of trying to find +food for his empty stomach, or warmth and shelter?</p> + +<p>He had always prided himself on being able to go it alone, had thought +himself secure in that calculated loneliness. Now that belief had been +washed away in the river along with most of the will power which had +kept him going these past days. Before, there had always been some goal, +no matter how re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>mote. Now, he had nothing. Even if he managed to reach +the mouth of the river, he had no idea of where or how to summon the sub +from the overseas post. All three of the time travelers might already +have been written off the rolls, since they had not reported in.</p> + +<p>Ross pulled the rag free from the sapling and wreathed it in a tight +bracelet about his grimed wrist for some unexplainable reason. Worn and +tired, he tried to think ahead. There was no chance of again contacting +Ulffa's tribe. Along with all the other woodland hunters they must have +fled before the advance of the horsemen. No, there was no reason to go +back, and why make the effort to advance?</p> + +<p>The sun was hot. This was one of those spring days which foretell the +ripeness of summer. Insects buzzed in the reed banks where a green sheen +showed. Birds wheeled and circled in the sky, some flock disturbed, +their cries reaching Ross in hoarse calls of warning.</p> + +<p>He was still plastered with patches of dried mud and slime, the reek of +it thick in his nostrils. Now Ross brushed at a splotch on his knee, +picking loose flakes to expose the alien cloth of his suit underneath, +seemingly unbefouled. All at once it became necessary to be clean again +at least.</p> + +<p>Ross waded into the stream, stooping to splash the brown water over his +body and then rubbing away the resulting mud. In the sunlight the fabric +had a brilliant glow, as if it not only drew the light but reflected it. +Wading farther out into the water, he began to swim, not with any goal +in view, but because it was easier than crawling back to land once more.</p> + +<p>Using the downstream current to supplement his skill, he watched both +banks. He could not really hope to see either the raft or indications +that its passengers had won to shore,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> but somewhere deep inside him he +had not yet accepted the probable.</p> + +<p>The effort of swimming broke through that fog of inertia which had held +him since he had awakened that morning. It was with a somewhat healthier +interest in life that Ross came ashore again on an arm of what was a bay +or inlet angling back into the land. Here the banks of the river were +well above his head, and believing that he was well sheltered, he +stripped, hanging his suit in the sunlight and letting the unusual heat +of the day soothe his body.</p> + +<p>A raw fish, cornered in the shallows and scooped out, furnished one of +the best meals he had ever tasted. He had reached for the suit draped +over a willow limb when the first and only warning that his fortunes had +once again changed came, swiftly, silently, and with deadly promise.</p> + +<p>One moment the willows had moved gently in the breeze, and then a spear +suddenly set them all quivering. Ross, clutching the suit to him with a +frantic grab, skated about in the sand, going to one knee in his haste.</p> + +<p>He found himself completely at the mercy of the two men standing on the +bank well above him. Unlike Ulffa's people or the Beaker traders, they +were very tall, with heavy braids of light or sun-bleached hair swinging +forward on their wide chests. Their leather tunics hung to mid-thigh +above leggings which were bound to their limbs with painted straps. Cuff +bracelets of copper ringed their forearms, and necklaces of animal teeth +and beads displayed their personal wealth. Ross could not remember +having seen their like on any of the briefing tapes at the base.</p> + +<p>One spear had been a warning, but a second was held ready, so Ross made +the age-old signal of surrender, reluctantly dropping his suit and +raising his hands palm out and shoulder high.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Friend?" Ross asked in the Beaker tongue. The traders ranged far, and +perhaps there was a chance they had had contact with this tribe.</p> + +<p>The spear twirled, and the younger stranger effortlessly leaped down the +bank, paddling over to Ross to pick up the suit he had dropped, holding +it up while he made some comment to his companion. He seemed fascinated +by the fabric, pulling and smoothing it between his hands, and Ross +wondered if there was a chance of trading it for his own freedom.</p> + +<p>Both men were armed, not only with the long-bladed daggers favored by +the Beaker folk, but also with axes. When Ross made a slight effort to +lower his hands the man before him reached to his belt ax, growling what +was plainly a warning. Ross blinked, realizing that they might well +knock him out and leave him behind, taking the suit with them.</p> + +<p>Finally, they decided in favor of including him in their loot. Throwing +the suit over one arm, the stranger caught Ross by the shoulder and +pushed him forward roughly. The pebbled beach was painful to Ross's +feet, and the breeze which whipped about him as he reached the top of +the bank reminded him only too forcibly of his ordeal in the glacial +world.</p> + +<p>Murdock was tempted to make a sudden dash out on the point of the bank +and dive into the river, but it was already too late. The man who was +holding the spear had moved behind him, and Ross's wrist, held in a vise +grip at the small of his back, kept him prisoner as he was pushed on +into the meadow. There three shaggy horses grazed, their nose ropes +gathered into the hands of a third man.</p> + +<p>A sharp stone half buried in the ground changed the pattern of the day. +Ross's heel scraped against it, and the resulting pain triggered his +rebellion into explosion. He threw himself backward, his bruised heel +sliding between the feet of his captor, bringing them both to the ground +with himself on top.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> The other expelled air from his lungs in a grunt +of surprise, and Ross whipped over, one hand grasping the hilt of the +tribesman's dagger while the other, free of that prisoning wrist-lock, +chopped at the fellow's throat.</p> + +<p>Dagger out and ready, Ross faced the men in a half crouch as he had been +drilled. They stared at him in open-mouthed amazement, then too late the +spears went up. Ross placed the point of his looted weapon at the throat +of the now quiet man by whom he knelt, and he spoke the language he had +learned from Ulffa's people.</p> + +<p>"You strike—this one dies."</p> + +<p>They must have read the determined purpose in his eyes, for slowly, +reluctantly, the spears went down. Having gained so much of a victory, +Ross dared more. "Take—" he motioned to the waiting horses—"take and +go!"</p> + +<p>For a moment he thought that this time they would meet his challenge, +but he continued to hold the dagger above the brown throat of the man +who was now moaning faintly. His threat continued to register, for the +other man shrugged the suit from his arm, left it lying on the ground, +and retreated. Holding the nose rope of his horse, he mounted, waved the +herder up also, and both of them rode slowly away.</p> + +<p>The prisoner was slowly coming around, so Ross only had time to pull on +the suit; he had not even fastened the breast studs before those blue +eyes opened. A sunburned hand flashed to a belt, but the dagger and ax +which had once hung there were now in Ross's possession. He watched the +tribesman carefully as he finished dressing.</p> + +<p>"What you do?" The words were in the speech of the forest people, +distorted by a new accent.</p> + +<p>"You go—" Ross pointed to the third horse the others had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> left +behind—"I go—" he indicated the river—"I take these"—he patted the +dagger and the ax. The other scowled.</p> + +<p>"Not good...."</p> + +<p>Ross laughed, a little hysterically. "Not good you," he agreed, +"good—me!"</p> + +<p>To his surprise the tribesman's stiff face relaxed, and the fellow gave +a bark of laughter. He sat up, rubbing at his throat, a big grin pulling +at the corners of his mouth.</p> + +<p>"You—hunter?" The man pointed northeast to the woodlands fringing the +mountains.</p> + +<p>Ross shook his head. "Trader, me."</p> + +<p>"Trader," the other repeated. Then he tapped one of the wide metal cuffs +at his wrist. "Trade—this?"</p> + +<p>"That. More things."</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>Ross pointed downstream. "By bitter water—trade there."</p> + +<p>The man appeared puzzled. "Why you here?"</p> + +<p>"Ride river water, like you ride," he said, pointing to the horse. "Ride +on trees—many trees tied together. Trees break apart—I come here."</p> + +<p>The conception of a raft voyage apparently got across, for the tribesman +was nodding. Getting to his feet, he walked across to take up the nose +rope of the waiting horse. "You come camp—Foscar. Foscar chief. He like +you show trick how you take Tulka, make him sleep—hold his ax, knife."</p> + +<p>Ross hesitated. This Tulka seemed friendly now, but would that +friendliness last? He shook his head. "I go to bitter water. My chief +there."</p> + +<p>Tulka was scowling again. "You speak crooked words—your chief there!" +He pointed eastward with a dramatic stretch of the arm. "Your chief +speak Foscar. Say he give much these—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> he touched his copper +cuffs—"good knives, axes—get you back."</p> + +<p>Ross stared at him without understanding. Ashe? Ashe in this Foscar's +camp offering a reward for him? But how could that be?</p> + +<p>"How you know my chief?"</p> + +<p>Tulka laughed, this time derisively. "You wear shining skin—your chief +wear shiny skin. He say find other shiny skin—give many good things to +man who bring you back."</p> + +<p>Shiny skin! The suit from the alien ship! Was it the ship people? Ross +remembered the light on him as he climbed out of the Red village. He +must have been sighted by one of the spacemen. But why were they +searching for him, alerting the natives in an effort to scoop him up? +What made Ross Murdock so important that they must have him? He only +knew that he was not going to be taken if he could help it, that he had +no desire to meet this "chief" who had offered treasure for his capture.</p> + +<p>"You will come!" Tulka went into action, his mount flashing forward +almost in a running leap at Ross, who stumbled back when horse and rider +loomed over him. He swung up the ax, but it was a weapon with which he +had had no training, too heavy for him.</p> + +<p>As his blow met only thin air the shoulder of the mount hit him, and +Ross went down, avoiding by less than a finger's breadth the thud of an +unshod hoof against his skull. Then the rider landed on him, crushing +him flat. A fist connected with his jaw, and for Ross the sun went out.</p> + +<p>He found himself hanging across a support which moved with a rocking +gait, whose pounding hurt his head, keeping him half dazed. Ross tried +to move, but he realized that his arms were behind his back, fastened +wrist to wrist, and a warm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> weight centered in the small of his spine to +hold him face down on a horse. He could do nothing except endure the +discomfort as best he could and hope for a speedy end to the gallop.</p> + +<p>Over his head passed the cackle of speech. He caught short glimpses of +another horse matching pace to the one that carried him. Then they swept +into a noisy place where the shouting of many men made a din. The horse +stopped and Ross was pulled from its back and dropped to the trodden +dust, to lie blinking up dizzily, trying to focus on the scene about +him.</p> + +<p>They had arrived at the camp of the horsemen, whose hide tents served as +a backdrop for the fair long-haired giants and the tall women hovering +about to view the captive. The circle about him then broke, and men +stood aside for a newcomer. Ross had believed that his original captors +were physically imposing, but this one was their master. Lying on the +ground at the chieftain's feet, Ross felt like a small and helpless +child.</p> + +<p>Foscar, if Foscar this was, could not yet have entered middle age, and +the muscles which moved along his arms and across his shoulders as he +leaned over to study Tulka's prize made him bear-strong. Ross glared up +at him, that same hot rage which had led to his attack on Tulka now +urging him to the only defiance he had left—words.</p> + +<p>"Look well, Foscar. Free me, and I would do more than <i>look</i> at you," he +said in the speech of the woods hunters.</p> + +<p>Foscar's blue eyes widened and he lowered a fist which could have +swallowed in its grasp both of Ross's hands, linking those great fingers +in the stuff of the suit and drawing the captive to his feet, with no +sign that his act had required any effort. Even standing, Ross was a +good eight inches shorter than the chieftain. Yet he put up his chin and +eyed the other squarely, without giving ground.</p> + +<p>"So—yet still my hands are tied." He put into that all the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> taunting +inflection he could summon. His reception by Tulka had given him one +faint clue to the character of these people; they might be brought to +acknowledge the worth of one who stood up to them.</p> + +<p>"Child—" The fist shifted from its grip on the fabric covering Ross's +chest to his shoulder, and now under its compulsion Ross swayed back and +forth.</p> + +<p>"Child?" From somewhere Ross raised that short laugh. "Ask Tulka. I be +no child, Foscar. Tulka's ax, Tulka's knife—they were in my hand. A +horse Tulka had to use to bring me down."</p> + +<p>Foscar regarded him intently and then grinned. "Sharp tongue," he +commented. "Tulka lost knife—ax? So! Ennar," he called over his +shoulder, and one of the men stepped out a pace beyond his fellows.</p> + +<p>He was shorter and much younger than his chief, with a boy's rangy +slimness and an open, good-looking face, his eyes bright on Foscar with +a kind of eager excitement. Like the other tribesmen he was armed with +belt dagger and ax, and since he wore two necklaces and both cuff +bracelets and upper armlets as did Foscar, Ross thought he must be a +relative of the older man.</p> + +<p>"Child!" Foscar clapped his hand on Ross's shoulder and then withdrew +the hold. "Child!" He indicated Ennar, who reddened. "You take from +Ennar ax, knife," Foscar ordered, "as you took from Tulka." He made a +sign, and someone cut the thongs about Ross's wrists.</p> + +<p>Ross rubbed one numbed hand against the other, setting his jaw. Foscar +had stung his young follower with that contemptuous "child," so the boy +would be eager to match all his skill against the prisoner. This would +not be as easy as his taking Tulka by surprise. But if he refused, +Foscar might well order<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> him killed out of hand. He had chosen to be +defiant; he would have to do his best.</p> + +<p>"Take—ax, knife—" Foscar stepped back, waving at his men to open out a +ring encircling the two young men.</p> + +<p>Ross felt a little sick as he watched Ennar's hand go to the haft of the +ax. Nothing had been said about Ennar's not using his weapons in +defense, but Ross discovered that there was some sense of sportmanship +in the tribesmen, after all. It was Tulka who pushed to the chief's side +and said something which made Foscar roar bull-voiced at his youthful +champion.</p> + +<p>Ennar's hand came away from the ax hilt as if that polished wood were +white-hot, and he transferred his discomfiture to Ross as the other +understood. Ennar had to win now for his own pride's sake, and Ross felt +<i>he</i> had to win for his life. They circled warily, Ross watching his +opponent's eyes rather than those half-closed hands held at waist level.</p> + +<p>Back at the base he had been matched with Ashe, and before Ashe with the +tough-bodied, skilled, and merciless trainers in unarmed combat. He had +had beaten into his bruised flesh knowledge of holds and blows intended +to save his skin in just such an encounter. But then he had been +well-fed, alert, prepared. He had not been knocked silly and then +transported for miles slung across a horse after days of exposure and +hard usage. It remained to be learned—was Ross Murdock as tough as he +always thought himself to be? Tough or not, he was in this until he +won—or dropped.</p> + +<p>Comments from the crowd aroused Ennar to the first definite action. He +charged, stooping low in a wrestler's stance, but Ross squatted even +lower. One hand flicked to the churned dust of the ground and snapped up +again, sending a cloud of grit into the tribesman's face. Then their +bodies met with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> shock, and Ennar sailed over Ross's shoulder to skid +along the earth.</p> + +<p>Had Ross been fresh, the contest would have ended there and then in his +favor. But when he tried to whirl and throw himself on his opponent he +was too slow. Ennar was not waiting to be pinned flat, and it was Ross's +turn to be caught at a disadvantage.</p> + +<p>A hand shot out to catch his leg just above the ankle, and once again +Ross obeyed his teaching, falling easily at that pull, to land across +his opponent. Ennar, disconcerted by the too-quick success of his +attack, was unprepared for this. Ross rolled, trying to escape +steel-fingered hands, his own chopping out in edgewise blows, striving +to serve Ennar as he had Tulka.</p> + +<p>He had to take a lot of punishment, though he managed to elude the +powerful bear's hug in which he knew the other was laboring to engulf +him, a hold which would speedily crush him into submission. Clinging to +the methods he had been taught, he fought on, only now he knew, with a +growing panic, that his best was not good enough. He was too spent to +make an end. Unless he had some piece of great good luck, he could only +delay his own defeat.</p> + +<p>Fingers clawed viciously at his eyes, and Ross did what he had never +thought to do in any fight—he snapped wolfishly, his teeth closing on +flesh as he brought up his knee and drove it home into the body +wriggling on his. There was a gasp of hot breath in his face as Ross +called upon the last few rags of his strength, tearing loose from the +other's slackened hold. He scrambled to one knee. Ennar was also on his +knees, crouching like a four-legged beast ready to spring. Ross risked +everything on a last gamble. Clasping his hands together, he raised them +as high as he could and brought them down on the nape of the other's +neck. Ennar sprawled forward face-down in the dust where seconds later +Ross joined him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_16" id="CHAPTER_16"></a>CHAPTER 16</h2> + + +<p>Murdock lay on his back, gazing up at the laced hides which stretched to +make the tent roofing. Having been battered just enough to feel all one +aching bruise, Ross had lost interest in the future. Only the present +mattered, and it was a dark one. He might have fought Ennar to a +standstill, but in the eyes of the horsemen he had also been beaten, and +he had not impressed them as he had hoped. That he still lived was a +minor wonder, but he deduced that he continued to breathe only because +they wanted to exchange him for the reward offered by the aliens from +out of time, an unpleasant prospect to contemplate.</p> + +<p>His wrists were lashed over his head to a peg driven deeply into the +ground; his ankles were bound to another. He could turn his head from +side to side, but any further movement was impossible. He ate only bits +of food dropped into his mouth by a dirty-fingered slave, a cowed hunter +captured from a tribe overwhelmed in the migration of the horsemen.</p> + +<p>"Ho—taker of axes!" A toe jarred into his ribs, and Ross bit back the +grunt of pain which answered that rude bid for his attention. He saw in +the dim light Ennar's face and was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> savagely glad to note the +discolorations about the right eye and along the jaw line, the +signatures left by his own skinned knuckles.</p> + +<p>"Ho—warrior!" Ross returned hoarsely, trying to lade that title with +all the scorn he could summon.</p> + +<p>Ennar's hand, holding a knife, swung into his limited range of vision. +"To clip a sharp tongue is a good thing!" The young tribesman grinned as +he knelt down beside the helpless prisoner.</p> + +<p>Ross knew a thrill of fear worse than any pain. Ennar might be about to +do just what he hinted! Instead, the knife swung up and Ross felt the +sawing at the cords about his wrists, enduring the pain in the raw +gouges they had cut in his flesh with gratitude that it was not +mutilation which had brought Ennar to him. He knew that his arms were +free, but to draw them down from over his head was almost more than he +could do, and he lay quiet as Ennar loosed his feet.</p> + +<p>"Up!"</p> + +<p>Without Ennar's hands pulling at him, Ross could not have reached his +feet. Nor did he stay erect once he had been raised, crashing forward on +his face as the other let him go, hot anger eating at him because of his +own helplessness.</p> + +<p>In the end, Ennar summoned two slaves who dragged Ross into the open +where a council assembled about a fire. A debate was in progress, +sometimes so heated that the speakers fingered their knife or ax hilts +when they shouted their arguments. Ross could not understand their +language, but he was certain that he was the subject under discussion +and that Foscar had the deciding vote and had not yet given the nod to +either side.</p> + +<p>Ross sat where the slaves had dumped him, rubbing his smarting wrists, +so deathly weary in mind and beaten in body that he was not really +interested in the fate they were planning for him. He was content merely +to be free of his bonds, a small favor, but one he savored dully.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>He did not know how long the debate lasted, but at length Ennar came to +stand over him with a message. "Your chief—he give many good things for +you. Foscar take you to him."</p> + +<p>"My chief is not here," Ross repeated wearily, making a protest he knew +they would not heed. "My chief sits by the bitter water and waits. He +will be angry if I do not come. Let Foscar fear his anger——"</p> + +<p>Ennar laughed. "You run from your chief. He will be happy with Foscar +when you lie again under his hand. You will not like that—I think it +so!"</p> + +<p>"I think so, too," Ross agreed silently.</p> + +<p>He spent the rest of that night lying between the watchful Ennar and +another guard, though they had the humanity not to bind him again. In +the morning he was allowed to feed himself, and he fished chunks of +venison out of a stew with his unwashed fingers. But in spite of the +messiness, it was the best food he had eaten in days.</p> + +<p>The trip, however, was not to be a comfortable one. He was mounted on +one of the shaggy horses, a rope run under the animal's belly to loop +one foot to the other. Fortunately, his hands were bound so he was able +to grasp the coarse, wiry mane and keep his seat after a fashion. The +nose rope of his mount was passed to Tulka, and Ennar rode beside him +with only half an eye for the path of his own horse and the balance of +his attention for the prisoner.</p> + +<p>They headed northeast, with the mountains as a sharp green-and-white +goal against the morning sky. Though Ross's sense of direction was not +too acute, he was certain that they were making for the general vicinity +of the hidden village, which he believed the ship people had destroyed. +He tried to discover something of the nature of the contact which had +been made between the aliens and the horsemen.</p> + +<p>"How find other chief?" he asked Ennar.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>The young man tossed one of his braids back across his shoulder and +turned his head to face Ross squarely. "Your chief come our camp. Talk +with Foscar—two—four sleeps ago."</p> + +<p>"How talk with Foscar? With hunter talk?"</p> + +<p>For the first time Ennar did not appear altogether certain. He scowled +and then snapped, "He talk—Foscar, us. We hear right words—not woods +creeper talk. He speak to us good."</p> + +<p>Ross was puzzled. How could the alien out of time speak the proper +language of a primitive tribe some thousands of years removed from his +own era? Were the ship people also familiar with time travel? Did they +have their own stations of transfer? Yet their fury with the Reds had +been hot. This was a complete mystery.</p> + +<p>"This chief—he look like me?"</p> + +<p>Again Ennar appeared at a loss. "He wear covering like you."</p> + +<p>"But was he like me?" persisted Ross. He didn't know what he was trying +to learn, only that it seemed important at that moment to press home to +at least one of the tribesmen that he <i>was</i> different from the man who +had put a price on his head and to whom he was to be sold.</p> + +<p>"Not like!" Tulka spoke over his shoulder. "You look like hunter +people—hair, eyes—Strange chief no hair on head, eyes not like——"</p> + +<p>"You saw him too?" Ross demanded eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I saw. I ride to camp—they come so. Stand on rock, call to Foscar. +Make magic with fire—it jump up!" He pointed his arm stiffly at a bush +before them on the trail. "They point little, little spear—fire come +out of the ground and burn. They say burn our camp if we do not give +them man. We say—not have man. Then they say many good things for us if +we find and bring man——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But they are not my people," Ross cut in. "You see, I have hair, I am +not like them. They are bad——"</p> + +<p>"You may be taken in war by them—chief's slave." Ennar had a reply to +that which was logical according to the customs of his own tribe. "They +want slave back—it is so."</p> + +<p>"My people strong too, much magic," Ross pushed. "Take me to bitter +water and they pay much—more than stranger chief!"</p> + +<p>Both tribesmen were amused. "Where bitter water?" asked Tulka.</p> + +<p>Ross jerked his head to the west. "Some sleeps away——"</p> + +<p>"Some sleeps!" repeated Ennar jeeringly. "We ride some sleeps, maybe +many sleeps where we know not the trails—maybe no people there, maybe +no bitter water—all things you say with split tongue so that we not +give you back to master. We go this way not even one sleep—find chief, +get good things. Why we do hard thing when we can do easy?"</p> + +<p>What argument could Ross offer in rebuttal to the simple logic of his +captors? For a moment he raged inwardly at his own helplessness. But +long ago he had learned that giving away to hot fury was no good unless +one did it deliberately to impress, and then only when one had the upper +hand. Now Ross had no hand at all.</p> + +<p>For the most part they kept to the open, whereas Ross and the other two +agents had skulked in wooded areas on their flight through this same +territory. So they approached the mountains from a different angle, and +though he tried, Ross could pick out no familiar landmarks. If by some +miracle he was able to free himself from his captors, he could only head +due west and hope to strike the river.</p> + +<p>At midday their party made camp in a grove of trees by a spring. The +weather was as unseasonably warm as it had been the day before, and +flies, brought out of cold-weather hiding,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> attacked the stamping horses +and crawled over Ross. He tried to keep them off with swings of his +bound hands, for their bites drew blood.</p> + +<p>Having been tumbled from his mount, he remained fastened to a tree with +a noose about his neck while the horsemen built a fire and broiled +strips of deer meat.</p> + +<p>It would seem that Foscar was in no hurry to get on, since after they +had eaten, the men continued to lounge at ease, some even dropping off +to sleep. When Ross counted faces he learned that Tulka and another had +both disappeared, possibly to contact and warn the aliens they were +coming.</p> + +<p>It was midafternoon before the scouts reappeared, as unobtrusively as +they had gone. They went before Foscar with a report which brought the +chief over to Ross. "We go. Your chief waits—"</p> + +<p>Ross raised his swollen, bitten face and made his usual protest. "Not my +chief!"</p> + +<p>Foscar shrugged. "He say so. He give good things to get you back under +his hand. So—he your chief!"</p> + +<p>Once again Ross was boosted on his mount, and bound. But this time the +party split into two groups as they rode off. He was with Ennar again, +just behind Foscar, with two other guards bringing up the rear. The rest +of the men, leading their mounts, melted into the trees. Ross watched +that quiet withdrawal speculatively. It argued that Foscar did not trust +those he was about to do business with, that he was taking certain +precautions of his own. Only Ross could not see how that distrust, which +might be only ordinary prudence on Foscar's part, could in any way be an +advantage for him.</p> + +<p>They rode at a pace hardly above a walk into a small open meadow +narrowing at the east. Then for the first time Ross was able to place +himself. They were at the entrance to the valley<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> of the village, about +a mile away from the narrow throat above which Ross had lain to spy and +had been captured, for he had come from the north over the spurs of +rising ridges.</p> + +<p>Ross's horse was pulled up as Foscar drove his heel into the ribs of his +own mount, sending it at a brisker pace toward the neck of the valley. +There was a blot of blue there—more than one of the aliens were +waiting. Ross caught his lip between his teeth and bit down on it hard. +He had stood up to the Reds, to Foscar's tribesmen, but he shrank from +meeting those strangers with an odd fear that the worst the men of his +own species could do would be but a pale shadow to the treatment he +might meet at their hands.</p> + +<p>Foscar was now a toy man astride a toy horse. He halted his galloping +mount to sit facing the handful of strangers. Ross counted four of them. +They seemed to be talking, though there was still a good distance +separating the mounted man and the blue suits.</p> + +<p>Minutes passed before Foscar's arm raised in a wave to summon the party +guarding Ross. Ennar kicked his horse to a trot, towing Ross's mount +behind, the other two men thudding along more discreetly. Ross noted +that they were both armed with spears which they carried to the fore as +they rode.</p> + +<p>They were perhaps three quarters of the way to join Foscar, and Ross +could see plainly the bald heads of the aliens as their faces turned in +his direction. Then the strangers struck. One of them raised a weapon +shaped similarly to the automatic Ross knew, except that it was longer +in the barrel.</p> + +<p>Ross did not know why he cried out, except that Foscar had only an ax +and dagger which were both still sheathed at his belt. The chief sat +very still, and then his horse gave a swift sidewise swerve as if in +fright. Foscar collapsed, limp, bonelessly, to the trodden turf, to lie +unmoving face down.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ennar whooped, a cry combining defiance and despair in one. He reined up +with violence enough to set his horse rearing. Then, dropping his hold +on the leading rope of Ross's mount, he whirled and set off in a wild +dash for the trees to the left. A spear lanced across Ross's shoulder, +ripping at the blue fabric, but his horse whirled to follow the other, +taking him out of danger of a second thrust. Having lost his +opportunity, the man who had wielded the spear dashed by at Ennar's +back.</p> + +<p>Ross clung to the mane with both hands. His greatest fear was that he +might slip from the saddle pad and since he was tied by his feet, lie +unprotected and helpless under those dashing hoofs. Somehow he managed +to cling to the horse's neck, his face lashed by the rough mane while +the animal pounded on. Had Ross been able to grasp the dangling nose +rope, he might have had a faint chance of controlling that run, but as +it was he could only hold fast and hope.</p> + +<p>He had only broken glimpses of what lay ahead. Then a brilliant fire, as +vivid as the flames which had eaten up the Red village, burst from the +ground a few yards ahead, sending the horse wild. There was more fire +and the horse changed course through the rising smoke. Ross realized +that the aliens were trying to cut him off from the thin safety of the +woodlands. Why they didn't just shoot him as they had Foscar he could +not understand.</p> + +<p>The smoke of the burning grass was thick, cutting between him and the +woods. Might it also provide a curtain behind which he could hope to +escape both parties? The fire was sending the horse back toward the +waiting ship people. Ross could hear a confused shouting in the smoke. +Then his mount made a miscalculation, and a tongue of red licked too +close. The animal screamed, dashing on blindly straight between two of +the blazes and away from the blue-clad men.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross coughed, almost choking, his eyes watering as the stench of singed +hair thickened the smoke. But he had been carried out of the fire circle +and was shooting back into the meadowland. Mount and unwilling rider +were well away from the upper end of that cleared space when another +horse cut in from the left, matching speed to the uncontrolled animal to +which Ross clung. It was one of the tribesmen riding easily.</p> + +<p>The trick worked, for the wild race slowed to a gallop and the other +rider, in a feat of horsemanship at which Ross marveled, leaned from his +seat to catch the dangling nose rope, bringing the runaway against his +own steady steed. Ross shaken, still coughing from the smoke and unable +to sit upright, held to the mane. The gallop slowed to a rocking pace +and finally came to a halt, both horses blowing, white-foam patches on +their chests and their riders' legs.</p> + +<p>Having made his capture, the tribesman seemed indifferent to Ross, +looking back instead at the wide curtain of grass smoke, frowning as he +studied the swift spread of the fire. Muttering to himself, he pulled +the lead rope and brought Ross's horse to follow in the direction from +which Ennar had brought the captive less than a half hour earlier.</p> + +<p>Ross tried to think. The unexpected death of their chief might well mean +his own, should the tribe's desire for vengeance now be aroused. On the +other hand, there was a faint chance that he could now better impress +them with the thought that he was indeed of another clan and that to aid +him would be to work against a common enemy.</p> + +<p>But it was hard to plan clearly, though wits alone could save him now. +The parley which had ended with Foscar's murder had brought Ross a small +measure of time. He was still a captive, even though of the tribesmen +and not the unearthly strangers. Perhaps to the ship people these +primitives were hardly higher in scale than the forest animals.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross did not try to talk to his present guard, who towed him into the +western sun of late afternoon. They halted at last in that same small +grove where they had rested at noon. The tribesman fastened the mounts +and then walked around to inspect the animal Ross had ridden. With a +grunt he loosened the prisoner and spilled him unceremoniously on the +ground while he examined the horse. Ross levered himself up to sight the +mark of the burn across that roan hide where the fire had blistered the +skin.</p> + +<p>Thick handfuls of mud from the side of the spring were brought and +plastered over the seared strip. Then, having rubbed down both animals +with twists of grass, the man came over to Ross, pushed him back to the +ground, and studied his left leg.</p> + +<p>Ross understood. By rights, his thigh should also have been scorched +where the flame had hit, yet he had felt no pain. Now as the tribesman +examined him for a burn, he could not see even the faintest +discoloration of the strange fabric. He remembered how the aliens had +strolled unconcerned through the burning village. As the suit had +insulated him against the cold of the ice, so it would seem that it had +also protected him against the fire, for which he was duly thankful. His +escape from injury was a puzzle to the tribesman, who, failing to find +any trace of burn on him, left Ross alone and went to sit well away from +his prisoner as if he feared him.</p> + +<p>They did not have long to wait. One by one, those who had ridden in +Foscar's company gathered at the grove. The very last to come were Ennar +and Tulka, carrying the body of their chief. The faces of both men were +smeared with dust and when the others sighted the body they, too, rubbed +dust into their cheeks, reciting a string of words and going one by one +to touch the dead chieftain's right hand.</p> + +<p>Ennar, resigning his burden to the others, slid from his tired<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> horse +and stood for a long moment, his head bowed. Then he gazed straight at +Ross and came across the tiny clearing to stand over the man of a later +time. The boyishness which had been a part of him when he had fought at +Foscar's command was gone. His eyes were merciless as he leaned down to +speak, shaping each word with slow care so that Ross could understand +the promise—that frightful promise:</p> + +<p>"Woods rat, Foscar goes to his burial fire. And he shall take a slave +with him to serve him beyond the sky—a slave to run at his voice, to +shake when he thunders. Slave-dog, you shall run for Foscar beyond the +sky, and he shall have you forever to walk upon as a man walks upon the +earth. I, Ennar, swear that Foscar shall be sent to the chiefs in the +sky in all honor. And that you, dog-one, shall lie at his feet in that +going!"</p> + +<p>He did not touch Ross, but there was no doubt in Ross's mind that he +meant every word he spoke.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_17" id="CHAPTER_17"></a>CHAPTER 17</h2> + + +<p>The preparations for Foscar's funeral went on through the night. A +wooden structure, made up of tied fagots dragged in from the woodland, +grew taller beyond the big tribal camp. The constant crooning wail of +the women in the tents produced a minor murmur of sound, enough to drive +a man to the edge of madness. Ross had been left under guard where he +could watch it all, a refinement of torture which he would earlier have +believed too subtle for Ennar. Though the older men carried minor +commands among the horsemen, because Ennar was the closest of blood kin +among the adult males, he was in charge of the coming ceremony.</p> + +<p>The pick of the horse herd, a roan stallion, was brought in to be +picketed near Ross as sacrifice number two, and two of the hounds were +in turn leashed close by. Foscar, his best weapons to hand and a red +cloak lapped about him, lay waiting on a bier. Near-by squatted the +tribal wizard, shaking his thunder rattle and chanting in a voice which +approached a shriek. This wild activity might have been a scene lifted +directly from some tape stored at the project base. It was very +difficult for Ross to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> remember that this was reality, that he was to be +one of the main actors in the coming event, with no timely aid from +Operation Retrograde to snatch him to safety.</p> + +<p>Sometime during that nightmare he slept, his weariness of body +overcoming him. He awoke, dazed, to find a hand clutching his mop of +hair, pulling his head up.</p> + +<p>"You sleep—you do not fear, Foscar's dog-one?"</p> + +<p>Groggily Ross blinked up. Fear? Sure, he was afraid. Fear, he realized +with a clear thrust of consciousness such as he had seldom experienced +before, had always stalked beside him, slept in his bed. But he had +never surrendered to it, and he would not now if he could help it.</p> + +<p>"I do not fear!" He threw that creed into Ennar's face in one hot boast. +He <i>would</i> not fear!</p> + +<p>"We shall see if you speak so loudly when the fire bites you!" The other +spat, yet in that oath there was a reluctant recognition of Ross's +courage.</p> + +<p>"When the fire bites...." That sang in Ross's head. There was something +else—if he could only remember! Up to that moment he had kept a poor +little shadow of hope. It is always impossible—he was conscious again +with that strange clarity of mind—for a man to face his own death +honestly. A man always continues to believe to the last moment of his +life that something will intervene to save him.</p> + +<p>The men led the horse to the mound of fagots which was now crowned with +Foscar's bier. The stallion went quietly, until a tall tribesman struck +true with an ax, and the animal fell. The hounds were also killed and +laid at their dead master's feet.</p> + +<p>But Ross was not to fare so easily. The wizard danced about him, a +hideous figure in a beast mask, a curled fringe of dried snakeskins +swaying from his belt. Shaking his rattle, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> squawked like an angry +cat as they pulled Ross to the stacked wood.</p> + +<p>Fire—there was something about fire—if he could only remember! Ross +stumbled and nearly fell across one leg of the dead horse they were +propping into place. Then he remembered that tongue of flame in the +meadow grass which had burned the horse but not the rider. His hands and +his head would have no protection, but the rest of his body was covered +with the flame-resistant fabric of the alien suit. Could he do it? There +was such a slight chance, and they were already pushing him onto that +mound, his hands tied. Ennar stooped, and bound his ankles, securing him +to the brush.</p> + +<p>So fastened, they left him. The tribe ringed around the pyre at a safe +distance, Ennar and five other men approaching from different +directions, torches aflame. Ross watched those blazing knots thrust into +the brush and heard the crackle of the fire. His eyes, hard and +measuring, studied the flash of flame from dried brush to seasoned wood.</p> + +<p>A tongue of yellow-red flame licked up at him. Ross hardly dared to +breathe as it wreathed about his foot, his hide fetters smoldering. The +insulation of the suit did not cut all the heat, but it allowed him to +stay put for the few seconds he needed to make his escape spectacular.</p> + +<p>The flame had eaten through his foot bonds, and yet the burning +sensation on his feet and legs was no greater than it would have been +from the direct rays of a bright summer sun. Ross moistened his lips +with his tongue. The impact of heat on his hands and his face was +different. He leaned down, held his wrists to the flame, taking in +stoical silence the burns which freed him.</p> + +<p>Then, as the fire curled up so that he seemed to stand in a frame of +writhing red banners, Ross leaped through that cur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>tain, protecting his +bowed head with his arms as best he could. But to the onlookers it +seemed he passed unhurt through the heart of a roaring fire.</p> + +<p>He kept his footing and stood facing that part of the tribal ring +directly before him. He heard a cry, perhaps of fear, and a blazing +torch flew through the air and struck his hip. Although he felt the +force of the blow, the burning bits of the head merely slid down his +thigh and leg, leaving no mark on the smooth blue fabric.</p> + +<p>"Ahhhhhhh!"</p> + +<p>Now the wizard capered before him, shaking his rattle to make a +deafening din. Ross struck out, slapping the sorcerer out of his path, +and stooped to pick up the smoldering brand which had been thrown at +him. Whirling it about his head, though every movement was torture to +his scorched hands, he set it flaming once more. Holding it in front of +him as a weapon, he stalked directly at the men and women before him.</p> + +<p>The torch was a poor enough defense against spears and axes, but Ross +did not care—he put into this last gamble all the determination he +could summon. Nor did he realize what a figure he presented to the +tribesmen. A man who had crossed a curtain of fire without apparent +hurt, who appeared to wash in tongues of flame without harm, and who now +called upon fire in turn as a weapon, was no man but a demon!</p> + +<p>The wall of people wavered and broke. Women screamed and ran; men +shouted. But no one threw a spear or struck with an ax. Ross walked on, +a man possessed, looking neither to the right or left. He was in the +camp now, stalking toward the fire burning before Foscar's tent. He did +not turn aside for that either, but holding the torch high, strode +through the heart of the flames, risking further burns for the sake of +insuring his ultimate safety.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>The tribesmen melted away as he approached the last line of tents, with +the open land beyond. The horses of the herd, which had been driven to +this side to avoid the funeral pyre, were shifting nervously, the scent +of burning making them uneasy.</p> + +<p>Once more Ross whirled the dying torch about his head. Recalling how the +aliens had sent his horse mad, he tossed it behind him into the grass +between the tents and the herd. The tinder-dry stuff caught immediately. +Now if the men tried to ride after him, they would have trouble.</p> + +<p>Without hindrance he walked across the meadow at the same even pace, +never turning to look behind. His hands were two separate worlds of +smarting pain; his hair and eyebrows were singed, and a finger of burn +ran along the angle of his jaw. But he was free, and he did not believe +that Foscar's men would be in any haste to pursue him. Somewhere before +him lay the river, the river which ran to the sea. Ross walked on in the +sunny morning while behind him black smoke raised a dark beacon to the +sky.</p> + +<p>Afterward he guessed that he must have been lightheaded for several +days, remembering little save the pain in his hands and the fact that it +was necessary to keep moving. Once he fell to his knees and buried both +hands in the cool, moist earth where a thread of stream trickled from a +pool. The muck seemed to draw out a little of the agony while he drank +with a fever thirst.</p> + +<p>Ross seemed to move through a haze which lifted at intervals during +which he noted his surroundings, was able to recall a little of what lay +behind him, and to keep to the correct route. However, the gaps of time +in between were forever lost to him. He stumbled along the banks of a +river and fronted a bear fishing. The massive beast rose on its hind +legs, growled, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> Ross walked by it uncaring, unmenaced by the puzzled +animal.</p> + +<p>Sometimes he slept through the dark periods which marked the nights, or +he stumbled along under the moon, nursing his hands against his breast, +whimpering a little when his foot slipped and the jar of that mishap ran +through his body. Once he heard singing, only to realize that it was +himself who sang hoarsely a melody which would be popular thousands of +years later in the world through which he wavered. But always Ross knew +that he must go on, using that thick stream of running water as a guide +to his final goal, the sea.</p> + +<p>After a long while those spaces of mental clarity grew longer, appearing +closer together. He dug small shelled things from under stones along the +river and ate them avidly. Once he clubbed a rabbit and feasted. He +sucked birds' eggs from a nest hidden among some reeds—just enough to +keep his gaunt body going, though his gray eyes were now set in what was +almost a death's-head.</p> + +<p>Ross did not know just when he realized that he was again being hunted. +It started with an uneasiness which differed from his previous +fever-bred hallucinations. This was an inner pulling, a growing +compulsion to turn and retrace his way back toward the mountains to meet +something, or someone, waiting for him on the backward path.</p> + +<p>But Ross kept on, fearing sleep now and fighting it. For once he had +lain down to rest and had wakened on his feet, heading back as if that +compulsion had the power to take over his body when his waking will was +off guard.</p> + +<p>So he rested, but he dared not sleep, the desire constantly tearing at +his will, striving to take over his weakened body and draw it back. +Perhaps against all reason he believed that it was the aliens who were +trying to control him. Ross did not even venture to guess why they were +so determined to get him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> If there were tribesmen on his trail as well, +he did not know, but he was sure that this was now purely a war of +wills.</p> + +<p>As the banks of the river were giving way to marshes, he had to wade +through mud and water, detouring the boggy sections. Great clouds of +birds whirled and shrieked their protests at his coming, and sleek water +animals paddled and poked curious heads out of the water as this +two-legged thing walked mechanically through their green land. Always +that pull was with him, until Ross was more aware of fighting it than of +traveling.</p> + +<p>Why did they want him to return? Why did they not follow him? Or were +they afraid to venture too far from where they had come through the +transfer? Yet the unseen rope which was tugging at him did not grow less +tenuous as he put more distance between himself and the mountain valley. +Ross could understand neither their motives nor their methods, but he +could continue to fight.</p> + +<p>The bog was endless. He found an island and lashed himself with his suit +belt to the single willow which grew there, knowing that he must have +sleep, or he could not hope to last through the next day. Then he slept, +only to waken cold, shaking, and afraid. Shoulder deep in a pool, he was +aware that in his sleep he must have opened the belt buckle and freed +himself, and only the mishap of falling into the water had brought him +around to sanity.</p> + +<p>Somehow he got back to the tree, rehooked the buckle and twisted the +belt around the branches so that he was sure he could not work it free +until daybreak. He lapsed into a deepening doze, and awoke, still safely +anchored, with the morning cries of the birds. Ross considered the suit +as he untangled the belt. Could the strange clothing be the tie by which +the aliens held to him? If he were to strip, leaving the garment behind, +would he be safe?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>He tried to force open the studs across his chest, but they would not +yield to the slight pressure which was all his seared fingers could +exert, and when he pulled at the fabric, he was unable to tear it. So, +still wearing the livery of the off-world men, Ross continued on his +way, hardly caring where he went or how. The mud plastered on him by his +frequent falls was some protection against the swarm of insect life his +passing stirred into attack. However, he was able to endure a swollen +face and slitted eyes, being far more conscious of the wrenching feeling +within him than the misery of his body.</p> + +<p>The character of the marsh began to change once more. The river was +splitting into a dozen smaller streams, shaping out fanlike. Looking +down at this from one of the marsh hillocks, Ross knew a faint surge of +relief. Such a place had been on the map Ashe had made them memorize. He +was close to the sea at last, and for the moment that was enough.</p> + +<p>A salt-sharpened wind cut at him with the force of a fist in the face. +In the absence of sunlight the leaden clouds overhead set a winterlike +gloom across the countryside. To the constant sound of birdcalls Ross +tramped heavily through small pools, beating a path through tangles of +marsh grass. He stole eggs from nests, sucking his nourishment eagerly +with no dislike for the fishy flavor, and drinking from stagnant, +brackish ponds.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Ross halted, at first thinking that the continuous roll of +sound he heard was thunder. Yet the clouds overhead were massed no more +than before and there was no sign of lightning. Continuing on, he +realized that the mysterious sound was the pounding of surf—he was near +the sea!</p> + +<p>Willing his body to run, he weaved forward at a reeling trot, pitting +all his energy against the incessant pull from behind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> His feet skidded +out of marsh mud into sand. Ahead of him were dark rocks surrounded by +the white lace of spray.</p> + +<p>Ross headed straight toward that spray until he stood knee-deep in the +curling, foam-edged water and felt its tug on his body almost as strong +as that other tug upon his mind. He knelt, letting the salt water sting +to life every cut, every burn, sputtering as it filled his mouth and +nostrils, washing from him the slime of the bog lands. It was cold and +bitter, but it was the sea! He had made it!</p> + +<p>Ross Murdock staggered back and sat down suddenly in the sand. Glancing +about, he saw that his refuge was a rough triangle between two of the +small river arms, littered with the debris of the spring floods which +had grounded here after rejection by the sea. Although there was plenty +of material for a fire, he had no means of kindling a flame, having lost +the flint all Beaker traders carried for such a purpose.</p> + +<p>This was the sea, and against all odds he had reached it. He lay back, +his self-confidence restored to the point where he dared once more to +consider the future. He watched the swooping flight of gulls drawing +patterns under the clouds above. For the moment he wanted nothing more +than to lie here and rest.</p> + +<p>But he did not surrender to this first demand of his over-driven body +for long. Hungry and cold, sure that a storm was coming, he knew he had +to build a fire—a fire on shore could provide him with the means of +signaling the sub. Hardly knowing why—because one part of the coastline +was as good as another—Ross began to walk again, threading a path in +and out among the rocky outcrops.</p> + +<p>So he found it, a hollow between two such windbreaks within which was a +blackened circle of small stones holding charred wood, with some empty +shells piled near-by. Here was un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>mistakable evidence of a camp! Ross +plunged forward, thrusting a hand impetuously into the black mass of the +dead fire. To his astonishment, he touched warmth!</p> + +<p>Hardly daring to disturb those precious bits of charcoal, he dug around +them, then carefully blew into what appeared to be dead ashes. There was +an answering glow! He could not have just imagined it.</p> + +<p>From a pile of wood that had been left behind, Ross snatched a small +twig, poking it at the coal after he had rubbed it into a brush on the +rough rock. He watched, all one ache of hope. The twig caught!</p> + +<p>With his stiff fingers so clumsy, he had to be very careful, but Ross +had learned patience in a hard school. Bit by bit he fed that tiny blaze +until he had a real fire. Then, leaning back against the rock, he +watched it.</p> + +<p>It was now obvious that the placement of the original fire had been +chosen with care, for the outcrops gave it wind shelter. They also +provided a dark backdrop, partially hiding the flames on the landward +side but undoubtedly making them more visible from the sea. The site +seemed just right for a signal fire—but to what?</p> + +<p>Ross's hands shook slightly as he fed the blaze. It was only too clear +why anyone would make a signal on this shore. McNeil—or perhaps both he +and Ashe—had survived the breakup of the raft, after all. They had +reached this point—abandoned no earlier than this morning, judging by +the life remaining in the coals—and put up the signal. Then, just as +arranged, they had been collected by the sub, by now on its way back to +the hidden North American post. There was no hope of any pickup for him +now. Just as he had believed them dead after he had found that rag on +the sapling, so they must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> have thought him finished after his fall in +the river. He was just a few hours too late!</p> + +<p>Ross folded his arms across his hunched knees and rested his head on +them. There was no possible way he could ever reach the post or his own +kind—ever again. Thousands of miles lay between him and the temporary +installation in this time.</p> + +<p>He was so sunk in his own complete despair that he was long unaware of +finally being free of the pressure to turn back which had so long +haunted him. But as he roused to feed the fire he got to wondering. Had +those who hunted him given up the chase? Since he had lost his own race +with time, he did not really care. What did it matter?</p> + +<p>The pile of wood was getting low, but he decided that did not matter +either. Even so, Ross got to his feet, moving over to the drifts of +storm wrack to gather more. Why should he stay here by a useless beacon? +But somehow he could not force himself to move on, as futile as his +vigil seemed.</p> + +<p>Dragging the sun-dried, bleached limbs of long-dead trees to his half +shelter, he piled them up, working until he laughed at the barricade he +had built. "A siege!" For the first time in days he spoke aloud. "I +might be ready for a siege...." He pulled over another branch, added it +to his pile, and kneeled down once more by the flames.</p> + +<p>There were fisherfolk to be found along this coast, and tomorrow when he +was rested he would strike south and try to find one of their primitive +villages. Traders would be coming into this territory now that the +Red-inspired raiders were gone. If he could contact them....</p> + +<p>But that spark of interest in the future died almost as soon as it was +born. To be a Beaker trader as an agent for the project was one thing, +to live the role for the rest of his life was something else.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ross stood by his fire, staring out to sea for a sign he knew he would +never see again as long as he lived. Then, as if a spear had struck +between his shoulder blades, he was attacked.</p> + +<p>The blow was not physical, but came instead as a tearing, red pain in +his head, a pressure so terrible he could not move. He knew instantly +that behind him now lurked the ultimate danger.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_18" id="CHAPTER_18"></a>CHAPTER 18</h2> + + +<p>Ross fought to break that hold, to turn his head, to face the peril +which crept upon him now. Unlike anything he had ever met before in his +short lifetime, it could only have come from some alien source. This +strange encounter was a battle of will against will! The same rebellion +against authority which had ruled his boyhood, which had pushed him into +the orbit of the project, stiffened him to meet this attack.</p> + +<p>He was going to turn his head; he was going to see who stood there. He +<i>was</i>! Inch by inch, Ross's head came around, though sweat stung his +seared and bitten flesh, and every breath was an effort. He caught a +half glimpse of the beach behind the rocks, and the stretch of sand was +empty. Overhead the birds were gone—as if they had never existed. Or, +as if they had been swept away by some impatient fighter, who wanted no +distractions from the purpose at hand.</p> + +<p>Having successfully turned his head, Ross decided to turn his body. His +left hand went out, slowly, as if it moved some great weight. His palm +gritted painfully on the rock and he savored that pain, for it pierced +through the dead blanket of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> compulsion that was being used against him. +Deliberately he ground his blistered skin against the stone, +concentrating on the sharp torment in his hand as the agony shot up his +arm. While he focused his attention on the physical pain, he could feel +the pressure against him weaken. Summoning all his strength, Ross swung +around in a movement which was only a shadow of his former feline grace.</p> + +<p>The beach was still empty, except for the piles of driftwood, the rocks, +and the other things he had originally found there. Yet he knew that +something was waiting to pounce. Having discovered that for him pain was +a defense weapon, he had that one resource. If they took him, it would +be after besting him in a fight.</p> + +<p>Even as he made this decision, Ross was conscious of a curious weakening +of the force bent upon him. It was as if his opponents had been +surprised, either at his simple actions of the past few seconds or at +his determination. Ross leaped upon that surprise, adding it to his +stock of unseen weapons.</p> + +<p>He leaned forward, still grinding his torn hand against the rock as a +steadying influence, took up a length of dried wood, and thrust its end +into the fire. Having once used fire to save himself, he was ready and +willing to do it again, although at the same time, another part of him +shrank from what he intended.</p> + +<p>Holding his improvised torch breast-high, Ross stared across it, +searching the land for the faintest sign of his enemies. In spite of the +fire and the light he held before him, the dusk prevented him from +seeing too far. Behind him the crash of the surf could have covered the +noise of a marching army.</p> + +<p>"Come and get me!"</p> + +<p>He whirled his brand into bursting life and then hurled it straight into +the drift among the dunes. He was grabbing for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> second brand almost +before the blazing head of the first had fallen into the twisted, +bleached roots of a dead tree.</p> + +<p>He stood tense, a second torch now kindled in his hand. The sharp vise +of another's will which had nipped him so tightly a moment ago was +easing, slowly disappearing as water might trickle away. Yet he could +not believe that this small act of defiance had so daunted his unseen +opponent as to make him give up the struggle this easily. It was more +likely the pause of a wrestler seeking for a deadlier grip.</p> + +<p>The brand in his hand—Ross's second line of defense—was a weapon he +was loath to use, but would use if he were forced to it. He kept his +hand mercilessly flat against the rock as a reminder and a spur.</p> + +<p>Fire twisted and crackled among the driftwood where the first torch had +lodged, providing a flickering light yards from where he stood. He was +grateful for it in the gloom of the gathering storm. If they would only +come to open war before the rain struck....</p> + +<p>Ross sheltered his torch with his body as spray, driven inward from the +sea, spattered his shoulders and his back. If it rained, he would lose +what small advantage the fire gave him, but then he would find some +other way to meet them. They would neither break him nor take him, even +if he had to wade into the sea and swim out into the lash of the cold +northern waves until he could not move his tired limbs any longer.</p> + +<p>Once again that steel-edge will struck at Ross, probing his +stubbornness, assaulting his mind. He whirled the torch, brought the +scorching breath of the flame across the hand resting on the rock. +Unable to control his own cry of protest, he was not sure he had the +fortitude to repeat such an act.</p> + +<p>He had won again! The pressure had fallen away in a flick, almost as if +some current had been snapped off. Through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> red curtain of his +torment Ross sensed a surprise and disbelief. He was unaware that in +this queer duel he was using both a power of will and a depth of +perception he had never known he possessed. Because of his daring, he +had shaken his opponents as no physical attack could have affected them.</p> + +<p>"Come and get me!" He shouted again at the barren shoreline where the +fire ate at the drift and nothing stirred, yet something very much alive +and conscious lay hidden. This time there was more than simple challenge +in Ross's demand—there was a note of triumph.</p> + +<p>The spray whipped by him, striking at his fire, at the brand he held. +Let the sea water put both out! He would find another way of fighting. +He was certain of that, and he sensed that those out there knew it too +and were troubled.</p> + +<p>The fire was being driven by the wind along the crisscross lines of +bone-white wood left high on the beach, forming a wall of flame between +him and the interior, not, however, an insurmountable barrier to +whatever lurked there.</p> + +<p>Again Ross leaned against the rock, studying the length of beach. Had he +been wrong in thinking that they were within the range of his voice? The +power they had used might carry over a greater distance.</p> + +<p>"Yahhhh—" Instead of a demand, he now voiced a taunting cry, screaming +his defiance. Some wild madness had been transmitted to him by the +winds, the roaring sea, his own pain. Ready to face the worst they could +send against him, he tried to hurl that thought back at them as they had +struck with their united will at him. No answer came to his challenge, +no rise to counter-attack.</p> + +<p>Moving away from the rock, Ross began to walk forward toward the burning +drift, his torch ready in his hand. "I am here!" he shouted into the +wind. "Come out—face me!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was then that he saw those who had tracked him. Two tall thin +figures, wearing dark clothes, were standing quietly watching him, their +eyes dark holes in the white ovals of their faces.</p> + +<p>Ross halted. Though they were separated by yards of sand and rock and a +burning barrier, he could feel the force they wielded. The nature of +that force had changed, however. Once it had struck with a vigorous +spear point; now it formed a shield of protection. Ross could not break +through that shield, and they dared not drop it. A stalemate existed +between them in this strange battle, the like of which Ross's world had +not known before.</p> + +<p>He watched those expressionless white faces, trying to find some reply +to the deadlock. There flashed into his mind the certainty that while he +lived and moved, and they lived and moved, this struggle, this unending +pursuit, would continue. For some mysterious reason they wanted to have +him under their control, but that was never going to happen if they all +had to remain here on this strip of water-washed sand until they starved +to death! Ross tried to drive that thought across to them.</p> + +<p>"Murrrrdock!" That croaking cry borne out of the sea by the wind might +almost have come from the bill of a sea bird.</p> + +<p>"Murrrrdock!"</p> + +<p>Ross spun around. Visibility had been drastically curtailed by the +lowering clouds and the dashing spray, but he could see a round dark +thing bobbing on the waves. The sub? A raft?</p> + +<p>Sensing a movement behind him, Ross wheeled about as one of the alien +figures leaped the blazing drift, heedless of the flames, and ran +light-footedly toward him in what could only be an all-out attempt at +capture. The man had ready a weapon like the one that had felled Foscar. +Ross threw himself at his opponent in a reckless dive, falling on him +with a smashing impact.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>In Ross's grasp the alien's body was fragile, but he moved fluidly as +Murdock fought to break his grip on the hand weapon and pin him to the +sand. Ross was too intent upon his own part of the struggle to heed the +sounds of a shot over his head and a thin, wailing cry. He slammed his +opponent's hand against a stone, and the white face, inches away from +his own, twisted silently with pain.</p> + +<p>Fumbling for a better hold, Ross was sent rolling. He came down on his +left hand with a force which brought tears to his eyes and stopped him +just long enough for the other to regain his feet.</p> + +<p>The blue-suited man sprinted back to the body of his fellow where it lay +by the drift. He slung his unconscious comrade over the barrier with +more ease than Ross would have believed possible and vaulted the barrier +after him. Ross, half crouched on the sand, felt unusually light and +empty. The strange tie which had drawn and held him to the strangers had +been broken.</p> + +<p>"Murdock!"</p> + +<p>A rubber raft rode in on the waves, two men aboard it. Ross got up, +pulling at the studs of his suit with his right hand. He could believe +in what he saw now—the sub had not left, after all. The two men running +toward him through the dusk were of his own kind.</p> + +<p>"Murdock!"</p> + +<p>It did not seem at all strange that Kelgarries reached him first. Ross, +caught up in this dream, appealed to the major for aid with the studs. +If the strangers from the ship did trace him by the suit, they were not +going to follow the sub back to the post and serve the project as they +had the Reds.</p> + +<p>"Got—to—get—this—off—" He pulled the words out one by one, tugging +frantically at the stubborn studs. "They can trace this and follow +us—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> + +<p>Kelgarries needed no better explanation. Ripping loose the fastenings, +he pulled the clinging fabric from Ross, sending him reeling with pain +as he pulled the left sleeve down the younger man's arm.</p> + +<p>The wind and spray were ice on his body as they dragged him down to the +raft, bundling him aboard. He did not at all remember their arrival on +board the sub. He was lying in the vibrating heart of the undersea ship +when he opened his eyes to see Kelgarries regarding him intently. Ashe, +a coat of bandage about his shoulder and chest, lay on a neighboring +bunk. McNeil stood watching a medical corpsman lay out supplies.</p> + +<p>"He needs a shot," the medic was saying as Ross blinked at the major.</p> + +<p>"You left the suit—back there?" Ross demanded.</p> + +<p>"We did. What's this about them tracing you by it? Who was tracing you?"</p> + +<p>"Men from the space ship. That's the only way they could have trailed me +down the river." He was finding it difficult to talk, and the protesting +medic kept waving a needle in his direction, but somehow in bursts of +half-finished sentences Ross got out his story—Foscar's death, his own +escape from the chief's funeral pyre, and the weird duel of wills back +on the beach. Even as he poured it out he thought how unlikely most of +it must sound. Yet Kelgarries appeared to accept every word, and there +was no expression of disbelief on Ashe's face.</p> + +<p>"So that's how you got those burns," said the major slowly when Ross had +finished his story. "Deliberately searing your hand in the fire to break +their hold—" He crashed his fist against the wall of the tiny cabin and +then, when Ross winced at the jar, he hurriedly uncurled those fingers +to press Ross's shoulder with a surprisingly warm and gentle touch. "Put +him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> to sleep," he ordered the medic. "He deserves about a month of it, +I should judge. I think he has brought us a bigger slice of the future +than we had hoped for...."</p> + +<p>Ross felt the prick of the needle and then nothing more. Even when he +was carried ashore at the post and later when he was transported into +his proper time, he did not awaken. He only approached a strange dreamy +state in which he ate and drowsed, not caring for the world beyond his +own bunk.</p> + +<p>But there came a day when he did care, sitting up to demand food with a +great deal of his old self-assertion. The doctor looked him over, +permitting him to get out of bed and try out his legs. They were +exceedingly uncooperative at first, and Ross was glad he had tried to +move only from his bunk to a waiting chair.</p> + +<p>"Visitors welcome?"</p> + +<p>Ross looked up eagerly and then smiled, somewhat hesitatingly, at Ashe. +The older man wore his arm in a sling but otherwise seemed his usual +imperturbable self.</p> + +<p>"Ashe, tell me what happened. Are we back at the main base? What about +the Reds? We weren't traced by the ship people, were we?"</p> + +<p>Ashe laughed. "Did Doc just wind you up to let you spin, Ross? Yes, this +is home, sweet home. As for the rest—well, it is a long story, and we +are still picking up pieces of it here and there."</p> + +<p>Ross pointed to the bunk in invitation. "Can you tell me what is known?" +He was still somewhat at a loss, his old secret awe of Ashe tempering +his outward show of eagerness. Ross still feared one of those snubs the +other so well knew how to deliver to the bumptious. But Ashe did come in +and sit down, none of his old formality now in evidence.</p> + +<p>"You have been a surprise package, Murdock." His ob<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>servation had some +of the ring of the old Ashe, but there was no withdrawal behind the +words. "Rather a busy lad, weren't you, after you were bumped off into +that river?"</p> + +<p>Ross's reply was a grimace. "You heard all about that!" He had no time +for his own adventures, already receding into a past which made them +both dim and unimportant. "What happened to you—and to the +project—and——"</p> + +<p>"One thing at a time, and don't rush your fences." Ashe was surveying +him with an odd intentness which Ross could not understand. He continued +to explain in his "instructor" voice. "We made it down the river—how, +don't ask me. That was something of a 'project' in itself," he laughed. +"The raft came apart piece by piece, and we waded most of the last +couple of miles, I think. I'm none too clear on the details; you'll have +to get those out of McNeil, who was still among those present then. +Other than that, we cannot compete with your adventures. We built a +signal fire and sat by it toasting our shins for a few days, until the +sub came to collect us——"</p> + +<p>"And took you off." Ross experienced a fleeting return of that hollow +feeling he had known on the shore when the still-warm coals of the +signal fire had told him the story of his too-late arrival.</p> + +<p>"And took us off. But Kelgarries agreed to spin out our waiting period +for another twenty-four hours, in case you did manage to survive that +toss you took into the river. Then we sighted your spectacular display +of fireworks on the beach, and the rest was easy."</p> + +<p>"The ship people didn't trace us back to post?"</p> + +<p>"Not that we know of. Anyway, we've closed down the post on that time +level. You might be interested in a very peculiar tale our modern agents +have picked up, floating over and under the iron curtain. A blast went +off in the Baltic region of this time, wiping some installation clean +off the map. The Reds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> have kept quiet as to the nature of the explosion +and the exact place where it occurred."</p> + +<p>"The aliens followed <i>them</i> all the way up to this time!"—Ross half +rose from the chair—"But why? And why did they trail me?"</p> + +<p>"That we can only guess. But I don't believe that they were moved by any +private vengeance for the looting of their derelict. There is some more +imperative reason why they don't want us to find or use anything from +one of their cargoes——"</p> + +<p>"But they were in power thousands of years ago. Maybe they and their +worlds are gone now. Why should things we do today matter to them?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it does matter, and in some very important way. And we have to +learn that reason."</p> + +<p>"How?" Ross looked down at his left hand, encased in a mitten of bandage +under which he very gingerly tried to stretch a finger. Maybe he should +have been eager to welcome another meeting with the ship people, but if +he were truly honest, he had to admit that he did not. He glanced up, +sure that Ashe had read all that hesitation and scorned him for it. But +there was no sign that his discomfiture had been noticed.</p> + +<p>"By doing some looting of our own," Ashe answered. "Those tapes we +brought back are going to be a big help. More than one derelict was +located. We were right in our surmise that the Reds first discovered the +remains of one in Siberia, but it was in no condition to be explored. +They already had the basic idea of the time traveler, so they applied it +to the hunting down of other ships, with several way stops to throw +people like us off the scent. So they found an intact ship, and also +several others. At least three are on <i>this</i> side of the Atlantic where +they couldn't get at them very well. Those we can deal with now——"</p> + +<p>"Won't the aliens be waiting for us to try that?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + +<p>"As far as we can discover they don't know where any of these ships +crashed. Either there were no survivors, or passengers and crew took off +in lifeboats while they were still in space. They might never have known +of the Reds' activities if you hadn't triggered that communicator on the +derelict."</p> + +<p>Ross was reduced to a small boy who badly needed an alibi for some piece +of juvenile mischief. "I didn't mean to." That excuse sounded so feeble +that he was surprised into a laugh, only to see Ashe grinning back at +him.</p> + +<p>"Seeing as how your action also put a very effective spike in the +opposition's wheel, you are freely forgiven. Anyway, you have also +provided us with a pretty good idea of what we may be up against with +the aliens, and we'll be prepared for that next time."</p> + +<p>"Then there will be a next time?"</p> + +<p>"We are calling in all time agents, concentrating our forces in the +right period. Yes, there will be a next time. We have to learn just what +they are trying so hard to protect."</p> + +<p>"What do you think it is?"</p> + +<p>"Space!" Ashe spoke the word softly as if he relished the promise it +held.</p> + +<p>"Space?"</p> + +<p>"That ship you explored was a derelict from a galactic fleet, but it was +a ship and it used the principle of space flight. Do you understand now? +In these lost ships lies the secret which will make us free of all the +stars! We must claim it."</p> + +<p>"Can we——?"</p> + +<p>"Can <i>we</i>?" Ashe was laughing at Ross again with his eyes, though his +face remained sober. "Then <i>you</i> still want to be counted in on this +game?"</p> + +<p>Ross looked down again at his bandaged hand and remembered swiftly so +many things—the coast of Britain on a misty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> morning, the excitement of +prowling the alien ship, the fight with Ennar, even the long nightmare +of his flight down the river, and lastly, the exultation he had tasted +when he had faced the alien and had locked wills—to hold steady. He +knew that he could not, would not, give up what he had found here in the +service of the project as long as it was in his power to cling to it.</p> + +<p>"Yes." It was a very simple answer, but when his eyes met Ashe's, Ross +knew that it would serve better than any solemn oath.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + + +<p><span class="left">SECOND PRINTING</span> <span class="right">$3.00</span></p> + +<h2>The Time Traders</h2> + +<h4>by ANDRE NORTON</h4> + + +<p>If it is possible to conquer space, then perhaps it is also possible to +conquer time. At least that was the theory American scientists were +exploring in an effort to explain the new sources of knowledge the +Russians possessed. Perhaps Russian scientists had discovered how to +transport themselves back in time in order to learn long-forgotten +secrets of the past.</p> + +<p>That was why young Ross Murdock, above average in intelligence but a +belligerently independent nonconformist, found himself on a "hush-hush" +government project at a secret base in the Arctic. The very qualities +that made him a menace in civilized society were valuable traits in a +man who must successfully act the part of a merchant trader of the +Beaker people during the Bronze Age.</p> + +<p>For once they were transferred by time machine to the remote Baltic +region where the Russian post was located, Ross and his partner Ashe +were swept into a fantastic action-filled adventure involving Russians, +superstitious prehistoric men, and the aliens of a lost galactic +civilization that demanded every ounce of courage the Americans +possessed.</p> + +<p>Andre Norton's earlier books, <i>Star Born</i> and <i>The Stars Are Ours!</i>, +have made this author one of the most popular writers in the +science-fiction field. In this daring adventure into the mists of time, +readers will find themselves transported to still more exciting "other" +worlds.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Jacket by Virgil Finlay</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + +<p><span class="right">$2.75</span></p> + +<h2>Star Born</h2> + +<h4>by ANDRE NORTON</h4> + + +<p>Far from the Terran colony's Homeport on the planet Astra, young Dalgard +Nordis and his merman companion Sssuri are suddenly confronted by their +old enemies, the alien Astrans. Within the ruins of the Astrans' former +citadel the two discover that remnants of this nonhuman race, which had +once ruled the entire planet, are struggling to recover their lost +knowledge and thus regain their power. Dalgard realizes that the safety +of the Terrans is seriously threatened by this, and there is no hope of +warning his people in time.</p> + +<p>When a space ship arrives from Terra, its crew ignorant of the existence +of a Terran colony on the western continent across the sea, the aliens +enlist the spacemen's aid. Of the members of the crew only young Raf +Kurbi instinctively mistrusts the Astrans. Through a series of weird and +exciting adventures among the ruins and in ancient underground tunnels, +Raf eventually meets Dalgard and joins him in the fight against the +aliens.</p> + +<p>In this sequel to <i>The Stars Are Ours!</i> Andre Norton has produced +another superb science-fiction adventure.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Jacket by Virgil Finlay</i></p> + + +<p class="center">THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY</p> + +<hr style="width: 35%;" /> + + + +<h2>SCIENCE FICTION<br /> +by ANDRE NORTON</h2> + + +<p style="font-weight: bold">STAR BORN<br /> +<i>by Andre Norton</i></p> + +<p class="ad">Young Dalgard Nordis of the planet Astra and his merman companion Sssuri +join forces with a space man from Terra to outwit resurgent nonhuman +Aliens. A sequel to <i>The Stars Are Ours!</i><span class="right">$2.75</span></p> + + +<p style="font-weight: bold">THE STARS ARE OURS!<br /> +<i>by Andre Norton</i></p> + +<p class="ad">To escape the tyranny on Terra in the year 2500, a group of scientists +make a last-minute getaway under fire and take off for another planet in +another solar system. Their adventures make top-flight entertainment for +all science-fiction fans. <span class="right">$3.00</span></p> + + +<p style="font-weight: bold">SPACE SERVICE<br /> +<i>Edited With an Introduction and Notes by Andre Norton</i></p> + +<p class="ad">Ten great stories by such leading science-fiction writers as Bernard I. +Kahn, H. B. Fyfe, Walt Sheldon, Theodore R. Cogswell, and Raymond Z. +Gallun that will delight all science-fiction fans with their portrayals +of adventure in a far-flung galactic empire. <span class="right">$2.50</span></p> + + +<p style="font-weight: bold">SPACE PIONEERS<br /> +<i>Edited With an Introduction and Notes by Andre Norton</i></p> + +<p class="ad">A collection of outstanding stories by some of the finest writers in the +science-fiction genre—Eric Frank Russell, H. B. Fyfe, Raymond Z. +Gallun, Fritz Lieber, Jerome Bixby, and others—that presents a +startling glimpse into the future of space travel, artificial +satellites, and colonization—a vision that comes closer to reality +every day. <span class="right">$2.75</span></p> + + +<p style="font-weight: bold">SPACE POLICE<br /> +<i>Edited With an Introduction and Notes by Andre Norton</i></p> + +<p class="ad">Nine top science-fiction writers are brought together in this fine +collection of short stories that presents yet another aspect of the +picture of future worlds and civilizations envisioned in <i>Space +Pioneers</i> and <i>Space Service</i>. <span class="right">$2.75</span></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Time Traders, by Andre Norton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIME TRADERS *** + +***** This file should be named 19145-h.htm or 19145-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/4/19145/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Irma Spehar and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** + + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/19145-h/images/illo2.png b/19145-h/images/illo2.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8f004ed --- /dev/null +++ b/19145-h/images/illo2.png diff --git a/19145.txt b/19145.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c9cd826 --- /dev/null +++ b/19145.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7490 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Time Traders, by Andre Norton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Time Traders + +Author: Andre Norton + +Release Date: August 29, 2006 [EBook #19145] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIME TRADERS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Irma Spehar and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +THE TIME TRADERS + +BY ANDRE NORTON + + +_Science Fiction_ + +THE STARS ARE OURS! + +STAR BORN + +THE TIME TRADERS + + +_Historical Fiction_ + +YANKEE PRIVATEER + + +_Edited by Andre Norton_ + +BULLARD OF THE SPACE PATROL + +SPACE SERVICE + +SPACE PIONEERS + +SPACE POLICE + + + + +_Andre Norton_ + + + +THE TIME + +TRADERS + + + +CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK + +THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY + + + + +_Published by_ The World Publishing Company 2231 West 110th Street, +Cleveland 2, Ohio + + +_Published simultaneously in Canada by_ Nelson, Foster & Scott Ltd. + + +_Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 58-11154_ + + +SECOND PRINTING + + +2WP759 + +Copyright (c) 1958 by The World Publishing Company All rights reserved. No +part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written +permission from the publisher, except for brief passages included in a +review appearing in a newspaper or magazine. Printed in the United +States of America. + + +Transcriber's note: +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright on +this publication was renewed. + + + +THE TIME TRADERS + + + + +CHAPTER 1 + + +To anyone who glanced casually inside the detention room the young man +sitting there did not seem very formidable. In height he might have been +a little above average, but not enough to make him noticeable. His brown +hair was cropped conservatively; his unlined boy's face was not one to +be remembered--unless one was observant enough to note those light-gray +eyes and catch a chilling, measuring expression showing now and then for +an instant in their depths. + +Neatly and inconspicuously dressed, in this last quarter of the +twentieth century his like was to be found on any street of the city ten +floors below--to all outward appearances. But that other person under +the protective coloring so assiduously cultivated could touch heights of +encased and controlled fury which Murdock himself did not understand and +was only just learning to use as a weapon against a world he had always +found hostile. + +He was aware, though he gave no sign of it, that a guard was watching +him. The cop on duty was an old hand--he probably expected some reaction +other than passive acceptance from the prisoner. But he was not going +to get it. The law had Ross sewed up tight this time. Why didn't they +get about the business of shipping him off? Why had he had that +afternoon session with the skull thumper? Ross had been on the defensive +then, and he had not liked it. He had given to the other's questions all +the attention his shrewd mind could muster, but a faint, very faint, +apprehension still clung to the memory of that meeting. + +The door of the detention room opened. Ross did not turn his head, but +the guard cleared his throat as if their hour of mutual silence had +dried his vocal cords. "On your feet, Murdock! The judge wants to see +you." + +Ross rose smoothly, with every muscle under fluid control. It never paid +to talk back, to allow any sign of defiance to show. He would go through +the motions as if he were a bad little boy who had realized his errors. +It was a meek-and-mild act that had paid off more than once in Ross's +checkered past. So he faced the man seated behind the desk in the other +room with an uncertain, diffident smile, standing with boyish +awkwardness, respectfully waiting for the other to speak first. + +Judge Ord Rawle. It was his rotten luck to pull old Eagle Beak on his +case. Well, he would simply have to take it when the old boy dished it +out. Not that he had to remain stuck with it later.... + +"You have a bad record, young man." + +Ross allowed his smile to fade; his shoulders slumped. But under +concealing lids his eyes showed an instant of cold defiance. + +"Yes, sir," he agreed in a voice carefully cultivated to shake +convincingly about the edges. Then suddenly all Ross's pleasure in the +skill of his act was wiped away. Judge Rawle was not alone; that blasted +skull thumper was sitting there, watching the prisoner with the same +keenness he had shown the other day. + +"A very bad record for the few years you have had to make it." Eagle +Beak was staring at him, too, but without the same look of penetration, +luckily for Ross. "By rights, you should be turned over to the new +Rehabilitation Service...." + +Ross froze inside. That was the "treatment," icy rumors of which had +spread throughout his particular world. For the second time since he had +entered the room his self-confidence was jarred. Then he clung with a +degree of hope to the phrasing of that last sentence. + +"Instead, I have been authorized to offer you a choice, Murdock. One +which I shall state--and on record--I do not in the least approve." + +Ross's twinge of fear faded. If the judge didn't like it, there must be +something in it to the advantage of Ross Murdock. He'd grab it for sure! + +"There is a government project in need of volunteers. It seems that you +have tested out as possible material for this assignment. If you sign +for it, the law will consider the time spent on it as part of your +sentence. Thus you may aid the country which you have heretofore +disgraced----" + +"And if I refuse, I go to this rehabilitation. Is that right, sir?" + +"I certainly consider you a fit candidate for rehabilitation. Your +record--" He shuffled through the papers on his desk. + +"I choose to volunteer for the project, sir." + +The judge snorted and pushed all the papers into a folder. He spoke to a +man waiting in the shadows. "Here then is your volunteer, Major." + +Ross bottled in his relief. He was over the first hump. And since his +luck had held so far, he might be about to win all the way.... + +The man Judge Rawle called "Major" moved into the light. At the first +glance Ross, to his hidden annoyance, found himself uneasy. To face up +to Eagle Beak was all part of the game. But somehow he sensed one did +not play such games with this man. + +"Thank you, your honor. We will be on our way at once. This weather is +not very promising." + +Before he realized what was happening, Ross found himself walking meekly +to the door. He considered trying to give the major the slip when they +left the building, losing himself in a storm-darkened city. But they did +not take the elevator downstairs. Instead, they climbed two or three +flights up the emergency stairs. And to his humiliation Ross found +himself panting and slowing, while the other man, who must have been a +good dozen years his senior, showed no signs of discomfort. + +They came out into the snow on the roof, and the major flashed a torch +skyward, guiding in a dark shadow which touched down before them. A +helicopter! For the first time Ross began to doubt the wisdom of his +choice. + +"On your way, Murdock!" The voice was impersonal enough, but that very +impersonality got under one's skin. + +Bundled into the machine between the silent major and an equally quiet +pilot in uniform, Ross was lifted over the city, whose ways he knew as +well as he knew the lines on his own palm, into the unknown he was +already beginning to regard dubiously. The lighted streets and +buildings, their outlines softened by the soft wet snow, fell out of +sight. Now they could mark the outer highways. Ross refused to ask any +questions. He could take this silent treatment; he _had_ taken a lot of +tougher things in the past. + +The patches of light disappeared, and the country opened out. The plane +banked. Ross, with all the familiar landmarks of his world gone, could +not have said if they were headed north or south. But moments later not +even the thick curtain of snowflakes could blot out the pattern of red +lights on the ground, and the helicopter settled down. + +"Come on!" + +For the second time Ross obeyed. He stood shivering, engulfed in a +miniature blizzard. His clothing, protection enough in the city, did +little good against the push of the wind. A hand gripped his upper arm, +and he was drawn forward to a low building. A door banged and Ross and +his companion came into a region of light and very welcome heat. + +"Sit down--over there!" + +Too bewildered to resent orders, Ross sat. There were other men in the +room. One, wearing a queer suit of padded clothing, a bulbous headgear +hooked over his arm, was reading a paper. The major crossed to speak to +him and after they conferred for a moment, the major beckoned Ross with +a crooked finger. Ross trailed the officer into an inner room lined with +lockers. + +From one of the lockers the major pulled a suit like the pilot's, and +began to measure it against Ross. "All right," he snapped. "Climb into +this! We haven't all night." + +Ross climbed into the suit. As soon as he fastened the last zipper his +companion jammed one of the domed helmets on his head. The pilot looked +in the door. "We'd better scramble, Kelgarries, or we may be grounded +for the duration!" + +They hurried back to the flying field. If the helicopter had been a +surprising mode of travel, this new machine was something straight out +of the future--a needle-slim ship poised on fins, its sharp nose lifting +vertically into the heavens. There was a scaffolding along one side, +which the pilot scaled to enter the ship. + +Unwillingly, Ross climbed the same ladder and found that he must wedge +himself in on his back, his knees hunched up almost under his chin. To +make it worse, cramped as those quarters were, he had to share them with +the major. A transparent hood snapped down and was secured, sealing them +in. + +During his short lifetime Ross had often been afraid, bitterly afraid. +He had fought to toughen his mind and body against such fears. But what +he experienced now was no ordinary fear; it was panic so strong that it +made him feel sick. To be shut in this small place with the knowledge +that he had no control over his immediate future brought him face to +face with every terror he had ever known, all of them combined into one +horrible whole. + +How long does a nightmare last? A moment? An hour? Ross could not time +his. But at last the weight of a giant hand clamped down on his chest, +and he fought for breath until the world exploded about him. + +He came back to consciousness slowly. For a second he thought he was +blind. Then he began to sort out one shade of grayish light from +another. Finally, Ross became aware that he no longer rested on his +back, but was slumped in a seat. The world about him was wrung with a +vibration that beat in turn through his body. + +Ross Murdock had remained at liberty as long as he had because he was +able to analyze a situation quickly. Seldom in the past five years had +he been at a loss to deal with any challenging person or action. Now he +was aware that he was on the defensive and was being kept there. He +stared into the dark and thought hard and furiously. He was convinced +that everything that was happening to him this day was designed with +only one end in view--to shake his self-confidence and make him pliable. +Why? + +Ross had an enduring belief in his own abilities and he also possessed +a kind of shrewd understanding seldom granted to one so young. He knew +that while Murdock was important to Murdock, he was none too important +in the scheme of things as a whole. He had a record--a record so bad +that Rawle might easily have thrown the book at him. But it differed in +one important way from that of many of his fellows; until now he had +been able to beat most of the raps. Ross believed this was largely +because he had always worked alone and taken pains to plan a job in +advance. + +Why now had Ross Murdock become so important to someone that they would +do all this to shake him? He was a volunteer--for what? To be a guinea +pig for some bug they wanted to learn how to kill cheaply and easily? +They'd been in a big hurry to push him off base. Using the silent +treatment, this rushing around in planes, they were really working to +keep him groggy. So, all right, he'd give them a groggy boy all set up +for their job, whatever it was. Only, was his act good enough to fool +the major? Ross had a hunch that it might not be, and that really hurt. + +It was deep night now. Either they had flown out of the path of the +storm or were above it. There were stars shining through the cover of +the cockpit, but no moon. + +Ross's formal education was sketchy, but in his own fashion he had +acquired a range of knowledge which would have surprised many of the +authorities who had had to deal with him. All the wealth of a big city +library had been his to explore, and he had spent much time there, +soaking up facts in many odd branches of learning. Facts were very +useful things. On at least three occasions assorted scraps of knowledge +had preserved Ross's freedom, once, perhaps his life. + +Now he tried to fit together the scattered facts he knew about his +present situation into some proper pattern. He was inside some new type +of super-super atomjet, a machine so advanced in design that it would +not have been used for anything that was not an important mission. Which +meant that Ross Murdock had become necessary to someone, somewhere. +Knowing that fact should give him a slight edge in the future, and he +might well need such an edge. He'd just have to wait, play dumb, and use +his eyes and ears. + +At the rate they were shooting along they ought to be out of the country +in a couple of hours. Didn't the Government have bases half over the +world to keep the "cold peace"? Well, there was nothing for it. To be +planted abroad someplace might interfere with plans for escape, but he'd +handle that detail when he was forced to face it. + +Then suddenly Ross was on his back once more, the giant hand digging +into his chest and middle. This time there were no lights on the ground +to guide them in. Ross had no intimation that they had reached their +destination until they set down with a jar which snapped his teeth +together. + +The major wriggled out, and Ross was able to stretch his cramped body. +But the other's hand was already on his shoulder, urging him along. Ross +crawled free and clung dizzily to a ladderlike disembarking structure. + +Below there were no lights, only an expanse of open snow. Men were +moving across that blank area, gathering at the foot of the ladder. Ross +was hungry and very tired. If the major wanted to play games, he hoped +that such action could wait until the next morning. + +In the meantime he must learn where "here" was. If he had a chance to +run, he wanted to know the surrounding territory. But that hand was on +his arm, drawing him along toward a door that stood half-open. As far as +Ross could see, it led to the interior of a hillock of snow. Either the +storm or men had done a very good cover-up job, and somehow Ross knew +the camouflage was intentional. + +That was Ross's introduction to the base, and after his arrival his view +of the installation was extremely limited. One day was spent in +undergoing the most searching physical he had ever experienced. And +after the doctors had poked and pried he was faced by a series of other +tests no one bothered to explain. Thereafter he was introduced to +solitary, that is, confined to his own company in a cell-like room with +a bunk that was more comfortable than it looked and an announcer in a +corner of the ceiling. So far he had been told exactly nothing. And so +far he had asked no questions, stubbornly keeping up his end of what he +believed to be a tug of wills. At the moment, safely alone and lying +flat on his bunk he eyed the announcer, a very dangerous young man and +one who refused to yield an inch. + +"Now hear this...." The voice transmitted through that grill was +metallic, but its rasp held overtones of Kelgarries' voice. Ross's lips +tightened. He had explored every inch of the walls and knew that there +was no trace of the door which had admitted him. With only his bare +hands to work with he could not break out, and his only clothes were the +shirt, sturdy slacks, and a pair of soft-soled moccasins that they had +given him. + +"... to identify ..." droned the voice. Ross realized that he must have +missed something, not that it mattered. He was almost determined not to +play along any more. + +There was a click, signifying that Kelgarries was through braying. But +the customary silence did not close in again. Instead, Ross heard a +clear, sweet trilling which he vaguely associated with a bird. His +acquaintance with all feathered life was limited to city sparrows and +plump park pigeons, neither of which raised their voices in song, but +surely those sounds were bird notes. Ross glanced from the mike in the +ceiling to the opposite wall and what he saw there made him sit up, with +the instant response of an alerted fighter. + +For the wall was no longer there! Instead, there was a sharp slope of +ground cutting down from peaks where the dark green of fir trees ran +close to the snow line. Patches of snow clung to the earth in sheltered +places, and the scent of those pines was in Ross's nostrils, real as the +wind touching him with its chill. + +He shivered as a howl sounded loudly and echoed, bearing the age-old +warning of a wolf pack, hungry and a-hunt. Ross had never heard that +sound before, but his human heritage subconsciously recognized it for +what it was--death on four feet. Similarly, he was able to identify the +gray shadows slinking about the nearest trees, and his hands balled into +fists as he looked wildly about him for some weapon. + +The bunk was under him and three of the four walls of the room enclosed +him like a cave. But one of those gray skulkers had raised its head and +was looking directly at him, its reddish eyes alight. Ross ripped the +top blanket off the bunk with a half-formed idea of snapping it at the +animal when it sprang. + +Stiff-legged, the beast advanced, a guttural growl sounding deep in its +throat. To Ross the animal, larger than any dog he had even seen and +twice as vicious, was a monster. He had the blanket ready before he +realized that the wolf was not watching him after all, and that its +attention was focused on a point out of his line of vision. + +The wolfs muzzle wrinkled in a snarl, revealing long yellow-white teeth. +There was a singing twang, and the animal leaped into the air, fell +back, and rolled on the ground, biting despairingly at a shaft +protruding from just behind its ribs. It howled again, and blood broke +from its mouth. + +Ross was beyond surprise now. He pulled himself together and got up, to +walk steadily toward the dying wolf. And he wasn't in the least amazed +when his outstretched hands flattened against an unseen barrier. Slowly, +he swept his hands right and left, sure that he was touching the wall of +his cell. Yet his eyes told him he was on a mountain side, and every +sight, sound, and smell was making it real to him. + +Puzzled, he thought a moment and then, finding an explanation that +satisfied him, he nodded once and went back to sit at ease on his bunk. +This must be some superior form of TV that included odors, the illusion +of wind, and other fancy touches to make it more vivid. The total effect +was so convincing that Ross had to keep reminding himself that it was +all just a picture. + +The wolf was dead. Its pack mates had fled into the brush, but since the +picture remained, Ross decided that the show was not yet over. He could +still hear a click of sound, and he waited for the next bit of action. +But the reason for his viewing it still eluded him. + +A man came into view, crossing before Ross. He stooped to examine the +dead wolf, catching it by the tail and hoisting its hindquarters off the +ground. Comparing the beast's size with the hunter's, Ross saw that he +had not been wrong in his estimation of the animal's unusually large +dimensions. The man shouted over his shoulder, his words distinct +enough, but unintelligible to Ross. + +The stranger was oddly dressed--too lightly dressed if one judged the +climate by the frequent snow patches and the biting cold. A strip of +coarse cloth, extending from his armpit to about four inches above the +knee, was wound about his body and pulled in at the waist by a belt. The +belt, far more ornate than the cumbersome wrapping, was made of many +small chains linking metal plates and supported a long dagger which +hung straight in front. The man also wore a round blue cloak, now swept +back on his shoulders to free his bare arms, which was fastened by a +large pin under his chin. His footgear, which extended above his calves, +was made of animal hide, still bearing patches of shaggy hair. His face +was beardless, though a shadowy line along his chin suggested that he +had not shaved that particular day. A fur cap concealed most of his +dark-brown hair. + +Was he an Indian? No, for although his skin was tanned, it was as fair +as Ross's under that weathering. And his clothing did not resemble any +Indian apparel Ross had ever seen. Yet, in spite of his primitive +trappings, the man had such an aura of authority, of self-confidence, +and competence that it was clear he was top dog in his own section of +the world. + +Soon another man, dressed much like the first, but with a rust-brown +cloak, came along, pulling behind him two very reluctant donkeys, whose +eyes rolled fearfully at sight of the dead wolf. Both animals wore packs +lashed on their backs by ropes of twisted hide. Then another man came +along, with another brace of donkeys. Finally, a fourth man, wearing +skins for covering and with a mat of beard on his cheeks and chin, +appeared. His uncovered head, a bush of uncombed flaxen hair, shone +whitish as he knelt beside the dead beast, a knife with a dull-gray +blade in his hand, and set to work skinning the wolf with appreciable +skill. Three more pairs of donkeys, all heavily laden, were led past the +scene before he finished his task. Finally, he rolled the bloody skin +into a bundle and gave the flayed body a kick before he ran lightly +after the disappearing train of pack animals. + + + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +Ross, absorbed in the scene before him, was not prepared for the sudden +and complete darkness which blotted out not only the action but the +light in his own room as well. + +"What--?" His startled voice rang loudly in his ears, too loudly, for +all sound had been wiped out with the light. The faint swish of the +ventilating system, of which he had not been actively aware until it had +disappeared, was also missing. A trace of the same panic he had known in +the cockpit of the atomjet tingled along his nerves. But this time he +could meet the unknown with action. + +Ross slowly moved through the dark, his hands outstretched before him to +ward off contact with the wall. He was determined that somehow he would +discover the hidden door, escape from this dark cell.... + +There! His palm struck flat against a smooth surface. He swept out his +hand--and suddenly it passed over emptiness. Ross explored by touch. +There _was_ a door and now it was open. For a moment he hesitated, upset +by a nagging little fear that if he stepped through he would be out on +the hillside with the wolves. + +"That's stupid!" Again he spoke aloud. And, just because he did feel +uneasy, he moved. All the frustrations of the past hours built up in him +a raging desire to do something--anything--just so long as it was what +_he_ wanted to do and not at another's orders. + +Nevertheless, Ross continued to move slowly, for the space beyond that +open door was as deep and dark a pit as the room he left. To squeeze +along one wall, using an outstretched arm as a guide, was the best +procedure, he decided. + +A few feet farther on, his shoulder slipped from the surface and he half +tumbled into another open door. But there was the wall again, and he +clung to it thankfully. Another door ... Ross paused, trying to catch +some faint sound, the slightest hint that he was not alone in this +blindman's maze. But without even air currents to stir it, the blackness +itself took on a thick solidity which encased him as a congealing jelly. + +The wall ended. Ross kept his left hand on it, flailed out with his +right, and felt his nails scrape across another surface. The space +separating the two surfaces was wider than any doorway. Was it a +cross-corridor? He was about to make a wider arm sweep when he heard a +sound. He was not alone. + +Ross went back to the wall, flattening himself against it, trying to +control the volume of his own breathing in order to catch the slightest +whisper of the other noise. He discovered that lack of sight can confuse +the ear. He could not identify those clicks, the wisp of fluttering +sound that might be air displaced by the opening of another door. + +Finally, he detected something moving at floor level. Someone or +something must be creeping, not walking, toward him. Ross pushed back +around the corner. It never occurred to him to challenge that crawler. +There was an element of danger in this strange encounter in the dark; it +was not meant to be a meeting between fellow explorers. + +The sound of crawling was not steady. There were long pauses, and Ross +became convinced that each rest was punctuated by heavy breathing as if +the crawler was finding progress a great and exhausting effort. He +fought the picture that persisted in his imagination--that of a wolf +snuffling along the blacked-out hall. Caution suggested a quick retreat, +but Ross's urge to rebellion held him where he was, crouching, straining +to see what crept toward him. + +Suddenly there was a blinding flare of light, and Ross's hands went to +cover his dazzled eyes. And he heard a despairing, choked exclamation +from near to floor level. The same steady light that normally filled +hall and room was bright again. Ross found himself standing at the +juncture of two corridors--momentarily, he was absurdly pleased that he +had deduced that correctly--and the crawler--? + +A man--at least the figure was a two-legged, two-armed body reasonably +human in outline--was lying several yards away. But the body was so +wrapped in bandages and the head so totally muffled, that it lacked all +identity. For that reason it was the more startling. + +One of the mittened hands moved slightly, raising the body from the +ground so it could squirm forward an inch or so. Before Ross could move, +a man came running into the corridor from the far end. Murdock +recognized Major Kelgarries. He wet his lips as the major went down on +his knees beside the creature on the floor. + +"Hardy! Hardy!" That voice, which carried the snap of command whenever +it was addressed to Ross, was now warmly human. "Hardy, man!" The +major's hands were on the bandaged body, lifting it, easing the head and +shoulders back against his arm. "It's all right, Hardy. You're +back--safe. This is the base, Hardy." He spoke slowly, soothingly, with +the steadiness one would use to comfort a frightened child. + +Those mittened paws which had beat feebly into the air fell onto the +bandage-wreathed chest. "Back--safe--" The voice from behind the face +mask was a rusty croak. + +"Back, safe," the major assured him. + +"Dark--dark all around again--" protested the croak. + +"Just a power failure, man. Everything's all right now. We'll get you +into bed." + +The mitten pawed again until it touched Kelgarries' arm; then it flexed +a little as if the hand under it was trying to grip. + +"Safe--?" + +"You bet you are!" The major's tone carried firm reassurance. Now +Kelgarries looked up at Ross as if he knew the other had been there all +the time. + +"Murdock, get down to the end room. Call Dr. Farrell!" + +"Yes, sir!" The "sir" came so automatically that Ross had already +reached the end room before he realized he had used it. + +Nobody explained matters to Ross Murdock. The bandaged Hardy was claimed +by the doctor and two attendants and carried away, the major walking +beside the stretcher, still holding one of the mittened hands in his. +Ross hesitated, sure he was not supposed to follow, but not ready either +to explore farther or return to his own room. The sight of Hardy, +whoever he might be, had radically changed Ross's conception of the +project he had too speedily volunteered to join. + +That what they did here was important, Ross had never doubted. That it +was dangerous, he had early suspected. But his awareness had been an +abstract concept of danger, not connected with such concrete evidence as +Hardy crawling through the dark. From the first, Ross had nursed vague +plans for escape; now he knew he must get out of this place lest he end +up a twin for Hardy. + +"Murdock?" + +Having heard no warning sound from behind, Ross whirled, ready to use +his fists, his only weapons. But he did not face the major, or any of +the other taciturn men he knew held positions of authority. The +newcomer's brown skin was startling against the neutral shade of the +walls. His hair and brows were only a few shades darker; but the general +sameness of color was relieved by the vivid blue of his eyes. + +Expressionless, the dark stranger stood quietly, his arms hanging +loosely by his sides, studying Ross, as if the younger man was some +problem he had been assigned to solve. When he spoke, his voice was a +monotone lacking any modulation of feeling. + +"I am Ashe." He introduced himself baldly; he might have been saying +"This is a table and that is a chair." + +Ross's quick temper took spark from the other's indifference. "All +right--so you're Ashe!" He strove to make a challenge of it. "And what +is that supposed to mean?" + +But the other did not rise to the bait. He shrugged. "For the time being +we have been partnered----" + +"Partnered for what?" demanded Ross, controlling his temper. + +"We work in pairs here. The machine sorts us ..." he answered briefly +and consulted his wrist watch. "Mess call soon." + +Ashe had already turned away, and Ross could not stand the other's lack +of interest. While Murdock refused to ask questions of the major or any +others on that side of the fence, surely he could get some information +from a fellow "volunteer." + +"What is this place, anyway?" he asked. + +The other glanced back over his shoulder. "Operation Retrograde." + +Ross swallowed his anger. "Okay, but what do they do here? Listen, I +just saw a fellow who'd been banged up as if he'd been in a concrete +mixer, creeping along this hall. What sort of work do they do here? And +what do we have to do?" + +To his amazement Ashe smiled, at least his lips quirked faintly. "Hardy +got under your skin, eh? Well, we have our percentage of failures. They +are as few as it's humanly possible to make, and they give us every +advantage that can be worked out for us----" + +"Failures at what?" + +"Operation Retrograde." + +Somewhere down the hall a buzzer gave a muted whirr. + +"That's mess call. And I'm hungry, even if you're not." Ashe walked away +as if Ross Murdock had ceased to exist. + +But Ross Murdock did exist, and to him that was an important fact. As he +trailed along behind Ashe he determined that he was going to continue to +exist, in one piece and unharmed, Operation Retrograde or no Operation +Retrograde. And he was going to pry a few enlightening answers out of +somebody very soon. + +To his surprise he found Ashe waiting for him at the door of a room from +which came the sound of voices and a subdued clatter of trays and +tableware. + +"Not many in tonight," Ashe commented in a take-it-or-leave-it tone. +"It's been a busy week." + +The room was rather sparsely occupied. Five tables were empty, while the +men gathered at the remaining two. Ross counted ten men, either already +eating or coming back from a serving hatch with well-filled trays. All +of them were dressed in slacks, shirt, and moccasins like himself--the +outfit seemed to be a sort of undress uniform--and six of them were +ordinary in physical appearance. The other four differed so radically +that Ross could barely conceal his amazement. + +Since their fellows accepted them without comment, Ross silently stole +glances at them as he waited behind Ashe for a tray. One pair were +clearly Oriental; they were small, lean men with thin brackets of long +black mustache on either side of their mobile mouths. Yet he had caught +a word or two of their conversation, and they spoke his own language +with the facility of the native born. In addition to the mustaches, each +wore a blue tattoo mark on the forehead and others of the same design on +the backs of their agile hands. + +The second duo were even more fantastic. The color of their flaxen hair +was normal, but they wore it in braids long enough to swing across their +powerful shoulders, a fashion unlike any Ross had ever seen. Yet any +suggestion of effeminacy certainly did not survive beyond the first +glance at their ruggedly masculine features. + +"Gordon!" One of the braided giants swung halfway around from the table +to halt Ashe as he came down the aisle with his tray. "When did you get +back? And where is Sanford?" + +One of the Orientals laid down the spoon with which he had been +vigorously stirring his coffee and asked with real concern, "Another +loss?" + +Ashe shook his head. "Just reassignment. Sandy's holding down Outpost +Gog and doing well." He grinned and his face came to life with an +expression of impish humor Ross would not have believed possible. "He'll +end up with a million or two if he doesn't watch out. He takes to trade +as if he were born with a beaker in his fist." + +The Oriental laughed and then glanced at Ross. "Your new partner, Ashe?" + +Some of the animation disappeared from Ashe's brown face; he was +noncommittal again. "Temporary assignment. This is Murdock." The +introduction was flat enough to daunt Ross. "Hodaki, Feng," he +indicated the two Easterners with a nod as he put down his tray. +"Jansen, Van Wyke." That accounted for the blonds. + +"Ashe!" A man arose at the other table and came to stand beside theirs. +Thin, with a dark, narrow face and restless eyes, he was much younger +than the others, younger and not so well controlled. He might answer +questions if there was something in it for him, Ross decided, and filed +the thought away. + +"Well, Kurt?" Ashe's recognition was as dampening as it could be, and +Ross's estimation of the younger man went up a fraction when the snub +appeared to have no effect upon him. + +"Did you hear about Hardy?" + +Feng looked as if he were about to speak, and Van Wyke frowned. Ashe +made a deliberate process of chewing and swallowing before he replied. +"Naturally." His tone reduced whatever had happened to Hardy to a +matter-of-fact proceeding far removed from Kurt's implied melodrama. + +"He's smashed up ... kaput...." Kurt's accent, slight in the beginning, +was thickening. "Tortured...." + +Ashe regarded him levelly. "You aren't on Hardy's run, are you?" + +Still Kurt refused to be quashed. "Of course, I'm not! You know the run +I am in training for. But that is not saying that such can not happen as +well on my run, or yours, or yours!" He pointed a stabbing finger at +Feng and then at the blond men. + +"You can fall out of bed and break your neck, too, if your number comes +up that way," observed Jansen. "Go cry on Millaird's shoulder if it +hurts you that much. You were told the score at your briefing. You know +why you were picked...." + +Ross caught a faint glance aimed at him by Ashe. He was still totally in +the dark, but he would not try to pry any information from this crowd. +Maybe part of their training was this hush-hush business. He would wait +and see, until he could get Kurt aside and do a little pumping. +Meanwhile he ate stolidly and tried to cover up his interest in the +conversation. + +"Then you are going to keep on saying 'Yes, sir,' 'No, sir,' to every +order here----?" + +Hodaki slammed his tattooed hand on the table. "Why this foolishness, +Kurt? You well know how and why we are picked for runs. Hardy had the +deck stacked against him through no fault of the project. That has +happened before; it will happen again----" + +"Which is what I have been saying! Do you wish it to happen to you? +Pretty games those tribesmen on your run play with their prisoners, do +they not?" + +"Oh, shut up!" Jansen got to his feet. Since he loomed at least five +inches above Kurt and probably could have broken him in two over one +massive knee, his order was one to be considered. "If you have any +complaints, go make them to Millaird. And, little man"--he poked a +massive forefinger into Kurt's chest--"wait until you make that first +run of yours before you sound off so loudly. No one is sent out without +every ounce of preparation he can take. But we can't set up luck in +advance, and Hardy was unlucky. That's that. We got him back, and that +was lucky for him. He'd be the first to tell you so." He stretched. "I'm +for a game--Ashe? Hodaki?" + +"Always so energetic," murmured Ashe, but he nodded as did the small +Oriental. + +Feng smiled at Ross. "Always these three try to beat each other, and so +far all the contests are draws. But we hope ... yes, we have hopes...." + +So Ross had no chance to speak to Kurt. Instead, he was drawn into the +knot of men who, having finished their meal, entered a small arena with +a half circle of spectator seats at one side and a space for contestants +at the other. What followed absorbed Ross as completely as the earlier +scene of the wolf killing. This too was a fight, but not a physical +struggle. All three contenders were not only unlike in body, but as Ross +speedily came to understand, they were also unlike in their mental +approach to any problem. + +They seated themselves crosslegged at the three points of a triangle. +Then Ashe looked from the tall blond to the small Oriental. "Territory?" +he asked crisply. + +"Inland plains!" That came almost in chorus, and each man, looking at +his opponent, began to laugh. + +Ashe himself chuckled. "Trying to be smart tonight, boys?" he inquired. +"All right, plains it is." + +He brought his hand down on the floor before him, and to Ross's +astonishment the area around the players darkened and the floor became a +stretch of miniature countryside. Grassy plains rippled under the wind +of a fair day. + +"Red!" + +"Blue!" + +"Yellow!" + +The choices came quickly from the dusk masking the players. And upon +those orders points of the designated color came into being as small +lights. + +"Red--caravan!" Ross recognized Jansen's boom. + +"Blue--raiders!" Hodaki's choice was only an instant behind. + +"Yellow--unknown factor." + +Ross was sure that sigh came from Jansen. "Is the unknown factor a +natural phenomenon?" + +"No--tribe on the march." + +"Ah!" Hodaki was considering that. Ross could picture his shrug. + +The game began. Ross had heard of chess, of war games played with +miniature armies or ships, of games on paper which demand from the +players a quick wit and a trained memory. This game, however, was all +those combined, and more. As his imagination came to life the moving +points of light were transformed into the raiders, the merchants' +caravan, the tribe on the march. There was ingenious deployment, a +battle, a retreat, a small victory here, to be followed by a bigger +defeat there. The game might have gone on for hours. The men about him +muttered, taking sides and arguing heatedly in voices low enough not to +drown out the moves called by the players. Ross was thrilled when the +red traders avoided a very cleverly laid ambush, and indignant when the +tribe was forced to withdraw or the caravan lost points. It was the most +fascinating game he had ever seen, and he realized that the three men +ordering those moves were all masters of strategy. Their respective +skills checkmated each other so equally that an outright win was far +away. + +Then Jansen laughed, and the red line of the caravan gathered in a tight +knot. "Camped at a spring," he announced, "but with plenty of sentries +out." Red sparks showed briefly beyond that center core. "And they'll +have to stay there for all of me. We could keep this up till doomsday, +and nobody would crack." + +"No"--Hodaki contradicted him--"someday one of you will make a little +mistake and then----" + +"And then whatever bully boys you're running will clobber us?" asked +Jansen. "That'll be the day! Anyway, truce for now." + +"Granted!" + +The lights of the arena went on and the plains vanished into a dark, +tiled floor. "Any time you want a return engagement it'll be fine with +me," said Ashe, getting up. + +Jansen grinned. "Put that off for a month or so, Gordon. We push into +time tomorrow. Take care of yourselves, you two. I don't want to have to +break in another set of players when I come back." + +Ross, finding it difficult to shake off the illusion which had held him +entranced, felt a slight touch on his shoulder and glanced up. Kurt +stood behind him, apparently intent upon Jansen and Hodaki as they +argued over some point of the game. + +"See you tonight." The boy's lips hardly moved, a trick Ross knew from +his own past. Yes, he _would_ see Kurt tonight, or whenever he could. He +was going to learn what it was this odd company seemed determined to +keep as their own private secret. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +Ross stood cautiously against the wall of his darkened room, his head +turned toward the slightly open door. A slight shuffling sound had +awakened him, and he was now as ready as a cat before her spring. But he +did not hurl himself at the figure now easing the door farther open. He +waited until the visitor was approaching the bunk before he slid along +the wall, closing the door and putting his shoulders against it. + +"What's the pitch?" Ross demanded in a whisper. + +There was a ragged breath, maybe two, then a little laugh out of the +dark. "You are ready?" The visitor's accent left no doubt as to his +identity. Kurt was paying him the promised visit. + +"Did you think that I wouldn't be?" + +"No." The dim figure sat without invitation on the edge of the bunk. "I +would not be here otherwise, Murdock. You are plenty ... have plenty on +the ball. You see, I have heard things about you. Like me, you were +tricked into this game. Tell me, is it not true that you saw Hardy +tonight." + +"You hear a lot, don't you?" Ross was noncommittal. + +"I hear, I see, I learn more than these big mouths, like the major with +all his do's and don'ts. That I can tell you! You saw Hardy. Do _you_ +want to be a Hardy?" + +"Is there any danger of that?" + +"Danger!" Kurt snorted. "Danger--you have not yet known the meaning of +danger, little man. Not until now. I ask you again, do you want to end +like Hardy? They have not yet looped you in with all their big talk. +That is why I came here tonight. If you know what is good for you, +Murdock, you will make a break before they tape you----" + +"Tape me?" + +Kurt's laugh was full of anger, not amusement. "Oh, yes. They have many +tricks here. They are big brains, eggheads, all of them with their +favorite gadgets. They put you through a machine to get you registered +on a tape. Then, my boy, you cannot get outside the base without ringing +all the alarms! Neat, eh? So if you want to make a break, you must try +it before they tape you." + +Ross did not trust Kurt, but he was listening to him attentively. The +other's argument sounded convincing to one whose general ignorance of +science led him to be as fearful of the whole field as his ancestors had +been of black magic. As all his generation, he was conditioned to +believe that all kinds of weird inventions were entirely possible and +probable--usually to be produced in some dim future, but perhaps today. + +"They must have you taped," Ross pointed out. + +Kurt laughed again, but this time he was amused. "They believe that they +have. Only they are not as smart as they believe, the major and the +rest, including Millaird! No, I have a fighting chance to get out of +this place, only I cannot do it alone. That is why I have been waiting +for them to bring in a new guy I could get to before they had him pinned +down for good. You are tough, Murdock. I saw your record, and I'm +betting that you did not come here with the intention of staying. +So--here is your chance to go along with one who knows the ropes. You +will not have such a good one again." + +The longer Kurt talked, the more convincing he was. Ross lost a few of +his suspicions. It was true that he had come prepared to run at the +first possible opportunity, and if Kurt had everything planned, so much +the better. Of course, it was possible that Kurt was a stool pigeon, +leading him on as a test. But that was a chance Ross would have to take. + +"Look here, Murdock, maybe you think it's easy to break out of here. Do +you know where we are, boy? We're near enough to the North Pole as makes +no difference! Are you going to leg it back some hundreds of miles +through thick ice and snow? A nice jaunt if you make it. I do not think +that you can--not without plans and a partner who knows what he is +about." + +"And how _do_ we go? Steal one of those atomjets? I'm no pilot--are +you?" + +"They have other things besides a-j's here. This place is strictly +hush-hush. Even the a-j's do not set down too often for fear they will +be tracked by radar. Where have you been, boy? Don't you know the Reds +are circling around up here? These fellows watch for Red activity, and +the Reds watch them. They play it under the table on both sides. We get +our supplies overland by cats----" + +"Cats?" + +"Snow sleds, like tractors," the other answered impatiently. "Our stuff +is dumped miles to the south, and the cats go down once a month to bring +it back. There's no trick to driving a cat, and they tear off the +miles----" + +"How many miles to the south?" inquired Ross skeptically. Granted Kurt +was speaking the truth, travel over an arctic wilderness in a stolen +machine was risky, to say the least. Ross had only a very vague idea of +the polar regions, but he was sure that they could easily swallow up the +unwary forever. + +"Maybe only a hundred or so, boy. But I have more than one plan, and I'm +willing to risk _my_ neck. Do you think I intend to start out blind?" + +There was that, of course. Ross had early sized up his visitor as one +who was first of all interested in his own welfare. He wouldn't risk his +neck without a definite plan in mind. + +"Well, what do you say, Murdock? Are you with me or not?" + +"I'll take some time to chew it over----" + +"Time is what you do not have, boy. Tomorrow they will tape you. +Then--no over the wall for you." + +"Suppose you tell me your trick for fooling the tape," Ross countered. + +"That I cannot do, seeing as how it lies in the way my brain is put +together. Do you think I can break open my skull and hand you a piece of +what is inside? No, you jump with me tonight or else I must wait to grab +the next one who lands here." + +Kurt stood up. His last words were spoken matter-of-factly, and Ross +believed he meant exactly what he said. But Ross hesitated. He wanted to +try for freedom, a desire fed by his suspicions of what was going on +here. He neither liked nor trusted Kurt, but he thought he understood +him--better than he understood Ashe or the others. Also, with Kurt he +was sure he could hold his own; it would be the kind of struggle he had +experienced before. + +"Tonight...." he repeated slowly. + +"Yes, tonight!" There was new eagerness in Kurt's voice, for he sensed +that the other was wavering. "I have been preparing for a long time, but +there must be two of us. We have to take turns driving the cat. There +can be no rest until we are far to the south. I tell you it will be +easy. There are food caches arranged along the route for emergencies. I +have a map marked to show where they are. Are you coming?" + +When Ross did not answer at once the other moved closer to him. + +"Remember Hardy? He was not the first, and he will not be the last. They +use us up fast here. That is why they brought you so quickly. I tell +you, it is better to take your chance with me than on a run." + +"And what is a run?" + +"So they have not yet briefed you? Well, a run is a little jaunt back +into history--not nice comfortable history such as you learned out of a +book when you were a little kid. No, you are dropped back into some +savage time before history----" + +"That's impossible!" + +"Yes? You saw those two big blond boys tonight, did you not? Why do you +suppose they sport those braids? Because they are taking a little trip +into the time when he-men wore braids, and carried axes big enough to +crack a man open! And Hodaki and his partner.... Ever hear of the +Tartars? Maybe you have not, but once they nearly overran most of +Europe." + +Ross swallowed. He now knew where he had seen braids pictured on +warriors--the Vikings! And Tartars, yes, that movie about someone named +Khan, Genghis Khan! But to return into the past was impossible. + +Yet, he remembered the picture he had watched today with the wolf slayer +and the shaggy-haired man who wore skins. Neither of these was of his +own world! Could Kurt be telling the truth? Ross's vivid memory of the +scene he had witnessed made Kurt's story more convincing. + +"Suppose you get sent back to a time where they do not like strangers," +Kurt continued. "Then you are in for it. That is what happened to Hardy. +And it is not good--not good at all!" + +"But why?" + +Kurt snorted. "_That_ they do not tell you until just before you take +your first run. I do not want to know why. But I do know that I am not +going to be sent into any wilderness where a savage may run a spear +through me just to prove something or other for Major John Kelgarries, +or for Millaird either. I will try my plan first." + +The urgency in Kurt's protest carried Ross past the wavering point. He, +too, would try the cat. He was only familiar with this time and world; +he had no desire to be sent into another one. + +Once Ross had made his decision, Kurt hurried him into action. Kurt's +knowledge of the secret procedures at the base proved excellent. Twice +they were halted by locked doors, but only momentarily, for Kurt had a +tiny gadget, concealed in the palm of his hand, which had only to be +held over a latch to open a recalcitrant door. + +There was enough light in the corridors to give them easy passage, but +the rooms were dark, and twice Kurt had to lead Ross by the hand, +avoiding furniture or installations with the surety of one who had +practiced that same route often. Murdock's opinion of his companion's +ability underwent several upward revisions during that tour, and he +began to believe that he was really in luck to have found such a +partner. + +In the last room, Ross willingly followed Kurt's orders to put on the +fur clothing Kurt passed to him. The fit was not exact, but he surmised +that Kurt had chosen as well as possible. A final door opened, and they +stepped out into the polar night of winter. Kurt's mittened hand grasped +Ross's, pulling him along. Together, they pushed back the door of a +hangar shed to get at their escape vehicle. + +The cat was a strange machine, but Ross was given no time to study it. +He was shoved into the cockpit, a bubble covering settled down over +them, closing them in, and the engine came to life under Kurt's urging. +The cat must be traveling at its best pace, Ross thought. Yet the crawl +which took them away from the mounded snow covering the base seemed +hardly better than a man could make afoot. + +For a short time Kurt headed straight away from the starting point, but +Ross soon heard him counting slowly to himself as if he were timing +something. At the count of twenty the cat swung to the right and made a +wide half circle which was copied at the next count of twenty by a +similar sweep in the opposite direction. After this pattern had been +repeated for six turns, Ross found it difficult to guess whether they +had ever returned to their first course. When Kurt stopped counting he +asked, "Why the dance pattern?" + +"Would you rather be scattered in little pieces all over the landscape?" +the other snapped. "The base doesn't need fences two miles high to keep +us in, or others out; they take other precautions. You should thank +fortune we got through that first mine field without blowing...." + +Ross swallowed, but he refused to let Kurt know that he was rattled. "So +it isn't as easy to get away as you said?" + +"Shut up!" Kurt began counting again, and Ross had some cold +apprehensive moments in which to reflect upon the folly of quick +decisions and wonder bleakly why he had not thought things through +before he leaped. + +Again they sketched a weaving pattern in the snow, but this time the +arcs formed acute angles. Ross glanced now and then at the intent man at +the wheel. How had Kurt managed to memorize this route? His urge to +escape the base must certainly be a strong one. + +Back and forth they crawled, gaining only a few yards in each of those +angled strikes to right or left. + +"Good thing these cats are atomic powered," Kurt commented during one of +the intervals between mine fields. "We'd run out of fuel otherwise." + +Ross fought down the impulse to move his feet away from any possible +contact point with the engine. These machines must be safe to ride in, +but the bogy of radiation was frightening. Luckily, Kurt was now back to +a straight track, with no more weaving. + +"We are out!" Kurt said with exultation. But he added no more than just +the reassurance of their escape. + +The cat crawled on. To Ross's eyes there was no trail to follow, no +guideposts, yet Kurt steered ahead with confidence. A little later he +pulled to a stop and said to Ross, "We have to drive turn and turn +about--your turn." + +Ross was dubious. "Well, I can drive a car--but this----" + +"Is fool proof." Kurt caught him up. "The worst was getting through the +mine fields, and we are out of that now. See here--" his hand made a +shadow on the lighted instrument panel, "this will keep you straight. If +you can steer a car, you can steer this. Watch!" He started up again and +once more swung the cat to the left. + +A light on the panel began to blink at a rate which increased rapidly as +they veered farther away from their original course. + +"See? You keep that light steady, and you are on course. If it begins to +blink, you cast about until it steadies again. Simple enough for a baby. +Take over and see." + +It was hard to change places in the sealed cabin of the cat, but they +were successful, and Ross took the wheel gingerly. Following Kurt's +directions, he started ahead, his eyes focused on the light rather than +the white expanse before him. And after a few minutes of strain he +caught the hang of it. As Kurt had promised, it was very simple. After +watching him for a while, his instructor gave a grunt of satisfaction +and settled down for a nap. + +Once the first excitement of driving the cat wore off, the operation +tended to become monotonous. Ross caught himself yawning, but he kept at +his post with dogged stubbornness. This had been Kurt's game all the way +through--so far--and he was certainly not going to resign his first +chance to show that he could be of use also. If there had only been some +break in the eternal snow, some passing light or goal to be seen ahead, +it would not have been so bad. Finally, every now and then, Ross had to +jiggle off course just enough so that the warning blink of light would +alert him and keep him from falling asleep. He was unaware that Kurt had +awakened during one of those maneuvers until the other spoke. "Your own +private alarm clock, Murdock? Okay, I do not quarrel with anyone who +uses his head. But you had better get some shut-eye, or we will not keep +rolling." + +Ross was too tired to protest. They changed places, and he curled up as +best he could on his small share of seat. Only now that he was free to +sleep, he realized he no longer wanted to. Kurt must have thought Ross +had fallen asleep, for after perhaps two miles of steady grinding along, +he moved cautiously behind the wheel. Ross saw by the trace of light +from the instrument panel that his companion was digging into the breast +of his parka to bring out a small object which he held against the wheel +of the cat with one hand, while with the other he tapped out an +irregular rhythm. + +To Ross the action made no sense. But he did not miss the other's sigh +of relief as he restored his treasure to hiding once more, as if some +difficult task was now behind him. Shortly afterward the cat ground to +a stop, and Ross sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What's the matter? Engine +trouble?" + +Kurt had folded his arms across the wheel. "No. It is just that we are +to wait here----" + +"Wait? For what? Kelgarries to come along and pick us up?" + +Kurt laughed. "The major? How I wish that he _would_ arrive presently. +What a surprise he would receive! Not two little mice to be put back +into their cages, but the tiger cat, all claws and fangs!" + +Ross sat up straighter. This now had the bad smell of a frame, a frame +with himself planted right in the middle. He figured out the +possibilities and came up with an answer which would smear Ross Murdock +all over any map. If Kurt were waiting to meet friends out here, they +could only be of one brand. + +For most of his short life Ross had been engaged in a private war +against the restrictions imposed upon him by a set of legal rules to +which something within him would not conform. And he had, during those +same years filled with attacks, retreats, and strategic maneuvering, +formulated a code of rules by which to play his dangerous game. He had +not murdered, and he would never follow the path Kurt took. To one who +was supremely impatient of restraint, the methods and aims of Kurt's +employers were not only impossibly fantastic and illogical--they were to +be opposed to the last ounce of any man's energy. + +"Your friends late?" He tried to sound casual. + +"Not yet, and if you now plan to play the hero, Murdock, think better of +it!" Kurt's tone held the crack of an order--that note Ross had so much +disliked in the major's voice. "This is an operation which has been most +carefully planned and upon which a great deal depends. No one shall +spoil it for us now----" + +"The Reds planted you on the project, eh?" Ross wanted to keep the other +talking to give himself a chance to think. And this was one time he had +to think, clearly and with speed. + +"There is no need for me to tell you the sad tale of my life, Murdock. +And you would doubtless find much of it boring. If you wish to continue +to live--for a while, at least--you will remain quiet and do as you are +told." + +Kurt must be armed, for he would not be so confident unless he had a +weapon he could now turn on Ross. On the other hand, if what Ross +guessed were true, this _was_ the time to play the hero--when there was +only Kurt to handle. Better to be a dead hero than a live captive in the +hands of Kurt's dear friends across the pole. + +Without warning, Ross threw his body to the left, striving to pin Kurt +against the driver's side of the cabin, his hands clawing at the fur +ruff bordering the other's hood, trying for a throat hold. Perhaps it +was Kurt's over-confidence which betrayed him and left him open to a +surprise attack. He struggled hard to bring up his arm, but both his +weight and Ross's held him tight. Ross caught at his wrist, noticing a +gleam of metal. + +They threshed about, the bulkiness of the fur clothing hampering them. +Ross wondered fleetingly why the other had not made sure of him earlier. +As it was he fought with all his vigor to keep Kurt immobile, to try and +knock him out with a lucky blow. + +In the end Kurt aided in his own defeat. When Ross relaxed somewhat, the +other pushed against him, only to have Ross flinch to one side. Kurt +could not stop himself, and his head cracked against the wheel of the +cat. He went limp. + +Ross made the most of the next few moments. He brought his belt from +under his parka, twisting it around Kurt's wrists with no gentleness. +Then he wriggled about, changing places with the unconscious man. + +He had no idea of where to go, but he was sure he was going to get +away--at the cat's top speed--from that point. And with that in mind and +only a limited knowledge of how to manage the machine, Ross started up +and turned in a wide circle until he was sure the cat was headed in the +opposite direction. + +The light which had guided them was still on. Would reversing its +process take him back to the base? Lost in the immensity of the cold +wilderness, he made the only choice possible and gunned the cat again. + + + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +Once again Ross sat waiting for others to decide his future. He was as +outwardly composed as he had been in Judge Rawle's chambers, but +inwardly he was far more apprehensive. Out in the wilderness of the +polar night he had had no chance for escape. Heading away from Kurt's +rendezvous, Ross had run straight into the search party from the base, +had seen in action that mechanical hound that Kurt had said they would +put on the fugitives' trail--the thing which would have gone on hunting +them until its metal rusted into powder. Kurt's boasted immunity to that +tracker had not been as good as he had believed, though it had won them +a start. + +Ross did not know just how much it might count in his favor that he had +been on his way back, with Kurt a prisoner in the cat. As his waiting +hours wore on he began to think it might mean very little indeed. This +time there was no show on the wall of his cell, nothing but time to +think--too much of that--and no pleasant things to think about. + +But he had learned one valuable lesson on that cold expedition. +Kelgarries and the others at the base were the most formidable +opponents he had ever met, and all the balance of luck and equipment lay +on their side of the scales. Ross was now convinced that there could be +no escape from this base. He had been impressed by Kurt's preparations, +knowing that some of them were far beyond anything he himself could have +devised. He did not doubt that Kurt had come here fully prepared with +every ingenious device the Reds could supply. + +At least Kurt's friends had had a rude welcome when they did arrive at +the meeting place. Kelgarries had heard Ross out and then had sent ahead +a team. Before Ross's party had reached the base there had been a blast +which split the arctic night wide open. And Kurt, conscious by then, had +shown his only sign of emotion when he realized what it meant. + +The door to Ross's cell room clicked, and he swung his feet to the +floor, sitting up on his bunk to face his future. This time he made no +attempt to put on an act. He was not in the least sorry he had tried to +get away. Had Kurt been on the level, it would have been a bright play. +That Kurt was not, was just plain bad luck. + +Kelgarries and Ashe entered, and at the sight of Ashe the taut feeling +in Ross's middle loosened a bit. The major might come by himself to pass +sentence, but he would not bring Ashe along if the sentence was a really +harsh one. + +"You got off to a bad start here, Murdock." The major sat down on the +edge of the wall shelf which doubled as a table. "You're going to have a +second chance, so consider yourself lucky. We know you aren't another +plant of our enemies, a fact that saves your neck. Do you have anything +to add to your story?" + +"No, sir." He was not adding that "sir" to curry any favor; it came +naturally when one answered Kelgarries. + +"But you have some questions?" + +Ross met that with the truth. "A lot of them." + +"Why don't you ask them?" + +Ross smiled thinly, an expression far removed and years older than his +bashful boy's grin of the shy act. "A wise guy doesn't spill his +ignorance. He uses his eyes and ears and keeps his trap shut----" + +"And goes off half cocked as a result..." the major added. "I don't +think you would have enjoyed the company of Kurt's paymaster." + +"I didn't know about him then--not when I left here." + +"Yes, and when you discovered the truth, you took steps. Why?" For the +first time there was a trace of feeling in the major's voice. + +"Because I don't like the line-up on his side of the fence."' + +"That single fact has saved your neck this time, Murdock. Step out of +line once more, and nothing will help you. But just so we won't have to +worry about that, suppose you ask a few of those questions." + +"How much of what Kurt fed me is the truth?" Ross blurted out. "I mean +all that stuff about shooting back in time." + +"All of it." The major said it so quietly that it carried complete +conviction. + +"But why--how--?" + +"You have us on a spot, Murdock. Because of your little expedition, we +have to tell you more now than we tell any of our men before the final +briefing. Listen, and then forget all of it except what applies to the +job at hand. + +"The Reds shot up Sputnik and then Muttnik.... When--? Twenty-five years +ago. We got up our answers a little later. There were a couple of +spectacular crashes on the moon, then that space station that didn't +stay in orbit, after that--stalemate. In the past quarter century we've +had no voyages into space, nothing that was prophesied. Too many bugs, +too many costly failures. Finally we began to get hints of something +big, bigger than any football roaming the heavens. + +"Any discovery in science comes about by steps. It can be traced back +through those steps by another scientist. But suppose you were +confronted by a result which apparently had been produced without any +preliminaries. What would be your guess concerning it?" + +Ross stared at the major. Although he didn't see what all this had to do +with time-jumping, he sensed that Kelgarries was waiting for a serious +answer, that somehow Ross would be judged by his reply. + +"Either that the steps were kept strictly secret," he said slowly, "or +that the result didn't rightfully belong to the man who said he +discovered it." + +For the first time the major regarded him with approval. "Suppose this +discovery was vital to your life--what would you do?" + +"Try to find the source!" + +"There you have it! Within the past five years our friends across the +way have come up with three such discoveries. One we were able to trace, +duplicate, and use, with a few refinements of our own. The other two +remain rootless; yet they are linked with the first. We are now +attempting to solve that problem, and the time grows late. For some +reason, though the Reds now have their super, super gadgets, they are +not yet ready to use them. Sometimes the things work, and sometimes they +fail. Everything points to the fact that the Reds are now experimenting +with discoveries which are not basically their own----" + +"Where did they get them? From another world?" Ross's imagination came +to life. Had a successful space voyage been kept secret? Had there been +contact made with another intelligent race? + +"In a way it's another world, but the world of time--not space. Seven +years ago we got a man out of East Berlin. He was almost dead, but he +lived long enough to record on tape some amazing data, so wild it was +almost dismissed as the ravings of delirium. But that was after Sputnik, +and we didn't dare disregard any hints from the other side of the Iron +Curtain. So the recording was turned over to our scientists, who proved +it had a core of truth. + +"Time travel has been written up in fiction; it has been discussed +otherwise as an impossibility. Then we discover that the Reds have it +working----" + +"You mean, they go into the future and bring back machines to use now." + +The major shook his head. "Not the future, the past." + +Was this an elaborate joke? Somewhat heatedly Ross snapped out the +answer to that. "Look here, I know I haven't the education of your big +brains, but I do know that the farther back you go into history the +simpler things are. We ride in cars; only a hundred years ago men drove +horses. We have guns; go back a little and you'll find them waving +swords and shooting guys with bows and arrows--those that don't wear tin +plate on them to stop being punctured----" + +"Only they were, after all," commented Ashe. "Look at Agincourt, m'lad, +and remember what arrows did to the French knights in armor." + +Ross disregarded the interruption. "Anyway"--he stuck doggedly to his +point--"the farther back you go, the simpler things are. How are the +Reds going to find anything in history we can't beat today?" + +"That is a point which has baffled us for several years now," the major +returned. "Only it is not _how_ they are going to find it, but _where_. +Because somewhere in the past of this world they have contacted a +civilization able to produce weapons and ideas so advanced as to baffle +our experts. We have to find that source and either mine it ourselves or +close it off. As yet we're still trying to find it." + +Ross shook his head. "It must be a long way back. Those guys who +discover tombs and dig up old cities--couldn't they give you some hints? +Wouldn't a civilization like that have left something we could find +today?" + +"It depends," Ashe remarked, "upon the type of civilization. The +Egyptians built in stone, grandly. They used tools and weapons of +copper, bronze, and stone, and they were considerate enough to operate +in a dry climate which preserved relics well. The cities of the Fertile +Crescent built in mud brick and used stone, copper, and bronze tools. +They also chose a portion of the world where climate was a factor in +keeping their memory green. + +"The Greeks built in stone, wrote their books, kept their history to +bequeath it to their successors, and so did the Romans. And on this side +of the ocean the Incas, the Mayas, the unknown races before them, and +the Aztecs of Mexico all built in stone and worked in metal. And stone +and metal survive. But what if there had been an early people who used +plastics and brittle alloys, who had no desire to build permanent +buildings, whose tools and artifacts were meant to wear out quickly, +perhaps for economic reasons? What would they leave us--considering, +perhaps, that an ice age had intervened between their time and ours, +with glaciers to grind into dust what little they did possess? + +"There is evidence that the poles of our world have changed and that +this northern region was once close to being tropical. Any catastrophe +violent enough to bring about a switch in the poles of this planet might +well have wiped out all traces of a civilization, no matter how +superior. We have good reason to believe that such a people must have +existed, but we must find them. + +"And Ashe is a convert from the skeptics--" the major slipped down from +his perch on the wall shelf--"he is an archaeologist, one of your tomb +discoverers, and knows what he is talking about. We must do our hunting +in time earlier than the first pyramid, earlier than the first group of +farmers who settled by the Tigris River. But we have to let the enemy +guide us to it. That's where you come in." + +"Why me?" + +"That is a question to which our psychologists are still trying to find +the answer, my young friend. It seems that the majority of the people of +the several nations linked together in this project have become too +civilized. The reactions of most men to given sets of circumstances have +become set in regular patterns and they cannot break that conditioning, +or if personal danger forces them to change those patterns, they are +afterward so adrift they cannot function at their highest potential. +Teach a man to kill, as in war, and then you have to recondition him +later. + +"But during these same wars we also develop another type. He is the born +commando, the secret agent, the expendable man who lives on action. +There are not many of this kind, and they are potent weapons. In +peacetime that particular collection of emotions, nerve, and skills +becomes a menace to the very society he has fought to preserve during a +war. He is pressured by the peaceful environment into becoming a +criminal or a misfit. + +"The men we send out from here to explore the past are not only given +the best training we can possibly supply for them, but they are all of +the type once heralded as the frontiersman. History is sentimental about +that type--when he is safely dead--but the present finds him difficult +to live with. Our time agents are misfits in the modern world because +their inherited abilities are born out of season now. They must be young +enough and possess a certain brand of intelligence to take the stiff +training and to adapt, and they must pass our tests. Do you understand?" + +Ross nodded. "You want crooks because they are crooks----" + +"No, not because they are crooks, but because they are misfits in their +time and place. Don't, I beg of you, Murdock, think that we are +operating a penal institution here. You would never have been recruited +if you hadn't tested out to suit us. But the man who may be labeled +murderer in his own period might rank as a hero in another, an extreme +example, but true. When we train a man he not only can survive in the +period to which he is sent, but he can also pass as a native born in +that era----" + +"What about Hardy?" + +The major gazed into space. "There is no operation which is foolproof. +We have never said that we don't run into trouble or that there is no +danger in this. We have to deal with both natives of different times, +and if we are lucky and hit a hot run, with the Reds. They suspect that +we are casting about, hunting their trail. They managed to plant Kurt +Vogel on us. He had an almost perfect cover and conditioning. Now you +have it straight, Murdock. You satisfy our tests, and you'll be given a +chance to say yes or no before your first run. If you say no and refuse +duty, it means you must become an exile and stay here. No man who has +gone through our training can return to normal life; there is too much +chance of his being picked up and sweated by the opposition." + +"Never?" + +The major shrugged. "This may be a long-term operation. We hope not, but +there is no way of telling now. You will be in exile until we either +find what we want or fail entirely. That is the last card I have to lay +on the table." He stretched. "You're slated for training tomorrow. Think +it over and then let us know your answer when the time comes. Meanwhile, +you are to be teamed with Ashe, who will see to putting you through the +course." + +It was a big hunk to swallow, but once down, Ross found it digestible. +The training opened up a whole new world to him. Judo and wrestling were +easy enough to absorb, and he thoroughly enjoyed the workouts. But the +patient hours of archery practice, the strict instruction in the use of +a long-bladed bronze dagger were more demanding. The mastering of one +new language and then another, the intensive drill in unfamiliar social +customs, the memorizing of strict taboos and ethics were difficult. Ross +learned to keep records in knots on hide thongs and was inducted into +the art of primitive bargaining and trade. He came to understand the +worth of a cross-shaped tin ingot compared to a string of amber beads +and some well-cured white furs. He now understood why he had been shown +a traders' caravan during that first encounter with the purpose behind +Operation Retrograde. + +During the training days his feeling toward Ashe changed materially. A +man could not work so closely with another and continue to resent his +attitude; either he blew up entirely, or he learned to adjust. His awe +at Ashe's vast amount of practical knowledge, freely offered to serve +his own blundering ignorance, created a respect for the man which might +have become friendship, had Ashe ever relaxed his own shield of +impersonal efficiency. Ross did not try to breach the barrier between +them mainly because he was sure that the reason for it was the fact +that he was a "volunteer." It gave him an odd new feeling he avoided +trying to analyze. He had always had a kind of pride in his record; now +he had begun to wish sometimes that it was a record of a different type. + +Men came and went. Hodaki and his partner disappeared, as did Jansen and +his. One lost track of time within that underground warren which was the +base. Ross gradually discovered that the whole establishment covered a +large area under an external crust of ice and snow. There were +laboratories, a well-appointed hospital, armories which stocked weapons +usually seen only in museums, but which here were free of any signs of +age, and ready for use. There were libraries with mile upon mile of tape +recordings as well as films. Ross could not understand everything he +heard and saw, but he soaked up all he could so that once or twice, when +drifting off to sleep at night, he thought of himself as a sponge which +had nearly reached its total limit of absorption. + +He learned to wear naturally the clumsy kilt-tunic he had seen on the +wolf slayer, to shave with practiced assurance, using a leaf-shaped +bronze razor, to eat strange food until he relished the taste. Making +lesson time serve a double duty, he lay under sunlamps while listening +to tape recordings, until his skin darkened to a weathered hue +resembling Ashe's. There was always talk to listen to, important talk +which he was afraid to miss. + +"Bronze." Ashe weighed a dagger in his hand one day. Its hilt, made of +dark horn studded with an intricate pattern of tiny golden nail heads, +had a gleam not unlike that of the blade. "Do you know, Murdock, that +bronze can be tougher than steel? If it wasn't that iron is so much more +plentiful and easier to work, we might never have come out of the Bronze +Age? Iron is cheaper and easier found, and when the first smith learned +to work it, an end came to one way of life, a beginning to another. + +"Yes, bronze is important to us here, and so are the men who worked it. +Smiths were sacred in the old days. We know that they made a secret of +their trade which overrode the bounds of district, tribe, and race. A +smith was welcome in any village, his person safe on the road. In fact, +the roads themselves were under the protection of the gods; there was +peace on them for all wayfarers. The land was wide then, and it was +empty. The tribes were few and small, and there was plenty of room for +the hunter, the farmer, the trader. Life was not such a scramble of man +against man, but rather of man against nature----" + +"No wars?" asked Ross. "Then why the bow-and-dagger drill?" + +"Wars were small affairs, disputes between family clans or tribes. As +for the bow, there were formidable things in the forests--giant animals, +wolves, wild boars----" + +"Cave bears?" + +Ashe sighed with weary patience. "Get it through your head, Murdock, +that history is much longer than you seem to think. Cave bears and the +use of bronze weapons do not overlap. No, you will have to go back maybe +several thousand years earlier and then hunt your bear with a +flint-tipped spear in your hand if you are fool enough to try it." + +"Or take a rifle with you." Ross made a suggestion he had longed to +voice for some time. + +Ashe rounded on him swiftly, and Ross knew him well enough now to +realize that he was seriously displeased. + +"That is just what you don't do, Murdock, not from this base, as you +well know by now. You take no weapon from here which is not designed for +the period in which your run lies. Just as you do not become embroiled +while on that run in any action which might influence the course of +history." + +Ross went on polishing the blade he held. "What would happen if someone +did break that rule?" + +Ashe put down the dagger he had been playing with. "We don't know--we +just don't know. So far we have operated in the fringe territory, +keeping away from any district with a history which we can trace +accurately. Maybe some day--" his eyes were on a wall of weapon racks he +plainly did not see--"maybe some day we can stand and watch the rise of +the pyramids, witness the march of Alexander's armies.... But not yet. +We stay away from history, and we are sure that the Reds are doing the +same. It has become the old problem once presented by the atom bomb. +Nobody wants to upset the balance and take the consequences. Let us find +their outpost and we'll withdraw our men from all the other runs at +once." + +"What makes everyone so sure that they have an outpost somewhere? +Couldn't they be working right at the main source, sir?" + +"They could, but for some reason they are not. As for how we know that +much, it's information received." Ashe smiled thinly. "No, the source is +much farther back in time than their halfway post. But if we find that, +then we can trail them. So we plant men in suitable eras and hope for +the best. That's a good weapon you have there, Murdock. Are you willing +to wear it in earnest?" + +The inflection in that question caught Ross's full attention. His gray +eyes met those blue ones. This was it--at long last. + +"Right away?" + +Ashe picked up a belt of bronze plates strung together with chains, a +twin to that Ross had seen worn by the wolf slayer. He held it out to +the younger man. "You can take your trial run any time--tomorrow." + +Ross drew a deeper breath. "Where--to when?" + +"An island which will later be Britain. When? About two thousand B.C. +Beaker traders were beginning to open their stations there. This is your +graduation exercise, Murdock." + +Ross fitted the blade he had been polishing into the wooden sheath on +the belt. "If you say I can do it, I'm willing to try." + +He caught that glance Ashe shot at him, but he could not read its +meaning. Annoyance? Impatience? He was still puzzling over it when the +other turned abruptly and left him alone. + + + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +He might have said yes, but that didn't mean, Ross discovered, that he +was to be shipped off at once to early Britain. Ashe's "tomorrow" proved +to be several days later. The cover was that of a Beaker trader, and +Ross's impersonation was checked again and again by experts, making sure +that the last detail was correct and that no suspicion of a tribesman, +no mistake on Ross's part would betray him. + +The Beaker people were an excellent choice for infiltration. They were +not a closely knit clan, suspicious of strangers and alert to any +deviation from the norm, as more race-conscious tribes might be. For +they lived by trade, leaving to Ross's own time the mark of their +far-flung "empire" in the beakers found in graves scattered in clusters +of a handful or so from the Rhineland to Spain, and from the Balkans to +Britain. + +They did not depend only upon the taboo of the trade road for their +safety, for the Beakermen were master bowmen. A roving people, they +pushed into new territory to establish posts, living amicably among +peoples with far different customs--the Downs farmers, horse herders, +shore-side fisherfolk. + +With Ashe, Ross passed a last inspection. Their hair had not grown long +enough to require braiding, but they did have enough to hold it back +from their faces with hide headbands. The kilt-tunics of coarse +material, duplicating samples brought from the past, were harsh to the +skin and poorly fitting. But the workmanship of their link-and-plate +bronze belts, the sleek bow guards strapped to their wrists, and the +bows themselves approached fine art. Ashe's round cloak was the blue of +a master trader, and he wore wealth in a necklace of polished wolf's +teeth alternating with amber beads. Ross's more modest position in the +tribe was indicated not only by his red-brown cloak, but by the fact +that his personal jewelry consisted only of a copper bracelet and a +cloak pin with a jet head. + +He had no idea how the time transition was to be made, nor how one might +step from the polar regions of the Western Hemisphere to the island of +Britain lying off the Eastern. And it was a complicated business as he +discovered. + +The transition itself was a fairly simple, though disturbing, process. +One walked a short corridor and stood for an instant on a plate while +the light centered there curled about in a solid core, shutting one off +from floor and wall. Ross gasped for breath as the air was sucked out of +his lungs. He experienced a moment of deathly sickness with the +sensation of being lost in nothingness. Then he breathed again and +looked through the dying wall of light to where Ashe waited. + +Quick and easy as the trip through time had been, the journey to Britain +was something else. There could be only one transfer point if the secret +was to be preserved. But men from that point must be moved swiftly and +secretly to their appointed stations. Ross, knowing the strict rules +concerning the transportation of objects from one time to another, +wondered how that travel could be effected. After all, they could not +spend months, or even years, getting across continents and seas. + +The answer was ingenious. Three days after they had stepped through the +barrier of time at the outpost, Ross and Ashe balanced on the rounded +back of a whale. It was a whale which would deceive anyone who did not +test its hide with a harpoon, and whalers with harpoons large enough to +trouble such a monster were yet well in the future. + +Ashe slid a dugout into the water, and Ross climbed into that unsteady +craft, holding it against the side of the disguised sub until his +partner joined him. The day, misty and drizzling, made the shore they +aimed for a half-seen line across the water. With a shiver born of more +than cold, Ross dipped his paddle and helped Ashe send their crude boat +toward that half-hidden strip of land. + +There was no real dawn; the sky lightened somewhat, but the drizzle +continued. Green patches showed among the winter-denuded trees back from +the beach, but the countryside facing them gave an impression of untamed +wilderness. Ross knew from his briefing that the whole of Britain was as +yet only sparsely settled. The first wave of hunter-fishers to establish +villages had been joined by other invaders who built massive tombs and +had an elaborate religion. Small village-forts had been linked from hill +to hill by trackways. There were "factories," which turned out in bulk +such fine flint weapons and tools that a thriving industry was in full +operation, not yet having been superseded by the metal imported by the +Beaker merchants. Bronze was still so rare and costly that only the head +man of a village could hope to own one of the long daggers. Even the +arrowheads in Ross's quiver were chipped of flint. + +They drew the dugout well up onto the shore and ran it into a shallow +depression in the bank, heaping stones and brush about for its +concealment. Then Ashe intently surveyed the surrounding country, +seeking a landmark. + +"Inland from here...." Ashe used the language of the Beakermen, and Ross +knew that from now on he must not only live as a trader, but also think +as one. All other memories must be buried under the false one he had +learned; he must be interested in the present rate of exchange and the +chance for profit. The two men were on their way to Outpost Gog, where +Ashe's first partner, the redoubtable Sanford, was playing his role so +well. + +The rain squished in their hide boots, made sodden strings of their +cloaks, plastered their woven caps to their thick mats of hair. Yet Ashe +bore steadily on across the land with the certainty of one following a +marked trail. His self-confidence was rewarded within the first half +mile when they came out upon one of the link trackways, its beaten +surface testifying to constant use. + +Here Ashe turned eastward, stepping up the pace to a ground-covering +trot. The peace of the road held--at least by day. By night only the +most hardened and desperate outlaws would brave the harmful spirits +roving in the dark. + +All the lore that had been pounded into him at the base began to make +some sense to Ross as he followed his guide, sniffing strange wet smells +from the brush, the trees, and the damp earth; piecing together in his +mind what he had been taught and what he now saw for himself, until it +made a tight pattern. + +The track they were following sloped slightly upward, and a change in +the wind brought to them a sour odor, blanking out all normal scents. +Ashe halted so suddenly that Ross almost plowed into him. But he was +alerted by the older man's attitude. + +Something had been burned! Ross drew in a deep lungful of the smell and +then wished that he had not. It was wood--burned wood--and something +else. Since this was not possibly normal, he was prepared for the way +Ashe melted into cover in the brush. + +They worked their way, sometimes crawling on their bellies, through the +wet stands of dead grass, taking full advantage of all cover. They +crouched at the top of the hill while Ashe parted the prickly branches +of an evergreen bush to make them a window. + +The black patch left by the fire, which had come from a ruin above, had +spread downhill on the opposite side of the valley. Charred posts still +stood like lone teeth in a skull to mark what must have once been one of +the stockade walls of a post. But all they now guarded was a desolation +from which came that overpowering stench. + +"Our post?" Ross asked in a whisper. + +Ashe nodded. He was studying the scene with an intent absorption which, +Ross knew, would impress every important detail upon his mind. That the +place had been burned was clear from the first. But why and by whom was +a problem vital to the two lurking in the brush. + +It took them almost an hour to cross the valley--an hour of hiding, +casting about, searching. They had made a complete circle of the +destroyed post and Ashe stood in the shadow of a copse, rubbing clots of +mud from his hands and frowning up at the charred posts. + +"They weren't rushed. Or if they were, the attackers covered their trail +afterward--" Ross ventured. + +The older man shook his head. "Tribesmen would not have muddled a trail +if they had won. No, this was no regular attack. There have been no +signs of a war party coming or leaving." + +"Then what?" demanded Ross. + +"Lightning for one thing--and we'd better hope it was that. Or--" +Ashe's blue eyes were very cold and bleak, as cold and bleak as the +countryside about them. + +"Or--?" Ross dared to prompt him. + +"Or we have made contact with the Reds in the wrong way!" + +Ross's hand instinctively went to the dagger at his belt. Little help a +dagger would be in an unequal struggle like this! They were only two in +a thin web of men strung out through centuries of time with orders to +seek out that which did not fit properly into the pattern of the past: +to locate the enemy wherever in history or prehistory he had gone to +earth. Had the Reds been searching, too, and was this first disaster +their victory? + +The time traders had their evidence when they at last ventured into what +had been the heart of Outpost Gog. Ross, inexperienced as he was in such +matters, could not mistake the signs of the explosion. There was a +crater on the crown of the hill, and Ashe stood apart from it, eying the +fragments about them--scorched wood, blackened stone. + +"The Reds?" + +"It must have been. This damage was done by explosives." + +It was clear why Outpost Gog could not report the disaster. The attack +had destroyed their one link with the post on this time level; the +concealed communicator had gone up with the blast. + +"Eleven--" Ashe's finger tapped on the ornate buckle of his wide belt. +"We have about ten days to stick it out," he added, "and it seems we may +be able to use them to better advantage than just letting you learn how +it feels to walk about some four thousand years before you were born. We +have to find out--if we can--what happened here and why!" + +Ross gazed at the mess. "Dig?" he asked. + +"Some digging is indicated." + +So they dug. Finally, black with charcoal smudges and sick with the +evidences of death they had chanced upon, they collapsed on the cleanest +spot they could find. + +"They must have hit at night," Ashe said slowly. "Only at that time +would they find everyone here. Men don't trust a night filled with +ghosts, and our agents conform to local custom as usual. All of the post +people could be erased with one bomb at night." + +All except two of them had been true Beaker traders, including women and +children. No Beaker trading post was large, and this one was unusually +small. The attacker had wiped out some twenty people, eighteen of them +innocent victims. + +"How long ago?" Ross wanted to know. + +"Maybe two days. And this attack came without any warning, or Sandy +would have sent a message. He had no suspicions at all; his last reports +were all routine, which means that if they were on to him--and they must +have been, judging by the results--he was not even aware of it." + +"What do we do now?" + +Ashe looked at him. "We wash--no--" he corrected himself--"we don't! We +go to Nodren's village. We are frightened, grief-stricken. We have found +our kinsmen dead under strange circumstances. We ask questions of one to +whom I am known as an inhabitant of this post." + +So, covered with dirt, they walked along the trackway toward the +neighboring village with a weariness they did not have to counterfeit. + +The dog sighted or perhaps scented them first. It was a rough-coated +beast, showing its fangs with a wolflike ferocity. But it was smaller +than a wolf, and it barked between its warning snarls. Ashe brought his +bow from beneath the shelter of his cloak and held it ready. + +"Ho, one comes to speak with Nodren--Nodren of the Hill!" + +Only the dog snapped and snarled. Ashe rubbed his forearm across his +face, the gesture of a weary and heartsick man, smearing the ash and +grime into an awesome mask. + +"Who speaks to Nodren--?" There was a different twist to the +pronunciation of some words, but Ross was able to understand. + +"One who has hunted with him and feasted with him. The one who gave into +his hand the friendship gift of the ever-sharp knife. It is Assha of the +traders----" + +"Go far from us, man of ill luck. You who are hunted by the evil +spirits." The last was a shrill cry. + +Ashe remained where he was, facing into the bushes which hid the +tribesman. + +"Who speaks for Nodren yet not with the voice of Nodren?" he demanded. +"This is Assha who asks. We have drunk blood together and faced the +white wolf and the wild boar in their fury. Nodren lets not others speak +for him, for Nodren is a man and a chief!" + +"And you are cursed!" A stone flew through the air, striking a rain pool +and spattering mud on Ashe's boots. "Go and take your evil with you!" + +"Is it from the hand of Nodren or Nodren's young men that doom came upon +those of my blood? Have war arrows passed between the place of the +traders and the town of Nodren? Is that why you hide in the shadows so +that I, Assha, cannot look upon the face of one who speaks boldly and +throws stones?" + +"No war arrows between us, trader. _We_ do not provoke the spirits of +the hills. No fire comes from the sky at night to eat us up with a noise +of many thunders. Lurgha speaks in such thunders; Lurgha's hand smites +with such fire. You have the Wrath of Lurgha upon you, trader! Keep +away from us lest Lurgha's wrath fall upon us also." + +Lurgha was the local storm god, Ross recalled. The sound of thunder and +fire coming out of the sky at night--the bomb! Perhaps the very method +of attack on the post would defeat Ashe's attempt to learn anything from +these neighbors. The superstitions of the people would lead them to shun +both the site of the post and Ashe himself as cursed and taboo. + +"If the Wrath of Lurgha had struck at Assha, would Assha still live to +walk upon this road?" Ashe prodded the ground with the tip of his +bowstave. "Yet Assha walks, as you see him; Assha talks, as you hear +him. It is ridiculous to answer him with the nonsense of little +children----" + +"Spirits so walk and talk to unlucky men," retorted the man in hiding. +"It may be the spirit of Assha who does so now--" + +Ashe made a sudden leap. There was a flurry of action behind the bush +screen and he reappeared, dragging into the gray light of the rainy day +a wriggling captive, whom he bumped without ceremony onto the beaten +earth of the road. + +The man was bearded, wearing his thick mop of black hair in a round +topknot secured by a hide loop. He wore a skin tunic, now in +considerable disarray, which was held in place with a woven, tasseled +belt. + +"Ho, so it is Lal of the Quick Tongue who speaks so loudly of spirits +and the Wrath of Lurgha!" Ashe studied his captive. "Now, Lal, since you +speak for Nodren--which I believe will greatly surprise him--you will +continue to tell me of this Wrath of Lurgha from the night skies and +what has happened to Sanfra, who was my brother, and those others of my +kin. I am Assha, and you know of the wrath of Assha and how it ate up +Twist-tooth, the outlaw, when he came in with his evil men. The Wrath of +Lurgha is hot, but so too is the wrath of Assha." Ashe contorted his +face in such a way that Lal squirmed and looked away. When the tribesman +spoke, all his former authority and bluster had gone. + +"Assha knows that I am as his dog. Let him not turn upon me his +swift-cutting big knife, nor the arrows from his lightning bow. It was +the Wrath of Lurgha which smote the place on the hill, first the thunder +of his fist meeting the earth, and then the fire which he breathed upon +those whom he would slay----" + +"And this you saw with your own eyes, Lal?" + +The shaggy head shook an emphatic negative. "Assha knows that Lal is no +chief who can stand and look upon the wonders of Lurgha's might and keep +his eyes in his head. Nodren himself saw this wonder----" + +"And if Lurgha came in the night, when all men keep to their homes and +leave the outer world to the restless spirits, how did Nodren see his +coming?" + +Lal crouched lower to the ground, his eyes darting to the bushes and the +freedom they promised, then back to Ashe's firmly planted boots. + +"I am not a chief, Assha. How could I know in what way or for what +reason Nodren saw the coming of Lurgha----?" + +"Fool!" A second voice, that of a woman, spat the word from the brush +which fringed the roadway. "Speak to Assha with a straight tongue. If he +is a spirit, he will know that you do not tell him the truth. And if he +has been spared by Lurgha...." She showed her wonderment with a hiss of +indrawn breath. + +So urged, Lal mumbled sullenly, "It is said that there came a message +for one to witness the Wrath of Lurgha in its descent upon the +outlanders so that Nodren and the men of Nodren would truly know that +the traders were cursed, and should be put to the spear should they +come here again----" + +"This message--how was it brought? Did the voice of Lurgha sound in +Nodren's ear alone, or came it by the tongue of some man?" + +"Ahee!" Lal lay flat on the ground, his hands over his ears. + +"Lal is a fool and fears his own shadow as it skips before him on a +sunny day!" Out of the bushes stepped a young woman, obviously of some +importance in her own group. Walking with a proud stride, her eyes +boldly met Ashe's. A shining disk hung about her neck on a thong, and +another decorated the woven belt of her cloth tunic. Her hair was bound +in a thread net fastened with jet pins. + +"I greet Cassca, who is the First Sower." There was a formal note in +Ashe's voice. "But why should Cassca hide from Assha?" + +"There has been death on your hill, Assha--" she sniffed--"you smell of +it now--Lurgha's death. Those who come from that hill may well be some +who no longer walk in their bodies." Cassca placed her fingers +momentarily on Ashe's outstretched palm before she nodded. "No spirit +are you, Assha, for all know that a spirit is solid to the eye, but not +to the touch. So it would seem that you were not burned up by Lurgha, +after all." + +"This matter of a message from Lurgha--" he prompted. + +"It came out of the empty air in the hearing not only of Nodren, but +also of Hangor, Effar, and myself, Cassca. For we stood at that time +near the Old Place...." She made a curious gesture with the fingers of +her right hand. "It will soon be the time of sowing, and though Lurgha +brings sun and rain to feed the grain, yet it is in the Great Mother +that the seed lies. Upon her business only women may go into the Inner +Circle." She gestured again. "But as we met to make the first sacrifice +there came music out of the air such as we have never heard, voices +singing like birds in a strange tongue." Her face assumed an awesome +expression. "Afterward a voice said that Lurgha was angered with the +hill of the men-from-afar and that in the night he would send his Wrath +against them, and that Nodren must witness this thing so that he could +see what Lurgha did to those he would punish. So it was done by Nodren. +And there was a sound in the air----" + +"What kind of a sound?" Ashe asked quietly. + +"Nodren said it was a hum and there was the dark shadow of Lurgha's bird +between him and the stars. Then came the smiting of the hill with +thunder and lightning, and Nodren fled, for the Wrath of Lurgha is a +fearsome thing. Now do the people come to the Great Mother's Place with +many fine offerings that she may stand between them and that Wrath." + +"Assha thanks Cassca, who is the handmaiden of the Great Mother. May the +sowing prosper and the reaping be good this year!" Ashe said finally, +ignoring Lal, who still groveled on the road. + +"You go from this place, Assha?" she asked. "For though I stand under +the protecting hand of the Mother and so do not fear, yet there are +others who will raise their spears against you for the honor of Lurgha." + +"We go, and again thanks be to you, Cassca." + +He turned back the way they had come, and Ross fell in beside him as the +woman watched them out of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +"That bird of Lurgha's--" said Ross, once they were out of sight of +Cassca and Lal, "could it have been a plane?" + +"Sounds like it," snapped his companion. "If the Reds have done their +work efficiently, and there's no reason to suppose otherwise, then there +is no use in contacting either Dorhta's town or Munga's. The same +announcement concerning the Wrath of Lurgha was probably made there--to +their good purpose, not ours." + +"Cassca didn't seem to be overly impressed with Lurgha's curse, not as +much as the man was." + +"She is the closest thing to a priestess that this tribe knows, and she +serves a goddess older and more powerful than Lurgha--the Mother Earth, +the Great Mother, goddess of fertility and growth. Nodren's people +believe that unless Cassca performs her mysteries and sows part of the +first field in the spring there won't be any harvest. Consequently, she +is secure in her office and doesn't fear the Wrath of Lurgha too much. +These people are now changing from one type of worship to another, but +some of Cassca's beliefs will persist clear down to our day, taking on +the coating of 'magic' and a lot of other enameling along the way." + +Ashe had been talking as a man talks to cover up furious thinking. Now +he paused again and turned toward the sea. "We have to stick it out +somewhere until the sub comes to pick us up. We'll need shelter." + +"Will the tribesmen be after us?" + +"They may well be. Let the right men get to talking up a holy +extermination of those upon whom the Wrath of Lurgha has fallen and we +could be in for plenty of trouble. Some of those men are trained hunters +and trackers, and the Reds may have planted an agent to report the +return of anyone to our post. Just now we're about the most important +time travelers out, for we know the Reds have appeared on this line. +They must have a large post here, too, or they couldn't have sent a +plane on that raid. You can't build a time transport large enough to +take through a considerable amount of material. Everything used by us in +this age has to be assembled on this side, and the use of all machines +is limited to where they can not be seen by any natives. Luckily large +sections of this world are mostly wilderness and unpopulated in the +areas where we operate the base posts. So if the Reds have a plane, it +was put together here, and that means a big post somewhere." Again Ashe +was thinking aloud as he pushed ahead of Ross into the fringes of a +wood. "Sandy and I scouted this territory pretty well last spring. There +is a cave about half a mile to the west; it will shelter us for +tonight." + +Ashe's plans would probably have been easily accomplished if the cave +had been unoccupied. Without incident they came down into a hollow +through which trickled a small stream, its banks laced with a thin +edging of ice. Under Ashe's direction Ross collected an armload of +firewood. He was no woodsman and his prolonged exposure to the chilling +drizzle made him eager for even the very rough shelter of a cave, so +eager that he plunged forward carelessly. His foot came down on a +slippery patch of mud, sending him sprawling on his face. There was a +growl, and a white bulk rushed him. The cloak, rucked up about his +throat and shoulders, then saved his life, for only stout cloth was +caught between those fangs. + +With a startled cry, Ross rolled as he might have to escape a man's +attack, struggling to unsheath his dagger. A white-hot flash of pain +scored his upper arm. The breath was driven out of him as a fight raged +over his prone body; he heard grunts, snarls, and was severely pommeled. +Then he was free as the bodies broke away. Shaken, he got to his knees. +A short distance away the fight was still in progress. He saw Ashe +straddle the body of a huge white wolf, his legs clamped about the +animal's haunches, his hooked arm under the beast's head, forcing it up +and back while his dagger rose and sank twice in the underparts of the +heaving body. + +Ross held his own weapon ready. He leaped from a half crouch, and his +dagger sank cleanly home behind the short ribs. One of their blows must +have reached the animal's heart. With an almost human cry the wolf +stiffened convulsively. Then it was still. Ashe squatted near it, +methodically driving his dagger into the moist soil to clean the blade. + +A red rivulet trickled down his thigh where the lower edge of his +kilt-tunic had been ripped up to the link belt. He was breathing hard, +but otherwise he was as composed as always. "These sometimes hunt in +pairs at this season," he observed. "Be ready with your bow--" + +Ross strung his with the cord he had been keeping dry within the breast +folds of his tunic. He fitted an arrow to the string, grateful to be a +passable marksman. The slash on his arm smarted in protest as he moved, +and he noted that Ashe did not try to get up. + +"A bad one?" Ross indicated the blood now thickening into a stream along +Ashe's thigh. + +Ashe pulled away the torn tunic and exposed a nasty looking gash on the +outside of his hip. He pressed his palm against the gaping wound and +motioned Ross to scout ahead. "See if the cave is clear. We can't do +anything until we know that." + +Reluctantly Ross followed the stream until he found the cave, a +snug-looking place with an overhang to keep it dry. The unpleasant smell +of a lair hung about its mouth. He chose a stone from the stream, +chucked it into the dark opening, and waited. The stone rattled as it +struck an inner wall, but there was no other sound. A second stone from +a different angle followed the first, with the same results. Ross was +now certain that the cave was unoccupied. Once they were inside with a +fire going at the entrance, they could hope to keep it free of +intruders. A little heartened, he cast about a bit upstream and then +turned back to where he had left Ashe. + +"No male?" the other greeted him. "This is a female, and she was close +to whelping--" He nudged the white wolf with his toe. His hands held a +pad of rags against his hip, and his face was shaded with pain. + +"Nothing in the cave anyway. Let's see about this...." Ross laid aside +the bow and kneeled to examine Ashe's thigh wound. His own slash was +more of a smarting graze, but this tear was deep and ugly. + +"Second plate--belt--" Ashe got the words out between set teeth, and +Ross clicked open the hidden recess in the other's bronze belt to bring +out a small packet. Ashe made a wry face as he swallowed three of the +pills within. Ross mashed another pill onto the bandage he prepared, +and when the last cumbersome fold was secure Ashe relaxed. + +"Let us hope that works," he commented a little bleakly. "Now come here +where I can get my hands on you and let me see your scratch. Animal +bites can be a nasty business." + +Bandaged in turn, with the bitterness of the anti-septo pill on his +tongue, Ross helped Ashe limp upstream to the cave. He left the older +man outside while he cleaned up the floor of the cave and then made his +companion as comfortable as he could on a bed of bracken. The fire Ross +had longed for was built. They stripped off their sodden clothing and +hung it to dry. Ross wrapped a bird he had shot in clay and tucked it +under the hot coals to be roasted. + +They had surely had bad luck, he thought, but they were now undercover, +had a fire, and food of a sort. His arm ached, sharp pain shooting from +fingers to elbow when he moved it. Though Ashe made no complaint, Ross +gauged that the older man's discomfort was far worse than his own, and +he carefully hid all signs of his own twinges. + +They ate the bird, saltless, and with their fingers. Ross savored each +greasy bite, licking his hands clean afterward while Ashe lay back on +the improvised bed, his face gaunt in the half light of the fire. + +"We are about five miles from the sea here. There is no way of raising +our base now that Sandy's installation is gone. I'll have to lay up, +since I can't risk any more loss of blood. And you're not too good in +the woods--" + +Ross accepted that valuation with a new humbleness. He was only too well +aware that if it had not been for Ashe, he and not the white wolf would +have died down in the valley. Yet a strange shyness kept him from trying +to put his thanks into words. The only kind of amends he could make for +the other's hurt was to provide hands, feet, and strength for the man +who did know what to do and how to do it. + +"We'll have to hunt--" he ventured. + +"Deer," Ashe caught him up. "But the marsh at the mouth of this stream +provides a better hunting ground than inland. If the wolf laired here +very long, she has already frightened away any large game. It isn't the +matter of food which bothers me----" + +"It is being tied up here," Ross filled in for him with some daring. +"But look here, I'll take orders. This is your territory, and I'm green +at the game. You tell me what to do, and I'll do it the best that I +can." He glanced up to find Ashe surveying him intently, but as usual +there was no readable expression on the other's brown face. + +"The first thing to do is get the wolf's hide," Ashe said briskly. "Then +bury the carcass. You'd better drag it up here to work on it. If her +mate is hanging around, he might try to jump you." + +Why Ashe should think it necessary to acquire the wolf skin puzzled +Ross, but he asked no questions. His skinning task took four times as +long and was far from being the neat job the shock-haired man of the +record tape had accomplished. Ross had to wash himself off in the stream +before piling stones over the corpse in temporary burial. When he pulled +his bloody burden back to the cave, Ashe lay with his eyes closed. Ross +thankfully sat on his own pile of bracken and tried not to notice the +throbbing ache in his arm. + +He must have fallen asleep, for when he roused it was to see Ashe crawl +over to mend the dying fire from their store of wood. Ross, angry at +himself, beat the other to the task. + +"Get back," he said roughly. "This is my job. I didn't mean to fail." + +Surprisingly, Ashe settled back without a word, leaving Ross to sit by +the fire, a fire he was very glad to have a moment or so later when a +wailing howl sounded down-wind. If this was not the white wolf's mate, +then it was another of her kin who prowled the upper reaches of the +small valley. + +The next day, having provided Ashe with a supply of firewood, Ross went +to try his luck in the marsh. The thick drizzle which had hung over the +land the day before was gone, and he faced a clear, bright morning, +though the breeze had an icy snap. But it was a good morning to be alive +and out in the open, and Ross's spirits rose. + +He tried to put to use all the woodlore he had learned at the base. But +it was one thing to learn something academically and another to put that +learning into practice. He was uncomfortably certain that Ashe would not +have found his showing very good. + +The marsh was a series of pools between rank growths of leafless willows +and coarse tufts of grass, with hillocks of firmer soil rising like +islands. Ross, approaching with caution, was glad of it, for from one of +those hillocks arose a trail of white smoke, and he saw a black blot +which was probably a rude hut. Why one should choose to live in the +midst of such country he could not guess, though it might be merely the +temporary camp of some hunter. + +Ross also saw thousands of birds feeding greedily on the dried seed of +the marsh grasses, paddling in the pools, and setting up a clamor to +drive a man mad. They did not seem in the least disturbed by that +distant camper. + +Ross had reason to be proud of his marksmanship that morning. He had in +his quiver perhaps half a dozen of the lighter shafts made for shooting +birds. In place of the finely chipped and wickedly barbed flint points +used for heavier game, these were tipped with needle-sharp, light bone +heads. He had a string of four birds looped together by their feet +within almost as many minutes. For the flocks rose in their first alarm +only to settle again to feast. + +Then he knocked over a hare--a fat giant of its race--that stared at him +brazenly from a tussock. The hare kicked back into a pool in its death +struggle, however, and Ross was forced to leave cover to retrieve its +body. But he was alert and he stood up, dagger out and ready, to greet +the man who parted the bushes to watch him. + +For a long minute gray eyes stared into brown ones, and then Ross noted +the other's bedraggled and tattered dress. The kilt-tunic smudged with +mud, scorched and charred along one edge, was styled like his own. The +fellow wore his hair fastened back with a band, unlike the topknot of +the local tribesman. + +Ross, his dagger still ready, broke the silence first. "I am a believer +in the fire and the fashioned metal, the climbing sun, and the moving +water." He repeated the recognition speech of the Beakermen. + +"The fire warms by the grace of Tulden, the metal is fashioned by the +mystery of the smith, the sun climbs without our aid, and who can stop +the water from running?" The stranger's voice was hoarse. Now that Ross +had time to examine him more closely he saw the dark bruise on his +exposed shoulder, the raw red mark of a burn running across the man's +broad chest. He dared to test his surmise concerning the other. + +"I am of the kin of Assha. We returned to the hill----" + +"Ashe!" + +Not "Assha" but "Ashe!" Ross, though sure of that pronunciation, was +still cautious. "You are from the hill place, where Lurgha smote with +thunder and fire?" + +The man slid his long legs across the log which had been his shelter. +The burn across his chest was not his only brand, for Ross noticed +another red stripe, puffed and fiery looking, which swelled the calf of +one leg. The man studied Ross closely, and then his fingers moved in a +sign which to the uninitiated native might have been one for the warding +off of evil, but which to Ross was the "thumbs up" of his own age. + +"Sanford?" + +At that name the man shook his head. "McNeil," he named himself. "Where +is Ashe?" + +He might really be what he seemed, but on the other hand, he could be a +Red spy. Ross had not forgotten Kurt. "What happened?" he parried one +question with another. + +"Bomb. The Reds must have spotted us, and we didn't have a chance. We +weren't expecting any trouble. I'd been down to see about a missing +burden donkey and was about halfway back up the hill when she hit. When +I came to I was all the way down the hill with part of the fort on top +of me. The rest.... Well, you saw the place, didn't you?" + +Ross nodded. "What are you doing here?" + +McNeil spread his hands in a tired little gesture. "I tried to talk to +Nodren, but they stoned me away. I knew that Ashe was coming through and +hoped to reach him when he hit the beach, but I was too late. Then I +figured he would pass here to make contact with the sub, so I was +waiting it out until I saw you. Where is Ashe?" + +It all sounded logical enough. Still, with Ashe injured, Ross was taking +no chances. He pushed his dagger back into its sheath and picked up the +hare. "Stay here," he told McNeil, "I'll be back----" + +"But--wait! Where's Ashe, you young fool? We have to get together." + +Ross went on. He was sure that the stranger was in no shape to race +after him, and he would lay a muddled trail before he returned to the +cave valley. If this man was a Red plant, he would have to reckon with +one who had already met Kurt Vogel. + +The laying of that muddled trail took time. It was past midday when Ross +came back to Ashe, who was sitting up by the mouth of the cave at the +fire, using his dagger to fashion a crutch out of a length of sapling. +He surveyed Ross's burden with approval, but lost interest in the +promise of food as soon as the other reported his meeting in the marsh. + +"McNeil--chap with brown hair, brown eyes, a right eyebrow which quirks +up toward his hairline when he smiles?" + +"Brown hair and eyes, okay--and he didn't smile any." + +"Chip broken off a front tooth--upper right?" + +Ross shut his eyes to visualize the stranger. Yes, there had been a +small break on a front tooth. He nodded. + +"That's McNeil. Not that you didn't do right not to bring him here +without being sure. What made you so watchful? Kurt?" + +Again Ross nodded. "And what you said about the Reds' planting someone +here to wait for us." + +Ashe scratched the bristles on his chin. "Never underrate them--we don't +dare do that. But the man you met is McNeil, and we'd better get him +here. Can you bring him?" + +"I think he's able to get about, in spite of that leg. From his story +he's been stirring around." + +Ashe bit absent-mindedly into a piece of hare and swore mildly when he +burned his tongue. "Odd that Cassca didn't tell us about him. Unless she +thought there was no use causing trouble by admitting they had driven +him away. You going now?" + +Ross moved around the fire. "Might as well. He didn't look too +comfortable. And I'll bet he's hungry." + +He took the direct route back to the marsh, but this time no thread of +smoke spiraled into the air. Ross hesitated. That shelter on the small +island was surely the place where McNeil had holed up. Should he try to +work his way out to it now? Or had something happened to the man while +he was gone? + +Again that sixth sense of impending disaster, which is perhaps bred into +some men, alerted Ross. Why he turned suddenly and backed against a +bushy willow, he could not have explained. However, because he did so +the loop of hide rope meant for his throat hit his shoulder harmlessly. +It fell to the ground, and he stamped one boot down on it. Then it was +the work of seconds to grasp it and give it a quick jerk. The surprised +man who held the other end was brought sprawling into the open. + +Ross had seen that round face before. "Lal of the town of Nodren." He +found words to greet the ropeman even as his knee came up against the +fellow's jaw, jarring Lal so that he dropped a flint knife. Ross kicked +it into the willows. "What do you hunt here, Lal?" + +"Traders!" The voice was weak, but it held heat. + +The tribesman did not try to struggle against Ross's hold, and Ross, +gripping him by the nape of the neck, moved through a screen of brush to +a hollow. Luckily there was no water cupped there, for McNeil lay in the +bottom of that dip, his arms tied tightly behind him and his ankles +lashed together with no thought for the pain of his burned leg. + + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +Ross whirled the rope which had been meant to bring him down around Lal. +He lashed the tribesman's arms tight to his body before he knelt to cut +loose his fellow time traveler. Lal now huddled against the far wall of +the cup, fear in every line of his small body. So apparent was this fear +that Ross felt no satisfaction at turning the tables on him. Instead he +felt increasingly uneasy. + +"What is this all about?" he asked McNeil as he stripped off his bonds +and helped him up. + +McNeil massaged his wrists, took a step or two, and grimaced with pain. +"Our friend seeks to be an obedient servant of Lurgha." + +Ross picked up his bow. "The tribe is out to hunt us?" + +"Lurgha has ordered--out of thin air again--that any traders who escaped +are to be brought in and introduced to him personally at the sacrifice +for the enrichment of the fields!" + +The old, old gift of blood and life at the spring sowing. Ross recalled +grisly details from his cram lessons. Any wandering stranger or enemy +tribesman taken in a raid before that day would meet such a fate. On +unlucky years when people were not available a deer or wolf might serve. +But the best sacrifice of all was a man. So Lurgha had decreed--from the +air--that traders were his meat? What of Ashe? Let any hunter from the +village track him down. + +"We have to move fast," Ross told McNeil as he took up the rope which +made a leading cord for Lal. Ashe would want to question the tribesman +about this second order from Lurgha. + +Impatient as Ross was, he had to mend his pace to accommodate McNeil. +The man from the hill post was close to the end of his strength. He had +started off bravely enough, but now he wavered. Ross sent Lal ahead with +a sharp push, ordering him to stay there, while he went to McNeil's aid. +It was well into the afternoon before they came up the stream and saw +the fire before the cave. + +"Macna!" Ashe hailed Ross's companion with the native version of his +name. "And Lal. But what do you here, Lal of Nodren's town?" + +"Mischief." Ross helped McNeil within the cave and to the pile of brush +which was his own bed. "He was hunting traders as a present for Lurgha." + +"So--" Ashe turned upon the tribesman--"and by whose word did you go +hunting my kinsman, Lal? Was it Nodren's? Has he forgotten the blood +bond between us? For it was in the name of Lurgha himself that that bond +was made----" + +"Aaaah--" The tribesman squatted down against the wall where Ross had +shoved him. Unable to hide his head in his arms, he brought his face +down upon his knees so that only his shaggy topknot of hair was exposed. +Ross realized, with stupefaction, that the little man was crying like a +child, his hunched shoulders rising and falling with the force of his +sobs. "Aaaah--" he wailed. + +Ashe allowed him a moment or two of noisy grief and then limped over to +grasp his topknot and pull up his head. Lal's eyes were screwed tightly +shut, but there were tears on his cheeks, and his mouth twisted in +another wail. + +"Be quiet!" Ashe shook him, but not too harshly. "Have you yet felt the +bite of my sharp knife? Has an arrow holed your skin? You are alive, and +you could be dead. Show that you are glad you live and continue to +breathe by telling us what you know, Lal." + +The woman Cassca had displayed a measure of intelligence and ease at +their meeting upon the road. But it was very plain that Lal was of +different stuff, a simple man in whose head few ideas could find house +room at one time. And to him the present was all black. Little by little +they dragged the story out of him. + +Lal was poor, so poor that he had never dared dream of owning for +himself some of the precious things the hill traders displayed to the +wealthy of Nodren's town. But he was also a follower of the Great +Mother's, rather than one who made sacrifices to Lurgha. Lurgha was the +god for warriors and great men; he was too high to concern himself with +such as Lal. + +So when Nodren reported the end of the hill post under the storm fist of +Lurgha, Lal had been impressed only to a point. He was still convinced +it was none of his concern, and instead he began thinking of the +treasures which might lie hidden in the destroyed buildings. It occurred +to him that Lurgha's Wrath had been laid upon the men who had owned +them, but perhaps it would not stretch to the fine things themselves. So +he had gone secretly to the hill to explore. + +What he had seen there had utterly converted him to a belief in the fury +of Lurgha and he had been frightened out of his simple wits, fleeing +without making the search he had intended. But Lurgha had seen him +there, had read his impious thoughts.... + +At that point Ashe interrupted the stream of Lal's story. How had Lurgha +seen Lal? + +Because--Lal shuddered, began to cry again, and spoke the next few +sentences haltingly--that very morning when he had gone out to hunt wild +fowl in the marshes Lurgha had spoken to _him_, to Lal, who was less +than a flea creeping upon a worn-out fur rug. + +And how had Lurgha spoken? Ashe's voice was softer, gentle. + +Out of the air, even as he had spoken to Nodren, who was a chief. He +said that he had seen Lal in the hill post, and so Lal was his meat. But +not yet would he eat him, not if Lal served him in other ways. And he, +Lal, had lain flat on the ground before the bodiless voice of Lurgha and +had sworn that he would serve Lurgha to the end of his life. + +Then Lurgha had told him to hunt down one of the evil traders who was +hiding in the marshes, and bind him with ropes. Then he was to call the +men of the village and together they would carry the prisoner to the +hill where Lurgha had loosed his wrath, and there they would leave him. +Later they might return and take what they found there and use it to +bless the fields at sowing time, and all would be well with Nodren's +village. And Lal had sworn that he would do as Lurgha bade, but now he +could not. So Lurgha would eat him up--he was a man without hope. + +"Yet," Ashe said even more gently, "have you not served the Great Mother +all these years, giving to her a portion of the first fruits even when +the yield of your one field was small?" + +Lal stared at him, his woebegone face still smeared with tears. It took +a second or two for the question to penetrate his fear-clouded mind. +Then he nodded timidly. + +"Has she not dealt with you well in return, Lal? You are a poor man, +that is true. But you are not gaunt of belly, even though this is the +thin season when men fast before the coming of the new harvest. The +Great Mother watches over her own. And it is she who has brought you to +us now. For this I say to you, Lal, and I, Assha of the traders, speak +with a straight tongue. The Lurgha who struck our post, who spoke to you +from the air, means you no good----" + +"Aaaah!" wailed Lal. "So do I know, Assha. He is of the blackness and +the wandering spirits of the dark!" + +"Just so. Thus he is no kin to the mother, for she is of the light and +of good things, of the new grain, and the newborn lambs for your flocks, +of the maids who wed with men and bring forth sons to lift their +fathers' spears, daughters to spin by the hearth and sow the yellow +grain in the furrows. Lurgha's quarrel lies with us, Lal, not with +Nodren nor with you. And we take upon us that quarrel." He limped into +the outer air where the shadows of evening were beginning to creep +across the ground. + +"Hear me, Lurgha," he called into the coming night, "I am Assha of the +traders, and upon myself I take your hate. Not upon Lal, nor upon +Nodren, nor upon the people who live in Nodren's town, shall your wrath +lie. Thus do I say it!" + +Ross, noticing that Ashe concealed from Lal a wave of his hand, was +prepared for some display meant to impress the tribesman. It came in a +spectacular burst of green fire beyond the stream. Lal wailed again, but +when that fire was followed by no other manifestation he ventured to +raise his head once more. + +"You have seen how Lurgha answered me, Lal. Toward me only will his +wrath be turned. Now--" Ashe limped back and dragged out the white wolf +skin, dropping it before Lal--"this you will give to Cassca that she may +make a curtain for the Mother's home. See, it is white and so rare that +the Mother will be pleased with such a fine gift. And you will tell her +all that has chanced and how you believe in her powers over the powers +of Lurgha, and the Mother will be well pleased with you. But you shall +say nothing to the men of the village, for this quarrel is between +Lurgha and Assha now and not for the meddling of others." + +He unfastened the rope which bound Lal's arms. Lal reached out a hand to +the wolf skin, his eyes filled with wonderment. "This is a fine thing +you give me, Assha, and the Mother will be pleased, for in many years +she has not had such a curtain for her secret place. Also, I am but a +little man; the quarrels of great ones are not for me. Since Lurgha has +accepted your words this is none of my affair. Yet I will not go back to +the village for a while--with your permission, Assha. For I am a man of +loose and wagging tongue and oftentimes I speak what I do not really +wish to say. So if I am asked questions, I answer. If I am not there to +be asked such questions, I cannot answer." + +McNeil laughed, and Ashe smiled. "Well enough, Lal. Perhaps you are a +wiser man than you think. But also I do not believe you should stay +here." + +The tribesman was already nodding. "That do I say, too, Assha. You are +now facing the Wrath of Lurgha, and with that I wish no part. Thus I +shall go into the marsh for a while. There are birds and hares to hunt, +and I shall work upon this fine skin so that when I take it to the +Mother it shall indeed be a gift worth her smiles. Now, Assha, I would +go before the night comes if it pleases you." + +"Go with good fortune, Lal." Ashe stood apart while the tribesman ducked +his head in a shy, awkward farewell to the others, pattering out into +the valley. + +"What if they pick him up?" McNeil asked wearily. + +"I don't think they can," Ashe returned. "And what would you do--keep +him here? If we tried that, he'd scheme to escape and try to turn the +tables on us. Now he'll keep away from Nodren's village and out of sight +for the time being. Lal's not too bright in some ways, but he's a good +hunter. If he has reason for hiding out, it'll take a better hunter to +track him. At least we know now that the Reds are afraid they did not +make a clean sweep here. What happened, McNeil?" + +While he was telling his story in more detail both Ashe and Ross worked +on his burns, making him comfortable. Then Ashe sat back as Ross +prepared food. + +"How did they spot the post?" Ashe rubbed his chin and frowned at the +fire. + +"Only way I can guess is that they picked up our post signal and +pinpointed the source. That means they must have been hunting us for +some time." + +"No strangers about lately?" + +McNeil shook his head. "Our cover wasn't broken that way. Sanford was a +wonder. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn he was born one of +the Beaker folk. He had a network of informants running all the way from +here into Brittany. Amazing how he was able to work without arousing any +suspicions. I suppose his being a member of the smiths' guild was a big +help. He could pick up a lot of news from any village where there was +one at work. And I tell you," McNeil propped himself up on his elbow to +exclaim more vehemently--"there wasn't a whisper of trouble from here +clear across the channel and pretty far to the north. We were already +sure the south was clean before we ever took cover as Beakers, +especially since their clans are thick in Spain." + +Ashe chewed a broiled wing reflectively. "Their permanent base with the +transport _has_ to be somewhere within the bounds of the territory they +hold in our own time." + +"They could plant it in Siberia and laugh at us," McNeil exploded. "No +hope of our getting in there----" + +"No." Ashe threw the stripped bone into the fire and licked grease from +his fingers. "Then they would be faced with the old problem of distance. +If what they are exploiting lay within their modern boundaries, we would +never have tumbled to the thing in the first place. What the Reds want +must lie outside their twentieth century holdings, a slender point in +our favor. Therefore they will plant their shift point as close to it as +they can. Our transportation problem is more difficult than theirs will +ever be. + +"You know why we chose the arctic for our base; it lies in a section of +the world never populated by other than roving hunters. But I'll wager +anything you want to name that their point is somewhere in Europe where +they have people to contend with. If they are using a plane, they can't +risk its being seen----" + +"I don't see why not," Ross broke in. "These people couldn't possibly +know what it was--Lurgha's bird--magic--" + +Ashe shook his head. "They must have the interference-with-history worry +as much as we have. Anything of our own time has to be hidden or +disguised in such a way that the native who may stumble upon it will +never know it is man-made. Our sub is a whale to all appearances. +Possibly their plane is a bird, but neither can bear too close an +examination. We don't know what could result from a leak of real +knowledge in this or any primitive time ... how it might change +history----" + +"But," Ross advanced what he believed to be the best argument against +that reasoning, "suppose I handed Lal a gun and taught him to use it. He +couldn't duplicate the weapon--the technology required lies so far +beyond this age. These people couldn't reproduce such a thing." + +"True enough. On the other hand, don't belittle the ingenuity of the +smiths or the native intelligence of men in any era. These tribesmen +might not be able to reproduce your gun, but it would set them thinking +along new lines. We might find that they would think our time right out +of being. No, we dare not play tricks with the past. This is the same +situation we faced immediately after the discovery of the atom bomb. +Everybody raced to produce that new weapon and then sat around and +shivered for fear we'd be crazy enough to use it on each other. + +"The Reds have made new discoveries which we have to match, or we will +go under. But back in time we have to be careful, both of us, or perhaps +destroy the world we do live in." + +"What do we do now?" McNeil wanted to know. + +"Murdock and I came here only for a trial run. It's his test. The sub is +to call for us about nine days from now." + +"So if we sit tight--if we _can_ sit tight--" McNeil lay down +again--"they will take us out. Meanwhile we have nine days." + +They spent three more days in the cave. McNeil was on his feet and +impatient to leave before Ashe was able to hobble well enough to travel. +Though Ross and McNeil took turns at hunting and guard duty, they saw no +signs that the tribesmen were tracking them. Apparently Lal had done as +he promised, withdrawing to the marsh and hiding there apart from his +people. + +In the gray of pre-dawn on the fourth day Ashe wakened Ross. Their fire +had been buried with earth, and already the cave seemed bleak. They ate +venison roasted the night before and went out into the chill of a fog. A +little way down the valley McNeil joined them out of the mist from his +guard post. Keeping their pace to one which favored Ashe's healing +wound, they made their way inland in the direction of the track linking +the villages. + +Crossing that road they continued northward, the land beginning to rise +under them. Far away they heard the blatting of sheep, the bark of a +dog. In the fog, Ross stumbled in a shallow ditch beyond which lay a +stubbled field. Ashe paused to look about him, his nostrils expanding as +if he were a hound smelling out their trail. + +The three went on, crossing a whole series of small, irregular fields. +Ross was sure that the yield from any of these cleared strips must be +scanty. The fog was thickening. Ashe pressed the pace, using his +handmade crutch carefully. He gave an audible sigh of relief when they +were faced at last by two stone monoliths rising like pillars. A third +stone lay across them, forming a rude arch through which they saw a +narrow valley running back into the hills. + +Through the fog Ross could sense the eerie strangeness of the valley +beyond the massive gate. He would have said that he was not +superstitious, that he had merely studied these tribal beliefs as +lessons; he had not accepted them. Yet now, if he had been alone, he +would have avoided that place and turned aside from the valley, for that +which waited within was not for him. To his secret relief Ashe paused by +the arch to wait. + +The older man gestured the other two into cover. Ross obeyed willingly, +though the dank drops of condensing fog dripped on his cloak and wet his +face as he brushed against prickly-leafed shrubs. Here were walls of +evergreen plants and dwarfed pines almost as if this tunnel of +year-round greenery had been planted with some purpose in mind. Once his +companions had concealed themselves, Ashe called, shrill but sweetly, +with a bird's rising notes. Three times he made that sound before a +figure moved in the fog, the rough gray-white of its long cloak melting +in the wisps of mist. + +Down that green tunnel, out of the heart of the valley, the other came, +a loop of cloak concealing the entire figure. It halted right in back of +the arch and Ashe, making a gesture to the others to stay where they +were, faced the muffled stranger. + +"Hands and feet of the Mother, she who sows what may be reaped----" + +"Outland stranger who is under the Wrath of Lurgha," the other mocked +him in the voice of Cassca. "What do you want, outlander, that you dare +to come here where no man may enter?" + +"That which you know. For on the night when Lurgha came you also +saw----" + +Ross heard the hiss of a sharply drawn breath. "How knew you that, +outlander?" + +"Because you serve the Mother and you are jealous for her and her +service. If Lurgha is a mighty god, you wanted to see his acts with your +own eyes." + +When she finally answered, there was anger as well as frustration in her +voice. "And you know of my shame then, Assha. For Lurgha came--on a bird +he came, and he did even as he said he would. So now the village will +make offerings to Lurgha and beg his favor, and the Mother will no more +have those to harken to her words and offer her the first fruits----" + +"But from whence came this bird which was Lurgha, can you tell me that, +she who waits upon the Mother?" + +"What difference does it make from what direction Lurgha came? That does +not add nor take from his power." Cassca moved beneath the arch. "Or +does it in some strange way, Assha?" + +"Perhaps it does. Only tell me." + +She turned slowly and pointed over her right shoulder. "From that way he +came, Assha. Well did I watch, knowing that I was the Mother's and that +even Lurgha's thunderbolts could not eat me up. Does knowing that make +Lurgha smaller in your eyes, Assha? When he has eaten up all that is +yours and your kin with it?" + +"Perhaps," Assha repeated. "I do not think Lurgha will come so again." + +She shrugged, and the heavy cloak flapped. "That shall be as it shall +be, Assha. Now go, for it is not good that any man come hither." + +Cassca paced back into the heart of the green tunnel, and Ross and +McNeil came out of concealment. McNeil faced in the direction she had +pointed. "Northeast--" he commented thoughtfully, "the Baltic lies in +that quarter." + + + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +"... and that is about all." Ten days later Ashe, a dressing on his leg +and a few of the pain lines smoothed from his face, sat on a bunk in the +arctic time post nursing a mug of coffee in his hands and smiling, a +little crookedly, at Nelson Millaird. + +Millaird, Kelgarries, Dr. Webb, all the top brass of the project had not +only come through the transfer point to meet the three from Britain but +were now crammed into the room, nearly pushing Ross and McNeil through +the wall. Because this was it! What they had hunted for +months--years--now lay almost within their grasp. + +Only Millaird, the director, did not seem so confident. A big man with a +bushy thatch of coarse graying hair and a heavy, fleshy face, he did not +look like a brain. Yet Ross had been on the roster long enough to know +that it was Millaird's thick and hairy hands that gathered together all +the loose threads of Operation Retrograde and deftly wove them into a +workable pattern. Now the director leaned back in a chair which was too +small for his bulk, chewing thoughtfully on a toothpick. + +"So we have the first whiff of a trail," he commented without elation. + +"A pretty strong lead!" Kelgarries broke in. Too excited to sit still, +the major stood with his back against the door, as alert as if he were +about to turn and face the enemy. "The Reds wouldn't have moved against +Gog if they did not consider it a menace to them. Their big base must be +in this time sector!" + +"_A_ big base," Millaird corrected. "The one we are after, no. And right +now they may be switching times. Do you think they will sit here and +wait for us to show up in force?" But Millaird's tone, intended to +deflate, had no effect on the major. + +"And just how long would it take them to dismantle a big base?" that +officer countered. "At least a month. If we shoot a team in there in a +hurry--" + +Millaird folded his huge hands over his barrel-shaped body and laughed, +without a trace of humor. "Just where do we send that team, Kelgarries? +Northeast of a coastal point in Britain is a rather vague direction, to +say the least. Not," he spoke to Ashe now, "that you didn't do all you +could, Ashe. And you, McNeil, nothing to add?" + +"No, sir. They jumped us out of the blue when Sandy thought he had every +possible line tapped, every safeguard working. I don't know how they +caught on to us, unless they located our beam to this post. If so, they +must have been deliberately hunting us for some time, because we only +used the beam as scheduled----" + +"The Reds have patience and brains and probably some more of their +surprise gadgets to help them. We have the patience and the brains, but +not the gadgets. And time is against us. Get anything out of this, +Webb?" Millaird asked the hitherto silent third member of his ruling +committee. + +The quiet man adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, a +flattish nose which did not support them very well. "Just another point +to add to our surmises. I would say that they are located somewhere near +the Baltic Sea. There are old trade routes there, and in our own time it +is a territory closed to us. We never did know too much about that +section of Europe. Their installation may be close to the Finnish +border. They could disguise their modern station under half a dozen +covers; that is strange country." + +Millaird's hands unfolded and he produced a notebook and pen from a +shirt pocket. "Won't hurt to stir up some of the present-day agents of +the M.I. and the rest. They might just come up with a useful hint. So +you'd say the Baltic. But that is a big slice of country." + +Webb nodded. "We have one advantage--the old trade routes. In the Beaker +period they are pretty well marked. The major one into that section was +established for the amber trade. The country is forested, but not so +heavily as it was in an earlier period. The native tribes are mostly +roving hunters, and fishermen along the coast. But they have had contact +with traders." He shoved his glasses back into place with a nervous +gesture. "The Reds may run into trouble themselves there at this +time----" + +"How?" Kelgarries demanded. + +"Invasion of the ax people. If they have not yet arrived, they are due +very soon. They formed one of the big waves of migratory people, who +flooded the country, settled there. Eventually they became the Norse or +Celtic stock. We don't know whether they stamped out the native tribes +they found there or assimilated them." + +"That might be a nice point to have settled more definitely," McNeil +commented. "It could mean the difference between getting your skull +split and continuing to breathe." + +"I don't think they would tangle with the traders. Evidence found today +suggests that the Beaker folk simply went on about their business in +spite of a change in customers," Webb returned. + +"Unless they were pushed into violence." Ashe handed his empty mug to +Ross. "Don't forget Lurgha's Wrath. From now on our enemies might take a +very dim view of any Beaker trade posts near their property." + +Webb shook his head slowly. "A wholesale attack on Beaker establishments +would constitute a shift in history. The Reds won't dare that, not just +on general suspicion. Remember, they are not any more eager to tinker +with history than we are. No, they will watch for us. We will have to +stop communication by radio----" + +"We can't!" snapped Millaird vehemently. "We can cut it down, but I +won't send the boys out without some means of quick communication. You +lab boys put your brains to work and see what you can turn out in the +way of talk boxes that they can't snoop. Time!" He drummed on his knee +with his thick fingers. "It all comes back to a question of time." + +"Which we do not have," Ashe observed in his usual quiet voice. "If the +Reds are afraid they have been spotted, they must be dismantling their +post right now, working around the clock. We'll never again have such a +good chance to nail them. We must move now." + +Millaird's lids drooped almost shut; he might have been napping. +Kelgarries stirred restlessly by the door, and Webb's round face had +settled into what looked like permanent lines of disapproval. + +"Doc," Millaird spoke over his shoulder to the fourth man of his +following, "what is your report?" + +"Ashe must be under treatment for at least five days. McNeil's burns +aren't too bad, and Murdock's slash is almost healed." + +"Five days--" Millaird droned, and then flashed a glance at the major. +"Personnel. We're tied down without any useful personnel. Who in +processing could be switched without tangling them up entirely?" + +"No one. I can recall Jansen and Van Wyke. These ax people might be a +good cover for them." The momentary light in Kelgarries' eyes faded. +"No, we have no proper briefing and can't get it until the tribe does +appear on the map. I won't send any men in cold. Their blunders would +not only endanger them but might menace the whole project." + +"So that leaves us with you three," Millaird said. "We'll recall what +men we can and brief them again as fast as possible. But you know how +long that will take. In the meantime----" + +Ashe spoke directly to Webb. "You can't pinpoint the region closer than +just the Baltic?" + +"We can do this much," the other answered him slowly, and with obvious +reluctance. "We can send the sub cruising offshore there for the next +five days. If there is any radio activity--any communication--we should +be able to trace the beams. It all depends upon whether the Reds have +any parties operating from their post. Flimsy----" + +"But something!" Kelgarries seized upon it with the relief of one who +needed action. + +"And they will be waiting for just such a move on our part," Webb +continued deliberately. + +"All right, so they'll be watching!" the major said, about to lose his +temper, "but it is about the only move we can make to back up the boys +when they do go in." + +He whipped around the door and was gone. Webb got up slowly. "I will +work over the maps again," he told Ashe. "We haven't scouted that area, +and we don't dare send a photo-plane over it now. Any trip in will be a +stab in the dark." + +"When you have only one road, you take it," Ashe replied. "I'll be glad +to see anything you can show me, Miles." + +If Ross had believed that his pre-trial-run cramming had been a rigorous +business, he was soon to laugh at that estimation. Since the burden of +the next jump would rest on only three of them--Ashe, McNeil, and +himself--they were plunged into a whirlwind of instruction, until Ross, +dazed and too tired to sleep on the third night, believed that he was +more completely bewildered than indoctrinated. He said as much sourly to +McNeil. + +"Base has pulled back three other teams," McNeil replied. "But the men +have to go to school again, and they won't be ready to come on for maybe +three, four weeks. To change runs means unlearning stuff as well as +learning it----" + +"What about new men?" + +"Don't think Kelgarries isn't out now beating the bushes for some! Only, +we have to be fitted to the physical type we are supposed to represent. +For instance, set a small, dark-headed pugnose among your Norse sea +rovers, and he's going to be noticed--maybe remembered too well. We +can't afford to take that chance. So Kelgarries had to discover men who +not only look the part but are also temperamentally fitted for this job. +You can't plant a fellow who thinks as a seaman--not a seaman, you +understand, but one whose mind works in that pattern--among a wandering +tribe of cattle herders. The protection for the man and the project lies +in his being fitted into the right spot at the right time." + +Ross had never really thought of that point before. Now he realized that +he and Ashe and McNeil were of a common mold. All about the same +height, they shared brown hair and light eyes--Ashe's blue, his own +gray, and McNeil's hazel--and they were of similar build, small-boned, +lean, and quick-moving. He had not seen any of the true Beakermen except +on the films. But now, recalling those, he could see that the three time +traders were of the same general physical type as the far-roving people +they used as a cover. + +It was on the morning of the fifth day while the three were studying a +map Webb had produced that Kelgarries, followed at his own weighty pace +by Millaird, burst in upon them. + +"We have it! This time _we_ have the luck! The Reds slipped. Oh, how +they slipped!" + +Webb watched the major, a thin little smile pulling at his pursed mouth. +"Miracles sometimes do happen," he remarked. "I suppose the sub has a +fix for us." + +Kelgarries passed over the flimsy strip of paper he had been waving as a +banner of triumph. Webb read the notation on it and bent over the map, +making a mark with one of those needle-sharp pencils which seemed to +grow in his breast pocket, ready for use. Then he made a second mark. + +"Well, it narrows it a bit," he conceded. Ashe looked in turn and +laughed. + +"I would like to hear your definition of 'narrow' sometime, Miles. +Remember we have to cover this on foot, and a difference of twenty miles +can mean a lot." + +"That mark is quite a bit in from the sea." McNeil offered his own +protest when he saw the marking. "We don't know that country--" + +Webb shoved his glasses back for the hundredth time that morning. "I +suppose we could consider this critical, condition red," he said in such +a dubious tone that he might have been begging someone to protest his +statement. But no one did. Millaird was busy with the map. + +"I think we do, Miles!" He looked to Ashe. "You'll parachute in. The +packs with which you will be equipped are special stuff. Once you have +them off sprinkle them with a powder Miles will provide and in ten +minutes there won't be enough of them left for anyone to identify. We +haven't but a dozen of these, and we can't throw them away except in a +crisis. Find the base and rig up the detector. Your fix in this time +will be easy--but it is the other end of the line we must have. Until +you locate that, stick to the job. Don't communicate with us until you +have it!" + +"There is the possibility," Ashe pointed out, "the Reds may have more +than one intermediate post. They probably have played it smart and set +up a series of them to spoil a direct trace, as each would lead only to +another farther back in time----" + +"All right. If that proves true, just get us the next one back," +Millaird returned. "From that we can trace them along if we must send in +some of the boys wearing dinosaur skins later. We _have_ to find their +primary base, and if that hunt goes the hard way, well, we do it the +hard way." + +"How did you get the fix?" McNeil asked. + +"One of their field parties ran into trouble and yelled for help." + +"Did they get it?" + +The major grinned. "What do you think? You know the rules--and the ones +the Reds play by are twice as tough on their own men." + +"What kind of trouble?" Ashe wanted to know. + +"Some kind of a local religious dispute. We do our best with their code, +but we're not a hundred per cent perfect in reading it. I gather they +were playing with a local god and got their fingers burned." + +"Lurgha again, eh?" Ashe smiled. + +"Foolish," Webb said impatiently. "That is a silly thing to do. You were +almost over the edge of prudence yourself, Gordon, with that Lurgha +business. To use the Great Mother was a ticklish thing to try, and you +were lucky to get out of it so easily." + +"Once was enough," Ashe agreed. "Though using it may have saved our +lives. But I assure you I am not starting a holy war or setting up as a +prophet." + +Ross had been taught something of map reading, but mentally he could not +make what he saw on paper resemble the countryside. A few landmarks, if +there were any outstanding ones, were all he could hope to impress upon +his memory until he was actually on the ground. + +Landing there according to Millaird's instruction was another experience +he would not have chosen of his own accord. To jump was a matter of +timing, and in the dark with a measure of rain thrown in, the action was +anything but pleasant. Leaving the plane in a blind, follow-the-leader +fashion, Ross found the descent into darkness one of the worst trials he +had yet faced. But he did not make too bad a landing in the small +parklike expanse they had chosen for their target. + +Ross pulled loose his harness and chute, dragging them to what he judged +to be the center of the clearing. Hearing a plaintive bray from the air, +he dodged as one of the two burden asses sent to join them landed and +began to kick at its trappings. The animals they had chosen were the +most docile available and they had been given sedation before the jump +so that now, feeling Ross's hands, the donkey stood quietly while Ross +stripped it of its hanging straps. + +"Rossa--" The sound of his Beaker name called through the dark brought +Ross facing in the other direction. + +"Here, and I have one of the donkeys." + +"And I the other!" That was McNeil. + +Their eyes adjusted to a gloom which was not as thick as it would be in +the forest and they worked fast. Then they dragged the parachutes +together in a heap. The rain would, Webb had assured them, add to the +rapid destruction wrought by the chemical he had provided. Ashe shook it +over the pile, and there was a faint greenish glow. Then they moved away +to the woodland and made camp for the balance of the night. + +So much of their whole exploit depended upon luck, and this small part +had been successful. Unless some agent had been stationed to watch for +their arrival Ross believed they could not be spotted. + +The rest of their plan was elastic. Posing as traders who had come to +open a new station, they were to stay near a river which drained a lake +and then angled southward to the distant sea. They knew this section was +only sparsely settled by small tribes, hardly larger than family clans. +These people were generations behind the civilized level of the +villagers of Britain--roving hunters who followed the sweep of game +north or south with the seasons. + +Along the seashore the fishermen had established more permanent holdings +which were slowly becoming towns. There were perhaps a few hardy pioneer +farmers on the southern fringes of the district, but the principle +reason traders came to this region was to get amber and furs. The Beaker +people dealt in both. + +Now as the three sheltered under the wide branches of a towering pine +Ashe fumbled with a pack and brought out the "beaker" which was the +identifying mark of his adopted people. He measured into it a portion of +the sour, stimulating drink which the traders introduced wherever they +went. The cup passed from hand to hand, its taste unpleasant on the +tongue, but comfortingly warm to one's middle. + +They took turns keeping the watch until the gray of false dawn became +the clearer light of morning. After breakfasting on flat cakes of meal, +they packed the donkeys, using the same knots and cross lashing which +were the mark of real Beaker traders. Their bows protected from dampness +under their cloaks, they set out to find the river and their path +southward. + +Ashe led, Ross towed the donkeys, and McNeil brought up the rear. In the +absence of a path they had to set a ragged course, keeping to the edge +of the clearing until they saw the end of the lake. + +"Woodsmoke," Ashe commented when they had completed two thirds of their +journey. Ross sniffed and was able to smell it too. Nodding to Ashe, +McNeil oozed into nothingness between the trees with an ease Murdock +envied. As they waited for him to return, Ross became conscious of +another life about them, one busy with its own concerns, which were in +no way those of human beings, except that food and perhaps shelter were +to be reckoned among them. + +In Britain, Ross had known there were others of his kind about, but this +was different. Here, he could have believed it if he had been told he +was the first man to walk this way. + +A squirrel ran out on a tree limb and surveyed the two men with curious +beady eyes, then clung head down on the tree trunk to see them better. +One of the donkeys tossed its head, and the squirrel was gone with a +flirt of its tail. Although it was quiet, there was a hum underneath the +surface which Ross tried to analyze, to identify the many small sounds +which went into its making. + +Perhaps because he was trying so hard, he noted the faint noise. His +hand touched Ashe's arm and a slight movement of his head indicated the +direction of the sound. Then, as fluidly as he had melted into the +woods, McNeil returned. "Company," he said in a soft voice. + +"What kind?" + +"Tribesmen, but wilder than any I've seen, even on the tapes. We are +certainly out on the fringes now. These people look about cave level. I +don't think they've ever heard of traders." + +"How many?" + +"Three, maybe four families. Most of the males must be out hunting, but +there're about ten children and six or seven women. I don't think +they've had good luck lately by the look of them." + +"Maybe their luck and ours are going to turn together," Ashe said, +motioning Ross forward with the donkeys. "We will circle about them to +the river and then try bartering later. But I do want to establish +contact." + + + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +"Not to be too hopeful--" McNeil rubbed his arm across his hot face--"so +far, so good." After kicking from his path some of the branches Ross had +lopped from the trees they had been felling, he went to help his +companion roll another small log up to a shelter which was no longer +temporary. If there had been any eyes other than the woodland hunters' +to spy upon them, they would have seen only the usual procedure of the +Beaker traders, busily constructing one of their posts. + +That they were being watched by the hunters, all three were certain. +That there might be other spies in the forest, they had to assume for +their own safety. They might prowl at night, but in the daytime all of +the time agents kept within the bounds of the roles they were acting. + +Barter with the head men of the hunting clan had brought those shy +people into the camp of the strangers who had such wonders to exchange +for tanned deer hides and better furs. The news of the traders' arrival +spread quickly during the short time they had been here, so that two +other clans had sent men to watch the proceedings. + +With the trade came news which the agents sifted and studied. Each of +them had a list of questions to insert into their conversations with the +tribesmen if and when that was possible. Although they did not share a +common speech with the forest men, signs were informative and certain +nouns could be quickly learned. In the meantime Ashe became friendly +with the nearest and first of the clan groups they discovered, going +hunting with the men as an excuse to penetrate the unknown section they +must quarter in their search for the Red base. + +Ross drank river water and mopped his own hot face. "If the Reds aren't +traders," he mused aloud, "what _is_ their cover?" + +McNeil shrugged. "A hunting tribe--fishermen--" + +"Where would they get the women and children?" + +"The same way they get their men--recruit them in our own time. Or in +the way lots of tribes grew during periods of stress." + +Ross set down the water jug. "You mean, kill off the men, take over +their families?" This was a cold-bloodedness he found sickening. +Although he had always prided himself on his toughness, several times +during his training at the project he had been confronted by things +which shook his belief in his own strong stomach and nerve. + +"It has been done," McNeil remarked bleakly, "hundreds of times by +invaders. In this setup--small family clans, widely scattered--that move +would be very easy." + +"They would have to pose as farmers, not hunters," Ross pointed out. +"They couldn't move a base around with them." + +"All right, so they set up a farming village. Oh, I see what you +mean--there isn't any village around here. Yet they are here, maybe +underground." + +How right their guesses were they learned that night when Ashe returned, +a deer's haunch on his shoulder. Ross knew him well enough by now to +sense his preoccupation. "You found something?" + +"A new set of ghosts," Ashe replied with a strange little smile. + +"Ghosts!" McNeil pounced upon that. "The Reds like to play the +supernatural angle, don't they? First the voice of Lurgha and now +ghosts. What do these ghosts do?" + +"They inhabit a bit of mountainous territory southeast of here, a +stretch strictly taboo for all hunters. We were following a bison track +until the beast headed for the ghost country. Then Ulffa called us off +in a hurry. It seems that the hunter who goes in there after his quarry +never reappears, or if he does, it's in a damaged condition, blown upon +by ghosts and burned to death! That's one point." + +He sat down by the fire and stretched his arms wearily. "The second is a +little more disturbing for us. A Beaker camp about twenty miles south of +here, as far as I can judge, was exterminated just a week ago. The +message was passed to me because I was thought to be a kinsman of the +slain----" + +McNeil sat up. "Done because they were hunting us?" + +"Might well be. On the other hand, the affair may have been just one of +general precaution." + +"The ghosts did it?" Ross wanted to know. + +"I asked that. No, it seems that strange tribesmen overran it at night." + +"At night?" McNeil whistled. + +"Just so." Ashe's tone was dry. "The tribes do not fight that way. +Either someone slipped up in his briefing, or the Reds are overconfident +and don't care about the rules. But it was the work of tribesmen, or +their counterfeits. There is also a nasty rumor speeding about that the +ghosts do not relish traders and that they might protest intrusions of +such with penalties all around----" + +"Like the Wrath of Lurgha," supplied Ross. + +"There is a certain repetition in this which suggests a lot to the +suspicious mind," Ashe agreed. + +"I'd say no more hunting expeditions for the present," McNeil said. "It +is too easy to mistake a friend for a deer and weep over his grave +afterward." + +"That is a thought which entered my mind several times this afternoon," +Ashe agreed. "These people are deceptively simple on the surface, but +their minds do not work along the same patterns as ours. We try to +outwit them, but it takes only one slip to make it fatal. In the +meantime, I think we'd better make this place a little more snug, and it +might be well to post sentries as unobtrusively as possible." + +"How about faking some signs of a ruined camp and heading into the blue +ourselves?" McNeil asked. "We could strike for the ghost mountains, +traveling by night, and Ulffa's crowd would think we were finished off." + +"An idea to keep in mind. The point against it would be the missing +bodies. It seems that the tribesmen who raided the Beaker camp left some +very distasteful evidence of what happened to the camp's personnel. And +those we can't produce to cover our trail." + +McNeil was not yet convinced. "We might be able to fake something along +that line, too----" + +"We may have to fake nothing," Ross cut in softly. He was standing close +to the edge of the clearing where they were building their hut, his hand +on one of the saplings in the palisade they had set up so laboriously +that day. Ashe was beside him in an instant. + +"What is it?" + +Ross's hours of listening to the sounds of the wilderness were his +measuring gauge now. "That bird has never called from inland before. It +is the blue one we've seen fishing for frogs along the river." + +Ashe, not even glancing at the forest, went for the water jug. "Get your +trail supplies," he ordered. + +Their leather pouches which held enough iron rations to keep them going +were always at hand. McNeil gathered them from behind the fur curtain +fronting their half-finished cabin. Again the bird called, its cry +piercing and covering a long distance. Ross could understand why a +careless man would select it for the signal. He crossed the clearing to +the donkeys' shelter, slashing through their nose halters. Probably the +patient little beasts would swiftly fall victims to some forest +prowlers, but at least they would have their chance to escape. + +McNeil, his cloak slung about him to conceal the ration bags, picked up +the leather bucket as if he were merely going down to the river for +water, and came to join Ross. They believed that they were carrying it +off well, that the camp must appear normal to any lurkers in the woods. +But either they had made some slip or the enemy was impatient. An arrow +sped out of the night to flash across the fire, and Ashe escaped death +only because he had leaned forward to feed the flames. His arm swung out +and sent the water in the jar hissing onto the blaze as he himself +rolled in the other direction. + +Ross plunged for the brush with McNeil. Lying flat on the half-frozen +ground, they started to work their way to the river bank where the open +area would make surprise less possible. + +"Ashe?" he whispered and felt McNeil's warm breath on his cheek as he +replied: + +"He'll make it the other way! He's the best we have for this sort of +job." + +They made a worm's progress, twice lying, with dagger in hand, while +they listened to a faint rustle which betrayed the passing of one of the +attackers. Both times Ross was tempted to rise and try to cut off the +stranger, but he fought down the impulse. He had learned a control of +himself that would have been impossible for him a few months earlier. + +The glimmer of the river was pale through the clumps of bushes which +sometimes grew into the flood. In this country winter still clung +tenaciously in shadowy places with cups of leftover snow, and there was +a bite in the wind and water. Ross rose to his knees with an involuntary +gasp as a scream cut through the night. He wrenched around toward the +camp, only to feel McNeil's hand clamp on his forearm. + +"That was a donkey," whispered McNeil urgently. "Come on, let's go down +to that ford we discovered!" + +They turned south, daring now to trot, half bent to the ground. The +river was swollen with spring floods which were only now beginning to +subside, but two days earlier they had noticed a sandbar at one spot. By +crossing that shelf across the bed, they might hope to put water between +them and the unknown enemy tonight. It would give them a breathing +space, even though Ross privately shrank from the thought of plowing +into the stream. He had seen good-sized trees swirling along in the +current only yesterday. And to make such a dash in the dark.... + +From McNeil's throat burst a startling sound which Ross had last heard +in Britain--the questing howl of a hunting wolf. The cry was answered +seconds later from downstream. + +"Ashe!" + +They worked their way along the edge of the water with continued care, +until they came upon Ashe at last, so much a part of his background that +Ross started when the lump he had taken for a bush hunched forward to +join them. Together they made the river crossing and turned south again +to head for the mountains. It was then that disaster struck. + +Ross heard no birdcall warning this time. Though he was on guard, he +never sensed the approach of the man who struck him down from behind. +One moment he had been trailing McNeil and Ashe; the next moment was +black nothingness. + +He was aware of a throb of pain which carried throughout his body and +then localized in his head. Forcing open his eyes, the dazzle of light +was like a spear point striking directly into his head, intensifying his +pain to agony. He brought his hand up to his face and felt stickiness +there. + +"Assha--" He believed he called that aloud, but he did not even hear his +own voice. They were in a valley; a wolf had attacked him out of the +bushes. Wolf? No, the wolf was dead, but then it came alive again to +howl on a river bank. + +Ross forced his eyes open once more, enduring the pain of beams he +recognized as sunshine. He turned his head to avoid the glare. It was +hard to focus, but he fought to steady himself. There was some reason +why it was necessary to move, to get away. But away from what and where? +When Ross tried to think he could only see muddled pictures which had no +connection. + +Then a moving object crossed his very narrow field of vision, passing +between him and a thing he knew was a tree trunk. A four-footed creature +with a red tongue hanging from its jaws. It came toward him +stiff-legged, growling low in its throat, and sniffed at his body before +barking in short excited bursts of sound. + +The noise hurt his head so much that Ross closed his eyes. Then a shock +of icy liquid thrown into his face aroused him to make a feeble protest +and he saw, hanging over him in a strange upside-down way, a bearded +face which he knew from the past. + +Hands were laid on him and the roughness with which he was moved sent +Ross spiraling back into the dark once again. When he aroused for the +second time it was night and the pain in his head was dulled. He put out +his hands and discovered that he lay on a pile of fur robes, and was +covered by one. + +"Assha--" Again he tried that name. But it was not Assha who came in +answer to his feeble call. The woman who knelt beside him with a horn +cup in her hand had neatly braided hair in which gray strands showed +silver by firelight. Ross knew he had seen her before, but again where +and when eluded him. She slipped a sturdy arm under his head and raised +him while the world whirled about. The edge of the horn cup was pressed +to his lips, and he drank bitter stuff which burned in his throat and +lit a fire in his insides. Then he was left to himself once again and in +spite of his pain and bewilderment he slept. + +How many days he lay in the camp of Ulffa, tended by the chief's head +wife, Ross found it hard to reckon. It was Frigga who had argued the +tribe into caring for a man they believed almost dead when they found +him, and who nursed Ross back to life with knowledge acquired through +half a hundred exchanges between those wise women who were the doctors +and priestesses of these roaming peoples. + +Why Frigga had bothered with the injured stranger at all Ross learned +when he was able to sit up and marshal his bewildered thoughts into some +sort of order. The matriarch of the tribe thirsted for knowledge. That +same urge which had led her to certain experiments with herbs, had made +her consider Ross a challenge to her healing skill. When she knew that +he would live she determined to learn from him all he had to give. + +Ulffa and the men of the tribe might have eyed the metal weapons of the +traders with awe and avid desire, but Frigga wanted more than trade +goods. She wanted the secret of the making of such cloth as the +strangers wore, everything she could learn of their lives and the lands +through which they had come. She plied Ross with endless questions which +he answered as best he could, for he lay in an odd dreamy state where +only the present had any reality. The past was dim and far away, and +while he was now and then dimly aware that he had something to do, he +forgot it easily. + +The chief and his men prowled the half-built station after the attackers +had withdrawn, bringing back with them a handful of loot--a bronze +razor, two skinning knives, some fishhooks, a length of cloth which +Frigga appropriated. Ross eyed this spoil indifferently, making no claim +upon it. His interest in everything about him was often blanked out by +headaches which kept him limp on his bed, uncaring and stupid for hours +or even full days. + +He gathered that the tribe had been living in fear of an attack from the +same raiders who had wiped out the trading post. But at last their +scouts returned with the information that the enemy had gone south. + +There was one change of which Ross was not aware but which might have +startled both Ashe and McNeil. Ross Murdock had indeed died under that +blow which had left him unconscious beside the river. The young man whom +Frigga had drawn back to sense and a slow recovery was Rossa of the +Beaker people. This same Rossa nursed a hot desire for vengeance against +those who had struck him down and captured his kinsmen, a feeling which +the family tribe who had rescued him could well understand. + +There was the same old urgency pushing him to try his strength now, to +keep to his feet even when they were unsteady. His bow was gone, but +Ross spent hours fashioning another, and he traded his copper bracelet +for the best dozen arrows in Ulffa's camp. The jet pin from his cloak he +presented to Frigga with all his gratitude. + +Now that his strength was coming back he could not rest easy in the +camp. He was ready to leave, even though the gashes on his head were +still tender to the touch. Ulffa indulgently planned a hunt southward, +and Rossa took the trail with the tribesmen. + +He broke with the clan hunters when they turned aside at the beginning +of the taboo land. Ross, his own mind submerged and taken over by his +Beaker cover, hesitated too. Yet he could not give up, and the others +left him there, his eyes on the forbidden heights, unhappy and tormented +by more than the headaches which still came and went with painful +regularity. In the mountains lay what he sought--a hidden something +within his brain told him that over and over--but the mountains were +taboo, and he should not venture into them. + +How long he might have hesitated there if he had not come upon the +trail, Ross did not know. But on the day after the hunters of Ulffa's +clan left, a glint of sunlight striking between two trees pointed out a +woodsman's blaze on a third tree trunk. The two halves of Ross's memory +clicked together for an instant as he examined that cut. He knew that it +marked a trace and he pushed on, hunting a second cut and then a third. +Convinced that these would lead him into the unknown territory, Ross's +desire to explore overcame the grafted superstitions of his briefing. + +There were other signs that this was an often-traveled route: a spring +cleared of leaves and walled with stone, a couple of steps cut in the +turf on a steep slope. Ross moved warily, alert to any sound. He might +not be an expert woodsman, but he was learning fast, perhaps the faster +because his false memories now supplanted the real ones. + +That night he built no fire, crawling instead into the heart of a rotted +log to sleep, awakening once to the call of a wolf and another time at +the distant crash of a dead tree yielding to wind. + +In the morning he was about to climb back to the trail he had prudently +left the night before when he saw five bearded, fur-clad men looking +much the same as Ulffa's people. Ross hugged the earth and watched them +pass out of sight before he followed. + +All that day he wove an up-and-down trail behind the small band, +sometimes catching sight of them as they topped a rise well ahead or +stopped to eat. It was late afternoon when he crept cautiously to the +top of a ridge and gazed down into a valley. + +There was a town in that valley, sturdy houses of logs behind a +stockade. He had seen towns vaguely like it before, yet it had a +dreamlike quality as if it were not as real as it appeared. + +Ross rested his chin on his arms and watched that town and the people +moving in it. Some were fur-clad hunters, but others dressed quite +differently. He started up with a little cry at the sight of one of the +men who had walked so swiftly from one house to the next; surely he was +a Beaker trader! + +His unease grew stronger with every moment he watched, but it was the +oddness he sensed in that town which bothered him and not any warning +that he, himself, was in danger. He had gotten to his knees to see +better when out of nowhere a rope sang through the air, settling about +his chest with a vicious jerk which not only drove the air from his +lungs but pinioned his arms tight to his body. + + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +Having been cuffed and battered into submission more quickly than would +have been possible three weeks earlier, Murdock now stood sullenly +surveying the man who, though he dressed like a Beaker trader, persisted +in using a language Ross did not know. + +"We do not play as children here." At last the man spoke words Ross +could understand. "You will answer me or else others shall ask the +questions, and less gently. I say to you now--who are you and from where +do you come?" + +For a moment Ross glowered across the table at him, his inbred +antagonism to authority aroused by that contemptuous demand, but then +common sense cautioned. His initial introduction to this village had +left him bruised and with one of his headaches. There was no reason to +let them beat him until he was in no shape to make a break for freedom +when and if there was an opportunity. + +"I am Rossa of the traders," he returned, eying the man with a carefully +measured stare. "I came into this land in search of my kinsmen who were +taken by raiders in the night." + +The man, who sat on a stool by the table, smiled slowly. Again he spoke +in the strange tongue, and Ross merely stared stolidly back. His words +were short and explosive sounding, and the man's smile faded; his +annoyance grew as he continued to speak. + +One of Ross's two guards ventured to interrupt, using the Beaker +language. "From where did you come?" He was a quiet-faced, slender man, +not like his companion, who had roped Murdock from behind and was of the +bully breed, able to subdue Ross's wildcat resistance in a very short +struggle. + +"I came to this land from the south," Ross answered, "after the manner +of my people. This is a new land with furs and the golden tears of the +sun to be gathered and bartered. The traders move in peace, and their +hands are raised against no man. Yet in the darkness there came those +who would slay without profit, for what reason I have no knowing." + +The quiet man continued the questioning and Ross answered fully with +details of the past of one Rossa, a Beaker merchant. Yes, he was from +the south. His father was Gurdi, who had a trading post in the warm +lands along the big river. This was Rossa's first trip to open new +territory. He had come with his father's blood brother, Assha, who was a +noted far voyager, and it was an honor to be chosen as donkey-leader for +such a one as Assha. With Assha had been Macna, one who was also a far +trader, though not as noted as Assha. + +Of a certainty, Assha was of his own race! Ross blinked at that +question. One need only to look upon him to know that he was of trader +blood and no uncivilized woodsrunner. How long had he known Assha? Ross +shrugged. Assha had come to his father's post the winter before and had +stayed with them through the cold season. Gurdi and Assha had mingled +blood after he pulled Gurdi free from the river in flood. Assha had +lost his boat and trade goods in that rescue, so Gurdi had made good his +loss this year. Detail by detail he gave the story. In spite of the fact +that he provided these details glibly, sure that they were true, Ross +continued to be haunted by an odd feeling that he was indeed reciting a +tale of adventure which had happened long ago and to someone else. +Perhaps that pain in his head made him think of these events as very +colorless and far away. + +"It would seem"--the quiet man turned to the one behind the table--"that +this is indeed one Rossa, a Beaker trader." + +But the man looked impatient, angry. He made a sign to the other guard, +who turned Ross around roughly and sent him toward the door with a +shove. Once again the leader gave an order in his own language, adding a +few words more with a stinging snap that might have been a threat or a +warning. + +Ross was thrust into a small room with a hard floor and not even a skin +rug to serve as a bed. Since the quiet man had ordered the removal of +the ropes from Ross's arms, he leaned against the wall, rubbing the pain +of returning circulation away from his wrists and trying to understand +what had happened to him and where he was. Having spied upon it from the +heights, he knew it wasn't an ordinary trading station, and he wanted to +know what they did here. Also, somewhere in this village he hoped to +find Assha and Macna. + +At the end of the day his captors opened the door only long enough to +push inside a bowl and a small jug. He felt for those in the dusk, +dipping his fingers into a lukewarm mush of meal and drinking the water +from the jug avidly. His headache dulled, and from experience Ross knew +that this bout was almost over. If he slept, he would waken with a +clearer mind and no pain. Knowing he was very tired, he took the +precaution of curling up directly in front of the door so that no one +could enter without arousing him. + +It was still dark when he awoke with a curious urgency remaining from a +dream he could not remember. Ross sat up, flexing his arms and shoulders +to combat the stiffness which had come with his cramped sleep. He could +not rid himself of a feeling that there was something to be done and +that time was his enemy. + +Assha! Gratefully he seized on that. He must find Assha and Macna, for +the three of them could surely discover a way to get out of this +village. That was what was so important! + +He had been handled none too gently, and they were holding him a +prisoner. But Ross believed that this was not the worst which could +happen to him here, and he must be free before the worst did come. The +question was, How could he escape? His bow and dagger were gone, and he +did not even have his long cloak pin for a weapon, since he had given +that to Frigga. + +Running his hands over his body, Ross inventoried what remained of his +clothing and possessions. He unfastened the bronze chain-belt still +buckled in his kilt tunic, swinging the length speculatively in one +hand. A masterpiece of craftsmanship, it consisted of patterned plates +linked together with a series of five finely wrought chains and a front +buckle in the form of a lion's head, its protruding tongue serving as a +hook to support a dagger sheath. Its weight promised a weapon of sorts, +which when added to the element of surprise might free him. + +By rights they would be expecting him to produce some opposition, +however. It was well known that only the best fighters, the shrewdest +minds, followed the traders' roads. It was a proud thing to be a trader +in the wilderness, a thought that warmed Ross now as he waited in the +dark for what luck and Ba-Bal of the Bright Horns would send. Were he +ever to return to Gurdi's post, Ba-Bal, whose boat rode across the sky +from dawn to dusk, would have a fine ox, jars of the first brewing, and +sweet-smelling amber laid upon his altar. + +Ross had patience which he had learned from the mixed heritage of his +two pasts, the real and the false graft. He could wait as he had waited +many times before--quiet, and with outward ease--for the right moment to +come. It came now with footsteps ringing sharply, halting before his +cell door. + +With the noiseless speed of a hunting cat, Ross flung himself from +behind the door to a wall, where he would be hidden from the newcomer +for that necessary instant or two. If his attack was to be successful, +it must occur inside the room. He heard the sound of a bar being slid +out of its brackets, and he poised himself, the belt rippling from his +right hand. + +The door was opening inward, and a man stood silhouetted against the +outer light. He muttered, looking toward the corner where Ross had +thrown his single garment in a roll which might just resemble, for the +needed second or two, a man curled in slumber. The man in the doorway +took the bait, coming forward far enough for Ross to send the door +slamming shut as he himself sprang with the belt aimed for the other's +head. + +There was a startled cry, cut off in the middle as the belt plates met +flesh and bone in a crushing force. Luck was with him! Ross caught up +his kilt and belted it around him after he had made a hurried +examination of the body now lying at his feet. He was not sure that the +man was dead, but at any rate he was completely unconscious. Ross +stripped off the man's cloak, located his dagger, freed it from the belt +hook, and snapped it on his own. + +Then inch by inch Ross edged open the door, peering through the crack. +As far as he could see, the hall was empty, so he jerked the portal +open, and dagger in hand, sprang out, ready for attack. He closed the +door, slipping the bar back into its brackets. If the man inside revived +and pounded for attention, his own friends might think it was Ross and +delay investigating. + +But the escape from the cell was the easiest part of what he planned to +do, as Ross well knew. To find Assha and Macna in this maze of rooms +occupied by the enemy was far more difficult. Although he had no idea in +which of the village buildings they might be confined, this one was the +largest and seemed to be the headquarters of the chief men, which meant +it could also serve as their prison. + +Light came from a torch in a bracket halfway down the hall. The wood +burned smokily, giving off a resinous odor, and to Ross the glow was +sufficient illumination. He slipped along as close to the wall as he +could, ready to freeze at the slightest sound. But this portion of the +building might well have been deserted, for he saw or heard no one. He +tried the only two doors opening out of the hall, but they were secured +on the other side. Then he came to a bend in the corridor, and stopped +short, hearing a murmur of low voices. + +If he had used a hunter's tricks of silent tread and vigilant wariness +before, Ross was doubly on guard now as he wriggled to a point from +which he could see beyond that turn. Mere luck prevented him from giving +himself away a moment later. + +Assha! Assha, alive, well, apparently under no restraint, was just +turning away from the same quiet man who had had a part in Ross's +interrogation. That was surely Assha's brown hair, his slender wiry body +draped with a Beaker's kilt. A familiar tilt of the head convinced Ross, +though he could not see the man's face. The quiet man went down the +hall, leaving Assha before a door. As he passed through it Ross sped +forward and followed him inside. + +Assha had crossed the bare room and was standing on a glowing plate in +the floor. Ross, aroused to desperate action by some fear he did not +understand, leaped after him. His left hand fell upon Assha's shoulder, +turning the man half around as Ross, too, stepped upon the patch of +luminescence. + +Murdock had only an instant to realize that he was staring into the face +of an astonished stranger. His hand flashed up in an edgewise blow which +caught the other on the side of the throat, and then the world came +apart about them. There was a churning, whirling sickness which griped +and bent Ross almost double across the crumpled body of his victim. He +held his head lest it be torn from his shoulders by the spinning thing +which seemed based behind his eyes. + +The sickness endured only for a moment, and some buried part of Ross's +mind accepted it as a phenomenon he had experienced before. He came out +of it gasping, to focus his attention once more on the man at his feet. + +The stranger was still breathing. Ross stooped to drag him from the +plate and began binding and gagging him with lengths torn from his kilt. +Only when his captive was secure did he begin looking about him +curiously. + +The room was bare of any furnishings and now, as he glanced at the +floor, Ross saw that the plate had lost its glow. The Beaker trader +Rossa rubbed sweating palms on his kilt and thought fleetingly of forest +ghosts and other mysteries. Not that the traders bowed to those ghosts +which were the plague of lesser men and tribes, but anything which +suddenly appeared and then disappeared without any logical explanation, +needed thinking on. Murdock pulled the prisoner, who was now reviving, +to the far end of the room and then went back to the plate with the +persistence of a man who refused to treat with ghosts and wanted +something concrete to explain the unexplainable. Though he rubbed his +hands across the smooth surface of the plate, it did not light up +again. + +His captive having writhed himself half out of the corner of the room, +Ross debated the wisdom of another silencing--say a tap on the skull +with the heavy hilt of his dagger. Deciding against it because he might +need a guide, he freed the victim's ankle bonds and pulled him to his +feet, holding the dagger ready where the man could see it. Were there +any more surprises to be encountered in this place, Assha's double would +test them first. + +The door did not lead to the same corridor, or even the same kind of +corridor Ross had passed through moments earlier. Instead they entered a +short passage with walls of some smooth stuff which had almost the sheen +of polished metal and were sleek and cold to the touch. In fact, the +whole place was chill, chill as river water in the spring. + +Still herding the prisoner before him, Ross came to the nearest door and +looked within, to be faced by incomprehensible frames of metal rods and +boxes. Rossa of the traders marveled and stared, but again, he realized +that what he saw was not altogether strange. Part of one wall was a +board on which small lights flashed and died, to flash again in winks of +bright color. A mysterious object made of wire and disks hung across the +back of a chair standing near-by. + +The bound man lurched for the chair and fell, rolling toward the wall. +Ross pushed him on until he was hidden behind one of the metal boxes. +Then he made the rounds of the room, touching nothing, but studying what +he could not understand. Puffs of warm air came in through grills near +the floor, but the room had the same general chill as the hall outside. + +Meanwhile the lights on the board had become more active, flashing on +and off in complex patterns. Ross now heard a buzzing, as if a swarm of +angry insects were gathered for an attack. Crouching beside his captive, +Ross watched the lights, trying to discover the source of the sound. + +The buzz grew shriller, almost demanding. Ross heard the tramp of heavy +footgear in the corridor, and a man entered the room, crossing +purposefully to the chair. He sat down and drew the wire-and-disk frame +over his head. His hands moved under the lights, but Ross could not +guess what he was doing. + +The captive at Murdock's side tried to stir, but Ross's hand pinned him +quiet. The shrill noise which had originally summoned the man at the +lights was interrupted by a sharp pattern of long-and-short sounds, and +his hands flew even more quickly while Ross took in every detail of the +other's clothing and equipment. He was neither a shaggy tribesman nor a +trader. He wore a dull-green outer garment cut in one piece to cover his +arms and legs as well as his body, and his hair was so short that his +round skull might have been shaven. Ross rubbed the back of his wrist +across his eyes, experiencing again that dim other memory. Odd as this +man looked, Murdock had seen his like before somewhere, yet the +background had not been Gurdi's post on the southern river. Where and +when had he, Rossa, ever been with such strange beings? And why could he +not remember it all more clearly? + +Boots sounded once more in the hall, and another figure strode in. This +one wore furs, but he, too, was no woods hunter, Ross realized as he +studied the newcomer in detail. The loose overshirt of thick fur with +its hood thrown back, the high boots, and all the rest were not of any +primitive fashioning. And the man had four eyes! One pair were placed +normally on either side of his nose, and the other two, black-rimmed and +murky, were set above on his forehead. + +The fur-clad man tapped the one seated at the board. He freed his head +partially from the wire cage so that they could talk together in a +strange language while lights continued to flash and the buzzing died +away. Ross's captive wriggled with renewed vigor and at last thrashed +free a foot to kick at one of the metal installations. The resulting +clang brought both men around. The one at the board tore his head cage +off as he jumped to his feet, while the other brought out a gun. + +Gun? One little fraction of Ross's mind wondered at his recognition of +that black thing and of the danger it promised, even as he prepared for +battle. He pushed his captive across the path of the man in fur and +threw himself in the other direction. There was a blast to make a +torment in his head as he hurled toward the door. + +So intent was Ross upon escape that he did not glance behind but skidded +out on his hands and knees, thus fortunately presenting a poor target to +the third man coming down the hall. Ross's shoulder hit the newcomer at +thigh level, and they tangled in a struggling mass which saved Ross's +life as the others burst out behind them. + +Ross fought grimly, his hands and feet moving in blows he was not +conscious of planning. His opponent was no easy match and at last Ross +was flattened, in spite of his desperate efforts. He was whirled over, +his arms jerked behind him, and cold metal rings snapped about his +wrists. Then he was rolled back, to lie blinking up at his enemies. + +All three men gathered over him, barking questions which he could not +understand. One of them disappeared and returned with Ross's former +captive, his mouth a straight line and a light in his eyes Ross +understood far better than words. + +"You are the trader prisoner?" The man who looked like Assha leaned over +Murdock, patches of red on his tanned skin where the gag and wrist bonds +had been. + +"I am Rossa, son of Gurdi, of the traders," Ross returned, meeting what +he read in the other's expression with a ready defiance. "I was a +prisoner, yes. But you did not keep me one for long then, nor shall you +now." + +The man's thin upper lip lifted. "You have done yourself ill, my young +friend. We have a better prison here for you, one from which you shall +not escape." + +He spoke to the other men, and there was the ring of an order in his +voice. They pulled Ross to his feet, pushing him ahead of them. During +the short march Ross used his eyes, noticing things he could not +identify in the rooms through which they passed. Men called questions +and at last they paused long enough, Ross firmly in the hold of the +fur-clad guard, for the other two to put on similar garments. + +Ross had lost his cloak in the fight, but no fur shirt was given him. He +shivered more and more as the chill which clung to that warren of rooms +and halls bit into his half-clad body. He was certain of only one thing +about this place; he could not possibly be in the crude buildings of the +valley village. However, he was unable to guess where he was and how he +had come there. + +Finally, they went down a narrow room filled with bulky metal objects of +bright scarlet or violet that gleamed weirdly and were equipped with +rods along which all the colors of the rainbow ringed. Here was a round +door, and when one of the guards used both hands to tug it open, the +cold that swept in at them was a frigid breath that burned as it touched +bare skin. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +It took Ross a while to learn that the dirty-white walls of this tunnel +which were almost entirely opaque, with dark objects showing dimly +through them here and there, were of solid ice. A black wire was hooked +overhead and at regular intervals hung with lights which did nothing to +break the sensation of glacial cold about them. + +Ross shuddered. Every breath he drew stung in his lungs; his bare +shoulders and arms and the exposed section of thigh between kilt and +boot were numb. He could only move on stiffly, pushed ahead by his +guards when he faltered. He guessed that were he to lose his footing +here and surrender to the cold, he would forfeit the battle entirely and +with it his life. + +He had no way of measuring the length of the boring through the solid +ice, but they were at last fronted by another opening, a ragged one +which might have been hacked with an ax. They emerged from it into the +wildest scene Ross had ever seen. Of course, he was familiar with ice +and snow, but here was a world surrendered completely to the brutal +force of winter in a strange, abnormal way. It was a still, dead +white-gray world in which nothing moved save the wind which curled the +drifts. + +His guards covered their eyes with the murky lenses they had worn pushed +up on their foreheads within the shelter, for above them sunlight +dazzled on the ice crest. Ross, his eyes smarting, kept his gaze +centered on his feet. He was given no time to look about. A rope was +produced, a loop of it flipped in a noose about his throat, and he was +towed along like a leashed dog. Before them was a path worn in the snow, +not only by the passing of booted feet, but with more deeply scored +marks as if heavy objects had been sledded there. Ross slipped and +stumbled in the ruts, fearing to fall lest he be dragged. The numbness +of his body reached into his head. He was dizzy, the world about him +misting over now and again with a haze which arose from the long +stretches of unbroken snow fields. + +Tripping in a rut, he went down upon one knee, his flesh too numbed now +to feel the additional cold of the snow, snow so hard that its crust +delivered a knife's cut. Unemotionally, he watched a thin line of red +trickle in a sluggish drop or two down the blue skin of his leg. The +rope jerked him forward, and Ross scrambled awkwardly until one of his +captors hooked a fur mitten in his belt and heaved him to his feet once +more. + +The purpose of that trek through the snow was obscure to Ross. In fact, +he no longer cared, save that a hard rebel core deep inside him would +not let him give up as long as his legs could move and he had a scrap of +conscious will left in him. It was more difficult to walk now. He +skidded and went down twice more. Then, the last time he slipped, he +sledded past the man who led him, sliding down the slope of a +glass-slick slope. He lay at the foot, unable to get up. Through the +haze and deadening blanket of the cold he knew that he was being pulled +about, shaken, generally mishandled; but this time he could not respond. +Someone snapped open the rings about his wrists. + +There was a call, echoing eerily across the ice. The fumbling about his +body changed to a tugging and once more he was sent rolling down the +slope. But the rope was now gone from his throat, and his arms were +free. This time when he brought up hard against an obstruction he was +not followed. + +Ross's conscious mind--that portion of him that was Rossa, the +trader--was content to lie there, to yield to the lethargy born of the +frigid world about him. But the subconscious Ross Murdock of the Project +prodded at him. He had always had a certain cold hatred which could +crystalize and become a spur. Once it had been hatred of circumstances +and authority; now it became hatred for those who had led him into this +wilderness with the purpose, as he knew now, of leaving him to freeze +and die. + +Ross pulled his hands under him. Though there was no feeling in them, +they obeyed his will clumsily. He levered himself up and looked around. +He lay in a narrow crevicelike cut, partly walled in by earth so frozen +as to resemble steel. Crusted over it in long streaks from above were +tongues of ice. To remain here was to serve his captors' purpose. + +Ross inched his way to his feet. This opening, which was intended as his +grave, was not so deep as the men had thought it in their hurry to be +rid of him. He believed that he could climb out if he could make his +body answer to his determination. + +Somehow Ross made that supreme effort and came again to the rutted path +from which they had tumbled him. Even if he could, there was no sense in +going along that rutted trail, for it led back to the ice-encased +building from which he had been brought. They had thrust him out to +die; they would not take him in. + +But a road so well marked must have some goal, and in hopes that he +might find shelter at the other end, Ross turned to the left. The trace +continued down the slope. Now the towering walls of ice and snow were +broken by rocky teeth as if they had bitten deep upon this land, only to +be gnawed in return. Rounding one of those rock fangs, Ross looked at a +stretch of level ground. Snow lay here, but the beaten-down trail led +straight through it to the rounded side of a huge globe half buried in +the ground, a globe of dark material which could only be man-made. + +Ross was past caution. He must get to warmth and shelter or he was done +for, and he knew it. Wavering and weaving, he went on, his attention +fixed on the door ahead--a closed oval door. With a sob of exhausted +effort, Ross threw himself against it. The barrier gave, letting him +fall forward into a queer glimmering radiance of bluish light. + +The light rousing him because it promised more, he crawled on past +another door which was flattened back against the inner wall. It was +like making one's way down a tube. Ross paused, pressing his lifeless +hands against his bare chest under the edge of his tunic, suddenly +realizing that there was warmth here. His breath did not puff out in +frosty streamers before him, nor did the air sear his lungs when he +ventured to draw in more than shallow gulps. + +With that realization a measure of animal caution returned to him. To +remain where he was, just inside the entrance, was to court disaster. He +must find a hiding place before he collapsed, for he sensed he was very +near the end of his ability to struggle. Hope had given him a flash of +false strength, the impetus to move, and he must make the most of that +gift. + +His path ended at a wide ladder, coiling in slow curves into gloom below +and shadows above. He sensed that he was in a building of some size. He +was afraid to go down, for even looking in that direction almost +finished his sense of balance, so he climbed up. + +Step by step, Ross made that painful journey, passing levels from which +three or four hallways ran out like the radii of a spider's web. He was +close to the end of his endurance when he heard a sound, echoed, +magnified, from below. It was someone moving. He dragged his body into +the fourth level where the light was very faint, hoping to crawl far +enough into one of the passages to remain unseen from the stair. But he +had gone only part-way down his chosen road when he collapsed, panting, +and fell back against the wall. His hands pawed vainly against that +sleek surface. He was falling through it! + +Ross had a second, perhaps two, of stupefied wonder. Lying on a soft +surface, he was enfolded by a warmth which eased his bruised and frozen +body. There was a sharp prick in his thigh, another in his arm, and the +world was a hazy dream until he finally slept in the depths of +exhaustion. + +There were dreams, detailed ones, and Ross stirred uneasily as his sleep +thinned to waking. He lay with his eyes closed, fitting together odd +bits of--dreams? No, he was certain that they were memories. Rossa of +the Beaker traders and Ross Murdock of the project were again fused into +one and the same person. How it had happened he did not know, but it was +true. + +Opening his eyes, he noticed a curved ceiling of soft blue which misted +at the edges into gray. The restful color acted on his troubled, waking +mind like a soothing word. For the first time since he had been struck +down in the night his headache was gone. He raised his hand to explore +that old hurt near his hairline that had been so tender only yesterday +that it could not bear pressure. There remained only a thin, rough line +like a long-healed scar, that was all. + +Ross lifted his head to look about him. His body lay supported in a +cradlelike arrangement of metal, almost entirely immersed in a red +gelatinous substance with a clean, aromatic odor. Just as he was no +longer cold, neither was he hungry. He felt as fit as he ever had in his +life. Sitting up in the cradle, he stroked the jelly away from his +shoulders and chest. It fell from him cleanly, leaving no trace of +grease or dampness on his skin. + +There were other fixtures in the small cylinderlike chamber besides that +odd bed in which he had lain. Two bucket-shaped seats were placed at the +narrow fore part of the room and before those seats was a system of +controls he could not comprehend. + +As Ross swung his feet to the floor there was a click from the side +which brought him around, ready for trouble. But the noise had been +caused by the opening of a door into a small cupboard. Inside the +cupboard lay a fat package. Obviously this was an invitation to +investigate the offering. + +The package contained a much folded article of fabric, compressed and +sealed in a transparent bag which he fumbled twice before he succeeded +in releasing its fastening. Ross shook out a garment of material such as +he had never seen before. Its sheen and satin-smooth surface suggested +metal, but its stuff was as supple as fine silk. Color rippled across it +with every twist and turn he gave to the length--dark blue fading to +pale violet, accented with wavering streaks of vivid and startling +green. + +Ross experimented with a row of small, brilliant-green studs which made +a transverse line from the right shoulder to the left hip, and they +came apart. As he climbed into the suit the stuff modeled to his body in +a tight but perfect fit. Across the shoulders were bands of green to +match the studs, and the stockinglike tights were soled with a thick +substance which formed a cushion for his feet. + +He pressed the studs together, felt them lock, and then stood smoothing +that strange, beautiful fabric, unable to account for either it or his +surroundings. His head was clear; he could remember every detail of his +flight up to the time he had fallen through the wall. And he was certain +that he had passed through not only one, but two, of the Red time posts. +Could this be the third? If so, was he still a captive? Why would they +leave him to freeze in the open country one moment and then treat him +this way later? + +He could not connect the ice-encased building from which the Reds had +taken him with this one. At the sound of another soft noise Ross glanced +over his shoulder just in time to see the cradle of jelly, from which he +had emerged, close in upon itself until its bulk was a third of its +former size. Compact as a box, it folded up against the wall. + +Ross, his cushioned feet making no sound, advanced to the bucket-chairs. +But lowering his body into one of them for a better look at what vaguely +resembled the control of a helicopter--like the one in which he had +taken the first stage of his fantastic journey across space and time--he +did not find it comfortable. He realized that it had not been +constructed to accommodate a body shaped precisely like his own. + +A body like his own.... That jelly bath or bed or whatever it was.... +The clothing which adapted so skillfully to his measurements.... + +Ross leaned forward to study the devices on the control board, +confirming his suspicions. He had made the final jump of them all! He +was now in some building of that alien race upon whose existence +Millaird and Kelgarries had staked the entire project. This was the +source, or one of the sources, from which the Reds were getting the +knowledge which fitted no modern pattern. + +A world encased in ice and a building with strange machinery. This +thing--a cylinder with a pilot's seat and a set of controls. Was it an +alien place? But the jelly bath--and the rest of it.... Had his presence +activated that cupboard to supply him with clothing? And what had become +of the tunic he was wearing when he entered? + +Ross got up to search the chamber. The bed-bath was folded against the +wall, but there was no sign of his Beaker clothing, his belt, the hide +boots. He could not understand his own state of well being, the lack of +hunger and thirst. + +There were two possible explanations for it all. One was that the aliens +still lived here and for some reason had come to his aid. The other was +that he stood in a place where robot machinery worked, though those who +had set it up were no longer there. It was difficult to separate his +memory of the half-buried globe he had seen from his sickness of that +moment. Yet he knew that he had climbed and crawled through emptiness, +neither seeing nor hearing any other life. Now Ross restlessly paced up +and down, seeking the door through which he must have come, but there +was not even a line to betray such an opening. + +"I want out," he said aloud, standing in the center of the cramped room, +his fists planted on his hips, his eyes still searching for the vanished +door. He had tapped, he had pushed, he had tried every possible way to +find it. If he could only remember how he had come in! But all he could +recall was leaning against a wall which moved inward and allowed him to +fall. But where had he fallen? Into that jelly bath? + +Ross, stung by a sudden idea, glanced at the ceiling. It was low enough +so that by standing on tiptoes he could drum his fingers on its surface. +Now he moved to the place directly above where the cradle had swung +before it had folded itself away. + +Rapping and poking, his efforts were rewarded at last. The blue curve +gave under his assault. He pushed now, rising on his toes, though in +that position he could exert little pressure. Then as if some faulty +catch had been released, the ceiling swung up so that he lost his +footing and would have fallen had he not caught the back of one of the +bucket-seats. + +He jumped and by hooking his hands over the edge of the opening, was +able to work his way up and out, to face a small line of light. His +fingers worked at that, and he opened a second door, entering a familiar +corridor. + +Holding the door open, Ross looked back, his eyes widening at what he +saw. For it was plain now that he had just climbed out of a machine with +the unmistakable outline of a snub-nosed rocket. The small flyer--or a +jet, or whatever it was--had been fitted into a pocket in the side of +the big structure as a ship into a berth, and it must have been set +there to shoot from that enclosing chamber as a bullet is shot from a +rifle barrel. But why? + +Ross's imagination jumped from fact to theory. The torpedo craft could +be an atomic jet. All right, he had been in bad shape when he fell into +it by chance and the bed machine had caught him as if it had been +created for just such a duty. What kind of a small plane would be +equipped with a restorative apparatus? Only one intended to handle +emergencies, to transport badly injured living things who had to leave +the building in a hurry. + +In other words, a lifeboat! + +But why would a building need a lifeboat? That would be rather standard +equipment for a ship. Ross stepped into the corridor and stared about +him with open and incredulous wonder. Could this be some form of ship, +grounded here, deserted and derelict, and now being plundered by the +Reds? The facts fitted! They fitted so well with all he had been able to +discover that Ross was sure it was true. But he determined to prove it +beyond all doubt. + +He closed the door leading to the lifeboat berth, but not so securely +that he could not open it again. That was too good a hiding place. On +his cushioned feet he padded back to the stairway, and he stood there +listening. Far below were sounds, a rasp of metal against metal, a low +murmur of muted voices. But from above there was nothing, so he would +explore above before he ventured into that other danger zone. + +Ross climbed, passing two more levels, to come out into a vast room with +a curving roof which must fill the whole crown of the globe. Here was +such a wealth of machines, controls, things he could not understand that +he stood bewildered, content for the moment merely to look. There +were--he counted slowly--five control boards like those he had seen in +the small escape ship. Each of these was faced by two or three of the +bucket-seats, only these swung in webbing. He put his hand on one, and +it bobbed elastically. + +The control boards were so complicated that the one in the lifeboat +might have been a child's toy in comparison. The air in the ship had +been good; in the lifeboat it had held the pleasant odor of the jelly; +but here Ross sniffed a faint but persistent hint of corruption, of an +old malodor. + +He left the vantage point by the stairs and paced between the control +boards and their empty swinging seats. This was the main control room, +of that he was certain. From this point all the vast bulk beneath him +had been set in motion, sailed here and there. Had it been on the sea, +or through the air? The globe shape suggested an air-borne craft. But a +civilization so advanced as this would surely have left some remains. +Ross was willing to believe that he could be much farther back in time +than 2000 B.C., but he was still sure that traces of those who could +build a thing like this would have existed in the twentieth century A.D. + +Maybe that was how the Reds had found this. Something they had turned up +within their country--say, in Siberia, or some of the forgotten corners +of Asia--had been a clue. + +Having had little schooling other than the intensive cramming at the +base and his own informal education, the idea of the race who had +created this ship overawed Ross more than he would admit. If the project +could find this, turn loose on it the guys who knew about such things.... +But that was just what they were striving for, and he was the only +project man to have found the prize. Somehow, someway, he had to get +back--out of this half-buried ship and its icebound world--back to where +he could find his own people. Perhaps the job was impossible, but he had +to try. His survival was considered impossible by the men who had thrown +him into the crevice, but here he was. Thanks to the men who had built +this ship, he was alive and well. + +Ross sat down in one of the uncomfortable seats to think and thus +avoided immediate disaster, for he was hidden from the stairs on which +sounded the tap of boots. A climber, maybe two, were on their way up, +and there was no other exit from the control cabin. + + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +Ross dropped from the web-slung chair to the floor and made himself as +small as possible under the platform at the front of the cabin. Here, +where there was a smaller control board and two seats placed closely +together, the odd, unpleasant odor clung and became stronger to Ross's +senses as he waited tensely for the climbers to appear. Though he had +searched, there was nothing in sight even faintly resembling a weapon. +In a last desperate bid for freedom he crept back to the stairwell. + +He had been taught a blow during his training period, one which required +a precise delivery and, he had been warned, was often fatal. He would +use it now. The climber was very close. A cropped head arose through the +floor opening, and Ross struck, knowing as his hand chopped against the +folds of a fur hood that he had failed. + +But the impetus of that unexpected blow saved him after all. With a +choked cry the man disappeared, crashing down upon the one following +him. A scream and shouts were heard from below, and a shot ripped up the +well as Ross scrambled away from it. He might have delayed the final +battle, but they had him cornered. He faced that fact bleakly. They need +only sit below and let nature take its course. His session in the +lifeboat had restored his strength, but a man could not live forever +without food and water. + +However, he had bought himself perhaps a yard of time which must be put +to work. Turning to examine the seats, Ross discovered that they could +be unhooked from their webbing swings. Freeing all of them, he dragged +their weight to the stairwell and jammed them together to make a +barricade. It could not hold long against any determined push from +below, but, he hoped, it would deflect bullets if some sharpshooter +tried to wing him by ricochet. Every so often there was the crash of a +shot and some shouting, but Ross was not going to be drawn out of cover +by that. + +He paced around the control cabin, still hunting for a weapon. The +symbols on the levers and buttons were meaningless to him. They made him +feel frustrated because he imagined that among that countless array were +some that might help him out of the trap if he could only guess their +use. + +Once more he stood by the platform thinking. This was the point from +which the ship had been sailed--in the air or on some now frozen sea. +These control boards must have given the ship's master the means not +only of propelling the vast bulk, but of unloading and loading cargo, +lighting, heating, ventilation, and perhaps defense! Of course, every +control might be dead now, but he remembered that in the lifeboat the +machines had worked successfully, fulfilled expertly the duty for which +they had been constructed. + +The only step remaining was to try his luck. Having made his decision, +Ross simply shut his eyes as he had in a very short and almost forgotten +childhood, turned around three times, and pointed. Then he looked to +see where luck had directed him. + +His finger indicated a board before which there had been three seats, +and he crossed to it slowly, with a sense that once he touched the +controls he might inaugurate a chain of events he could not stop. The +crash of a shot underlined the fact that he had no other recourse. + +Since the symbols meant nothing, Ross concentrated on the shapes of the +various devices and chose one which vaguely resembled the type of light +switch he had always known. Since it was up, he pressed it down, +counting to twenty slowly as he waited for a reaction. Below the switch +was an oval button marked with two wiggles and a double dot in red. Ross +snapped it level with the panel, and when it did not snap back, he felt +somehow encouraged. When the two levers flanking that button did not +push in or move up and down, Ross pulled them out without even waiting +to count off. + +This time he had results! A crackling of noise with a singsong rhythm, +the volume of which, low at first, arose to a drone filled the cabin. +Ross, deafened by the din, twisted first one lever and then the other +until he had brought the sound to a less piercing howl. But he needed +action, not just noise; he moved from behind the first chair to the next +one. Here were five oval buttons, marked in the same vivid green as that +which trimmed his clothing--two wiggles, a dot, a double bar, a pair of +entwined circles, and a crosshatch. + +Why make a choice? Recklessness bubbled to the surface, and Ross pushed +all the buttons in rapid succession. The results were, in a measure, +spectacular. Out of the top of the control board rose a triangle of +screen which steadied and stood firm while across it played a rippling +wave of color. Meanwhile the singsong became an angry squawking as if in +protest. + +Well, he had something, even if he didn't know what it was! And he had +also proved that the ship was alive. However, Ross wanted more than a +squawk of exasperation, which was exactly what the noise had become. It +almost sounded, Ross decided as he listened, as if he were being +expertly chewed out in another language. Yes, he wanted more than a +series of squawks and a fanciful display of light waves on a screen. + +At the section of board before the third and last seat there was less +choice--only two switches. As Ross flicked up the first the pattern on +the screen dwindled into a brown color shot with cream in which there +was a suggestion of a picture. Suppose one didn't put the switch all the +way up? Ross examined the slot in which the bar moved and now noted a +series of tiny point marks along it. Selective? It would not do any harm +to see. First he hurried back to the cork of chairs he had jammed into +the stairwell. The squawks were now coming only at intervals, and Ross +could hear nothing to suggest that his barrier was being forced. + +He returned to the lever and moved it back two notches, standing +open-mouthed at the immediate result. The cream-and-brown streaks were +making a picture! Moving another notch down caused the picture to +skitter back and forth on the screen. With memories of TV tuning to +guide him, Ross brought the other lever down to a matching position, and +the dim and shadowy images leaped into clear and complete focus. But the +color was still brown, not the black and white he had expected. + +Only, he was also looking into a face! Ross swallowed, his hand grasping +one of the strings of chair webbing for support. Perhaps because in some +ways it did resemble his own, that face was more preposterously +nonhuman. The visage on the screen was sharply triangular with a small, +sharply pointed chin and a jaw line running at an angle from a broad +upper face. The skin was dark, covered largely with a soft and silky +down, out of which hooked a curved and shining nose set between two +large round eyes. On top of that astonishing head the down rose to a +peak not unlike a cockatoo's crest. Yet there was no mistaking the +intelligence in those eyes, nor the other's amazement at sight of Ross. +They might have been staring at each other through a window. + +Squawk ... squeek ... squawk.... The creature in the mirror--on the +vision plate--or outside the window--moved its absurdly small mouth in +time to those sounds. Ross swallowed again and automatically made +answer. + +"Hello." His voice was a weak whistle, and perhaps it did not reach the +furry-faced one, for he continued his questions if questions they were. +Meanwhile Ross, over his first stupefaction, tried to see something of +the creature's background. Though the objects were slightly out of +focus, he was sure he recognized fittings similar to those about him. He +must be in communication with another ship of the same type and one +which was not deserted! + +Furry-face had turned his head away to squawk rapidly over his shoulder, +a shoulder which was crossed by a belt or sash with an elaborate +pattern. Then he got up from his seat and stood aside to make room for +the one he had summoned. + +If Furry-face had been a startling surprise, Ross was now to have +another. The man who now faced him on the screen was totally different. +His skin registered as pale--cream-colored--and his face was far more +human in shape, though it was hairless as was the smooth dome of his +skull. When one became accustomed to that egg slickness, the stranger +was not bad-looking, and he was wearing a suit which matched the one +Ross had taken from the lifeboat. + +This one did not attempt to say anything. Instead, he stared at Ross +long and measuringly, his eyes growing colder and less friendly with +every second of that examination. Ross had resented Kelgarries back at +the project, but the major could not match Baldy for the sheer weight of +unpleasant warning he could pack into a look. Ross might have been +startled by Furry-face, but now his stubborn streak arose to meet this +implied challenge. He found himself breathing hard and glaring back with +an intensity which he hoped would get across and prove to Baldy that he +would not have everything his own way if he proposed to tangle with +Ross. + +His preoccupation with the stranger on the screen betrayed Ross into the +hands of those from below. He heard their attack on the barricade too +late. By the time he turned around, the cork of seats was heaved up and +a gun was pointing at his middle. His hands went up in small reluctant +jerks as that threat held him where he was. Two of the fur-clad Reds +climbed into the control chamber. + +Ross recognized the leader as Ashe's double, the man he had followed +across time. He blinked for just an instant as he faced Ross and then +shouted an order at his companion. The other spun Murdock around, +bringing his hands down behind him to clamp his wrists together. Once +again Ross fronted the screen and saw Baldy watching the whole scene +with an expression suggesting that he had been shocked out of his +complacent superiority. + +"Ah...." Ross's captors were staring at the screen and the unearthly man +there. Then one flung himself at the control panel and his hands whipped +back and forth, restoring to utter silence both screen and room. + +"What are you?" The man who might have been Ashe spoke slowly in the +Beaker tongue, drilling Ross with his stare as if by the force of his +will alone he could pull the truth out of his prisoner. + +"What do you think I am?" Ross countered. He was wearing the uniform of +Baldy, and he had clearly established contact with the time owners of +this ship. Let that worry the Red! + +But they did not try to answer him. At a signal he was led to the stair. +To descend that ladder with his hands behind him was almost impossible, +and they had to pause at the next level to unclasp the handcuffs and let +him go free. Keeping a gun on him carefully, they hurried along, trying +to push the pace while Ross delayed all he could. He realized that in +his recognition of the power of the gun back in the control chamber, his +surrender to its threat, he had betrayed his real origin. So he must +continue to confuse the trail to the project in every possible way left +to him. He was sure that this time they would not leave him in the first +convenient crevice. + +He knew he was right when they covered him with a fur parka at the +entrance to the ship, once more manacling his hands and dropping a noose +leash on him. + +So, they were taking him back to their post here. Well, in the post was +the time transporter which could return him to his own kind. It would +be, it must be possible to get to that! He gave his captors no more +trouble but trudged, outwardly dispirited, along the rutted way through +the snow up the slope and out of the valley. + +He did manage to catch a good look at the globe-ship. More than half of +it, he judged, was below the surface of the ground. To be so buried it +must either have lain there a long time or, if it were an air vessel, +crashed hard enough to dig itself that partial grave. Yet Ross had +established contact with another ship like it, and neither of the +creatures he had seen were human, at least not human in any way he +knew. + +Ross chewed on that as he walked. He believed that those with him were +looting the ship of its cargo, and by its size, that cargo must be a +large one. But cargo from where? Made by what hands, what _kind_ of +hands? Enroute to what port? And how had the Reds located the ship in +the first place? There were plenty of questions and very few answers. +Ross clung to the hope that somehow he had endangered the Reds' job here +by activating the communication system of the derelict and calling the +attention of its probable owners to its fate. + +He also believed that the owners might take steps to regain their +property. Baldy had impressed him deeply during those few moments of +silent appraisal, and he knew he would not like to be on the receiving +end of any retaliation from the other. Well, now he had only one chance, +to keep the Reds guessing as long as he could and hope for some turn of +fate which would allow him to try for the time transport. How the plate +operated he did not know, but he had been transferred here from the +Beaker age and if he could return to that time, escape might be +possible. He had only to reach the river and follow it down to the sea +where the sub was to make rendezvous at intervals. The odds were +overwhelmingly against him, and Ross knew it. But there was no reason, +he decided, to lie down and roll over dead to please the Reds. + +As they approached the post Ross realized how much skill had gone into +its construction. It looked as if they were merely coming up to the +outer edge of a glacier tongue. Had it not been for the track in the +snow, there would have been no reason to suspect that the ice covered +anything but a thick core of its own substance. Ross was shoved through +the white-walled tunnel to the building beyond. + +He was hurried through the chain of rooms to a door and thrust through, +his hands still fastened. It was dark in the cubby and colder than it +had been outside. Ross stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to +the gloom. It was several moments after the door had slammed shut that +he caught a faint thud, a dull and hollow sound. + +"Who is here?" he used the Beaker speech, determining to keep to the +rags of his cover, which probably was a cover no longer. There was no +reply, but after a pause that distant beat began again. Ross stepped +cautiously forward, and by the simple method of running fullface into +the walls, discovered that he was in a bare cell. He also discovered +that the noise lay behind the left-hand wall, and he stood with his ear +flat against it, listening. The sound did not have the regular rhythm of +a machine in use--there were odd pauses between some blows, others came +in a quick rain. It was as if someone were digging! + +Were the Reds engaged in enlarging their icebound headquarters? Having +listened for a considerable time, Ross doubted that, for the sound was +too irregular. It seemed almost as if the longer pauses were used to +check up on the result of labor--was it the extent of the excavation or +the continued preservation of secrecy? + +Ross slipped down along the wall, his shoulders still resting against +it, and rested with his head twisted so he could hear the tapping. +Meanwhile he flexed his wrists inside the hoops which confined them, and +folding his hands as small as possible, tried to slip them through the +rings. The only result was that he chafed his skin raw to no advantage. +They had not taken off his parka, and in spite of the chill about him, +he was too warm. Only that part of his body covered by the suit he had +taken from the ship was comfortable; he could almost believe that it +possessed some built-in conditioning device. + +With no hope of relief Ross rubbed his hands back and forth against the +wall, scraping the hoops on his wrists. The distant pounding had ceased, +and this time the pause lengthened into so long a period that Ross fell +asleep, his head falling forward on his chest, his raw wrists still +pushed against the surface behind him. + +He was hungry when he awoke, and with that hunger his rebellion sparked +into flame. Awkwardly he got to his feet and lurched along to the door +through which he had been thrown, where he proceeded to kick at the +barrier. The cushiony stuff forming the soles of his tights muffled most +of the force of those blows, but some noise was heard outside, for the +door opened and Ross faced one of the guards. + +"Food! I want to eat!" He put into the Beaker language all the +resentment boiling in him. + +The fellow ignoring him, reached in a long arm, and nearly tossing the +prisoner off balance, dragged him out of the cell. Ross was marched into +another room to face what appeared to be a tribunal. Two of the men +there he knew--Ashe's double and the quiet man who had questioned him +back in the other time station. The third, clearly one of greater +authority, regarded Ross bleakly. + +"Who are you?" the quiet man asked. + +"Rossa, son of Gurdi. And I would eat before I make talk with you. I +have not done any wrong that you should treat me as a barbarian who has +stolen salt from the trading post----" + +"You are an agent," the leader corrected him dispassionately, "of whom +you will tell us in due time. But first you shall speak of the ship, of +what you found there, and why you meddled with the controls.... Wait a +moment before you refuse, my young friend." He raised his hand from his +lap, and once again Ross faced an automatic. "Ah, I see that you know +what I hold--odd knowledge for an innocent Bronze Age trader. And +please have no doubts about my hesitation to use this. I shall not kill +you, naturally," the man continued, "but there are certain wounds which +supply a maximum of pain and little serious damage. Remove his parka, +Kirschov." + +Once more Ross was unmanacled, the fur stripped from him. His questioner +carefully studied the suit he wore under it. "Now you will tell us +exactly what we wish to hear." + +There was a confidence in that statement which chilled Ross; Major +Kelgarries had displayed its like. Ashe had it in another degree, and +certainly it had been present in Baldy. There was no doubt that the +speaker meant exactly what he said. He had at his command methods which +would wring from his captive the full sum of what he wanted, and there +would be no consideration for that captive during the process. + +His implied threat struck as cold as the glacial air, and Ross tried to +meet it with an outward show of uncracked defenses. He decided to pick +and choose from his information, feeding them scraps to stave off the +inevitable. Hope dies very hard, and Ross having been pushed into +corners long before his work at the project, had had considerable +training in verbal fencing with hostile authority. He would volunteer +nothing.... Let it be pulled from him reluctant word by word! He would +spin it out as long as he could and hope that time might fight for him. + +"You are an agent...." + +Ross accepted this statement as one he would neither affirm nor deny. + +"You came to spy under the cover of a barbarian trader," smoothly, +without pause, the man changed language in mid-sentence, slipping from +the Beaker speech into English. + +But long experience in meeting the dangerous with an expression of +complete lack of comprehension was Ross's weapon now. He stared somewhat +stupidly at his interrogator with that bewildered, boyish look he had +so long cultivated to bemuse enemies in his past. + +Whether he could have held out long against the other's skill--for Ross +possessed no illusions concerning the type of examiner he now faced--he +was never to know. Perhaps the drastic interruption that occurred the +next moment saved for Ross a measure of self-esteem. + +There was a distant boom, hollow and thunderous. Underneath and around +them the floor, walls, and ceiling of the room moved as if they had been +pried from their setting of ice and were being rolled about by the +exploring thumb and forefinger of some impatient giant. + + + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +Ross swayed against a guard, was fended off, and bounced against the +wall as the man shouted words Ross could not understand. A determined +roar from the leader brought a semblance of order, but it was plain that +they had not been expecting this. Ross was hustled out of the room back +to his cell. His guards were opening the cell door when a second shock +was felt and he was thrust into safekeeping with no ceremony. + +He half crouched against the questionable security of the wall, waiting +through two more twisting earth waves, both of which were accompanied or +preceded by dull sounds. Bombing! That last wrench was really bad. Ross +found himself lying on the floor, feeling tremors rippling along the +earth. His stomach knotted convulsively with a fear unlike any he had +known before. It was as if the very security of the world had been +jerked from under him. + +But that last explosion--if it was an explosion--appeared to be the end. +Ross sat up gingerly after several long moments during which no more +shocks moved the floor and walls. A line of light marked the door, +showing cracks where none had previously existed. Ross, not yet ready to +try standing erect, was heading toward it on his hands and knees when a +sharp noise behind him brought him to a stop. + +There was no light to see by, but he was certain that the scrape of +metal against metal sounded from the far side of the wall. He crawled +back and put his ear to the surface. Now he heard not only that +scraping, but an undercurrent of clicks, chippings.... + +Under his exploring hands the surface remained as smooth as ever, +however. Then suddenly, perhaps a foot from his head, there sounded a +rip of metal. The wall was being holed from the other side! Ross caught +a flicker of very weak light, and moving in it was the point of a tool +pulling at the smooth surface of the wall. It broke away with a brittle +sound, and a hand holding a light reached through the aperture. + +Ross wondered if he should catch that wrist, but the hope that the +digger might just possibly be an ally kept him motionless. After the +hand with the light whipped back beyond the wall, a wide section gave +away and a hunched figure crawled through, followed by a second. In the +limited glow he saw the first tunneler clearly enough. + +"Assha!" + +Ross was unprepared for what followed his cry. The lean brown man moved +with a panther's striking speed, and Ross was forced back. A hand like a +steel ring on his throat shut the breath away from his bursting lungs; +the other's muscular body held him flat in spite of his struggles. The +light of the small flash glowed inches beyond his eyes as he fought to +fill his lungs. Then the hand on his throat was gone and he gasped, a +little dizzy. + +"Murdock! What are you doing--?" Ashe's clipped voice was muffled by +another sudden explosion. This time the earth tremors not only hurled +them from their feet, but seemed to run along the walls and across the +ceiling. Ross, burying his face in the crook of his arm, could not rid +himself of the fear that the building was being slowly twisted into +scrap. When the shock was over he raised his head. + +"What's going on?" He heard McNeil ask. + +"Attack." That was Ashe. "But why, and by whom--don't ask me! You are a +prisoner, I suppose, Murdock?" + +"Yes, sir." Ross was glad that his voice sounded normal enough. + +He heard someone sigh and guessed it was McNeil. "Another digging +party." There was tired disgust in that. + +"I don't understand," Ross appealed to that section of the dark where +Ashe had been. "Have you been here all the time? Are you trying to dig +your way out? I don't see how you can cut out of this glacier that we're +parked under----" + +"Glacier!" Ashe's exclamation was as explosive as the tremors. "So we're +inside a glacier! That explains it. Yes, we've been here--" + +"On ice!" McNeil commented and then laughed. "Glacier--ice--that's +right, isn't it?" + +"We're collaborating," Ashe continued. "Supplying our dear friends with +a lot of information they already have and some flights of fancy they +never dreamed about. However, they didn't know we had a few surprise +packets of our own strewn about. It's amazing what the boys back at the +project can pack away in a belt, or between layers of hide in a boot. So +we've been engaged in some research of our own----" + +"But I didn't have any escape gadgets." Ross was struck by the +unfairness of that. + +"No," Ashe agreed, his voice even and cold, "they are not entrusted to +first-run men. You might slip up and use them at the wrong moment. +However, you appear to have done fairly well...." + +The heat of Ross's rising anger was chilled by the noise which cracked +over their heads, ground to them through the walls, flattened and +threatened them. He had thought those first shocks the end of this ice +burrow and the world; he knew that this one was. + +And the silence that followed was as threatening in its way as the +clamor had been. Then there was a shout, a shriek. The space of light +near the cell door was widening as that barrier, broken from its lock, +swung open slowly. The fear of being trapped sent the men in that +direction. + +"Out!" + +Ross was ready enough to respond to that order, but they were stopped by +a crackle of sound that could be only one thing--rapid-fire guns. +Somewhere in this warren a fight was in progress. Ross, remembering the +arrogant face of the bald ship's officer, wondered if this was not an +attack in force--the aliens against the looting Reds. If so, would the +ship people distinguish between those found here. He feared not. + +The room outside was clear, but not for long. As they lay watching, two +men backed in, then whirled to stare at each other. A voice roared from +beyond as if ordering them back to some post. One of them took a step +forward in reluctant obedience, but the other grabbed his arm and pulled +him away. They turned to run, and an automatic cracked. + +The man nearest Ross gave a queer little cough and folded forward to his +knees, sprawling on his face. His companion stared at him wildly for an +instant, and then skidded into the passage beyond, escaping by inches a +shot which clipped the door as he lunged through it. + +No one followed, for outside there was a crescendo of noise--shouting, +cries of pain, an unidentifiable hissing. Ashe darted into the room, +taking cover by the body. Then he came back, the fellow's gun in his +hand, and with a jerk of his head summoned the other two. He motioned +them on in a direction away from the sounds of battle. + +"I don't get all this," McNeil commented as they reached the next +passage. "What's going on? Mutiny? Or have our boys gotten through?" + +"It must be the ship people," Ross answered. + +"What ship?" Ashe caught him up swiftly. + +"The big one the Reds have been looting----" + +"Ship?" echoed McNeil. "And _where_ did you get that rig?" In the bright +light it was easy to see Ross's alien dress. McNeil fingered the elastic +material wonderingly. + +"From the ship," Ross returned impatiently. "But if the ship people are +attacking, I don't think they will notice any difference between us and +the Reds...." + +There was a burst of ear-splitting sound. For the third time Ross was +thrown from his feet. This time the burrow lights flickered, dimmed, and +went out. + +"Oh, fine," commented McNeil bitterly out of the dark. "I never did care +for blindman's buff." + +"The transfer plate--" Ross clung to his own plan of escape--"if we can +reach that--" + +The light which had served Ashe and McNeil in their tunneling clicked +on. Since the earth shocks appeared to be over for a while, they moved +on, with Ashe in the lead and McNeil bringing up the rear. Ross hoped +Ashe knew the way. The sound of fighting had died out, so one side or +the other must have gained the victory. They might have only a few +moments left to pass undetected. + +Ross's sense of direction was fairly acute, but he could not have gone +so unerringly to what he sought as Ashe did. Only he did not lead them +to the room with the glowing plate, and Ross stifled a protest as they +came instead to a small record room. + +On a table were three spools of tape which Ashe caught up avidly, +thrusting two in the front of his baggy tunic, passing the third to +McNeil. Then he sped about trying the cupboards on the walls, but all +were locked. His hand falling from the last latch, Ashe came back to the +door where Ross waited. + +"To the plate!" Ross urged. + +Ashe surveyed the cupboards once more regretfully. "If we could have +just ten minutes here----" + +McNeil snorted. "Listen, you may yearn to be the filling in an ice +sandwich, but I don't! Another shock and we'll be buried so deep even a +drill couldn't find us. Let's get out now. The kid is right about +that--if we still can." + +Once more Ashe took the lead and they wove through ghostly rooms to what +must have been the heart of the post--the transfer point. To Ross's +unvoiced relief the plate was glowing. He had been nagged by the fear +that when the lights blew out the transfer plate might also have been +affected. He jumped for the plate. + +Neither Ashe nor McNeil wasted time in joining him there. As they clung +together there was a cry from behind them, underlined by a shot. Ross, +feeling Ashe sag against him, caught him in his arms. By the reflected +glow of the plate he saw the Red leader of the post and behind him, his +hairless face hanging oddly bodiless in the gloom, was the alien. Were +those two now allies? Before Ross could be sure that he had really seen +them, the wracking of space time caught him and the rest of the room +faded away. + +"... free. Get a move on!" + +Ross glanced across Ashe's bowed shoulders to McNeil's excited face. The +other was pulling at Ashe, who was only half-conscious. A stream of +blood from a hole in his bare shoulder soaked the upper edge of his +Beaker tunic, but as they steadied him between them, he gained some +measure of awareness and moved his feet as they pulled him off the +plate. + +Well, they were free if only for a few seconds, and there was no +reception committee waiting for them. Ross gave thanks silently for +those two small favors. But if they were now returned to the Bronze Age +village, they were still in enemy territory. With Ashe wounded, the odds +against them were so high it was almost hopeless. + +Working hurriedly with strips torn from McNeil's kilt, they managed to +stop the flow of blood from Ashe's wound. Although he was still groggy, +he was fighting, driven by the fear which whipped them all--time was one +of their foremost enemies. Ross, Ashe's gun in hand, kept watch on the +transfer plate, ready to shoot at anything appearing there. + +"That will have to do!" Ashe pulled free from McNeil. "We must move." He +hesitated, and then pulling the spools of tape from his bloodstained +tunic, passed them to McNeil. "You'd better carry these." + +"All right," the other answered almost absently. + +"Move!" The force of that order from Ashe sent them into the corridor +beyond. "The plate...." + +But the plate remained clear. And Ross noted that they must have +returned to the proper time, for the walls about them were the logs and +stone of the village he remembered. + +"Someone coming through?" + +"Should be--soon." + +They fled, the hide boots of the other two making only the faintest +whisper of sound, Ross's foam-soled feet none at all. He could not have +found the door to the outer world, but again Ashe guided them, and only +once did they have to seek cover. At last they faced a barred door. Ashe +leaned against the wall, McNeil supporting him, as Ross pulled free the +locking beam. They let themselves out into the night. + +"Which way?" McNeil asked. + +To Ross's surprise Ashe did not turn to the gate in the outer stockade. +Instead he gestured at the mountain wall in the opposite direction. +"They'll expect us to try for the valley pass. So we had better go up +the slope there." + +"That has the look of a tough climb," ventured McNeil. + +Ashe stirred. "When it becomes too tough for me"--his voice was dry--"I +shall say so, never fear." + +He started out with some of his old ease of movement, but his companions +closed in on either side, ready to offer aid. Ross often wondered later +if they could have won free of the village on their own efforts that +night. He was sure their resolution would have been equal to the +attempt, but their escape would have depended upon a fabulous run of +luck such as men seldom encounter. + +As it was, they had just reached a pool of shadow beside a small hut +some two buildings away from the one they had fled, when the fireworks +began. As if on signal the three fugitives threw themselves flat. From +the roof of the building at the center of the village a pencil of +brilliant-green light pointed straight up into the sky, and around that +spear of radiance the roof sprouted tongues of more natural +red-and-yellow flames. Figures shot from doors as the fire lapped down +the peak of the roof. + +"Now!" In spite of the rising clamor, Ashe's voice carried to his two +companions. + +The three sprinted for the palisade, mingling with bewildered men who +ran out of the other cabins. The waves of fire washed on, providing +light, too much light. Ashe and McNeil could pass as part of the crowd, +but Ross's unusual clothing might be easily marked. + +Others were running for the wall. Ross and McNeil boosted Ashe to the +top, saw him over in safety. McNeil followed. Ross was just reaching to +draw himself up when he was enveloped in a beam of light. + +A high, screeching call, unlike any shout he had heard, split the +clamor. Frantically Ross tried for a hold, knowing that he was +presenting a perfect target for those behind. He gained the top of the +stockade, looked down into a black block of shadow, not knowing whether +Ashe and McNeil were waiting for him or had gone ahead. Hearing that +strange cry again, Ross leaped blindly out into the darkness. + +He landed badly, hitting hard enough to bruise, but thanks to the skill +he had learned for parachuting, he broke no bones. He got to his feet +and blundered on in the general direction of the mountain Ashe had +picked as their goal. There were others coming over the wall of the +village and moving through the shadows, so he dared not call out for +fear of alerting the enemy. + +The village had been set in the widest part of the valley. Behind its +stockade the open ground narrowed swiftly, like the point of a funnel, +and all fugitives from the settlement had to pass through that channel +to escape. Ross's worst fear was that he had lost contact with Ashe and +McNeil, and that he would never be able to pick up their trail in the +wilderness ahead. + +Thankful for the dark suit he wore which was protective covering in the +night, he twice ducked into the brush to allow parties of refugees to +pass him. Hearing them speak the guttural clicking speech he had learned +from Ulffa's people, Ross deduced that they were innocent of the +village's real purpose. These people were convinced they had been +attacked by night demons. Perhaps there had only been a handful of Reds +in that hidden retreat. + +Ross pulled himself up a hard climb, and pausing to catch his breath, +looked back. He was not overly surprised to see figures moving leisurely +about the village examining the cabins, perhaps in search of the +inhabitants. Each of those searchers was clad in a form-fitting suit +that matched his own, and their bulbous hairless heads gleamed white in +the firelight. Ross was astonished to see that they passed straight +through walls of flame, apparently unconcerned and unsinged by the heat. + +The human beings trapped in the town wailed and ran, or lay and beat +their heads and hands on the ground, supine before the invaders. Each +captive was dragged back to a knot of aliens near the main building. +Some were hurled out again into the dark, unharmed; a few others were +retained. A sorting of prisoners was plainly in progress. There was no +question that the ship people had followed through into this time, and +that they had their own arrangements for the Reds. + +Ross had no desire to learn the particulars. He started climbing again, +finding the pass at last. Beyond, the ground fell away again, and Ross +went forward into the full darkness of the night with a vast surge of +thankfulness. + +Finally, he stopped simply because he was too weary, too hungry, to keep +on his feet without stumbling, and a fall in the dark on these heights +could be costly. Ross discovered a small hollow behind a stunted tree +and crept into it as best he could, his heart laboring against his ribs, +a hot stab of pain cutting into his side with every breath he drew. + +He awoke all at once with the snap of a fighting man who is alert to +ever present danger. A hand lay warm and hard over his mouth, and above +it his eyes met McNeil's. When he saw that Ross was awake McNeil +withdraw his hand. The morning sunlight was warm about them. Moving +clumsily because of his stiff, bruised body, Ross crawled out of the +hollow. He looked around, but McNeil stood there alone. "Ashe?" Ross +questioned him. + +McNeil, showing a haggard face covered with several days' growth of +rusty-brown beard, nodded his head toward the slope. Fumbling inside his +kilt, he brought out something clenched in his fist and offered it to +Ross. The latter held out his palm and McNeil covered it with a handful +of coarse-ground grain. Just to look at the stuff made Ross long for a +drink, but he mouthed it and chewed, getting up to follow McNeil down +into the tree-grown lower slopes. + +"It's not good." McNeil spoke jerkily, using Beaker speech. "Ashe is out +of his head some of the time. That hole in his shoulder is worse than we +thought it was, and there's always the threat of infection. This whole +wood is full of people flushed out of that blasted village! Most of +them--all I've seen--are natives. But they have it firmly planted in +their minds now that there are devils after them. If they see you +wearing that suit----" + +"I know, and I'd strip if I could," Ross agreed. "But I'll have to get +other clothing first; I can't run bare in this cold." + +"That might be safer," McNeil growled. "I don't know just what happened +back there, but it certainly must have been plenty!" + +Ross swallowed a very dry mouthful of grain and then stooped to scoop up +some leftover snow in the shadow of a tree root. It was not as +refreshing as a real drink, but it helped. "You said Ashe is out of his +head. What do we do for him, and what are your plans?" + +"We have to reach the river, somehow. It drains to the sea, and at its +mouth we are supposed to make contact with the sub." + +The proposal sounded impossible to Ross, but so many impossible things +had happened lately he was willing to go along with the idea--as long as +he could. Gathering up more snow, he stuffed it into his mouth before he +followed the already disappearing McNeil. + + + + +CHAPTER 14 + + +"... that's my half of it. The rest of it you know." Ross held his hands +close to the small fire sheltered in the pit he had helped dig and +flexed his cold-numbed fingers in the warmth. + +From across the handful of flames Ashe's eyes, too bright in a +fever-flushed face, watched him demandingly. The fugitives had taken +cover in an angle where the massed remains of an old avalanche provided +a cave-pocket. McNeil was off scouting in the gray drizzle of the day, +and their escape from the village was now some forty-eight hours behind +them. + +"So the crackpots were right, after all. They only had their times +mixed." Ashe shifted on the bed of brush and leaves they had raked +together for his comfort. + +"I don't understand----" + +"Flying saucers," Ashe returned with an odd little laugh. "It was a wild +possibility, but it was on the books from the start. This certainly will +make Kelgarries turn red----" + +"Flying saucers?" + +Ashe must be out of his head from the fever, Ross supposed. He wondered +what he should do if Ashe tried to get up and walk away. He could not +tackle a man with a bad hole in his shoulder, nor was he certain he +could wrestle Ashe down in a real fight. + +"That globe-ship was never built on this world. Use your head, Murdock. +Think about your furry-faced friend and the baldy with him. Did either +look like normal Terrans to you?" + +"But--a spaceship!" It was something that had so long been laughed to +scorn. When men had failed to break into space after the initial +excitement of the satellite launchings, space flight had become a matter +for jeers. On the other hand, there was the evidence collected by his +own eyes and ears, his own experience. The services of the lifeboat had +been techniques outside of his experience. + +"This was insinuated once"--Ashe was lying flat now, gazing +speculatively up at the projection of logs and earth which made them a +partial roof--"along with a lot of other bright ideas, by a gentleman +named Charles Fort, who took a lot of pleasure in pricking what he +considered to be vastly over-inflated scientific pomposity. He gathered +together four book loads of reported incidents of unexplainable +happenings which he dared the scientists of his day to explain. And one +of his bright suggestions was that such phenomena as the vast artificial +earthworks found in Ohio and Indiana were originally thrown up by space +castaways to serve as S O S signals. An intriguing idea, and now perhaps +we may prove it true." + +"But if such spaceships were wrecked on this world, I still don't see +why we didn't find traces of them in our own time." + +"Because that wreck you explored was bedded in a glacial era. Do you +have any idea how long ago that was, counting from our own time? There +were at least three glacial periods--and we don't know in which one the +Reds went visiting. That age began about a million years before we were +born, and the last of the ice ebbed out of New York State some +thirty-eight thousand years ago, boy. That was the early Stone Age, +reckoning it by the scale of human development, with an extremely thin +population of the first real types of man clinging to a few warmer +fringes of wilderness. + +"Climatic changes, geographical changes, all altered the face of our +continents. There was a sea in Kansas; England was part of Europe. So, +even though as many as fifty such ships were lost here, they could all +have been ground to bits by the ice flow, buried miles deep in quakes, +or rusted away generations before the first really intelligent man +arrived to wonder at them. Certainly there couldn't be too many such +wrecks to be found. What do you think this planet was, a flypaper to +attract them?" + +"But if ships crashed here once, why didn't they later when men were +better able to understand them?" Ross countered. + +"For several reasons--all of them possible and able to be fitted into +the fabric of history as we know it on this world. Civilizations rise, +exist, and fall, each taking with it into the limbo of forgotten things +some of the discoveries which made it great. How did the Indian +civilizations of the New World learn to harden gold into a useable point +for a cutting weapon? What was the secret of building possessed by the +ancient Egyptians? Today you will find plenty of men to argue these +problems and half a hundred others. + +"The Egyptians once had a well-traveled trade route to India. Bronze Age +traders opened up roads down into Africa. The Romans knew China. Then +came an end to each of these empires, and those trade routes were +forgotten. To our European ancestors of the Middle Ages, China was +almost a legend, and the fact that the Egyptians had successfully sailed +around the Cape of Good Hope was unknown. Suppose our space voyagers +represented some star-born confederacy or empire which lived, rose to +its highest point, and fell again into planet-bound barbarism all before +the first of our species painted pictures on a cave wall? + +"Or take it that this world was an unlucky reef on which too many ships +and cargoes were lost, so that our whole solar system was posted, and +skippers of star ships thereafter avoided it? Or they might even have +had some rule that when a planet developed a primitive race of its own, +it was to be left strictly alone until it discovered space flight for +itself." + +"Yes." Every one of Ashe's suppositions made good sense, and Ross was +able to believe them. It was easier to think that both Furry-face and +Baldy were inhabitants of another world than to think their kind existed +on this planet before his own species was born. "But how did the Reds +locate that ship?" + +"Unless that information is on the tapes we were able to bring along, we +shall probably never know," Ashe said drowsily. "I might make one +guess--the Reds have been making an all-out effort for the past hundred +years to open up Siberia. In some sections of that huge country there +have been great climatic changes almost overnight in the far past. +Mammoths have been discovered frozen in the ice with half-digested +tropical plants in their stomach. It's as if the beasts were given some +deep-freeze treatment instantaneously. If in their excavations the Reds +came across the remains of a spaceship, remains well enough preserved +for them to realize what they had discovered, they might start questing +back in time to find a better one intact at an earlier date. That theory +fits everything we know now." + +"But why would the aliens attack the Reds now?" + +"No ship's officers ever thought gently of pirates." Ashe's eyes closed. + +There were questions, a flood of them, that Ross wanted to ask. He +smoothed the fabric on his arm, that stuff which clung so tightly to his +skin yet kept him warm without any need for more covering. If Ashe were +right, on what world, what kind of world, had that material been woven, +and how far had it been brought that he could wear it now? + +Suddenly McNeil slid into their shelter and dropped two hares at the +edge of the fire. + +"How goes it?" he said, as Ross began to clean them. + +"Reasonably well," Ashe, his eyes still closed, replied to that before +Ross could. "How far are we from the river? And do we have company?" + +"About five miles--if we had wings." McNeil answered in a dry tone. "And +we have company all right, lots of it!" + +That brought Ashe up, leaning forward on his good elbow. "What kind?" + +"Not from the village." McNeil frowned at the fire which he fed with +economic handfuls of sticks. "Something's happening on this side of the +mountains. It looks as if there's a mass migration in progress. I +counted five family clans on their way west--all in just this one +morning." + +"The village refugees' stories about devils might send them packing," +Ashe mused. + +"Maybe." But McNeil did not sound convinced. "The sooner we head +downstream, the better. And I hope the boys will have that sub waiting +where they promised. We do possess one thing in our favor--the spring +floods are subsiding." + +"And the high water should have plenty of raft material." Ashe lay back +again. "We'll make those five miles tomorrow." + +McNeil stirred uneasily and Ross, having cleaned and spitted the hares, +swung them over the flames to broil. "Five miles in this country," the +younger man observed, "is a pretty good day's march"--he did not add as +he wanted to--"for a well man." + +"I will make it," Ashe promised, and both listeners knew that as long as +his body would obey him he meant to keep that promise. They also knew +the futility of argument. + +Ashe proved to be a prophet to be honored on two counts. They did make +the trek to the river the next day, and there was a wealth of raft +material marking the high-water level of the spring flood. The +migrations McNeil had reported were still in progress, and the three men +hid twice to watch the passing of small family clans. Once a respectably +sized tribe, including wounded men, marched across their route, seeking +a ford at the river. + +"They've been badly mauled," McNeil whispered as they watched the people +huddled along the water's edge while scouts cast upstream and down, +searching for a ford. When they returned with the news that there was no +ford to be found, the tribesmen then sullenly went to work with flint +axes and knives to make rafts. + +"Pressure--they are on the run." Ashe rested his chin on his good +forearm and studied the busy scene. "These are not from the village. +Notice the dress and the red paint on their faces. They're not like +Ulffa's kin either. I wouldn't say they were local at all." + +"Reminds me of something I saw once--animals running before a forest +fire. They can't all be looking for new hunting territory," McNeil +returned. + +"Reds sweeping them out," Ross suggested. "Or could the ship people--?" + +Ashe started to shake his head and then winced. "I wonder...." The +crease between his level brows deepened. "The ax people!" His voice was +still a whisper, but it carried a note of triumph as if he had fitted +some stubborn jigsaw piece into its proper place. + +"Ax people?" + +"Invasion of another people from the east. They turned up in prehistory +about this period. Remember, Webb spoke of them. They used axes for +weapons and tamed horses." + +"Tartars"--McNeil was puzzled--"This far west?" + +"Not Tartars, no. You needn't expect those to come boiling out of middle +Asia for some thousands of years yet. We don't know too much about the +ax people, save that they moved west from the interior plains. +Eventually they crossed to Britain; perhaps they were the ancestors of +the Celts who loved horses too. But in their time they were a tidal +wave." + +"The sooner we head downstream, the better." McNeil stirred restlessly, +but they knew that they must keep to cover until the tribesmen below +were gone. So they lay in hiding another night, witnessing on the next +morning the arrival of a smaller party of the red-painted men, again +with wounded among them. At the coming of this rear guard the activity +on the river bank rose close to frenzy. + +The three men out of time were doubly uneasy. It was not for them to +merely cross the river. They had to build a raft which would be +water-worthy enough to take them downstream--to the sea if they were +lucky. And to build such a sturdy raft would take time, time they did +not have now. + +In fact, McNeil waited only until the last tribal raft was out of bow +shot before he plunged down to the shore, Ross at his heels. Since they +lacked even the stone tools of the tribesmen, they were at a +disadvantage, and Ross found he was hands and feet for Ashe, working +under the other's close direction. Before night closed in they had a +good beginning and two sets of blistered hands, as well as aching backs. + +When it was too dark to work any longer, Ashe pointed back over the +track they had followed. Marking the mountain pass was a light. It +looked like fire, and if it was, it must be a big one for them to be +able to sight it across this distance. + +"Camp?" McNeil wondered. + +"Must be," Ashe agreed. "Those who built that blaze are in such numbers +that they don't have to take precautions." + +"Will they be here by tomorrow?" + +"Their scouts might, but this is early spring, and forage can't have +been too good on the march. If I were the chief of that tribe, I'd turn +aside into the meadow land we skirted yesterday and let the herds graze +for a day, maybe more. On the other hand, if they need water----" + +"They will come straight ahead!" McNeil finished grimly. "And we can't +be here when they arrive." + +Ross stretched, grimacing at the twinge of pain in his shoulders. His +hands smarted and throbbed, and this was just the beginning of their +task. If Ashe had been fit, they might have trusted to logs for support +and swum downstream to hunt a safer place for their shipbuilding +project. But he knew that Ashe could not stand such an effort. + +Ross slept that night mainly because his body was too exhausted to let +him lie awake and worry. Roused in the earliest dawn by McNeil, they +both crawled down to the water's edge and struggled to bind stubbornly +resisting saplings together with cords twisted from bark. They +reinforced them at crucial points with some strings torn from their +kilts, and strips of rabbit hide saved from their kills of the past few +days. They worked with hunger gnawing at them, having no time now to +hunt. When the sun was well westward they had a clumsy craft which +floated sluggishly. Whether it would answer to either pole or improvised +paddle, they could not know until they tried it. + +Ashe, his face flushed and his skin hot to the touch, crawled on board +and lay in the middle, on the thin heap of bedding they had put there +for him. He eagerly drank the water they carried to him in cupped hands +and gave a little sigh of relief as Ross wiped his face with wet grass, +muttering something about Kelgarries which neither of his companions +understood. + +McNeil shoved off and the bobbing craft spun around dizzily as the +current pulled it free from the shore. They made a brave start, but luck +deserted them before they had gotten out of sight of the spot where they +embarked. + +Striving to keep them in mid-current, McNeil poled furiously, but there +were too many rocks and snagged trees projecting from the banks. Sharing +that sweep of water with them, and coming up fast, was a full-sized +tree. Twice its mat of branches caught on some snag, holding it back, +and Ross breathed a little more freely, but it soon tore free again and +rolled on, as menacing as a battering ram. + +"Get closer to shore!" Ross shouted the warning. Those great, twisted +roots seemed aimed straight at the raft, and he was sure if that mass +struck them fairly, they would not have a chance. He dug in with his own +pole, but his hasty push did not meet bottom; the stake in his hands +plunged into some pothole in the hidden river bed. He heard McNeil cry +out as he toppled into the water, gasping as the murky liquid flooded +his mouth, choking him. + +Half dazed by the shock, Ross struck out instinctively. The training at +the base had included swimming, but to fight water in a pool under +controlled conditions was far different from fighting death in a river +of icy water when one had already swallowed a sizable quantity of that +flood. + +Ross had a half glimpse of a dark shadow. Was it the edge of the raft? +He caught at it desperately, skinning his hands on rough bark, dragged +on by it. The tree! He blinked his eyes to clear them of water, to try +to see. But he could not pull his exhausted body high enough out of the +water to see past the screen of roots; he could only cling to the small +safety he had won and hope that he could rejoin the raft somewhere +downstream. + +After what seemed like a very long time he wedged one arm between two +water-washed roots, sure that the support would hold his head above the +surface. The chill of the stream struck at his hands and head, but the +protection of the alien clothing was still effective, and the rest of +his body was not cold. He was simply too tired to wrest himself free and +trust again to the haphazard chance of making shore through the +gathering dusk. + +Suddenly a shock jarred his body and strained the arm he had thrust +among the roots, wringing a cry out of him. He swung around and brushed +footing under the water; the tree had caught on a shore snag. Pulling +loose from the roots, he floundered on his hands and knees, falling +afoul of a mass of reeds whose roots were covered with stale-smelling +mud. Like a wounded animal he dragged himself through the ooze to higher +land, coming out upon an open meadow flooded with moonlight. + +For a while he lay there, his cold, sore hands under him, plastered with +mud and too tired to move. The sound of a sharp barking aroused him--an +imperative, summoning bark, neither belonging to a wolf nor a hunting +fox. He listened to it dully and then, through the ground upon which he +lay, Ross felt as well as heard the pounding of hoofs. + +Hoofs--horses! Horses from over the mountains--horses which might mean +danger. His mind seemed as dull and numb as his hands, and it took quite +a long time for him to fully realize the menace horses might bring. + +Getting up, Ross noticed a winged shape sweeping across the disk of the +moon like a silent dart. There was a single despairing squeak out of the +grass about a hundred feet away, and the winged shape arose again with +its prey. Then the barking sound once more--eager, excited barking. + +Ross crouched back on his heels and saw a smoky brand of light moving +along the edge of the meadow where the band of trees began. Could it be +a herd guard? Ross knew he had to head back toward the river, but he had +to force himself on the path, for he did not know whether he dared enter +the stream again. But what would happen if they hunted him with the dog? +Confused memories of how water spoiled scent spurred him on. + +Having reached the rising bank he had climbed so laboriously before, +Ross miscalculated and tumbled back, rolling down into the mud of the +reed bed. Mechanically he wiped the slime from his face. The tree was +still anchored there; by some freak the current had rammed its rooted +end up on a sand spit. + +Above in the meadow the barking sounded very close, and now it was +answered by a second canine belling. Ross wormed his way back through +the reeds to the patch of water between the tree and the bank. His few +poor efforts at escape were almost half-consciously taken; he was too +tired to really care now. + +Soon he saw a four-footed shape running along the top of the bank, +giving tongue. It was then joined by a larger and even more vocal +companion. The dogs drew even with Ross, who wondered dully if the +animals could sight him in the shadows below, or whether they only +scented his presence. Had he been able, he would have climbed over the +log and taken his chances in the open water, but now he could only lie +where he was--the tangle of roots between him and the bank serving as a +screen, which would be little enough protection when men came with +torches. + +Ross was mistaken, however, for his worm's progress across the reed bed +had liberally besmeared his dark clothing and masked the skin of his +face and hands, giving him better cover than any he could have +wittingly devised. Though he felt naked and defenseless, the men who +trailed the hounds to the river bank, thrusting out the torch over the +edge to light the sand spit, saw nothing but the trunk of the tree +wedged against a mound of mud. + +Ross heard a confused murmur of voices broken by the clamor of the dogs. +Then the torch was raised out of line of his dazzled eyes. He saw one of +the indistinct figures above cuff away a dog and move off, calling the +hounds after it. Reluctantly, still barking, the animals went. Ross, +with a little sob, subsided limply in the uncomfortable net of roots, +still undiscovered. + + + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +It was such a small thing, a tag of ragged stuff looped about a length +of splintered sapling. Ross climbed stiffly over the welter of drift +caught on the sand spit and pulled it loose, recognizing the string even +before he touched it. That square knot was of McNeil's tying, and as +Murdock sat down weakly in the sand and mud, nervously fingering the +twisted cord, staring vacantly at the river, his last small hope died. +The raft must have broken up, and neither Ashe nor McNeil could have +survived the ultimate disaster. + +Ross Murdock was alone, marooned in a time which was not his own, with +little promise of escape. That one thought blanked out his mind with its +own darkness. What was the use of getting up again, of trying to find +food for his empty stomach, or warmth and shelter? + +He had always prided himself on being able to go it alone, had thought +himself secure in that calculated loneliness. Now that belief had been +washed away in the river along with most of the will power which had +kept him going these past days. Before, there had always been some goal, +no matter how remote. Now, he had nothing. Even if he managed to reach +the mouth of the river, he had no idea of where or how to summon the sub +from the overseas post. All three of the time travelers might already +have been written off the rolls, since they had not reported in. + +Ross pulled the rag free from the sapling and wreathed it in a tight +bracelet about his grimed wrist for some unexplainable reason. Worn and +tired, he tried to think ahead. There was no chance of again contacting +Ulffa's tribe. Along with all the other woodland hunters they must have +fled before the advance of the horsemen. No, there was no reason to go +back, and why make the effort to advance? + +The sun was hot. This was one of those spring days which foretell the +ripeness of summer. Insects buzzed in the reed banks where a green sheen +showed. Birds wheeled and circled in the sky, some flock disturbed, +their cries reaching Ross in hoarse calls of warning. + +He was still plastered with patches of dried mud and slime, the reek of +it thick in his nostrils. Now Ross brushed at a splotch on his knee, +picking loose flakes to expose the alien cloth of his suit underneath, +seemingly unbefouled. All at once it became necessary to be clean again +at least. + +Ross waded into the stream, stooping to splash the brown water over his +body and then rubbing away the resulting mud. In the sunlight the fabric +had a brilliant glow, as if it not only drew the light but reflected it. +Wading farther out into the water, he began to swim, not with any goal +in view, but because it was easier than crawling back to land once more. + +Using the downstream current to supplement his skill, he watched both +banks. He could not really hope to see either the raft or indications +that its passengers had won to shore, but somewhere deep inside him he +had not yet accepted the probable. + +The effort of swimming broke through that fog of inertia which had held +him since he had awakened that morning. It was with a somewhat healthier +interest in life that Ross came ashore again on an arm of what was a bay +or inlet angling back into the land. Here the banks of the river were +well above his head, and believing that he was well sheltered, he +stripped, hanging his suit in the sunlight and letting the unusual heat +of the day soothe his body. + +A raw fish, cornered in the shallows and scooped out, furnished one of +the best meals he had ever tasted. He had reached for the suit draped +over a willow limb when the first and only warning that his fortunes had +once again changed came, swiftly, silently, and with deadly promise. + +One moment the willows had moved gently in the breeze, and then a spear +suddenly set them all quivering. Ross, clutching the suit to him with a +frantic grab, skated about in the sand, going to one knee in his haste. + +He found himself completely at the mercy of the two men standing on the +bank well above him. Unlike Ulffa's people or the Beaker traders, they +were very tall, with heavy braids of light or sun-bleached hair swinging +forward on their wide chests. Their leather tunics hung to mid-thigh +above leggings which were bound to their limbs with painted straps. Cuff +bracelets of copper ringed their forearms, and necklaces of animal teeth +and beads displayed their personal wealth. Ross could not remember +having seen their like on any of the briefing tapes at the base. + +One spear had been a warning, but a second was held ready, so Ross made +the age-old signal of surrender, reluctantly dropping his suit and +raising his hands palm out and shoulder high. + +"Friend?" Ross asked in the Beaker tongue. The traders ranged far, and +perhaps there was a chance they had had contact with this tribe. + +The spear twirled, and the younger stranger effortlessly leaped down the +bank, paddling over to Ross to pick up the suit he had dropped, holding +it up while he made some comment to his companion. He seemed fascinated +by the fabric, pulling and smoothing it between his hands, and Ross +wondered if there was a chance of trading it for his own freedom. + +Both men were armed, not only with the long-bladed daggers favored by +the Beaker folk, but also with axes. When Ross made a slight effort to +lower his hands the man before him reached to his belt ax, growling what +was plainly a warning. Ross blinked, realizing that they might well +knock him out and leave him behind, taking the suit with them. + +Finally, they decided in favor of including him in their loot. Throwing +the suit over one arm, the stranger caught Ross by the shoulder and +pushed him forward roughly. The pebbled beach was painful to Ross's +feet, and the breeze which whipped about him as he reached the top of +the bank reminded him only too forcibly of his ordeal in the glacial +world. + +Murdock was tempted to make a sudden dash out on the point of the bank +and dive into the river, but it was already too late. The man who was +holding the spear had moved behind him, and Ross's wrist, held in a vise +grip at the small of his back, kept him prisoner as he was pushed on +into the meadow. There three shaggy horses grazed, their nose ropes +gathered into the hands of a third man. + +A sharp stone half buried in the ground changed the pattern of the day. +Ross's heel scraped against it, and the resulting pain triggered his +rebellion into explosion. He threw himself backward, his bruised heel +sliding between the feet of his captor, bringing them both to the ground +with himself on top. The other expelled air from his lungs in a grunt +of surprise, and Ross whipped over, one hand grasping the hilt of the +tribesman's dagger while the other, free of that prisoning wrist-lock, +chopped at the fellow's throat. + +Dagger out and ready, Ross faced the men in a half crouch as he had been +drilled. They stared at him in open-mouthed amazement, then too late the +spears went up. Ross placed the point of his looted weapon at the throat +of the now quiet man by whom he knelt, and he spoke the language he had +learned from Ulffa's people. + +"You strike--this one dies." + +They must have read the determined purpose in his eyes, for slowly, +reluctantly, the spears went down. Having gained so much of a victory, +Ross dared more. "Take--" he motioned to the waiting horses--"take and +go!" + +For a moment he thought that this time they would meet his challenge, +but he continued to hold the dagger above the brown throat of the man +who was now moaning faintly. His threat continued to register, for the +other man shrugged the suit from his arm, left it lying on the ground, +and retreated. Holding the nose rope of his horse, he mounted, waved the +herder up also, and both of them rode slowly away. + +The prisoner was slowly coming around, so Ross only had time to pull on +the suit; he had not even fastened the breast studs before those blue +eyes opened. A sunburned hand flashed to a belt, but the dagger and ax +which had once hung there were now in Ross's possession. He watched the +tribesman carefully as he finished dressing. + +"What you do?" The words were in the speech of the forest people, +distorted by a new accent. + +"You go--" Ross pointed to the third horse the others had left +behind--"I go--" he indicated the river--"I take these"--he patted the +dagger and the ax. The other scowled. + +"Not good...." + +Ross laughed, a little hysterically. "Not good you," he agreed, +"good--me!" + +To his surprise the tribesman's stiff face relaxed, and the fellow gave +a bark of laughter. He sat up, rubbing at his throat, a big grin pulling +at the corners of his mouth. + +"You--hunter?" The man pointed northeast to the woodlands fringing the +mountains. + +Ross shook his head. "Trader, me." + +"Trader," the other repeated. Then he tapped one of the wide metal cuffs +at his wrist. "Trade--this?" + +"That. More things." + +"Where?" + +Ross pointed downstream. "By bitter water--trade there." + +The man appeared puzzled. "Why you here?" + +"Ride river water, like you ride," he said, pointing to the horse. "Ride +on trees--many trees tied together. Trees break apart--I come here." + +The conception of a raft voyage apparently got across, for the tribesman +was nodding. Getting to his feet, he walked across to take up the nose +rope of the waiting horse. "You come camp--Foscar. Foscar chief. He like +you show trick how you take Tulka, make him sleep--hold his ax, knife." + +Ross hesitated. This Tulka seemed friendly now, but would that +friendliness last? He shook his head. "I go to bitter water. My chief +there." + +Tulka was scowling again. "You speak crooked words--your chief there!" +He pointed eastward with a dramatic stretch of the arm. "Your chief +speak Foscar. Say he give much these--" he touched his copper +cuffs--"good knives, axes--get you back." + +Ross stared at him without understanding. Ashe? Ashe in this Foscar's +camp offering a reward for him? But how could that be? + +"How you know my chief?" + +Tulka laughed, this time derisively. "You wear shining skin--your chief +wear shiny skin. He say find other shiny skin--give many good things to +man who bring you back." + +Shiny skin! The suit from the alien ship! Was it the ship people? Ross +remembered the light on him as he climbed out of the Red village. He +must have been sighted by one of the spacemen. But why were they +searching for him, alerting the natives in an effort to scoop him up? +What made Ross Murdock so important that they must have him? He only +knew that he was not going to be taken if he could help it, that he had +no desire to meet this "chief" who had offered treasure for his capture. + +"You will come!" Tulka went into action, his mount flashing forward +almost in a running leap at Ross, who stumbled back when horse and rider +loomed over him. He swung up the ax, but it was a weapon with which he +had had no training, too heavy for him. + +As his blow met only thin air the shoulder of the mount hit him, and +Ross went down, avoiding by less than a finger's breadth the thud of an +unshod hoof against his skull. Then the rider landed on him, crushing +him flat. A fist connected with his jaw, and for Ross the sun went out. + +He found himself hanging across a support which moved with a rocking +gait, whose pounding hurt his head, keeping him half dazed. Ross tried +to move, but he realized that his arms were behind his back, fastened +wrist to wrist, and a warm weight centered in the small of his spine to +hold him face down on a horse. He could do nothing except endure the +discomfort as best he could and hope for a speedy end to the gallop. + +Over his head passed the cackle of speech. He caught short glimpses of +another horse matching pace to the one that carried him. Then they swept +into a noisy place where the shouting of many men made a din. The horse +stopped and Ross was pulled from its back and dropped to the trodden +dust, to lie blinking up dizzily, trying to focus on the scene about +him. + +They had arrived at the camp of the horsemen, whose hide tents served as +a backdrop for the fair long-haired giants and the tall women hovering +about to view the captive. The circle about him then broke, and men +stood aside for a newcomer. Ross had believed that his original captors +were physically imposing, but this one was their master. Lying on the +ground at the chieftain's feet, Ross felt like a small and helpless +child. + +Foscar, if Foscar this was, could not yet have entered middle age, and +the muscles which moved along his arms and across his shoulders as he +leaned over to study Tulka's prize made him bear-strong. Ross glared up +at him, that same hot rage which had led to his attack on Tulka now +urging him to the only defiance he had left--words. + +"Look well, Foscar. Free me, and I would do more than _look_ at you," he +said in the speech of the woods hunters. + +Foscar's blue eyes widened and he lowered a fist which could have +swallowed in its grasp both of Ross's hands, linking those great fingers +in the stuff of the suit and drawing the captive to his feet, with no +sign that his act had required any effort. Even standing, Ross was a +good eight inches shorter than the chieftain. Yet he put up his chin and +eyed the other squarely, without giving ground. + +"So--yet still my hands are tied." He put into that all the taunting +inflection he could summon. His reception by Tulka had given him one +faint clue to the character of these people; they might be brought to +acknowledge the worth of one who stood up to them. + +"Child--" The fist shifted from its grip on the fabric covering Ross's +chest to his shoulder, and now under its compulsion Ross swayed back and +forth. + +"Child?" From somewhere Ross raised that short laugh. "Ask Tulka. I be +no child, Foscar. Tulka's ax, Tulka's knife--they were in my hand. A +horse Tulka had to use to bring me down." + +Foscar regarded him intently and then grinned. "Sharp tongue," he +commented. "Tulka lost knife--ax? So! Ennar," he called over his +shoulder, and one of the men stepped out a pace beyond his fellows. + +He was shorter and much younger than his chief, with a boy's rangy +slimness and an open, good-looking face, his eyes bright on Foscar with +a kind of eager excitement. Like the other tribesmen he was armed with +belt dagger and ax, and since he wore two necklaces and both cuff +bracelets and upper armlets as did Foscar, Ross thought he must be a +relative of the older man. + +"Child!" Foscar clapped his hand on Ross's shoulder and then withdrew +the hold. "Child!" He indicated Ennar, who reddened. "You take from +Ennar ax, knife," Foscar ordered, "as you took from Tulka." He made a +sign, and someone cut the thongs about Ross's wrists. + +Ross rubbed one numbed hand against the other, setting his jaw. Foscar +had stung his young follower with that contemptuous "child," so the boy +would be eager to match all his skill against the prisoner. This would +not be as easy as his taking Tulka by surprise. But if he refused, +Foscar might well order him killed out of hand. He had chosen to be +defiant; he would have to do his best. + +"Take--ax, knife--" Foscar stepped back, waving at his men to open out a +ring encircling the two young men. + +Ross felt a little sick as he watched Ennar's hand go to the haft of the +ax. Nothing had been said about Ennar's not using his weapons in +defense, but Ross discovered that there was some sense of sportmanship +in the tribesmen, after all. It was Tulka who pushed to the chief's side +and said something which made Foscar roar bull-voiced at his youthful +champion. + +Ennar's hand came away from the ax hilt as if that polished wood were +white-hot, and he transferred his discomfiture to Ross as the other +understood. Ennar had to win now for his own pride's sake, and Ross felt +_he_ had to win for his life. They circled warily, Ross watching his +opponent's eyes rather than those half-closed hands held at waist level. + +Back at the base he had been matched with Ashe, and before Ashe with the +tough-bodied, skilled, and merciless trainers in unarmed combat. He had +had beaten into his bruised flesh knowledge of holds and blows intended +to save his skin in just such an encounter. But then he had been +well-fed, alert, prepared. He had not been knocked silly and then +transported for miles slung across a horse after days of exposure and +hard usage. It remained to be learned--was Ross Murdock as tough as he +always thought himself to be? Tough or not, he was in this until he +won--or dropped. + +Comments from the crowd aroused Ennar to the first definite action. He +charged, stooping low in a wrestler's stance, but Ross squatted even +lower. One hand flicked to the churned dust of the ground and snapped up +again, sending a cloud of grit into the tribesman's face. Then their +bodies met with a shock, and Ennar sailed over Ross's shoulder to skid +along the earth. + +Had Ross been fresh, the contest would have ended there and then in his +favor. But when he tried to whirl and throw himself on his opponent he +was too slow. Ennar was not waiting to be pinned flat, and it was Ross's +turn to be caught at a disadvantage. + +A hand shot out to catch his leg just above the ankle, and once again +Ross obeyed his teaching, falling easily at that pull, to land across +his opponent. Ennar, disconcerted by the too-quick success of his +attack, was unprepared for this. Ross rolled, trying to escape +steel-fingered hands, his own chopping out in edgewise blows, striving +to serve Ennar as he had Tulka. + +He had to take a lot of punishment, though he managed to elude the +powerful bear's hug in which he knew the other was laboring to engulf +him, a hold which would speedily crush him into submission. Clinging to +the methods he had been taught, he fought on, only now he knew, with a +growing panic, that his best was not good enough. He was too spent to +make an end. Unless he had some piece of great good luck, he could only +delay his own defeat. + +Fingers clawed viciously at his eyes, and Ross did what he had never +thought to do in any fight--he snapped wolfishly, his teeth closing on +flesh as he brought up his knee and drove it home into the body +wriggling on his. There was a gasp of hot breath in his face as Ross +called upon the last few rags of his strength, tearing loose from the +other's slackened hold. He scrambled to one knee. Ennar was also on his +knees, crouching like a four-legged beast ready to spring. Ross risked +everything on a last gamble. Clasping his hands together, he raised them +as high as he could and brought them down on the nape of the other's +neck. Ennar sprawled forward face-down in the dust where seconds later +Ross joined him. + + + + +CHAPTER 16 + + +Murdock lay on his back, gazing up at the laced hides which stretched to +make the tent roofing. Having been battered just enough to feel all one +aching bruise, Ross had lost interest in the future. Only the present +mattered, and it was a dark one. He might have fought Ennar to a +standstill, but in the eyes of the horsemen he had also been beaten, and +he had not impressed them as he had hoped. That he still lived was a +minor wonder, but he deduced that he continued to breathe only because +they wanted to exchange him for the reward offered by the aliens from +out of time, an unpleasant prospect to contemplate. + +His wrists were lashed over his head to a peg driven deeply into the +ground; his ankles were bound to another. He could turn his head from +side to side, but any further movement was impossible. He ate only bits +of food dropped into his mouth by a dirty-fingered slave, a cowed hunter +captured from a tribe overwhelmed in the migration of the horsemen. + +"Ho--taker of axes!" A toe jarred into his ribs, and Ross bit back the +grunt of pain which answered that rude bid for his attention. He saw in +the dim light Ennar's face and was savagely glad to note the +discolorations about the right eye and along the jaw line, the +signatures left by his own skinned knuckles. + +"Ho--warrior!" Ross returned hoarsely, trying to lade that title with +all the scorn he could summon. + +Ennar's hand, holding a knife, swung into his limited range of vision. +"To clip a sharp tongue is a good thing!" The young tribesman grinned as +he knelt down beside the helpless prisoner. + +Ross knew a thrill of fear worse than any pain. Ennar might be about to +do just what he hinted! Instead, the knife swung up and Ross felt the +sawing at the cords about his wrists, enduring the pain in the raw +gouges they had cut in his flesh with gratitude that it was not +mutilation which had brought Ennar to him. He knew that his arms were +free, but to draw them down from over his head was almost more than he +could do, and he lay quiet as Ennar loosed his feet. + +"Up!" + +Without Ennar's hands pulling at him, Ross could not have reached his +feet. Nor did he stay erect once he had been raised, crashing forward on +his face as the other let him go, hot anger eating at him because of his +own helplessness. + +In the end, Ennar summoned two slaves who dragged Ross into the open +where a council assembled about a fire. A debate was in progress, +sometimes so heated that the speakers fingered their knife or ax hilts +when they shouted their arguments. Ross could not understand their +language, but he was certain that he was the subject under discussion +and that Foscar had the deciding vote and had not yet given the nod to +either side. + +Ross sat where the slaves had dumped him, rubbing his smarting wrists, +so deathly weary in mind and beaten in body that he was not really +interested in the fate they were planning for him. He was content merely +to be free of his bonds, a small favor, but one he savored dully. + +He did not know how long the debate lasted, but at length Ennar came to +stand over him with a message. "Your chief--he give many good things for +you. Foscar take you to him." + +"My chief is not here," Ross repeated wearily, making a protest he knew +they would not heed. "My chief sits by the bitter water and waits. He +will be angry if I do not come. Let Foscar fear his anger----" + +Ennar laughed. "You run from your chief. He will be happy with Foscar +when you lie again under his hand. You will not like that--I think it +so!" + +"I think so, too," Ross agreed silently. + +He spent the rest of that night lying between the watchful Ennar and +another guard, though they had the humanity not to bind him again. In +the morning he was allowed to feed himself, and he fished chunks of +venison out of a stew with his unwashed fingers. But in spite of the +messiness, it was the best food he had eaten in days. + +The trip, however, was not to be a comfortable one. He was mounted on +one of the shaggy horses, a rope run under the animal's belly to loop +one foot to the other. Fortunately, his hands were bound so he was able +to grasp the coarse, wiry mane and keep his seat after a fashion. The +nose rope of his mount was passed to Tulka, and Ennar rode beside him +with only half an eye for the path of his own horse and the balance of +his attention for the prisoner. + +They headed northeast, with the mountains as a sharp green-and-white +goal against the morning sky. Though Ross's sense of direction was not +too acute, he was certain that they were making for the general vicinity +of the hidden village, which he believed the ship people had destroyed. +He tried to discover something of the nature of the contact which had +been made between the aliens and the horsemen. + +"How find other chief?" he asked Ennar. + +The young man tossed one of his braids back across his shoulder and +turned his head to face Ross squarely. "Your chief come our camp. Talk +with Foscar--two--four sleeps ago." + +"How talk with Foscar? With hunter talk?" + +For the first time Ennar did not appear altogether certain. He scowled +and then snapped, "He talk--Foscar, us. We hear right words--not woods +creeper talk. He speak to us good." + +Ross was puzzled. How could the alien out of time speak the proper +language of a primitive tribe some thousands of years removed from his +own era? Were the ship people also familiar with time travel? Did they +have their own stations of transfer? Yet their fury with the Reds had +been hot. This was a complete mystery. + +"This chief--he look like me?" + +Again Ennar appeared at a loss. "He wear covering like you." + +"But was he like me?" persisted Ross. He didn't know what he was trying +to learn, only that it seemed important at that moment to press home to +at least one of the tribesmen that he _was_ different from the man who +had put a price on his head and to whom he was to be sold. + +"Not like!" Tulka spoke over his shoulder. "You look like hunter +people--hair, eyes--Strange chief no hair on head, eyes not like----" + +"You saw him too?" Ross demanded eagerly. + +"I saw. I ride to camp--they come so. Stand on rock, call to Foscar. +Make magic with fire--it jump up!" He pointed his arm stiffly at a bush +before them on the trail. "They point little, little spear--fire come +out of the ground and burn. They say burn our camp if we do not give +them man. We say--not have man. Then they say many good things for us if +we find and bring man----" + +"But they are not my people," Ross cut in. "You see, I have hair, I am +not like them. They are bad----" + +"You may be taken in war by them--chief's slave." Ennar had a reply to +that which was logical according to the customs of his own tribe. "They +want slave back--it is so." + +"My people strong too, much magic," Ross pushed. "Take me to bitter +water and they pay much--more than stranger chief!" + +Both tribesmen were amused. "Where bitter water?" asked Tulka. + +Ross jerked his head to the west. "Some sleeps away----" + +"Some sleeps!" repeated Ennar jeeringly. "We ride some sleeps, maybe +many sleeps where we know not the trails--maybe no people there, maybe +no bitter water--all things you say with split tongue so that we not +give you back to master. We go this way not even one sleep--find chief, +get good things. Why we do hard thing when we can do easy?" + +What argument could Ross offer in rebuttal to the simple logic of his +captors? For a moment he raged inwardly at his own helplessness. But +long ago he had learned that giving away to hot fury was no good unless +one did it deliberately to impress, and then only when one had the upper +hand. Now Ross had no hand at all. + +For the most part they kept to the open, whereas Ross and the other two +agents had skulked in wooded areas on their flight through this same +territory. So they approached the mountains from a different angle, and +though he tried, Ross could pick out no familiar landmarks. If by some +miracle he was able to free himself from his captors, he could only head +due west and hope to strike the river. + +At midday their party made camp in a grove of trees by a spring. The +weather was as unseasonably warm as it had been the day before, and +flies, brought out of cold-weather hiding, attacked the stamping horses +and crawled over Ross. He tried to keep them off with swings of his +bound hands, for their bites drew blood. + +Having been tumbled from his mount, he remained fastened to a tree with +a noose about his neck while the horsemen built a fire and broiled +strips of deer meat. + +It would seem that Foscar was in no hurry to get on, since after they +had eaten, the men continued to lounge at ease, some even dropping off +to sleep. When Ross counted faces he learned that Tulka and another had +both disappeared, possibly to contact and warn the aliens they were +coming. + +It was midafternoon before the scouts reappeared, as unobtrusively as +they had gone. They went before Foscar with a report which brought the +chief over to Ross. "We go. Your chief waits--" + +Ross raised his swollen, bitten face and made his usual protest. "Not my +chief!" + +Foscar shrugged. "He say so. He give good things to get you back under +his hand. So--he your chief!" + +Once again Ross was boosted on his mount, and bound. But this time the +party split into two groups as they rode off. He was with Ennar again, +just behind Foscar, with two other guards bringing up the rear. The rest +of the men, leading their mounts, melted into the trees. Ross watched +that quiet withdrawal speculatively. It argued that Foscar did not trust +those he was about to do business with, that he was taking certain +precautions of his own. Only Ross could not see how that distrust, which +might be only ordinary prudence on Foscar's part, could in any way be an +advantage for him. + +They rode at a pace hardly above a walk into a small open meadow +narrowing at the east. Then for the first time Ross was able to place +himself. They were at the entrance to the valley of the village, about +a mile away from the narrow throat above which Ross had lain to spy and +had been captured, for he had come from the north over the spurs of +rising ridges. + +Ross's horse was pulled up as Foscar drove his heel into the ribs of his +own mount, sending it at a brisker pace toward the neck of the valley. +There was a blot of blue there--more than one of the aliens were +waiting. Ross caught his lip between his teeth and bit down on it hard. +He had stood up to the Reds, to Foscar's tribesmen, but he shrank from +meeting those strangers with an odd fear that the worst the men of his +own species could do would be but a pale shadow to the treatment he +might meet at their hands. + +Foscar was now a toy man astride a toy horse. He halted his galloping +mount to sit facing the handful of strangers. Ross counted four of them. +They seemed to be talking, though there was still a good distance +separating the mounted man and the blue suits. + +Minutes passed before Foscar's arm raised in a wave to summon the party +guarding Ross. Ennar kicked his horse to a trot, towing Ross's mount +behind, the other two men thudding along more discreetly. Ross noted +that they were both armed with spears which they carried to the fore as +they rode. + +They were perhaps three quarters of the way to join Foscar, and Ross +could see plainly the bald heads of the aliens as their faces turned in +his direction. Then the strangers struck. One of them raised a weapon +shaped similarly to the automatic Ross knew, except that it was longer +in the barrel. + +Ross did not know why he cried out, except that Foscar had only an ax +and dagger which were both still sheathed at his belt. The chief sat +very still, and then his horse gave a swift sidewise swerve as if in +fright. Foscar collapsed, limp, bonelessly, to the trodden turf, to lie +unmoving face down. + +Ennar whooped, a cry combining defiance and despair in one. He reined up +with violence enough to set his horse rearing. Then, dropping his hold +on the leading rope of Ross's mount, he whirled and set off in a wild +dash for the trees to the left. A spear lanced across Ross's shoulder, +ripping at the blue fabric, but his horse whirled to follow the other, +taking him out of danger of a second thrust. Having lost his +opportunity, the man who had wielded the spear dashed by at Ennar's +back. + +Ross clung to the mane with both hands. His greatest fear was that he +might slip from the saddle pad and since he was tied by his feet, lie +unprotected and helpless under those dashing hoofs. Somehow he managed +to cling to the horse's neck, his face lashed by the rough mane while +the animal pounded on. Had Ross been able to grasp the dangling nose +rope, he might have had a faint chance of controlling that run, but as +it was he could only hold fast and hope. + +He had only broken glimpses of what lay ahead. Then a brilliant fire, as +vivid as the flames which had eaten up the Red village, burst from the +ground a few yards ahead, sending the horse wild. There was more fire +and the horse changed course through the rising smoke. Ross realized +that the aliens were trying to cut him off from the thin safety of the +woodlands. Why they didn't just shoot him as they had Foscar he could +not understand. + +The smoke of the burning grass was thick, cutting between him and the +woods. Might it also provide a curtain behind which he could hope to +escape both parties? The fire was sending the horse back toward the +waiting ship people. Ross could hear a confused shouting in the smoke. +Then his mount made a miscalculation, and a tongue of red licked too +close. The animal screamed, dashing on blindly straight between two of +the blazes and away from the blue-clad men. + +Ross coughed, almost choking, his eyes watering as the stench of singed +hair thickened the smoke. But he had been carried out of the fire circle +and was shooting back into the meadowland. Mount and unwilling rider +were well away from the upper end of that cleared space when another +horse cut in from the left, matching speed to the uncontrolled animal to +which Ross clung. It was one of the tribesmen riding easily. + +The trick worked, for the wild race slowed to a gallop and the other +rider, in a feat of horsemanship at which Ross marveled, leaned from his +seat to catch the dangling nose rope, bringing the runaway against his +own steady steed. Ross shaken, still coughing from the smoke and unable +to sit upright, held to the mane. The gallop slowed to a rocking pace +and finally came to a halt, both horses blowing, white-foam patches on +their chests and their riders' legs. + +Having made his capture, the tribesman seemed indifferent to Ross, +looking back instead at the wide curtain of grass smoke, frowning as he +studied the swift spread of the fire. Muttering to himself, he pulled +the lead rope and brought Ross's horse to follow in the direction from +which Ennar had brought the captive less than a half hour earlier. + +Ross tried to think. The unexpected death of their chief might well mean +his own, should the tribe's desire for vengeance now be aroused. On the +other hand, there was a faint chance that he could now better impress +them with the thought that he was indeed of another clan and that to aid +him would be to work against a common enemy. + +But it was hard to plan clearly, though wits alone could save him now. +The parley which had ended with Foscar's murder had brought Ross a small +measure of time. He was still a captive, even though of the tribesmen +and not the unearthly strangers. Perhaps to the ship people these +primitives were hardly higher in scale than the forest animals. + +Ross did not try to talk to his present guard, who towed him into the +western sun of late afternoon. They halted at last in that same small +grove where they had rested at noon. The tribesman fastened the mounts +and then walked around to inspect the animal Ross had ridden. With a +grunt he loosened the prisoner and spilled him unceremoniously on the +ground while he examined the horse. Ross levered himself up to sight the +mark of the burn across that roan hide where the fire had blistered the +skin. + +Thick handfuls of mud from the side of the spring were brought and +plastered over the seared strip. Then, having rubbed down both animals +with twists of grass, the man came over to Ross, pushed him back to the +ground, and studied his left leg. + +Ross understood. By rights, his thigh should also have been scorched +where the flame had hit, yet he had felt no pain. Now as the tribesman +examined him for a burn, he could not see even the faintest +discoloration of the strange fabric. He remembered how the aliens had +strolled unconcerned through the burning village. As the suit had +insulated him against the cold of the ice, so it would seem that it had +also protected him against the fire, for which he was duly thankful. His +escape from injury was a puzzle to the tribesman, who, failing to find +any trace of burn on him, left Ross alone and went to sit well away from +his prisoner as if he feared him. + +They did not have long to wait. One by one, those who had ridden in +Foscar's company gathered at the grove. The very last to come were Ennar +and Tulka, carrying the body of their chief. The faces of both men were +smeared with dust and when the others sighted the body they, too, rubbed +dust into their cheeks, reciting a string of words and going one by one +to touch the dead chieftain's right hand. + +Ennar, resigning his burden to the others, slid from his tired horse +and stood for a long moment, his head bowed. Then he gazed straight at +Ross and came across the tiny clearing to stand over the man of a later +time. The boyishness which had been a part of him when he had fought at +Foscar's command was gone. His eyes were merciless as he leaned down to +speak, shaping each word with slow care so that Ross could understand +the promise--that frightful promise: + +"Woods rat, Foscar goes to his burial fire. And he shall take a slave +with him to serve him beyond the sky--a slave to run at his voice, to +shake when he thunders. Slave-dog, you shall run for Foscar beyond the +sky, and he shall have you forever to walk upon as a man walks upon the +earth. I, Ennar, swear that Foscar shall be sent to the chiefs in the +sky in all honor. And that you, dog-one, shall lie at his feet in that +going!" + +He did not touch Ross, but there was no doubt in Ross's mind that he +meant every word he spoke. + + + + +CHAPTER 17 + + +The preparations for Foscar's funeral went on through the night. A +wooden structure, made up of tied fagots dragged in from the woodland, +grew taller beyond the big tribal camp. The constant crooning wail of +the women in the tents produced a minor murmur of sound, enough to drive +a man to the edge of madness. Ross had been left under guard where he +could watch it all, a refinement of torture which he would earlier have +believed too subtle for Ennar. Though the older men carried minor +commands among the horsemen, because Ennar was the closest of blood kin +among the adult males, he was in charge of the coming ceremony. + +The pick of the horse herd, a roan stallion, was brought in to be +picketed near Ross as sacrifice number two, and two of the hounds were +in turn leashed close by. Foscar, his best weapons to hand and a red +cloak lapped about him, lay waiting on a bier. Near-by squatted the +tribal wizard, shaking his thunder rattle and chanting in a voice which +approached a shriek. This wild activity might have been a scene lifted +directly from some tape stored at the project base. It was very +difficult for Ross to remember that this was reality, that he was to be +one of the main actors in the coming event, with no timely aid from +Operation Retrograde to snatch him to safety. + +Sometime during that nightmare he slept, his weariness of body +overcoming him. He awoke, dazed, to find a hand clutching his mop of +hair, pulling his head up. + +"You sleep--you do not fear, Foscar's dog-one?" + +Groggily Ross blinked up. Fear? Sure, he was afraid. Fear, he realized +with a clear thrust of consciousness such as he had seldom experienced +before, had always stalked beside him, slept in his bed. But he had +never surrendered to it, and he would not now if he could help it. + +"I do not fear!" He threw that creed into Ennar's face in one hot boast. +He _would_ not fear! + +"We shall see if you speak so loudly when the fire bites you!" The other +spat, yet in that oath there was a reluctant recognition of Ross's +courage. + +"When the fire bites...." That sang in Ross's head. There was something +else--if he could only remember! Up to that moment he had kept a poor +little shadow of hope. It is always impossible--he was conscious again +with that strange clarity of mind--for a man to face his own death +honestly. A man always continues to believe to the last moment of his +life that something will intervene to save him. + +The men led the horse to the mound of fagots which was now crowned with +Foscar's bier. The stallion went quietly, until a tall tribesman struck +true with an ax, and the animal fell. The hounds were also killed and +laid at their dead master's feet. + +But Ross was not to fare so easily. The wizard danced about him, a +hideous figure in a beast mask, a curled fringe of dried snakeskins +swaying from his belt. Shaking his rattle, he squawked like an angry +cat as they pulled Ross to the stacked wood. + +Fire--there was something about fire--if he could only remember! Ross +stumbled and nearly fell across one leg of the dead horse they were +propping into place. Then he remembered that tongue of flame in the +meadow grass which had burned the horse but not the rider. His hands and +his head would have no protection, but the rest of his body was covered +with the flame-resistant fabric of the alien suit. Could he do it? There +was such a slight chance, and they were already pushing him onto that +mound, his hands tied. Ennar stooped, and bound his ankles, securing him +to the brush. + +So fastened, they left him. The tribe ringed around the pyre at a safe +distance, Ennar and five other men approaching from different +directions, torches aflame. Ross watched those blazing knots thrust into +the brush and heard the crackle of the fire. His eyes, hard and +measuring, studied the flash of flame from dried brush to seasoned wood. + +A tongue of yellow-red flame licked up at him. Ross hardly dared to +breathe as it wreathed about his foot, his hide fetters smoldering. The +insulation of the suit did not cut all the heat, but it allowed him to +stay put for the few seconds he needed to make his escape spectacular. + +The flame had eaten through his foot bonds, and yet the burning +sensation on his feet and legs was no greater than it would have been +from the direct rays of a bright summer sun. Ross moistened his lips +with his tongue. The impact of heat on his hands and his face was +different. He leaned down, held his wrists to the flame, taking in +stoical silence the burns which freed him. + +Then, as the fire curled up so that he seemed to stand in a frame of +writhing red banners, Ross leaped through that curtain, protecting his +bowed head with his arms as best he could. But to the onlookers it +seemed he passed unhurt through the heart of a roaring fire. + +He kept his footing and stood facing that part of the tribal ring +directly before him. He heard a cry, perhaps of fear, and a blazing +torch flew through the air and struck his hip. Although he felt the +force of the blow, the burning bits of the head merely slid down his +thigh and leg, leaving no mark on the smooth blue fabric. + +"Ahhhhhhh!" + +Now the wizard capered before him, shaking his rattle to make a +deafening din. Ross struck out, slapping the sorcerer out of his path, +and stooped to pick up the smoldering brand which had been thrown at +him. Whirling it about his head, though every movement was torture to +his scorched hands, he set it flaming once more. Holding it in front of +him as a weapon, he stalked directly at the men and women before him. + +The torch was a poor enough defense against spears and axes, but Ross +did not care--he put into this last gamble all the determination he +could summon. Nor did he realize what a figure he presented to the +tribesmen. A man who had crossed a curtain of fire without apparent +hurt, who appeared to wash in tongues of flame without harm, and who now +called upon fire in turn as a weapon, was no man but a demon! + +The wall of people wavered and broke. Women screamed and ran; men +shouted. But no one threw a spear or struck with an ax. Ross walked on, +a man possessed, looking neither to the right or left. He was in the +camp now, stalking toward the fire burning before Foscar's tent. He did +not turn aside for that either, but holding the torch high, strode +through the heart of the flames, risking further burns for the sake of +insuring his ultimate safety. + +The tribesmen melted away as he approached the last line of tents, with +the open land beyond. The horses of the herd, which had been driven to +this side to avoid the funeral pyre, were shifting nervously, the scent +of burning making them uneasy. + +Once more Ross whirled the dying torch about his head. Recalling how the +aliens had sent his horse mad, he tossed it behind him into the grass +between the tents and the herd. The tinder-dry stuff caught immediately. +Now if the men tried to ride after him, they would have trouble. + +Without hindrance he walked across the meadow at the same even pace, +never turning to look behind. His hands were two separate worlds of +smarting pain; his hair and eyebrows were singed, and a finger of burn +ran along the angle of his jaw. But he was free, and he did not believe +that Foscar's men would be in any haste to pursue him. Somewhere before +him lay the river, the river which ran to the sea. Ross walked on in the +sunny morning while behind him black smoke raised a dark beacon to the +sky. + +Afterward he guessed that he must have been lightheaded for several +days, remembering little save the pain in his hands and the fact that it +was necessary to keep moving. Once he fell to his knees and buried both +hands in the cool, moist earth where a thread of stream trickled from a +pool. The muck seemed to draw out a little of the agony while he drank +with a fever thirst. + +Ross seemed to move through a haze which lifted at intervals during +which he noted his surroundings, was able to recall a little of what lay +behind him, and to keep to the correct route. However, the gaps of time +in between were forever lost to him. He stumbled along the banks of a +river and fronted a bear fishing. The massive beast rose on its hind +legs, growled, and Ross walked by it uncaring, unmenaced by the puzzled +animal. + +Sometimes he slept through the dark periods which marked the nights, or +he stumbled along under the moon, nursing his hands against his breast, +whimpering a little when his foot slipped and the jar of that mishap ran +through his body. Once he heard singing, only to realize that it was +himself who sang hoarsely a melody which would be popular thousands of +years later in the world through which he wavered. But always Ross knew +that he must go on, using that thick stream of running water as a guide +to his final goal, the sea. + +After a long while those spaces of mental clarity grew longer, appearing +closer together. He dug small shelled things from under stones along the +river and ate them avidly. Once he clubbed a rabbit and feasted. He +sucked birds' eggs from a nest hidden among some reeds--just enough to +keep his gaunt body going, though his gray eyes were now set in what was +almost a death's-head. + +Ross did not know just when he realized that he was again being hunted. +It started with an uneasiness which differed from his previous +fever-bred hallucinations. This was an inner pulling, a growing +compulsion to turn and retrace his way back toward the mountains to meet +something, or someone, waiting for him on the backward path. + +But Ross kept on, fearing sleep now and fighting it. For once he had +lain down to rest and had wakened on his feet, heading back as if that +compulsion had the power to take over his body when his waking will was +off guard. + +So he rested, but he dared not sleep, the desire constantly tearing at +his will, striving to take over his weakened body and draw it back. +Perhaps against all reason he believed that it was the aliens who were +trying to control him. Ross did not even venture to guess why they were +so determined to get him. If there were tribesmen on his trail as well, +he did not know, but he was sure that this was now purely a war of +wills. + +As the banks of the river were giving way to marshes, he had to wade +through mud and water, detouring the boggy sections. Great clouds of +birds whirled and shrieked their protests at his coming, and sleek water +animals paddled and poked curious heads out of the water as this +two-legged thing walked mechanically through their green land. Always +that pull was with him, until Ross was more aware of fighting it than of +traveling. + +Why did they want him to return? Why did they not follow him? Or were +they afraid to venture too far from where they had come through the +transfer? Yet the unseen rope which was tugging at him did not grow less +tenuous as he put more distance between himself and the mountain valley. +Ross could understand neither their motives nor their methods, but he +could continue to fight. + +The bog was endless. He found an island and lashed himself with his suit +belt to the single willow which grew there, knowing that he must have +sleep, or he could not hope to last through the next day. Then he slept, +only to waken cold, shaking, and afraid. Shoulder deep in a pool, he was +aware that in his sleep he must have opened the belt buckle and freed +himself, and only the mishap of falling into the water had brought him +around to sanity. + +Somehow he got back to the tree, rehooked the buckle and twisted the +belt around the branches so that he was sure he could not work it free +until daybreak. He lapsed into a deepening doze, and awoke, still safely +anchored, with the morning cries of the birds. Ross considered the suit +as he untangled the belt. Could the strange clothing be the tie by which +the aliens held to him? If he were to strip, leaving the garment behind, +would he be safe? + +He tried to force open the studs across his chest, but they would not +yield to the slight pressure which was all his seared fingers could +exert, and when he pulled at the fabric, he was unable to tear it. So, +still wearing the livery of the off-world men, Ross continued on his +way, hardly caring where he went or how. The mud plastered on him by his +frequent falls was some protection against the swarm of insect life his +passing stirred into attack. However, he was able to endure a swollen +face and slitted eyes, being far more conscious of the wrenching feeling +within him than the misery of his body. + +The character of the marsh began to change once more. The river was +splitting into a dozen smaller streams, shaping out fanlike. Looking +down at this from one of the marsh hillocks, Ross knew a faint surge of +relief. Such a place had been on the map Ashe had made them memorize. He +was close to the sea at last, and for the moment that was enough. + +A salt-sharpened wind cut at him with the force of a fist in the face. +In the absence of sunlight the leaden clouds overhead set a winterlike +gloom across the countryside. To the constant sound of birdcalls Ross +tramped heavily through small pools, beating a path through tangles of +marsh grass. He stole eggs from nests, sucking his nourishment eagerly +with no dislike for the fishy flavor, and drinking from stagnant, +brackish ponds. + +Suddenly Ross halted, at first thinking that the continuous roll of +sound he heard was thunder. Yet the clouds overhead were massed no more +than before and there was no sign of lightning. Continuing on, he +realized that the mysterious sound was the pounding of surf--he was near +the sea! + +Willing his body to run, he weaved forward at a reeling trot, pitting +all his energy against the incessant pull from behind. His feet skidded +out of marsh mud into sand. Ahead of him were dark rocks surrounded by +the white lace of spray. + +Ross headed straight toward that spray until he stood knee-deep in the +curling, foam-edged water and felt its tug on his body almost as strong +as that other tug upon his mind. He knelt, letting the salt water sting +to life every cut, every burn, sputtering as it filled his mouth and +nostrils, washing from him the slime of the bog lands. It was cold and +bitter, but it was the sea! He had made it! + +Ross Murdock staggered back and sat down suddenly in the sand. Glancing +about, he saw that his refuge was a rough triangle between two of the +small river arms, littered with the debris of the spring floods which +had grounded here after rejection by the sea. Although there was plenty +of material for a fire, he had no means of kindling a flame, having lost +the flint all Beaker traders carried for such a purpose. + +This was the sea, and against all odds he had reached it. He lay back, +his self-confidence restored to the point where he dared once more to +consider the future. He watched the swooping flight of gulls drawing +patterns under the clouds above. For the moment he wanted nothing more +than to lie here and rest. + +But he did not surrender to this first demand of his over-driven body +for long. Hungry and cold, sure that a storm was coming, he knew he had +to build a fire--a fire on shore could provide him with the means of +signaling the sub. Hardly knowing why--because one part of the coastline +was as good as another--Ross began to walk again, threading a path in +and out among the rocky outcrops. + +So he found it, a hollow between two such windbreaks within which was a +blackened circle of small stones holding charred wood, with some empty +shells piled near-by. Here was unmistakable evidence of a camp! Ross +plunged forward, thrusting a hand impetuously into the black mass of the +dead fire. To his astonishment, he touched warmth! + +Hardly daring to disturb those precious bits of charcoal, he dug around +them, then carefully blew into what appeared to be dead ashes. There was +an answering glow! He could not have just imagined it. + +From a pile of wood that had been left behind, Ross snatched a small +twig, poking it at the coal after he had rubbed it into a brush on the +rough rock. He watched, all one ache of hope. The twig caught! + +With his stiff fingers so clumsy, he had to be very careful, but Ross +had learned patience in a hard school. Bit by bit he fed that tiny blaze +until he had a real fire. Then, leaning back against the rock, he +watched it. + +It was now obvious that the placement of the original fire had been +chosen with care, for the outcrops gave it wind shelter. They also +provided a dark backdrop, partially hiding the flames on the landward +side but undoubtedly making them more visible from the sea. The site +seemed just right for a signal fire--but to what? + +Ross's hands shook slightly as he fed the blaze. It was only too clear +why anyone would make a signal on this shore. McNeil--or perhaps both he +and Ashe--had survived the breakup of the raft, after all. They had +reached this point--abandoned no earlier than this morning, judging by +the life remaining in the coals--and put up the signal. Then, just as +arranged, they had been collected by the sub, by now on its way back to +the hidden North American post. There was no hope of any pickup for him +now. Just as he had believed them dead after he had found that rag on +the sapling, so they must have thought him finished after his fall in +the river. He was just a few hours too late! + +Ross folded his arms across his hunched knees and rested his head on +them. There was no possible way he could ever reach the post or his own +kind--ever again. Thousands of miles lay between him and the temporary +installation in this time. + +He was so sunk in his own complete despair that he was long unaware of +finally being free of the pressure to turn back which had so long +haunted him. But as he roused to feed the fire he got to wondering. Had +those who hunted him given up the chase? Since he had lost his own race +with time, he did not really care. What did it matter? + +The pile of wood was getting low, but he decided that did not matter +either. Even so, Ross got to his feet, moving over to the drifts of +storm wrack to gather more. Why should he stay here by a useless beacon? +But somehow he could not force himself to move on, as futile as his +vigil seemed. + +Dragging the sun-dried, bleached limbs of long-dead trees to his half +shelter, he piled them up, working until he laughed at the barricade he +had built. "A siege!" For the first time in days he spoke aloud. "I +might be ready for a siege...." He pulled over another branch, added it +to his pile, and kneeled down once more by the flames. + +There were fisherfolk to be found along this coast, and tomorrow when he +was rested he would strike south and try to find one of their primitive +villages. Traders would be coming into this territory now that the +Red-inspired raiders were gone. If he could contact them.... + +But that spark of interest in the future died almost as soon as it was +born. To be a Beaker trader as an agent for the project was one thing, +to live the role for the rest of his life was something else. + +Ross stood by his fire, staring out to sea for a sign he knew he would +never see again as long as he lived. Then, as if a spear had struck +between his shoulder blades, he was attacked. + +The blow was not physical, but came instead as a tearing, red pain in +his head, a pressure so terrible he could not move. He knew instantly +that behind him now lurked the ultimate danger. + + + + +CHAPTER 18 + + +Ross fought to break that hold, to turn his head, to face the peril +which crept upon him now. Unlike anything he had ever met before in his +short lifetime, it could only have come from some alien source. This +strange encounter was a battle of will against will! The same rebellion +against authority which had ruled his boyhood, which had pushed him into +the orbit of the project, stiffened him to meet this attack. + +He was going to turn his head; he was going to see who stood there. He +_was_! Inch by inch, Ross's head came around, though sweat stung his +seared and bitten flesh, and every breath was an effort. He caught a +half glimpse of the beach behind the rocks, and the stretch of sand was +empty. Overhead the birds were gone--as if they had never existed. Or, +as if they had been swept away by some impatient fighter, who wanted no +distractions from the purpose at hand. + +Having successfully turned his head, Ross decided to turn his body. His +left hand went out, slowly, as if it moved some great weight. His palm +gritted painfully on the rock and he savored that pain, for it pierced +through the dead blanket of compulsion that was being used against him. +Deliberately he ground his blistered skin against the stone, +concentrating on the sharp torment in his hand as the agony shot up his +arm. While he focused his attention on the physical pain, he could feel +the pressure against him weaken. Summoning all his strength, Ross swung +around in a movement which was only a shadow of his former feline grace. + +The beach was still empty, except for the piles of driftwood, the rocks, +and the other things he had originally found there. Yet he knew that +something was waiting to pounce. Having discovered that for him pain was +a defense weapon, he had that one resource. If they took him, it would +be after besting him in a fight. + +Even as he made this decision, Ross was conscious of a curious weakening +of the force bent upon him. It was as if his opponents had been +surprised, either at his simple actions of the past few seconds or at +his determination. Ross leaped upon that surprise, adding it to his +stock of unseen weapons. + +He leaned forward, still grinding his torn hand against the rock as a +steadying influence, took up a length of dried wood, and thrust its end +into the fire. Having once used fire to save himself, he was ready and +willing to do it again, although at the same time, another part of him +shrank from what he intended. + +Holding his improvised torch breast-high, Ross stared across it, +searching the land for the faintest sign of his enemies. In spite of the +fire and the light he held before him, the dusk prevented him from +seeing too far. Behind him the crash of the surf could have covered the +noise of a marching army. + +"Come and get me!" + +He whirled his brand into bursting life and then hurled it straight into +the drift among the dunes. He was grabbing for a second brand almost +before the blazing head of the first had fallen into the twisted, +bleached roots of a dead tree. + +He stood tense, a second torch now kindled in his hand. The sharp vise +of another's will which had nipped him so tightly a moment ago was +easing, slowly disappearing as water might trickle away. Yet he could +not believe that this small act of defiance had so daunted his unseen +opponent as to make him give up the struggle this easily. It was more +likely the pause of a wrestler seeking for a deadlier grip. + +The brand in his hand--Ross's second line of defense--was a weapon he +was loath to use, but would use if he were forced to it. He kept his +hand mercilessly flat against the rock as a reminder and a spur. + +Fire twisted and crackled among the driftwood where the first torch had +lodged, providing a flickering light yards from where he stood. He was +grateful for it in the gloom of the gathering storm. If they would only +come to open war before the rain struck.... + +Ross sheltered his torch with his body as spray, driven inward from the +sea, spattered his shoulders and his back. If it rained, he would lose +what small advantage the fire gave him, but then he would find some +other way to meet them. They would neither break him nor take him, even +if he had to wade into the sea and swim out into the lash of the cold +northern waves until he could not move his tired limbs any longer. + +Once again that steel-edge will struck at Ross, probing his +stubbornness, assaulting his mind. He whirled the torch, brought the +scorching breath of the flame across the hand resting on the rock. +Unable to control his own cry of protest, he was not sure he had the +fortitude to repeat such an act. + +He had won again! The pressure had fallen away in a flick, almost as if +some current had been snapped off. Through the red curtain of his +torment Ross sensed a surprise and disbelief. He was unaware that in +this queer duel he was using both a power of will and a depth of +perception he had never known he possessed. Because of his daring, he +had shaken his opponents as no physical attack could have affected them. + +"Come and get me!" He shouted again at the barren shoreline where the +fire ate at the drift and nothing stirred, yet something very much alive +and conscious lay hidden. This time there was more than simple challenge +in Ross's demand--there was a note of triumph. + +The spray whipped by him, striking at his fire, at the brand he held. +Let the sea water put both out! He would find another way of fighting. +He was certain of that, and he sensed that those out there knew it too +and were troubled. + +The fire was being driven by the wind along the crisscross lines of +bone-white wood left high on the beach, forming a wall of flame between +him and the interior, not, however, an insurmountable barrier to +whatever lurked there. + +Again Ross leaned against the rock, studying the length of beach. Had he +been wrong in thinking that they were within the range of his voice? The +power they had used might carry over a greater distance. + +"Yahhhh--" Instead of a demand, he now voiced a taunting cry, screaming +his defiance. Some wild madness had been transmitted to him by the +winds, the roaring sea, his own pain. Ready to face the worst they could +send against him, he tried to hurl that thought back at them as they had +struck with their united will at him. No answer came to his challenge, +no rise to counter-attack. + +Moving away from the rock, Ross began to walk forward toward the burning +drift, his torch ready in his hand. "I am here!" he shouted into the +wind. "Come out--face me!" + +It was then that he saw those who had tracked him. Two tall thin +figures, wearing dark clothes, were standing quietly watching him, their +eyes dark holes in the white ovals of their faces. + +Ross halted. Though they were separated by yards of sand and rock and a +burning barrier, he could feel the force they wielded. The nature of +that force had changed, however. Once it had struck with a vigorous +spear point; now it formed a shield of protection. Ross could not break +through that shield, and they dared not drop it. A stalemate existed +between them in this strange battle, the like of which Ross's world had +not known before. + +He watched those expressionless white faces, trying to find some reply +to the deadlock. There flashed into his mind the certainty that while he +lived and moved, and they lived and moved, this struggle, this unending +pursuit, would continue. For some mysterious reason they wanted to have +him under their control, but that was never going to happen if they all +had to remain here on this strip of water-washed sand until they starved +to death! Ross tried to drive that thought across to them. + +"Murrrrdock!" That croaking cry borne out of the sea by the wind might +almost have come from the bill of a sea bird. + +"Murrrrdock!" + +Ross spun around. Visibility had been drastically curtailed by the +lowering clouds and the dashing spray, but he could see a round dark +thing bobbing on the waves. The sub? A raft? + +Sensing a movement behind him, Ross wheeled about as one of the alien +figures leaped the blazing drift, heedless of the flames, and ran +light-footedly toward him in what could only be an all-out attempt at +capture. The man had ready a weapon like the one that had felled Foscar. +Ross threw himself at his opponent in a reckless dive, falling on him +with a smashing impact. + +In Ross's grasp the alien's body was fragile, but he moved fluidly as +Murdock fought to break his grip on the hand weapon and pin him to the +sand. Ross was too intent upon his own part of the struggle to heed the +sounds of a shot over his head and a thin, wailing cry. He slammed his +opponent's hand against a stone, and the white face, inches away from +his own, twisted silently with pain. + +Fumbling for a better hold, Ross was sent rolling. He came down on his +left hand with a force which brought tears to his eyes and stopped him +just long enough for the other to regain his feet. + +The blue-suited man sprinted back to the body of his fellow where it lay +by the drift. He slung his unconscious comrade over the barrier with +more ease than Ross would have believed possible and vaulted the barrier +after him. Ross, half crouched on the sand, felt unusually light and +empty. The strange tie which had drawn and held him to the strangers had +been broken. + +"Murdock!" + +A rubber raft rode in on the waves, two men aboard it. Ross got up, +pulling at the studs of his suit with his right hand. He could believe +in what he saw now--the sub had not left, after all. The two men running +toward him through the dusk were of his own kind. + +"Murdock!" + +It did not seem at all strange that Kelgarries reached him first. Ross, +caught up in this dream, appealed to the major for aid with the studs. +If the strangers from the ship did trace him by the suit, they were not +going to follow the sub back to the post and serve the project as they +had the Reds. + +"Got--to--get--this--off--" He pulled the words out one by one, tugging +frantically at the stubborn studs. "They can trace this and follow +us--" + +Kelgarries needed no better explanation. Ripping loose the fastenings, +he pulled the clinging fabric from Ross, sending him reeling with pain +as he pulled the left sleeve down the younger man's arm. + +The wind and spray were ice on his body as they dragged him down to the +raft, bundling him aboard. He did not at all remember their arrival on +board the sub. He was lying in the vibrating heart of the undersea ship +when he opened his eyes to see Kelgarries regarding him intently. Ashe, +a coat of bandage about his shoulder and chest, lay on a neighboring +bunk. McNeil stood watching a medical corpsman lay out supplies. + +"He needs a shot," the medic was saying as Ross blinked at the major. + +"You left the suit--back there?" Ross demanded. + +"We did. What's this about them tracing you by it? Who was tracing you?" + +"Men from the space ship. That's the only way they could have trailed me +down the river." He was finding it difficult to talk, and the protesting +medic kept waving a needle in his direction, but somehow in bursts of +half-finished sentences Ross got out his story--Foscar's death, his own +escape from the chief's funeral pyre, and the weird duel of wills back +on the beach. Even as he poured it out he thought how unlikely most of +it must sound. Yet Kelgarries appeared to accept every word, and there +was no expression of disbelief on Ashe's face. + +"So that's how you got those burns," said the major slowly when Ross had +finished his story. "Deliberately searing your hand in the fire to break +their hold--" He crashed his fist against the wall of the tiny cabin and +then, when Ross winced at the jar, he hurriedly uncurled those fingers +to press Ross's shoulder with a surprisingly warm and gentle touch. "Put +him to sleep," he ordered the medic. "He deserves about a month of it, +I should judge. I think he has brought us a bigger slice of the future +than we had hoped for...." + +Ross felt the prick of the needle and then nothing more. Even when he +was carried ashore at the post and later when he was transported into +his proper time, he did not awaken. He only approached a strange dreamy +state in which he ate and drowsed, not caring for the world beyond his +own bunk. + +But there came a day when he did care, sitting up to demand food with a +great deal of his old self-assertion. The doctor looked him over, +permitting him to get out of bed and try out his legs. They were +exceedingly uncooperative at first, and Ross was glad he had tried to +move only from his bunk to a waiting chair. + +"Visitors welcome?" + +Ross looked up eagerly and then smiled, somewhat hesitatingly, at Ashe. +The older man wore his arm in a sling but otherwise seemed his usual +imperturbable self. + +"Ashe, tell me what happened. Are we back at the main base? What about +the Reds? We weren't traced by the ship people, were we?" + +Ashe laughed. "Did Doc just wind you up to let you spin, Ross? Yes, this +is home, sweet home. As for the rest--well, it is a long story, and we +are still picking up pieces of it here and there." + +Ross pointed to the bunk in invitation. "Can you tell me what is known?" +He was still somewhat at a loss, his old secret awe of Ashe tempering +his outward show of eagerness. Ross still feared one of those snubs the +other so well knew how to deliver to the bumptious. But Ashe did come in +and sit down, none of his old formality now in evidence. + +"You have been a surprise package, Murdock." His observation had some +of the ring of the old Ashe, but there was no withdrawal behind the +words. "Rather a busy lad, weren't you, after you were bumped off into +that river?" + +Ross's reply was a grimace. "You heard all about that!" He had no time +for his own adventures, already receding into a past which made them +both dim and unimportant. "What happened to you--and to the +project--and----" + +"One thing at a time, and don't rush your fences." Ashe was surveying +him with an odd intentness which Ross could not understand. He continued +to explain in his "instructor" voice. "We made it down the river--how, +don't ask me. That was something of a 'project' in itself," he laughed. +"The raft came apart piece by piece, and we waded most of the last +couple of miles, I think. I'm none too clear on the details; you'll have +to get those out of McNeil, who was still among those present then. +Other than that, we cannot compete with your adventures. We built a +signal fire and sat by it toasting our shins for a few days, until the +sub came to collect us----" + +"And took you off." Ross experienced a fleeting return of that hollow +feeling he had known on the shore when the still-warm coals of the +signal fire had told him the story of his too-late arrival. + +"And took us off. But Kelgarries agreed to spin out our waiting period +for another twenty-four hours, in case you did manage to survive that +toss you took into the river. Then we sighted your spectacular display +of fireworks on the beach, and the rest was easy." + +"The ship people didn't trace us back to post?" + +"Not that we know of. Anyway, we've closed down the post on that time +level. You might be interested in a very peculiar tale our modern agents +have picked up, floating over and under the iron curtain. A blast went +off in the Baltic region of this time, wiping some installation clean +off the map. The Reds have kept quiet as to the nature of the explosion +and the exact place where it occurred." + +"The aliens followed _them_ all the way up to this time!"--Ross half +rose from the chair--"But why? And why did they trail me?" + +"That we can only guess. But I don't believe that they were moved by any +private vengeance for the looting of their derelict. There is some more +imperative reason why they don't want us to find or use anything from +one of their cargoes----" + +"But they were in power thousands of years ago. Maybe they and their +worlds are gone now. Why should things we do today matter to them?" + +"Well, it does matter, and in some very important way. And we have to +learn that reason." + +"How?" Ross looked down at his left hand, encased in a mitten of bandage +under which he very gingerly tried to stretch a finger. Maybe he should +have been eager to welcome another meeting with the ship people, but if +he were truly honest, he had to admit that he did not. He glanced up, +sure that Ashe had read all that hesitation and scorned him for it. But +there was no sign that his discomfiture had been noticed. + +"By doing some looting of our own," Ashe answered. "Those tapes we +brought back are going to be a big help. More than one derelict was +located. We were right in our surmise that the Reds first discovered the +remains of one in Siberia, but it was in no condition to be explored. +They already had the basic idea of the time traveler, so they applied it +to the hunting down of other ships, with several way stops to throw +people like us off the scent. So they found an intact ship, and also +several others. At least three are on _this_ side of the Atlantic where +they couldn't get at them very well. Those we can deal with now----" + +"Won't the aliens be waiting for us to try that?" + +"As far as we can discover they don't know where any of these ships +crashed. Either there were no survivors, or passengers and crew took off +in lifeboats while they were still in space. They might never have known +of the Reds' activities if you hadn't triggered that communicator on the +derelict." + +Ross was reduced to a small boy who badly needed an alibi for some piece +of juvenile mischief. "I didn't mean to." That excuse sounded so feeble +that he was surprised into a laugh, only to see Ashe grinning back at +him. + +"Seeing as how your action also put a very effective spike in the +opposition's wheel, you are freely forgiven. Anyway, you have also +provided us with a pretty good idea of what we may be up against with +the aliens, and we'll be prepared for that next time." + +"Then there will be a next time?" + +"We are calling in all time agents, concentrating our forces in the +right period. Yes, there will be a next time. We have to learn just what +they are trying so hard to protect." + +"What do you think it is?" + +"Space!" Ashe spoke the word softly as if he relished the promise it +held. + +"Space?" + +"That ship you explored was a derelict from a galactic fleet, but it was +a ship and it used the principle of space flight. Do you understand now? +In these lost ships lies the secret which will make us free of all the +stars! We must claim it." + +"Can we----?" + +"Can _we_?" Ashe was laughing at Ross again with his eyes, though his +face remained sober. "Then _you_ still want to be counted in on this +game?" + +Ross looked down again at his bandaged hand and remembered swiftly so +many things--the coast of Britain on a misty morning, the excitement of +prowling the alien ship, the fight with Ennar, even the long nightmare +of his flight down the river, and lastly, the exultation he had tasted +when he had faced the alien and had locked wills--to hold steady. He +knew that he could not, would not, give up what he had found here in the +service of the project as long as it was in his power to cling to it. + +"Yes." It was a very simple answer, but when his eyes met Ashe's, Ross +knew that it would serve better than any solemn oath. + + + + +SECOND PRINTING $3.00 + +The Time Traders + +by ANDRE NORTON + + +If it is possible to conquer space, then perhaps it is also possible to +conquer time. At least that was the theory American scientists were +exploring in an effort to explain the new sources of knowledge the +Russians possessed. Perhaps Russian scientists had discovered how to +transport themselves back in time in order to learn long-forgotten +secrets of the past. + +That was why young Ross Murdock, above average in intelligence but a +belligerently independent nonconformist, found himself on a "hush-hush" +government project at a secret base in the Arctic. The very qualities +that made him a menace in civilized society were valuable traits in a +man who must successfully act the part of a merchant trader of the +Beaker people during the Bronze Age. + +For once they were transferred by time machine to the remote Baltic +region where the Russian post was located, Ross and his partner Ashe +were swept into a fantastic action-filled adventure involving Russians, +superstitious prehistoric men, and the aliens of a lost galactic +civilization that demanded every ounce of courage the Americans +possessed. + +Andre Norton's earlier books, _Star Born_ and _The Stars Are Ours!_, +have made this author one of the most popular writers in the +science-fiction field. In this daring adventure into the mists of time, +readers will find themselves transported to still more exciting "other" +worlds. + +_Jacket by Virgil Finlay_ + +0012 up + + + + +$2.75 + +_Star Born_ + +by ANDRE NORTON + + +Far from the Terran colony's Homeport on the planet Astra, young Dalgard +Nordis and his merman companion Sssuri are suddenly confronted by their +old enemies, the alien Astrans. Within the ruins of the Astrans' former +citadel the two discover that remnants of this nonhuman race, which had +once ruled the entire planet, are struggling to recover their lost +knowledge and thus regain their power. Dalgard realizes that the safety +of the Terrans is seriously threatened by this, and there is no hope of +warning his people in time. + +When a space ship arrives from Terra, its crew ignorant of the existence +of a Terran colony on the western continent across the sea, the aliens +enlist the spacemen's aid. Of the members of the crew only young Raf +Kurbi instinctively mistrusts the Astrans. Through a series of weird and +exciting adventures among the ruins and in ancient underground tunnels, +Raf eventually meets Dalgard and joins him in the fight against the +aliens. + +In this sequel to _The Stars Are Ours!_ Andre Norton has produced +another superb science-fiction adventure. + +_Jacket by Virgil Finlay_ + + +THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY + + + + +SCIENCE FICTION + +by ANDRE NORTON + +STAR BORN + +_by Andre Norton_ + +Young Dalgard Nordis of the planet Astra and his merman companion Sssuri +join forces with a space man from Terra to outwit resurgent nonhuman +Aliens. A sequel to _The Stars Are Ours!_ $2.75 + + +THE STARS ARE OURS! + +_by Andre Norton_ + +To escape the tyranny on Terra in the year 2500, a group of scientists +make a last-minute getaway under fire and take off for another planet in +another solar system. Their adventures make top-flight entertainment for +all science-fiction fans. $3.00 + + +SPACE SERVICE + +_Edited With an Introduction and Notes by Andre Norton_ + +Ten great stories by such leading science-fiction writers as Bernard I. +Kahn, H. B. Fyfe, Walt Sheldon, Theodore R. Cogswell, and Raymond Z. +Gallun that will delight all science-fiction fans with their portrayals +of adventure in a far-flung galactic empire. $2.50 + + +SPACE PIONEERS + +_Edited With an Introduction and Notes by Andre Norton_ + +A collection of outstanding stories by some of the finest writers in the +science-fiction genre--Eric Frank Russell, H. B. Fyfe, Raymond Z. +Gallun, Fritz Lieber, Jerome Bixby, and others--that presents a +startling glimpse into the future of space travel, artificial +satellites, and colonization--a vision that comes closer to reality +every day. $2.75 + + +SPACE POLICE + +_Edited With an Introduction and Notes by Andre Norton_ + +Nine top science-fiction writers are brought together in this fine +collection of short stories that presents yet another aspect of the +picture of future worlds and civilizations envisioned in _Space +Pioneers_ and _Space Service_. $2.75 + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Time Traders, by Andre Norton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIME TRADERS *** + +***** This file should be named 19145.txt or 19145.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/4/19145/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Irma Spehar and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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