Tomb Raider Coloring Pages

the time traders by andre norton chapter 1 to anyone who glanced casually inside thedetention room the young man sitting there did not seem very formidable. in height hemight have been a little above average, but not enough to make him noticeable. his brownhair was cropped conservatively; his unlined boy's face was not one to be remembered—unlessone was observant enough to note those light-gray eyes and catch a chilling, measuring expressionshowing now and then for an instant in their depths. neatly and inconspicuously dressed, in thislast quarter of the twentieth century his

like was to be found on any street of thecity ten floors below—to all outward appearances. but that other person under the protectivecoloring so assiduously cultivated could touch heights of encased and controlled fury whichmurdock himself did not understand and was only just learning to use as a weapon againsta 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 expectedsome reaction other than passive acceptance from the prisoner. but he was not going toget it. the law had ross sewed up tight this time. why didn't they get about the businessof shipping him off? why had he had that afternoon session with the skull thumper? ross had beenon the defensive then, and he had not liked

it. he had given to the other's questionsall the attention his shrewd mind could muster, but a faint, very faint, apprehension stillclung to the memory of that meeting. the door of the detention room opened. rossdid not turn his head, but the guard cleared his throat as if their hour of mutual silencehad dried his vocal cords. "on your feet, murdock! the judge wants to see you." ross rose smoothly, with every muscle underfluid control. it never paid to talk back, to allow any sign of defiance to show. hewould 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. sohe faced the man seated behind the desk in

the other room with an uncertain, diffidentsmile, standing with boyish awkwardness, respectfully waiting for the other to speak first. judge ord rawle. it was his rotten luck topull old eagle beak on his case. well, he would simply have to take it when the oldboy 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 shouldersslumped. but under concealing lids his eyes showed an instant of cold defiance. "yes, sir," he agreed in a voice carefullycultivated to shake convincingly about the

edges. then suddenly all ross's pleasure inthe skill of his act was wiped away. judge rawle was not alone; that blasted skull thumperwas sitting there, watching the prisoner with the same keenness he had shown the other day. "a very bad record for the few years you havehad 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 timesince he had entered the room his self-confidence was jarred. then he clung with a degree ofhope to the phrasing of that last sentence.

"instead, i have been authorized to offeryou 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 judgedidn't like it, there must be something in it to the advantage of ross murdock. he'dgrab it for sure! "there is a government project in need ofvolunteers. 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 candidatefor 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 papersinto 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 thefirst 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 intothe light. at the first glance ross, to his hidden annoyance, found himself uneasy. toface up to eagle beak was all part of the

game. but somehow he sensed one did not playsuch games with this man. "thank you, your honor. we will be on ourway at once. this weather is not very promising." before he realized what was happening, rossfound himself walking meekly to the door. he considered trying to give the major theslip when they left the building, losing himself in a storm-darkened city. but they did nottake the elevator downstairs. instead, they climbed two or three flights up the emergencystairs. and to his humiliation ross found himself panting and slowing, while the otherman, who must have been a good dozen years his senior, showed no signs of discomfort. they came out into the snow on the roof, andthe major flashed a torch skyward, guiding

in a dark shadow which touched down beforethem. a helicopter! for the first time ross began to doubt the wisdom of his choice. "on your way, murdock!" the voice was impersonalenough, but that very impersonality got under one's skin. bundled into the machine between the silentmajor and an equally quiet pilot in uniform, ross was lifted over the city, whose wayshe knew as well as he knew the lines on his own palm, into the unknown he was alreadybeginning to regard dubiously. the lighted streets and buildings, their outlines softenedby the soft wet snow, fell out of sight. now they could mark the outer highways. ross refusedto ask any questions. he could take this silent

treatment; he had taken a lot of tougher thingsin the past. the patches of light disappeared, and thecountry opened out. the plane banked. ross, with all the familiar landmarks of his worldgone, could not have said if they were headed north or south. but moments later not eventhe 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 stoodshivering, 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 drawnforward to a low building. a door banged and

ross and his companion came into a regionof 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 bulbousheadgear hooked over his arm, was reading a paper. the major crossed to speak to himand 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 asuit 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 hefastened the last zipper his companion jammed one of the domed helmets on his head. thepilot looked in the door. "we'd better scramble, kelgarries, or we may be grounded for theduration!" they hurried back to the flying field. ifthe helicopter had been a surprising mode of travel, this new machine was somethingstraight out of the future—a needle-slim ship poised on fins, its sharp nose liftingvertically into the heavens. there was a scaffolding along one side, which the pilot scaled toenter the ship. unwillingly, ross climbed the same ladderand found that he must wedge himself in on his back, his knees hunched up almost underhis chin. to make it worse, cramped as those

quarters were, he had to share them with themajor. a transparent hood snapped down and was secured, sealing them in. during his short lifetime ross had often beenafraid, 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 madehim feel sick. to be shut in this small place with the knowledge that he had no controlover 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 onhis chest, and he fought for breath until

the world exploded about him. he came back to consciousness slowly. fora second he thought he was blind. then he began to sort out one shade of grayish lightfrom another. finally, ross became aware that he no longer rested on his back, but was slumpedin a seat. the world about him was wrung with a vibration that beat in turn through hisbody. ross murdock had remained at liberty as longas he had because he was able to analyze a situation quickly. seldom in the past fiveyears had he been at a loss to deal with any challenging person or action. now he was awarethat he was on the defensive and was being kept there. he stared into the dark and thoughthard and furiously. he was convinced that

everything that was happening to him thisday 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 abilitiesand he also possessed a kind of shrewd understanding seldom granted to one so young. he knew thatwhile murdock was important to murdock, he was none too important in the scheme of thingsas a whole. he had a record—a record so bad that rawle might easily have thrown thebook at him. but it differed in one important way from that of many of his fellows; untilnow he had been able to beat most of the raps. ross believed this was largely because hehad always worked alone and taken pains to plan a job in advance.

why now had ross murdock become so importantto 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'dbeen in a big hurry to push him off base. using the silent treatment, this rushing aroundin planes, they were really working to keep him groggy. so, all right, he'd give thema groggy boy all set up for their job, whatever it was. only, was his act good enough to foolthe major? ross had a hunch that it might not be, and that really hurt. it was deep night now. either they had flownout of the path of the storm or were above it. there were stars shining through the coverof the cockpit, but no moon.

ross's formal education was sketchy, but inhis own fashion he had acquired a range of knowledge which would have surprised manyof the authorities who had had to deal with him. all the wealth of a big city libraryhad been his to explore, and he had spent much time there, soaking up facts in manyodd branches of learning. facts were very useful things. on at least three occasionsassorted scraps of knowledge had preserved ross's freedom, once, perhaps his life. now he tried to fit together the scatteredfacts he knew about his present situation into some proper pattern. he was inside somenew type of super-super atomjet, a machine so advanced in design that it would not havebeen used for anything that was not an important

mission. which meant that ross murdock hadbecome necessary to someone, somewhere. knowing that fact should give him a slight edge inthe future, and he might well need such an edge. he'd just have to wait, play dumb, anduse his eyes and ears. at the rate they were shooting along theyought to be out of the country in a couple of hours. didn't the government have baseshalf over the world to keep the "cold peace"? well, there was nothing for it. to be plantedabroad someplace might interfere with plans for escape, but he'd handle that detail whenhe 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 onthe ground to guide them in. ross had no intimation

that they had reached their destination untilthey set down with a jar which snapped his teeth together. the major wriggled out, and ross was ableto stretch his cramped body. but the other's hand was already on his shoulder, urging himalong. ross crawled free and clung dizzily to a ladderlike disembarking structure. below there were no lights, only an expanseof 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 actioncould 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 thathand was on his arm, drawing him along toward a door that stood half-open. as far as rosscould see, it led to the interior of a hillock of snow. either the storm or men had donea 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 inundergoing the most searching physical he had ever experienced. and after the doctorshad 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 acell-like room with a bunk that was more comfortable

than it looked and an announcer in a cornerof 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, safelyalone and lying flat on his bunk he eyed the announcer, a very dangerous young man andone who refused to yield an inch. "now hear this...." the voice transmittedthrough that grill was metallic, but its rasp held overtones of kelgarries' voice. ross'slips tightened. he had explored every inch of the walls and knew that there was no traceof the door which had admitted him. with only his bare hands to work with he could not breakout, and his only clothes were the shirt, sturdy slacks, and a pair of soft-soled moccasinsthat they had given him.

"... to identify ..." droned the voice. rossrealized that he must have missed something, not that it mattered. he was almost determinednot to play along any more. there was a click, signifying that kelgarrieswas through braying. but the customary silence did not close in again. instead, ross hearda clear, sweet trilling which he vaguely associated with a bird. his acquaintance with all featheredlife was limited to city sparrows and plump park pigeons, neither of which raised theirvoices in song, but surely those sounds were bird notes. ross glanced from the mike inthe ceiling to the opposite wall and what he saw there made him sit up, with the instantresponse 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 firtrees 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 withits 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 thatsound before, but his human heritage subconsciously recognized it for what it was—death on fourfeet. 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 fourwalls of the room enclosed him like a cave.

but one of those gray skulkers had raisedits head and was looking directly at him, its reddish eyes alight. ross ripped the topblanket off the bunk with a half-formed idea of snapping it at the animal when it sprang. stiff-legged, the beast advanced, a gutturalgrowl sounding deep in its throat. to ross the animal, larger than any dog he had evenseen and twice as vicious, was a monster. he had the blanket ready before he realizedthat the wolf was not watching him after all, and that its attention was focused on a pointout of his line of vision. the wolfs muzzle wrinkled in a snarl, revealinglong 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 justbehind its ribs. it howled again, and blood broke from its mouth. ross was beyond surprise now. he pulled himselftogether and got up, to walk steadily toward the dying wolf. and he wasn't in the leastamazed when his outstretched hands flattened against an unseen barrier. slowly, he swepthis hands right and left, sure that he was touching the wall of his cell. yet his eyestold him he was on a mountain side, and every sight, sound, and smell was making it realto him. puzzled, he thought a moment and then, findingan 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, andother fancy touches to make it more vivid. the total effect was so convincing that rosshad to keep reminding himself that it was all just a picture. the wolf was dead. its pack mates had fledinto 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. butthe 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 hindquartersoff the ground. comparing the beast's size

with the hunter's, ross saw that he had notbeen wrong in his estimation of the animal's unusually large dimensions. the man shoutedover his shoulder, his words distinct enough, but unintelligible to ross. the stranger was oddly dressed—too lightlydressed if one judged the climate by the frequent snow patches and the biting cold. a stripof coarse cloth, extending from his armpit to about four inches above the knee, was woundabout his body and pulled in at the waist by a belt. the belt, far more ornate thanthe cumbersome wrapping, was made of many small chains linking metal plates and supporteda long dagger which hung straight in front. the man also wore a round blue cloak, nowswept back on his shoulders to free his bare

arms, which was fastened by a large pin underhis chin. his footgear, which extended above his calves, was made of animal hide, stillbearing patches of shaggy hair. his face was beardless, though a shadowy line along hischin suggested that he had not shaved that particular day. a fur cap concealed most ofhis dark-brown hair. was he an indian? no, for although his skinwas tanned, it was as fair as ross's under that weathering. and his clothing did notresemble 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 wasclear 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, whoseeyes rolled fearfully at sight of the dead wolf. both animals wore packs lashed on theirbacks 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 andchin, appeared. his uncovered head, a bush of uncombed flaxen hair, shone whitish ashe knelt beside the dead beast, a knife with a dull-gray blade in his hand, and set towork 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 skininto a bundle and gave the flayed body a kick

before he ran lightly after the disappearingtrain of pack animals. chapter 2 ross, absorbed in the scene before him, wasnot prepared for the sudden and complete darkness which blotted out not only the action butthe light in his own room as well. "what—?" his startled voice rang loudlyin his ears, too loudly, for all sound had been wiped out with the light. the faint swishof 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 atomjettingled along his nerves. but this time he could meet the unknown with action.

ross slowly moved through the dark, his handsoutstretched before him to ward off contact with the wall. he was determined that somehowhe would discover the hidden door, escape from this dark cell.... there! his palm struck flat against a smoothsurface. he swept out his hand—and suddenly it passed over emptiness. ross explored bytouch. there was a door and now it was open. for a moment he hesitated, upset by a nagginglittle 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 builtup in him a raging desire to do something—anything—just

so long as it was what he wanted to do andnot 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. tosqueeze along one wall, using an outstretched arm as a guide, was the best procedure, hedecided. a few feet farther on, his shoulder slippedfrom the surface and he half tumbled into another open door. but there was the wallagain, and he clung to it thankfully. another door ... ross paused, trying to catch somefaint sound, the slightest hint that he was not alone in this blindman's maze. but withouteven air currents to stir it, the blackness itself took on a thick solidity which encasedhim as a congealing jelly.

the wall ended. ross kept his left hand onit, flailed out with his right, and felt his nails scrape across another surface. the spaceseparating the two surfaces was wider than any doorway. was it a cross-corridor? he wasabout to make a wider arm sweep when he heard a sound. he was not alone. ross went back to the wall, flattening himselfagainst it, trying to control the volume of his own breathing in order to catch the slightestwhisper of the other noise. he discovered that lack of sight can confuse the ear. hecould not identify those clicks, the wisp of fluttering sound that might be air displacedby the opening of another door. finally, he detected something moving at floorlevel. someone or something must be creeping,

not walking, toward him. ross pushed backaround the corner. it never occurred to him to challenge that crawler. there was an elementof danger in this strange encounter in the dark; it was not meant to be a meeting betweenfellow explorers. the sound of crawling was not steady. therewere long pauses, and ross became convinced that each rest was punctuated by heavy breathingas if the crawler was finding progress a great and exhausting effort. he fought the picturethat 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 exclamationfrom near to floor level. the same steady light that normally filled hall and room wasbright 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 wasso wrapped in bandages and the head so totally muffled, that it lacked all identity. forthat 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 rosscould move, a man came running into the corridor

from the far end. murdock recognized majorkelgarries. he wet his lips as the major went down on his knees beside the creature on thefloor. "hardy! hardy!" that voice, which carriedthe 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 shouldersback 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 feeblyinto the air fell onto the bandage-wreathed chest. "back—safe—" the voice from behindthe face mask was a rusty croak.

"back, safe," the major assured him. "dark—dark all around again—" protestedthe croak. "just a power failure, man. everything's allright 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 carriedfirm reassurance. now kelgarries looked up at ross as if he knew the other had been thereall the time. "murdock, get down to the end room. call dr.farrell!"

"yes, sir!" the "sir" came so automaticallythat 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 majorwalking 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 returnto his own room. the sight of hardy, whoever he might be, had radically changed ross'sconception of the project he had too speedily volunteered to join. that what they did here was important, rosshad never doubted. that it was dangerous,

he had early suspected. but his awarenesshad been an abstract concept of danger, not connected with such concrete evidence as hardycrawling through the dark. from the first, ross had nursed vague plans for escape; nowhe 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 brownskin was startling against the neutral shade of the walls. his hair and brows were onlya few shades darker; but the general sameness

of color was relieved by the vivid blue ofhis eyes. expressionless, the dark stranger stood quietly,his arms hanging loosely by his sides, studying ross, as if the younger man was some problemhe had been assigned to solve. when he spoke, his voice was a monotone lacking any modulationof 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'sindifference. "all right—so you're ashe!" he strove to make a challenge of it. "andwhat is that supposed to mean?" but the other did not rise to the bait. heshrugged. "for the time being we have been

partnered——" "partnered for what?" demanded ross, controllinghis temper. "we work in pairs here. the machine sortsus ..." he answered briefly and consulted his wrist watch. "mess call soon." ashe had already turned away, and ross couldnot stand the other's lack of interest. while murdock refused to ask questions of the majoror 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 whatdo they do here? listen, i just saw a fellow who'd been banged up as if he'd been in aconcrete mixer, creeping along this hall. what sort of work do they do here? and whatdo we have to do?" to his amazement ashe smiled, at least hislips quirked faintly. "hardy got under your skin, eh? well, we have our percentage offailures. they are as few as it's humanly possible to make, and they give us every advantagethat can be worked out for us——" "failures at what?" "operation retrograde." somewhere down the hall a buzzer gave a mutedwhirr.

"that's mess call. and i'm hungry, even ifyou're not." ashe walked away as if ross murdock had ceased to exist. but ross murdock did exist, and to him thatwas an important fact. as he trailed along behind ashe he determined that he was goingto 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 forhim at the door of a room from which came the sound of voices and a subdued clatterof trays and tableware. "not many in tonight," ashe commented in atake-it-or-leave-it tone. "it's been a busy

week." the room was rather sparsely occupied. fivetables 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. allof them were dressed in slacks, shirt, and moccasins like himself—the outfit seemedto 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 withoutcomment, ross silently stole glances at them as he waited behind ashe for a tray. one pairwere clearly oriental; they were small, lean

men with thin brackets of long black mustacheon 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 backsof their agile hands. the second duo were even more fantastic. thecolor of their flaxen hair was normal, but they wore it in braids long enough to swingacross their powerful shoulders, a fashion unlike any ross had ever seen. yet any suggestionof effeminacy certainly did not survive beyond the first glance at their ruggedly masculinefeatures. "gordon!" one of the braided giants swunghalfway around from the table to halt ashe

as he came down the aisle with his tray. "whendid you get back? and where is sanford?" one of the orientals laid down the spoon withwhich he had been vigorously stirring his coffee and asked with real concern, "anotherloss?" ashe shook his head. "just reassignment. sandy'sholding down outpost gog and doing well." he grinned and his face came to life withan expression of impish humor ross would not have believed possible. "he'll end up witha million or two if he doesn't watch out. he takes to trade as if he were born witha beaker in his fist." the oriental laughed and then glanced at ross."your new partner, ashe?" some of the animation disappeared from ashe'sbrown face; he was noncommittal again. "temporary

assignment. this is murdock." the introductionwas flat enough to daunt ross. "hodaki, feng," he indicated the two easterners with a nodas he put down his tray. "jansen, van wyke." that accounted for the blonds. "ashe!" a man arose at the other table andcame to stand beside theirs. thin, with a dark, narrow face and restless eyes, he wasmuch younger than the others, younger and not so well controlled. he might answer questionsif there was something in it for him, ross decided, and filed the thought away. "well, kurt?" ashe's recognition was as dampeningas it could be, and ross's estimation of the younger man went up a fraction when the snubappeared 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 hereplied. "naturally." his tone reduced whatever had happened to hardy to a matter-of-factproceeding 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 onhardy'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 cannot happen as well on my run, or yours, or

yours!" he pointed a stabbing finger at fengand 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 ifit hurts you that much. you were told the score at your briefing. you know why you werepicked...." ross caught a faint glance aimed at him byashe. he was still totally in the dark, but he would not try to pry any information fromthis crowd. maybe part of their training was this hush-hush business. he would wait andsee, until he could get kurt aside and do a little pumping. meanwhile he ate stolidlyand 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. hardyhad 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 youwish 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. sincehe loomed at least five inches above kurt and probably could have broken him in twoover 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—"waituntil you make that first run of yours before you sound off so loudly. no one is sent outwithout 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'dbe the first to tell you so." he stretched. "i'm for a game—ashe? hodaki?" "always so energetic," murmured ashe, buthe nodded as did the small oriental. feng smiled at ross. "always these three tryto 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 arenawith 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 unlikein body, but as ross speedily came to understand, they were also unlike in their mental approachto any problem. they seated themselves crosslegged at thethree 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 smarttonight, boys?" he inquired. "all right, plains it is." he brought his hand down on the floor beforehim, and to ross's astonishment the area around the players darkened and the floor becamea stretch of miniature countryside. grassy plains rippled under the wind of a fair day. "red!" "blue!" "yellow!" the choices came quickly from the dusk maskingthe players. and upon those orders points

of the designated color came into being assmall lights. "red—caravan!" ross recognized jansen'sboom. "blue—raiders!" hodaki's choice was onlyan 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 couldpicture his shrug. the game began. ross had heard of chess, ofwar games played with miniature armies or ships, of games on paper which demand fromthe 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 transformedinto the raiders, the merchants' caravan, the tribe on the march. there was ingeniousdeployment, 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 arguingheatedly in voices low enough not to drown out the moves called by the players. rosswas thrilled when the red traders avoided a very cleverly laid ambush, and indignantwhen the tribe was forced to withdraw or the caravan lost points. it was the most fascinatinggame he had ever seen, and he realized that the three men ordering those moves were allmasters of strategy. their respective skills

checkmated each other so equally that an outrightwin was far away. then jansen laughed, and the red line of thecaravan gathered in a tight knot. "camped at a spring," he announced, "but with plentyof sentries out." red sparks showed briefly beyond that center core. "and they'll haveto stay there for all of me. we could keep this up till doomsday, and nobody would crack." "no"—hodaki contradicted him—"somedayone of you will make a little mistake and then——" "and then whatever bully boys you're runningwill clobber us?" asked jansen. "that'll be the day! anyway, truce for now."

"granted!" the lights of the arena went on and the plainsvanished into a dark, tiled floor. "any time you want a return engagement it'll be finewith me," said ashe, getting up. jansen grinned. "put that off for a monthor so, gordon. we push into time tomorrow. take care of yourselves, you two. i don'twant to have to break in another set of players when i come back." ross, finding it difficult to shake off theillusion which had held him entranced, felt a slight touch on his shoulder and glancedup. kurt stood behind him, apparently intent upon jansen and hodaki as they argued oversome 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 hecould. he was going to learn what it was this odd company seemed determined to keep as theirown private secret. chapter 3 ross stood cautiously against the wall ofhis darkened room, his head turned toward the slightly open door. a slight shufflingsound had awakened him, and he was now as ready as a cat before her spring. but he didnot hurl himself at the figure now easing the door farther open. he waited until thevisitor was approaching the bunk before he slid along the wall, closing the door andputting his shoulders against it.

"what's the pitch?" ross demanded in a whisper. there was a ragged breath, maybe two, thena little laugh out of the dark. "you are ready?" the visitor's accent left no doubt as to hisidentity. kurt was paying him the promised visit. "did you think that i wouldn't be?" "no." the dim figure sat without invitationon the edge of the bunk. "i would not be here otherwise, murdock. you are plenty ... haveplenty on the ball. you see, i have heard things about you. like me, you were trickedinto 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 bigmouths, 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 havenot yet known the meaning of danger, little man. not until now. i ask you again, do youwant to end like hardy? they have not yet looped you in with all their big talk. thatis why i came here tonight. if you know what is good for you, murdock, you will make abreak 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 withtheir 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 listeningto him attentively. the other's argument sounded convincing to one whose general ignoranceof science led him to be as fearful of the whole field as his ancestors had been of blackmagic. as all his generation, he was conditioned to believe that all kinds of weird inventionswere entirely possible and probable—usually

to be produced in some dim future, but perhapstoday. "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 andthe 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 guyi could get to before they had him pinned down for good. you are tough, murdock. i sawyour 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 havesuch a good one again."

the longer kurt talked, the more convincinghe was. ross lost a few of his suspicions. it was true that he had come prepared to runat 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. butthat was a chance ross would have to take. "look here, murdock, maybe you think it'seasy to break out of here. do you know where we are, boy? we're near enough to the northpole as makes no difference! are you going to leg it back some hundreds of miles throughthick ice and snow? a nice jaunt if you make it. i do not think that you can—not withoutplans 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 theywill be tracked by radar. where have you been, boy? don't you know the reds are circlingaround up here? these fellows watch for red activity, and the reds watch them. they playit under the table on both sides. we get our supplies overland by cats——" "cats?" "snow sleds, like tractors," the other answeredimpatiently. "our stuff is dumped miles to the south, and the cats go down once a monthto bring it back. there's no trick to driving a cat, and they tear off the miles——"

"how many miles to the south?" inquired rossskeptically. granted kurt was speaking the truth, travel over an arctic wilderness ina stolen machine was risky, to say the least. ross had only a very vague idea of the polarregions, but he was sure that they could easily swallow up the unwary forever. "maybe only a hundred or so, boy. but i havemore than one plan, and i'm willing to risk my neck. do you think i intend to start outblind?" there was that, of course. ross had earlysized up his visitor as one who was first of all interested in his own welfare. he wouldn'trisk his neck without a definite plan in mind. "well, what do you say, murdock? are you withme or not?"

"i'll take some time to chew it over——" "time is what you do not have, boy. tomorrowthey will tape you. then—no over the wall for you." "suppose you tell me your trick for foolingthe tape," ross countered. "that i cannot do, seeing as how it lies inthe way my brain is put together. do you think i can break open my skull and hand you a pieceof what is inside? no, you jump with me tonight or else i must wait to grab the next one wholands here." kurt stood up. his last words were spokenmatter-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 heunderstood ashe or the others. also, with kurt he was sure he could hold his own; itwould be the kind of struggle he had experienced before. "tonight...." he repeated slowly. "yes, tonight!" there was new eagerness inkurt's voice, for he sensed that the other was wavering. "i have been preparing for along time, but there must be two of us. we have to take turns driving the cat. therecan be no rest until we are far to the south. i tell you it will be easy. there are foodcaches 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 othermoved closer to him. "remember hardy? he was not the first, andhe 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, arun is a little jaunt back into history—not nice comfortable history such as you learnedout of a book when you were a little kid. no, you are dropped back into some savagetime 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 littletrip into the time when he-men wore braids, and carried axes big enough to crack a manopen! and hodaki and his partner.... ever hear of the tartars? maybe you have not, butonce they nearly overran most of europe." ross swallowed. he now knew where he had seenbraids pictured on warriors—the vikings! and tartars, yes, that movie about someonenamed khan, genghis khan! but to return into the past was impossible. yet, he remembered the picture he had watchedtoday with the wolf slayer and the shaggy-haired

man who wore skins. neither of these was ofhis own world! could kurt be telling the truth? ross's vivid memory of the scene he had witnessedmade kurt's story more convincing. "suppose you get sent back to a time wherethey do not like strangers," kurt continued. "then you are in for it. that is what happenedto hardy. and it is not good—not good at all!" "but why?" kurt snorted. "that they do not tell you untiljust before you take your first run. i do not want to know why. but i do know that iam not going to be sent into any wilderness where a savage may run a spear through mejust to prove something or other for major

john kelgarries, or for millaird either. iwill try my plan first." the urgency in kurt's protest carried rosspast the wavering point. he, too, would try the cat. he was only familiar with this timeand world; he had no desire to be sent into another one. once ross had made his decision, kurt hurriedhim into action. kurt's knowledge of the secret procedures at the base proved excellent. twicethey were halted by locked doors, but only momentarily, for kurt had a tiny gadget, concealedin the palm of his hand, which had only to be held over a latch to open a recalcitrantdoor. there was enough light in the corridors togive them easy passage, but the rooms were

dark, and twice kurt had to lead ross by thehand, avoiding furniture or installations with the surety of one who had practiced thatsame route often. murdock's opinion of his companion's ability underwent several upwardrevisions during that tour, and he began to believe that he was really in luck to havefound such a partner. in the last room, ross willingly followedkurt's orders to put on the fur clothing kurt passed to him. the fit was not exact, buthe surmised that kurt had chosen as well as possible. a final door opened, and they steppedout into the polar night of winter. kurt's mittened hand grasped ross's, pulling himalong. together, they pushed back the door of a hangar shed to get at their escape vehicle.

the cat was a strange machine, but ross wasgiven no time to study it. he was shoved into the cockpit, a bubble covering settled downover them, closing them in, and the engine came to life under kurt's urging. the catmust be traveling at its best pace, ross thought. yet the crawl which took them away from themounded snow covering the base seemed hardly better than a man could make afoot. for a short time kurt headed straight awayfrom the starting point, but ross soon heard him counting slowly to himself as if he weretiming something. at the count of twenty the cat swung to the right and made a wide halfcircle which was copied at the next count of twenty by a similar sweep in the oppositedirection. after this pattern had been repeated

for six turns, ross found it difficult toguess whether they had ever returned to their first course. when kurt stopped counting heasked, "why the dance pattern?" "would you rather be scattered in little piecesall over the landscape?" the other snapped. "the base doesn't need fences two miles highto keep us in, or others out; they take other precautions. you should thank fortune we gotthrough that first mine field without blowing...." ross swallowed, but he refused to let kurtknow that he was rattled. "so it isn't as easy to get away as you said?" "shut up!" kurt began counting again, andross had some cold apprehensive moments in which to reflect upon the folly of quick decisionsand wonder bleakly why he had not thought

things through before he leaped. again they sketched a weaving pattern in thesnow, but this time the arcs formed acute angles. ross glanced now and then at the intentman at the wheel. how had kurt managed to memorize this route? his urge to escape thebase must certainly be a strong one. back and forth they crawled, gaining onlya 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 fuelotherwise." ross fought down the impulse to move his feetaway from any possible contact point with

the engine. these machines must be safe toride 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. buthe added no more than just the reassurance of their escape. the cat crawled on. to ross's eyes there wasno trail to follow, no guideposts, yet kurt steered ahead with confidence. a little laterhe 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—butthis——" "is fool proof." kurt caught him up. "theworst was getting through the mine fields,

and we are out of that now. see here—" hishand made a shadow on the lighted instrument panel, "this will keep you straight. if youcan steer a car, you can steer this. watch!" he started up again and once more swung thecat to the left. a light on the panel began to blink at a ratewhich increased rapidly as they veered farther away from their original course. "see? you keep that light steady, and youare on course. if it begins to blink, you cast about until it steadies again. simpleenough for a baby. take over and see." it was hard to change places in the sealedcabin of the cat, but they were successful, and ross took the wheel gingerly. followingkurt's directions, he started ahead, his eyes

focused on the light rather than the whiteexpanse before him. and after a few minutes of strain he caught the hang of it. as kurthad promised, it was very simple. after watching him for a while, his instructor gave a gruntof satisfaction and settled down for a nap. once the first excitement of driving the catwore off, the operation tended to become monotonous. ross caught himself yawning, but he kept athis post with dogged stubbornness. this had been kurt's game all the way through—sofar—and he was certainly not going to resign his first chance to show that he could beof use also. if there had only been some break in the eternal snow, some passing light orgoal to be seen ahead, it would not have been so bad. finally, every now and then, rosshad to jiggle off course just enough so that

the warning blink of light would alert himand keep him from falling asleep. he was unaware that kurt had awakened during one of thosemaneuvers until the other spoke. "your own private alarm clock, murdock? okay, i do notquarrel with anyone who uses his head. but you had better get some shut-eye, or we willnot keep rolling." ross was too tired to protest. they changedplaces, and he curled up as best he could on his small share of seat. only now thathe was free to sleep, he realized he no longer wanted to. kurt must have thought ross hadfallen asleep, for after perhaps two miles of steady grinding along, he moved cautiouslybehind the wheel. ross saw by the trace of light from the instrument panel that his companionwas digging into the breast of his parka to

bring out a small object which he held againstthe wheel of the cat with one hand, while with the other he tapped out an irregularrhythm. to ross the action made no sense. but he didnot 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 alongand pick us up?" kurt laughed. "the major? how i wish thathe would arrive presently. what a surprise

he would receive! not two little mice to beput back into their cages, but the tiger cat, all claws and fangs!" ross sat up straighter. this now had the badsmell of a frame, a frame with himself planted right in the middle. he figured out the possibilitiesand came up with an answer which would smear ross murdock all over any map. if kurt werewaiting to meet friends out here, they could only be of one brand. for most of his short life ross had been engagedin a private war against the restrictions imposed upon him by a set of legal rules towhich something within him would not conform. and he had, during those same years filledwith attacks, retreats, and strategic maneuvering,

formulated a code of rules by which to playhis 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 werenot only impossibly fantastic and illogical—they were to be opposed to the last ounce of anyman's energy. "your friends late?" he tried to sound casual. "not yet, and if you now plan to play thehero, murdock, think better of it!" kurt's tone held the crack of an order—that noteross had so much disliked in the major's voice. "this is an operation which has been mostcarefully 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 onetime he had to think, clearly and with speed. "there is no need for me to tell you the sadtale of my life, murdock. and you would doubtless find much of it boring. if you wish to continueto 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 soconfident unless he had a weapon he could now turn on ross. on the other hand, if whatross guessed were true, this was the time to play the hero—when there was only kurtto handle. better to be a dead hero than a live captive in the hands of kurt's dear friendsacross the pole.

without warning, ross threw his body to theleft, striving to pin kurt against the driver's side of the cabin, his hands clawing at thefur ruff bordering the other's hood, trying for a throat hold. perhaps it was kurt's over-confidencewhich betrayed him and left him open to a surprise attack. he struggled hard to bringup 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 thefur clothing hampering them. ross wondered fleetingly why the other had not made sureof him earlier. as it was he fought with all his vigor to keep kurt immobile, to try andknock him out with a lucky blow. in the end kurt aided in his own defeat. whenross 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 wentlimp. 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 wassure he was going to get away—at the cat's top speed—from that point. and with thatin mind and only a limited knowledge of how to manage the machine, ross started up andturned in a wide circle until he was sure the cat was headed in the opposite direction.

the light which had guided them was stillon. would reversing its process take him back to the base? lost in the immensity of thecold wilderness, he made the only choice possible and gunned the cat again.chapter 4 once again ross sat waiting for others todecide 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 hehad had no chance for escape. heading away from kurt's rendezvous, ross had run straightinto the search party from the base, had seen in action that mechanical hound that kurthad said they would put on the fugitives' trail—the thing which would have gone onhunting them until its metal rusted into powder.

kurt's boasted immunity to that tracker hadnot been as good as he had believed, though it had won them a start. ross did not know just how much it might countin his favor that he had been on his way back, with kurt a prisoner in the cat. as his waitinghours wore on he began to think it might mean very little indeed. this time there was noshow on the wall of his cell, nothing but time to think—too much of that—and nopleasant things to think about. but he had learned one valuable lesson onthat cold expedition. kelgarries and the others at the base were the most formidable opponentshe 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 impressedby kurt's preparations, knowing that some of them were far beyond anything he himselfcould have devised. he did not doubt that kurt had come here fully prepared with everyingenious device the reds could supply. at least kurt's friends had had a rude welcomewhen they did arrive at the meeting place. kelgarries had heard ross out and then hadsent ahead a team. before ross's party had reached the base there had been a blast whichsplit the arctic night wide open. and kurt, conscious by then, had shown his only signof emotion when he realized what it meant. the door to ross's cell room clicked, andhe swung his feet to the floor, sitting up on his bunk to face his future. this timehe made no attempt to put on an act. he was

not in the least sorry he had tried to getaway. 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 sightof ashe the taut feeling in ross's middle loosened a bit. the major might come by himselfto 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 goingto have a second chance, so consider yourself lucky. we know you aren't another plant ofour enemies, a fact that saves your neck. do you have anything to add to your story?"

"no, sir." he was not adding that "sir" tocurry 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 removedand years older than his bashful boy's grin of the shy act. "a wise guy doesn't spillhis 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 ileft here." "yes, and when you discovered the truth, youtook 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 sideof the fence."' "that single fact has saved your neck thistime, murdock. step out of line once more, and nothing will help you. but just so wewon'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 quietlythat it carried complete conviction. "but why—how—?" "you have us on a spot, murdock. because ofyour little expedition, we have to tell you more now than we tell any of our men beforethe final briefing. listen, and then forget all of it except what applies to the job athand. "the reds shot up sputnik and then muttnik....when—? twenty-five years ago. we got up our answers a little later. there were a coupleof spectacular crashes on the moon, then that space station that didn't stay in orbit, afterthat—stalemate. in the past quarter century

we've had no voyages into space, nothing thatwas prophesied. too many bugs, too many costly failures. finally we began to get hints ofsomething 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 wereconfronted by a result which apparently had been produced without any preliminaries. whatwould be your guess concerning it?" ross stared at the major. although he didn'tsee what all this had to do with time-jumping, he sensed that kelgarries was waiting fora serious answer, that somehow ross would be judged by his reply.

"either that the steps were kept strictlysecret," he said slowly, "or that the result didn't rightfully belong to the man who saidhe discovered it." for the first time the major regarded himwith 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 yearsour friends across the way have come up with three such discoveries. one we were able totrace, 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, andthe 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 whichare 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 beencontact made with another intelligent race? "in a way it's another world, but the worldof 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 dismissedas the ravings of delirium. but that was after sputnik, and we didn't dare disregard anyhints 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 bringback machines to use now." the major shook his head. "not the future,the past." was this an elaborate joke? somewhat heatedlyross snapped out the answer to that. "look here, i know i haven't the education of yourbig brains, but i do know that the farther back you go into history the simpler thingsare. we ride in cars; only a hundred years ago men drove horses. we have guns; go backa little and you'll find them waving swords

and shooting guys with bows and arrows—thosethat 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"—hestuck doggedly to his point—"the farther back you go, the simpler things are. how arethe reds going to find anything in history we can't beat today?" "that is a point which has baffled us forseveral years now," the major returned. "only it is not how they are going to find it, butwhere. because somewhere in the past of this

world they have contacted a civilization ableto produce weapons and ideas so advanced as to baffle our experts. we have to find thatsource and either mine it ourselves or close it off. as yet we're still trying to findit." ross shook his head. "it must be a long wayback. those guys who discover tombs and dig up old cities—couldn't they give you somehints? wouldn't a civilization like that have left something we could find today?" "it depends," ashe remarked, "upon the typeof 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 preservedrelics 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 inkeeping 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 onthis side of the ocean the incas, the mayas, the unknown races before them, and the aztecsof mexico all built in stone and worked in metal. and stone and metal survive. but whatif there had been an early people who used plastics and brittle alloys, who had no desireto 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 iceage had intervened between their time and

ours, with glaciers to grind into dust whatlittle they did possess? "there is evidence that the poles of our worldhave changed and that this northern region was once close to being tropical. any catastropheviolent enough to bring about a switch in the poles of this planet might well have wipedout all traces of a civilization, no matter how superior. we have good reason to believethat 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, oneof your tomb discoverers, and knows what he is talking about. we must do our hunting intime earlier than the first pyramid, earlier

than the first group of farmers who settledby the tigris river. but we have to let the enemy guide us to it. that's where you comein." "why me?" "that is a question to which our psychologistsare still trying to find the answer, my young friend. it seems that the majority of thepeople 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 patternsand they cannot break that conditioning, or if personal danger forces them to change thosepatterns, 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 developanother type. he is the born commando, the secret agent, the expendable man who liveson action. there are not many of this kind, and they are potent weapons. in peacetimethat particular collection of emotions, nerve, and skills becomes a menace to the very societyhe has fought to preserve during a war. he is pressured by the peaceful environment intobecoming a criminal or a misfit. "the men we send out from here to explorethe past are not only given the best training we can possibly supply for them, but theyare all of the type once heralded as the frontiersman. history is sentimental about that type—whenhe is safely dead—but the present finds

him difficult to live with. our time agentsare misfits in the modern world because their inherited abilities are born out of seasonnow. they must be young enough and possess a certain brand of intelligence to take thestiff training and to adapt, and they must pass our tests. do you understand?" ross nodded. "you want crooks because theyare crooks——" "no, not because they are crooks, but becausethey are misfits in their time and place. don't, i beg of you, murdock, think that weare operating a penal institution here. you would never have been recruited if you hadn'ttested out to suit us. but the man who may be labeled murderer in his own period mightrank as a hero in another, an extreme example,

but true. when we train a man he not onlycan survive in the period to which he is sent, but he can also pass as a native born in thatera——" "what about hardy?" the major gazed into space. "there is no operationwhich is foolproof. we have never said that we don't run into trouble or that there isno danger in this. we have to deal with both natives of different times, and if we arelucky and hit a hot run, with the reds. they suspect that we are casting about, huntingtheir trail. they managed to plant kurt vogel on us. he had an almost perfect cover andconditioning. now you have it straight, murdock. you satisfy our tests, and you'll be givena chance to say yes or no before your first

run. if you say no and refuse duty, it meansyou must become an exile and stay here. no man who has gone through our training canreturn to normal life; there is too much chance of his being picked up and sweated by theopposition." "never?" the major shrugged. "this may be a long-termoperation. we hope not, but there is no way of telling now. you will be in exile untilwe either find what we want or fail entirely. that is the last card i have to lay on thetable." he stretched. "you're slated for training tomorrow. think it over and then let us knowyour answer when the time comes. meanwhile, you are to be teamed with ashe, who will seeto 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 wrestlingwere easy enough to absorb, and he thoroughly enjoyed the workouts. but the patient hoursof archery practice, the strict instruction in the use of a long-bladed bronze daggerwere more demanding. the mastering of one new language and then another, the intensivedrill 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 primitivebargaining and trade. he came to understand the worth of a cross-shaped tin ingot comparedto a string of amber beads and some well-cured white furs. he now understood why he had beenshown a traders' caravan during that first

encounter with the purpose behind operationretrograde. during the training days his feeling towardashe changed materially. a man could not work so closely with another and continue to resenthis attitude; either he blew up entirely, or he learned to adjust. his awe at ashe'svast 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 relaxedhis own shield of impersonal efficiency. ross did not try to breach the barrier betweenthem 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 kindof pride in his record; now he had begun to

wish sometimes that it was a record of a differenttype. men came and went. hodaki and his partnerdisappeared, as did jansen and his. one lost track of time within that underground warrenwhich was the base. ross gradually discovered that the whole establishment covered a largearea under an external crust of ice and snow. there were laboratories, a well-appointedhospital, armories which stocked weapons usually seen only in museums, but which here werefree of any signs of age, and ready for use. there were libraries with mile upon mile oftape 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-tuniche had seen on the wolf slayer, to shave with practiced assurance, using a leaf-shaped bronzerazor, to eat strange food until he relished the taste. making lesson time serve a doubleduty, he lay under sunlamps while listening to tape recordings, until his skin darkenedto a weathered hue resembling ashe's. there was always talk to listen to, important talkwhich he was afraid to miss. "bronze." ashe weighed a dagger in his handone day. its hilt, made of dark horn studded with an intricate pattern of tiny golden nailheads, had a gleam not unlike that of the blade. "do you know, murdock, that bronzecan be tougher than steel? if it wasn't that

iron is so much more plentiful and easierto 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 beginningto another. "yes, bronze is important to us here, andso are the men who worked it. smiths were sacred in the old days. we know that theymade a secret of their trade which overrode the bounds of district, tribe, and race. asmith was welcome in any village, his person safe on the road. in fact, the roads themselveswere under the protection of the gods; there was peace on them for all wayfarers. the landwas wide then, and it was empty. the tribes were few and small, and there was plenty ofroom for the hunter, the farmer, the trader.

life was not such a scramble of man againstman, but rather of man against nature——" "no wars?" asked ross. "then why the bow-and-daggerdrill?" "wars were small affairs, disputes betweenfamily clans or tribes. as for the bow, there were formidable things in the forests—giantanimals, wolves, wild boars——" "cave bears?" ashe sighed with weary patience. "get it throughyour head, murdock, that history is much longer than you seem to think. cave bears and theuse of bronze weapons do not overlap. no, you will have to go back maybe several thousandyears earlier and then hunt your bear with a flint-tipped spear in your hand if you arefool enough to try it."

"or take a rifle with you." ross made a suggestionhe had longed to voice for some time. ashe rounded on him swiftly, and ross knewhim 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 notdesigned for the period in which your run lies. just as you do not become embroiledwhile 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 playingwith. "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 someday—" his eyes were on a wall of weapon racks he plainly did not see—"maybe someday we can stand and watch the rise of the pyramids, witness the march of alexander'sarmies.... but not yet. we stay away from history, and we are sure that the reds aredoing the same. it has become the old problem once presented by the atom bomb. nobody wantsto upset the balance and take the consequences. let us find their outpost and we'll withdrawour men from all the other runs at once." "what makes everyone so sure that they havean outpost somewhere? couldn't they be working

right at the main source, sir?" "they could, but for some reason they arenot. as for how we know that much, it's information received." ashe smiled thinly. "no, the sourceis much farther back in time than their halfway post. but if we find that, then we can trailthem. so we plant men in suitable eras and hope for the best. that's a good weapon youhave there, murdock. are you willing to wear it in earnest?" the inflection in that question caught ross'sfull attention. his gray eyes met those blue ones. this was it—at long last. "right away?"

ashe picked up a belt of bronze plates strungtogether with chains, a twin to that ross had seen worn by the wolf slayer. he heldit 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. thisis your graduation exercise, murdock." ross fitted the blade he had been polishinginto 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, buthe could not read its meaning. annoyance?

impatience? he was still puzzling over itwhen 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 impersonationwas checked again and again by experts, making sure that the last detail was correct andthat no suspicion of a tribesman, no mistake on ross's part would betray him. the beaker people were an excellent choicefor infiltration. they were not a closely

knit clan, suspicious of strangers and alertto 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 ingraves scattered in clusters of a handful or so from the rhineland to spain, and fromthe balkans to britain. they did not depend only upon the taboo ofthe trade road for their safety, for the beakermen were master bowmen. a roving people, theypushed into new territory to establish posts, living amicably among peoples with far differentcustoms—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 holdit back from their faces with hide headbands. the kilt-tunics of coarse material, duplicatingsamples brought from the past, were harsh to the skin and poorly fitting. but the workmanshipof 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 mastertrader, and he wore wealth in a necklace of polished wolf's teeth alternating with amberbeads. ross's more modest position in the tribe was indicated not only by his red-browncloak, but by the fact that his personal jewelry consisted only of a copper bracelet and acloak pin with a jet head. he had no idea how the time transition wasto be made, nor how one might step from the

polar regions of the western hemisphere tothe 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 platewhile the light centered there curled about in a solid core, shutting one off from floorand wall. ross gasped for breath as the air was sucked out of his lungs. he experienceda moment of deathly sickness with the sensation of being lost in nothingness. then he breathedagain and looked through the dying wall of light to where ashe waited. quick and easy as the trip through time hadbeen, the journey to britain was something

else. there could be only one transfer pointif the secret was to be preserved. but men from that point must be moved swiftly andsecretly to their appointed stations. ross, knowing the strict rules concerning the transportationof 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 afterthey had stepped through the barrier of time at the outpost, ross and ashe balanced onthe rounded back of a whale. it was a whale which would deceive anyone who did not testits hide with a harpoon, and whalers with harpoons large enough to trouble such a monsterwere yet well in the future.

ashe slid a dugout into the water, and rossclimbed into that unsteady craft, holding it against the side of the disguised sub untilhis partner joined him. the day, misty and drizzling, made the shore they aimed for ahalf-seen line across the water. with a shiver born of more than cold, ross dipped his paddleand helped ashe send their crude boat toward that half-hidden strip of land. there was no real dawn; the sky lightenedsomewhat, but the drizzle continued. green patches showed among the winter-denuded treesback 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 invaderswho built massive tombs and had an elaborate religion. small village-forts had been linkedfrom hill to hill by trackways. there were "factories," which turned out in bulk suchfine flint weapons and tools that a thriving industry was in full operation, not yet havingbeen superseded by the metal imported by the beaker merchants. bronze was still so rareand 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 shoreand ran it into a shallow depression in the bank, heaping stones and brush about for itsconcealment. then ashe intently surveyed the

surrounding country, seeking a landmark. "inland from here...." ashe used the languageof 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 hadlearned; 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 redoubtablesanford, was playing his role so well. the rain squished in their hide boots, madesodden 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 markedtrail. his self-confidence was rewarded within

the first half mile when they came out uponone of the link trackways, its beaten surface testifying to constant use. here ashe turned eastward, stepping up thepace to a ground-covering trot. the peace of the road held—at least by day. by nightonly the most hardened and desperate outlaws would brave the harmful spirits roving inthe dark. all the lore that had been pounded into himat the base began to make some sense to ross as he followed his guide, sniffing strangewet smells from the brush, the trees, and the damp earth; piecing together in his mindwhat he had been taught and what he now saw for himself, until it made a tight pattern.

the track they were following sloped slightlyupward, and a change in the wind brought to them a sour odor, blanking out all normalscents. ashe halted so suddenly that ross almost plowed into him. but he was alertedby the older man's attitude. something had been burned! ross drew in adeep lungful of the smell and then wished that he had not. it was wood—burned wood—andsomething else. since this was not possibly normal, he was prepared for the way ashe meltedinto cover in the brush. they worked their way, sometimes crawlingon 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 evergreenbush to make them a window.

the black patch left by the fire, which hadcome from a ruin above, had spread downhill on the opposite side of the valley. charredposts still stood like lone teeth in a skull to mark what must have once been one of thestockade walls of a post. but all they now guarded was a desolation from which came thatoverpowering stench. "our post?" ross asked in a whisper. ashe nodded. he was studying the scene withan 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 problemvital to the two lurking in the brush. it took them almost an hour to cross the valley—anhour of hiding, casting about, searching.

they had made a complete circle of the destroyedpost and ashe stood in the shadow of a copse, rubbing clots of mud from his hands and frowningup at the charred posts. "they weren't rushed. or if they were, theattackers covered their trail afterward—" ross ventured. the older man shook his head. "tribesmen wouldnot have muddled a trail if they had won. no, this was no regular attack. there havebeen no signs of a war party coming or leaving." "then what?" demanded ross. "lightning for one thing—and we'd betterhope it was that. or—" ashe's blue eyes were very cold and bleak, as cold and bleakas the countryside about them.

"or—?" ross dared to prompt him. "or we have made contact with the reds inthe wrong way!" ross's hand instinctively went to the daggerat his belt. little help a dagger would be in an unequal struggle like this! they wereonly two in a thin web of men strung out through centuries of time with orders to seek outthat which did not fit properly into the pattern of the past: to locate the enemy whereverin history or prehistory he had gone to earth. had the reds been searching, too, and wasthis first disaster their victory? the time traders had their evidence when theyat last ventured into what had been the heart of outpost gog. ross, inexperienced as hewas in such matters, could not mistake the

signs of the explosion. there was a crateron the crown of the hill, and ashe stood apart from it, eying the fragments about them—scorchedwood, blackened stone. "the reds?" "it must have been. this damage was done byexplosives." it was clear why outpost gog could not reportthe 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 ornatebuckle of his wide belt. "we have about ten days to stick it out," he added, "and it seemswe may be able to use them to better advantage

than just letting you learn how it feels towalk about some four thousand years before you were born. we have to find out—if wecan—what happened here and why!" ross gazed at the mess. "dig?" he asked. "some digging is indicated." so they dug. finally, black with charcoalsmudges and sick with the evidences of death they had chanced upon, they collapsed on thecleanest 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 withghosts, and our agents conform to local custom as usual. all of the post people could beerased with one bomb at night."

all except two of them had been true beakertraders, including women and children. no beaker trading post was large, and this onewas unusually small. the attacker had wiped out some twenty people, eighteen of them innocentvictims. "how long ago?" ross wanted to know. "maybe two days. and this attack came withoutany warning, or sandy would have sent a message. he had no suspicions at all; his last reportswere 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 correctedhimself—"we don't! we go to nodren's village. we are frightened, grief-stricken. we havefound our kinsmen dead under strange circumstances. we ask questions of one to whom i am knownas an inhabitant of this post." so, covered with dirt, they walked along thetrackway 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 smallerthan a wolf, and it barked between its warning snarls. ashe brought his bow from beneaththe shelter of his cloak and held it ready. "ho, one comes to speak with nodren—nodrenof the hill!"

only the dog snapped and snarled. ashe rubbedhis forearm across his face, the gesture of a weary and heartsick man, smearing the ashand grime into an awesome mask. "who speaks to nodren—?" there was a differenttwist to the pronunciation of some words, but ross was able to understand. "one who has hunted with him and feasted withhim. the one who gave into his hand the friendship gift of the ever-sharp knife. it is asshaof the traders——" "go far from us, man of ill luck. you whoare hunted by the evil spirits." the last was a shrill cry. ashe remained where he was, facing into thebushes which hid the tribesman.

"who speaks for nodren yet not with the voiceof nodren?" he demanded. "this is assha who asks. we have drunk blood together and facedthe 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 throughthe air, striking a rain pool and spattering mud on ashe's boots. "go and take your evilwith you!" "is it from the hand of nodren or nodren'syoung men that doom came upon those of my blood? have war arrows passed between theplace of the traders and the town of nodren? is that why you hide in the shadows so thati, assha, cannot look upon the face of one who speaks boldly and throws stones?"

"no war arrows between us, trader. we do notprovoke the spirits of the hills. no fire comes from the sky at night to eat us up witha noise of many thunders. lurgha speaks in such thunders; lurgha's hand smites with suchfire. you have the wrath of lurgha upon you, trader! keep away from us lest lurgha's wrathfall 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 verymethod of attack on the post would defeat ashe's attempt to learn anything from theseneighbors. the superstitions of the people would lead them to shun both the site of thepost 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 hisbowstave. "yet assha walks, as you see him; assha talks, as you hear him. it is ridiculousto 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 flurryof action behind the bush screen and he reappeared, dragging into the gray light of the rainyday a wriggling captive, whom he bumped without ceremony onto the beaten earth of the road. the man was bearded, wearing his thick mopof black hair in a round topknot secured by

a hide loop. he wore a skin tunic, now inconsiderable disarray, which was held in place with a woven, tasseled belt. "ho, so it is lal of the quick tongue whospeaks 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 willcontinue to tell me of this wrath of lurgha from the night skies and what has happenedto sanfra, who was my brother, and those others of my kin. i am assha, and you know of thewrath of assha and how it ate up twist-tooth, the outlaw, when he came in with his evilmen. the wrath of lurgha is hot, but so too is the wrath of assha." ashe contorted hisface in such a way that lal squirmed and looked

away. when the tribesman spoke, all his formerauthority and bluster had gone. "assha knows that i am as his dog. let himnot turn upon me his swift-cutting big knife, nor the arrows from his lightning bow. itwas the wrath of lurgha which smote the place on the hill, first the thunder of his fistmeeting 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'smight and keep his eyes in his head. nodren himself saw this wonder——"

"and if lurgha came in the night, when allmen keep to their homes and leave the outer world to the restless spirits, how did nodrensee his coming?" lal crouched lower to the ground, his eyesdarting to the bushes and the freedom they promised, then back to ashe's firmly plantedboots. "i am not a chief, assha. how could i knowin what way or for what reason nodren saw the coming of lurgha——?" "fool!" a second voice, that of a woman, spatthe 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 beenspared by lurgha...." she showed her wonderment

with a hiss of indrawn breath. so urged, lal mumbled sullenly, "it is saidthat there came a message for one to witness the wrath of lurgha in its descent upon theoutlanders 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 thevoice 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 handsover his ears. "lal is a fool and fears his own shadow asit skips before him on a sunny day!" out of

the bushes stepped a young woman, obviouslyof 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 hercloth 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 wellbe some who no longer walk in their bodies." cassca placed her fingers momentarily on ashe'soutstretched palm before she nodded. "no spirit

are you, assha, for all know that a spiritis solid to the eye, but not to the touch. so it would seem that you were not burnedup by lurgha, after all." "this matter of a message from lurgha—"he prompted. "it came out of the empty air in the hearingnot only of nodren, but also of hangor, effar, and myself, cassca. for we stood at that timenear 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 gointo the inner circle." she gestured again. "but as we met to make the first sacrificethere came music out of the air such as we

have never heard, voices singing like birdsin a strange tongue." her face assumed an awesome expression. "afterward a voice saidthat lurgha was angered with the hill of the men-from-afar and that in the night he wouldsend his wrath against them, and that nodren must witness this thing so that he could seewhat lurgha did to those he would punish. so it was done by nodren. and there was asound in the air——" "what kind of a sound?" ashe asked quietly. "nodren said it was a hum and there was thedark shadow of lurgha's bird between him and the stars. then came the smiting of the hillwith 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 maystand between them and that wrath." "assha thanks cassca, who is the handmaidenof the great mother. may the sowing prosper and the reaping be good this year!" ashe saidfinally, 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 thereare 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, andross fell in beside him as the woman watched

them out of sight.chapter 6 "that bird of lurgha's—" said ross, oncethey were out of sight of cassca and lal, "could it have been a plane?" "sounds like it," snapped his companion. "ifthe 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 announcementconcerning the wrath of lurgha was probably made there—to their good purpose, not ours." "cassca didn't seem to be overly impressedwith lurgha's curse, not as much as the man was."

"she is the closest thing to a priestess thatthis tribe knows, and she serves a goddess older and more powerful than lurgha—themother earth, the great mother, goddess of fertility and growth. nodren's people believethat unless cassca performs her mysteries and sows part of the first field in the springthere won't be any harvest. consequently, she is secure in her office and doesn't fearthe wrath of lurgha too much. these people are now changing from one type of worshipto another, but some of cassca's beliefs will persist clear down to our day, taking on thecoating of 'magic' and a lot of other enameling along the way." ashe had been talking as a man talks to coverup furious thinking. now he paused again and

turned toward the sea. "we have to stick itout 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 totalking up a holy extermination of those upon whom the wrath of lurgha has fallen and wecould 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. justnow we're about the most important time travelers out, for we know the reds have appeared onthis line. they must have a large post here, too, or they couldn't have sent a plane onthat raid. you can't build a time transport

large enough to take through a considerableamount 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 wherewe operate the base posts. so if the reds have a plane, it was put together here, andthat means a big post somewhere." again ashe was thinking aloud as he pushed ahead of rossinto the fringes of a wood. "sandy and i scouted this territory pretty well last spring. thereis a cave about half a mile to the west; it will shelter us for tonight." ashe's plans would probably have been easilyaccomplished if the cave had been unoccupied.

without incident they came down into a hollowthrough which trickled a small stream, its banks laced with a thin edging of ice. underashe's direction ross collected an armload of firewood. he was no woodsman and his prolongedexposure to the chilling drizzle made him eager for even the very rough shelter of acave, so eager that he plunged forward carelessly. his foot came down on a slippery patch ofmud, 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 stoutcloth was caught between those fangs. with a startled cry, ross rolled as he mighthave to escape a man's attack, struggling to unsheath his dagger. a white-hot flashof pain scored his upper arm. the breath was

driven out of him as a fight raged over hisprone body; he heard grunts, snarls, and was severely pommeled. then he was free as thebodies broke away. shaken, he got to his knees. a short distance away the fight was stillin progress. he saw ashe straddle the body of a huge white wolf, his legs clamped aboutthe animal's haunches, his hooked arm under the beast's head, forcing it up and back whilehis dagger rose and sank twice in the underparts of the heaving body. ross held his own weapon ready. he leapedfrom a half crouch, and his dagger sank cleanly home behind the short ribs. one of their blowsmust 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 moistsoil to clean the blade. a red rivulet trickled down his thigh wherethe lower edge of his kilt-tunic had been ripped up to the link belt. he was breathinghard, but otherwise he was as composed as always. "these sometimes hunt in pairs atthis season," he observed. "be ready with your bow—" ross strung his with the cord he had beenkeeping dry within the breast folds of his tunic. he fitted an arrow to the string, gratefulto be a passable marksman. the slash on his arm smarted in protest as he moved, and henoted that ashe did not try to get up. "a bad one?" ross indicated the blood nowthickening into a stream along ashe's thigh.

ashe pulled away the torn tunic and exposeda nasty looking gash on the outside of his hip. he pressed his palm against the gapingwound and motioned ross to scout ahead. "see if the cave is clear. we can't do anythinguntil we know that." reluctantly ross followed the stream untilhe found the cave, a snug-looking place with an overhang to keep it dry. the unpleasantsmell of a lair hung about its mouth. he chose a stone from the stream, chucked it into thedark opening, and waited. the stone rattled as it struck an inner wall, but there wasno 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 atthe entrance, they could hope to keep it free

of intruders. a little heartened, he castabout a bit upstream and then turned back to where he had left ashe. "no male?" the other greeted him. "this isa female, and she was close to whelping—" he nudged the white wolf with his toe. hishands held a pad of rags against his hip, and his face was shaded with pain. "nothing in the cave anyway. let's see aboutthis...." ross laid aside the bow and kneeled to examine ashe's thigh wound. his own slashwas more of a smarting graze, but this tear was deep and ugly. "second plate—belt—" ashe got the wordsout between set teeth, and ross clicked open

the hidden recess in the other's bronze beltto 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 cumbersomefold was secure ashe relaxed. "let us hope that works," he commented a littlebleakly. "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 theanti-septo pill on his tongue, ross helped ashe limp upstream to the cave. he left theolder man outside while he cleaned up the floor of the cave and then made his companionas comfortable as he could on a bed of bracken. the fire ross had longed for was built. theystripped off their sodden clothing and hung

it to dry. ross wrapped a bird he had shotin 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 painshooting from fingers to elbow when he moved it. though ashe made no complaint, ross gaugedthat the older man's discomfort was far worse than his own, and he carefully hid all signsof his own twinges. they ate the bird, saltless, and with theirfingers. ross savored each greasy bite, licking his hands clean afterward while ashe lay backon 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 tolay 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 wolfwould have died down in the valley. yet a strange shyness kept him from trying to puthis thanks into words. the only kind of amends he could make for the other's hurt was toprovide hands, feet, and strength for the man who did know what to do and how to doit. "we'll have to hunt—" he ventured.

"deer," ashe caught him up. "but the marshat the mouth of this stream provides a better hunting ground than inland. if the wolf lairedhere very long, she has already frightened away any large game. it isn't the matter offood which bothers me——" "it is being tied up here," ross filled infor 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 expressionon 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 acquirethe wolf skin puzzled ross, but he asked no questions. his skinning task took four timesas long and was far from being the neat job the shock-haired man of the record tape hadaccomplished. ross had to wash himself off in the stream before piling stones over thecorpse in temporary burial. when he pulled his bloody burden back to the cave, ashe laywith his eyes closed. ross thankfully sat on his own pile of bracken and tried not tonotice the throbbing ache in his arm. he must have fallen asleep, for when he rousedit 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 aword, leaving ross to sit by the fire, a fire he was very glad to have a moment or so laterwhen a wailing howl sounded down-wind. if this was not the white wolf's mate, then itwas another of her kin who prowled the upper reaches of the small valley. the next day, having provided ashe with asupply of firewood, ross went to try his luck in the marsh. the thick drizzle which hadhung over the land the day before was gone, and he faced a clear, bright morning, thoughthe breeze had an icy snap. but it was a good morning to be alive and out in the open, andross's spirits rose.

he tried to put to use all the woodlore hehad learned at the base. but it was one thing to learn something academically and anotherto put that learning into practice. he was uncomfortably certain that ashe would nothave found his showing very good. the marsh was a series of pools between rankgrowths of leafless willows and coarse tufts of grass, with hillocks of firmer soil risinglike islands. ross, approaching with caution, was glad of it, for from one of those hillocksarose 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, thoughit might be merely the temporary camp of some hunter.

ross also saw thousands of birds feeding greedilyon the dried seed of the marsh grasses, paddling in the pools, and setting up a clamor to drivea man mad. they did not seem in the least disturbed by that distant camper. ross had reason to be proud of his marksmanshipthat morning. he had in his quiver perhaps half a dozen of the lighter shafts made forshooting birds. in place of the finely chipped and wickedly barbed flint points used forheavier game, these were tipped with needle-sharp, light bone heads. he had a string of fourbirds looped together by their feet within almost as many minutes. for the flocks rosein their first alarm only to settle again to feast.

then he knocked over a hare—a fat giantof its race—that stared at him brazenly from a tussock. the hare kicked back intoa pool in its death struggle, however, and ross was forced to leave cover to retrieveits body. but he was alert and he stood up, dagger out and ready, to greet the man whoparted the bushes to watch him. for a long minute gray eyes stared into brownones, and then ross noted the other's bedraggled and tattered dress. the kilt-tunic smudgedwith mud, scorched and charred along one edge, was styled like his own. the fellow wore hishair fastened back with a band, unlike the topknot of the local tribesman. ross, his dagger still ready, broke the silencefirst. "i am a believer in the fire and the

fashioned metal, the climbing sun, and themoving water." he repeated the recognition speech of the beakermen. "the fire warms by the grace of tulden, themetal is fashioned by the mystery of the smith, the sun climbs without our aid, and who canstop the water from running?" the stranger's voice was hoarse. now that ross had time toexamine him more closely he saw the dark bruise on his exposed shoulder, the raw red markof a burn running across the man's broad chest. he dared to test his surmise concerning theother. "i am of the kin of assha. we returned tothe hill——" "ashe!"

not "assha" but "ashe!" ross, though sureof that pronunciation, was still cautious. "you are from the hill place, where lurghasmote with thunder and fire?" the man slid his long legs across the logwhich had been his shelter. the burn across his chest was not his only brand, for rossnoticed 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 uninitiatednative might have been one for the warding off of evil, but which to ross was the "thumbsup" 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 onthe other hand, he could be a red spy. ross had not forgotten kurt. "what happened?" heparried one question with another. "bomb. the reds must have spotted us, andwe didn't have a chance. we weren't expecting any trouble. i'd been down to see about amissing burden donkey and was about halfway back up the hill when she hit. when i cameto 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 littlegesture. "i tried to talk to nodren, but they stoned me away. i knew that ashe was comingthrough and hoped to reach him when he hit

the beach, but i was too late. then i figuredhe 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, withashe injured, ross was taking no chances. he pushed his dagger back into its sheathand 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 strangerwas in no shape to race after him, and he would lay a muddled trail before he returnedto the cave valley. if this man was a red plant, he would have to reckon with one whohad 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 thecave at the fire, using his dagger to fashion a crutch out of a length of sapling. he surveyedross's burden with approval, but lost interest in the promise of food as soon as the otherreported 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'tsmile 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 rightnot to bring him here without being sure. what made you so watchful? kurt?" again ross nodded. "and what you said aboutthe reds' planting someone here to wait for us." ashe scratched the bristles on his chin. "neverunderrate them—we don't dare do that. but the man you met is mcneil, and we'd betterget him here. can you bring him?" "i think he's able to get about, in spiteof that leg. from his story he's been stirring around."

ashe bit absent-mindedly into a piece of hareand 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 shelteron the small island was surely the place where mcneil had holed up. should he try to workhis 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 againsta bushy willow, he could not have explained. however, because he did so the loop of hiderope meant for his throat hit his shoulder harmlessly. it fell to the ground, and hestamped one boot down on it. then it was the work of seconds to grasp it and give it aquick jerk. the surprised man who held the other end was brought sprawling into the open. ross had seen that round face before. "lalof the town of nodren." he found words to greet the ropeman even as his knee came upagainst the fellow's jaw, jarring lal so that he dropped a flint knife. ross kicked it intothe willows. "what do you hunt here, lal?"

"traders!" the voice was weak, but it heldheat. the tribesman did not try to struggle againstross's hold, and ross, gripping him by the nape of the neck, moved through a screen ofbrush to a hollow. luckily there was no water cupped there, for mcneil lay in the bottomof that dip, his arms tied tightly behind him and his ankles lashed together with nothought for the pain of his burned leg. chapter 7 ross whirled the rope which had been meantto bring him down around lal. he lashed the tribesman's arms tight to his body beforehe knelt to cut loose his fellow time traveler. lal now huddled against the far wall of thecup, fear in every line of his small body.

so apparent was this fear that ross felt nosatisfaction at turning the tables on him. instead he felt increasingly uneasy. "what is this all about?" he asked mcneilas he stripped off his bonds and helped him up. mcneil massaged his wrists, took a step ortwo, and grimaced with pain. "our friend seeks to be an obedient servant of lurgha." ross picked up his bow. "the tribe is outto hunt us?" "lurgha has ordered—out of thin air again—thatany traders who escaped are to be brought in and introduced to him personally at thesacrifice for the enrichment of the fields!"

the old, old gift of blood and life at thespring sowing. ross recalled grisly details from his cram lessons. any wandering strangeror enemy tribesman taken in a raid before that day would meet such a fate. on unluckyyears when people were not available a deer or wolf might serve. but the best sacrificeof all was a man. so lurgha had decreed—from the air—that traders were his meat? whatof ashe? let any hunter from the village track him down. "we have to move fast," ross told mcneil ashe took up the rope which made a leading cord for lal. ashe would want to question the tribesmanabout this second order from lurgha. impatient as ross was, he had to mend hispace 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 sharppush, ordering him to stay there, while he went to mcneil's aid. it was well into theafternoon before they came up the stream and saw the fire before the cave. "macna!" ashe hailed ross's companion withthe native version of his name. "and lal. but what do you here, lal of nodren's town?" "mischief." ross helped mcneil within thecave and to the pile of brush which was his own bed. "he was hunting traders as a presentfor lurgha." "so—" ashe turned upon the tribesman—"andby whose word did you go hunting my kinsman,

lal? was it nodren's? has he forgotten theblood bond between us? for it was in the name of lurgha himself that that bond was made——" "aaaah—" the tribesman squatted down againstthe wall where ross had shoved him. unable to hide his head in his arms, he brought hisface 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 shouldersrising and falling with the force of his sobs. "aaaah—" he wailed. ashe allowed him a moment or two of noisygrief and then limped over to grasp his topknot and pull up his head. lal's eyes were screwedtightly 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 tellingus what you know, lal." the woman cassca had displayed a measure ofintelligence and ease at their meeting upon the road. but it was very plain that lal wasof different stuff, a simple man in whose head few ideas could find house room at onetime. and to him the present was all black. little by little they dragged the story outof him. lal was poor, so poor that he had never dareddream of owning for himself some of the precious

things the hill traders displayed to the wealthyof nodren's town. but he was also a follower of the great mother's, rather than one whomade sacrifices to lurgha. lurgha was the god for warriors and great men; he was toohigh to concern himself with such as lal. so when nodren reported the end of the hillpost under the storm fist of lurgha, lal had been impressed only to a point. he was stillconvinced it was none of his concern, and instead he began thinking of the treasureswhich might lie hidden in the destroyed buildings. it occurred to him that lurgha's wrath hadbeen laid upon the men who had owned them, but perhaps it would not stretch to the finethings themselves. so he had gone secretly to the hill to explore.

what he had seen there had utterly convertedhim 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 hisimpious thoughts.... at that point ashe interrupted the streamof 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 huntwild fowl in the marshes lurgha had spoken to him, to lal, who was less than a flea creepingupon a worn-out fur rug. and how had lurgha spoken? ashe's voice wassofter, 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 flaton the ground before the bodiless voice of lurgha and had sworn that he would serve lurghato the end of his life. then lurgha had told him to hunt down oneof the evil traders who was hiding in the marshes, and bind him with ropes. then hewas to call the men of the village and together they would carry the prisoner to the hillwhere lurgha had loosed his wrath, and there they would leave him. later they might returnand take what they found there and use it to bless the fields at sowing time, and allwould 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 younot served the great mother all these years, giving to her a portion of the first fruitseven when the yield of your one field was small?" lal stared at him, his woebegone face stillsmeared with tears. it took a second or two for the question to penetrate his fear-cloudedmind. 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 thisis the thin season when men fast before the coming of the new harvest. the great motherwatches 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 ourpost, 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 foryour 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'squarrel 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 acrossthe ground. "hear me, lurgha," he called into the comingnight, "i am assha of the traders, and upon myself i take your hate. not upon lal, norupon nodren, nor upon the people who live in nodren's town, shall your wrath lie. thusdo i say it!" ross, noticing that ashe concealed from lala wave of his hand, was prepared for some display meant to impress the tribesman. itcame in a spectacular burst of green fire beyond the stream. lal wailed again, but whenthat 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 whitewolf skin, dropping it before lal—"this you will give to cassca that she may makea curtain for the mother's home. see, it is white and so rare that the mother will bepleased with such a fine gift. and you will tell her all that has chanced and how youbelieve 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 lurghaand 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 finething you give me, assha, and the mother will be pleased, for in many years she has nothad such a curtain for her secret place. also, i am but a little man; the quarrels of greatones are not for me. since lurgha has accepted your words this is none of my affair. yeti will not go back to the village for a while—with your permission, assha. for i am a man ofloose and wagging tongue and oftentimes i speak what i do not really wish to say. soif i am asked questions, i answer. if i am not there to be asked such questions, i cannotanswer." mcneil laughed, and ashe smiled. "well enough,lal. perhaps you are a wiser man than you think. but also i do not believe you shouldstay here."

the tribesman was already nodding. "that doi 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 shallwork upon this fine skin so that when i take it to the mother it shall indeed be a giftworth her smiles. now, assha, i would go before the night comes if it pleases you." "go with good fortune, lal." ashe stood apartwhile the tribesman ducked his head in a shy, awkward farewell to the others, patteringout into the valley. "what if they pick him up?" mcneil asked wearily. "i don't think they can," ashe returned. "andwhat would you do—keep him here? if we tried

that, he'd scheme to escape and try to turnthe tables on us. now he'll keep away from nodren's village and out of sight for thetime being. lal's not too bright in some ways, but he's a good hunter. if he has reason forhiding out, it'll take a better hunter to track him. at least we know now that the redsare afraid they did not make a clean sweep here. what happened, mcneil?" while he was telling his story in more detailboth ashe and ross worked on his burns, making him comfortable. then ashe sat back as rossprepared food. "how did they spot the post?" ashe rubbedhis chin and frowned at the fire. "only way i can guess is that they pickedup our post signal and pinpointed the source.

that means they must have been hunting usfor some time." "no strangers about lately?" mcneil shook his head. "our cover wasn't brokenthat way. sanford was a wonder. if i hadn't known better, i would have sworn he was bornone of the beaker folk. he had a network of informants running all the way from here intobrittany. amazing how he was able to work without arousing any suspicions. i supposehis being a member of the smiths' guild was a big help. he could pick up a lot of newsfrom any village where there was one at work. and i tell you," mcneil propped himself upon his elbow to exclaim more vehemently—"there wasn't a whisper of trouble from here clearacross the channel and pretty far to the north.

we were already sure the south was clean beforewe ever took cover as beakers, especially since their clans are thick in spain." ashe chewed a broiled wing reflectively. "theirpermanent base with the transport has to be somewhere within the bounds of the territorythey hold in our own time." "they could plant it in siberia and laughat us," mcneil exploded. "no hope of our getting in there——" "no." ashe threw the stripped bone into thefire and licked grease from his fingers. "then they would be faced with the old problem ofdistance. if what they are exploiting lay within their modern boundaries, we would neverhave tumbled to the thing in the first place.

what the reds want must lie outside theirtwentieth century holdings, a slender point in our favor. therefore they will plant theirshift point as close to it as they can. our transportation problem is more difficult thantheirs will ever be. "you know why we chose the arctic for ourbase; it lies in a section of the world never populated by other than roving hunters. buti'll wager anything you want to name that their point is somewhere in europe where theyhave 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. "thesepeople couldn't possibly know what it was—lurgha's bird—magic—"

ashe shook his head. "they must have the interference-with-historyworry as much as we have. anything of our own time has to be hidden or disguised insuch a way that the native who may stumble upon it will never know it is man-made. oursub is a whale to all appearances. possibly their plane is a bird, but neither can beartoo close an examination. we don't know what could result from a leak of real knowledgein this or any primitive time ... how it might change history——" "but," ross advanced what he believed to bethe best argument against that reasoning, "suppose i handed lal a gun and taught himto use it. he couldn't duplicate the weapon—the technology required lies so far beyond thisage. these people couldn't reproduce such

a thing." "true enough. on the other hand, don't belittlethe ingenuity of the smiths or the native intelligence of men in any era. these tribesmenmight 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 trickswith the past. this is the same situation we faced immediately after the discovery ofthe atom bomb. everybody raced to produce that new weapon and then sat around and shiveredfor fear we'd be crazy enough to use it on each other. "the reds have made new discoveries whichwe have to match, or we will go under. but

back in time we have to be careful, both ofus, 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 trialrun. 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. mcneilwas 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 thetribesmen were tracking them. apparently lal had done as he promised, withdrawing to themarsh and hiding there apart from his people. in the gray of pre-dawn on the fourth dayashe 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 littleway down the valley mcneil joined them out of the mist from his guard post. keeping theirpace to one which favored ashe's healing wound, they made their way inland in the directionof 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, thebark of a dog. in the fog, ross stumbled in

a shallow ditch beyond which lay a stubbledfield. ashe paused to look about him, his nostrils expanding as if he were a hound smellingout their trail. the three went on, crossing a whole seriesof small, irregular fields. ross was sure that the yield from any of these cleared stripsmust be scanty. the fog was thickening. ashe pressed the pace, using his handmade crutchcarefully. he gave an audible sigh of relief when they were faced at last by two stonemonoliths rising like pillars. a third stone lay across them, forming a rude arch throughwhich they saw a narrow valley running back into the hills. through the fog ross could sense the eeriestrangeness 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. yetnow, 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 archto wait. the older man gestured the other two intocover. ross obeyed willingly, though the dank drops of condensing fog dripped on his cloakand wet his face as he brushed against prickly-leafed shrubs. here were walls of evergreen plantsand dwarfed pines almost as if this tunnel of year-round greenery had been planted withsome purpose in mind. once his companions had concealed themselves, ashe called, shrillbut sweetly, with a bird's rising notes. three

times he made that sound before a figure movedin the fog, the rough gray-white of its long cloak melting in the wisps of mist. down that green tunnel, out of the heart ofthe valley, the other came, a loop of cloak concealing the entire figure. it halted rightin back of the arch and ashe, making a gesture to the others to stay where they were, facedthe muffled stranger. "hands and feet of the mother, she who sowswhat may be reaped——" "outland stranger who is under the wrath oflurgha," the other mocked him in the voice of cassca. "what do you want, outlander, thatyou dare to come here where no man may enter?" "that which you know. for on the night whenlurgha 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 arejealous for her and her service. if lurgha is a mighty god, you wanted to see his actswith your own eyes." when she finally answered, there was angeras well as frustration in her voice. "and you know of my shame then, assha. for lurghacame—on a bird he came, and he did even as he said he would. so now the village willmake offerings to lurgha and beg his favor, and the mother will no more have those toharken to her words and offer her the first fruits——" "but from whence came this bird which waslurgha, can you tell me that, she who waits

upon the mother?" "what difference does it make from what directionlurgha 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 rightshoulder. "from that way he came, assha. well did i watch, knowing that i was the mother'sand that even lurgha's thunderbolts could not eat me up. does knowing that make lurghasmaller in your eyes, assha? when he has eaten up all that is yours and your kin with it?" "perhaps," assha repeated. "i do not thinklurgha 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 greentunnel, 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 laterashe, a dressing on his leg and a few of the pain lines smoothed from his face, sat ona bunk in the arctic time post nursing a mug of coffee in his hands and smiling, a littlecrookedly, at nelson millaird. millaird, kelgarries, dr. webb, all the topbrass of the project had not only come through

the transfer point to meet the three frombritain but were now crammed into the room, nearly pushing ross and mcneil through thewall. because this was it! what they had hunted for months—years—now lay almost withintheir grasp. only millaird, the director, did not seemso confident. a big man with a bushy thatch of coarse graying hair and a heavy, fleshyface, he did not look like a brain. yet ross had been on the roster long enough to knowthat it was millaird's thick and hairy hands that gathered together all the loose threadsof operation retrograde and deftly wove them into a workable pattern. now the directorleaned 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," hecommented 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 asif he were about to turn and face the enemy. "the reds wouldn't have moved against gogif they did not consider it a menace to them. their big base must be in this time sector!" "a big base," millaird corrected. "the onewe are after, no. and right now they may be switching times. do you think they will sithere 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 dismantlea big base?" that officer countered. "at least

a month. if we shoot a team in there in ahurry—" millaird folded his huge hands over his barrel-shapedbody 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, nothingto add?" "no, sir. they jumped us out of the blue whensandy thought he had every possible line tapped, every safeguard working. i don't know howthey caught on to us, unless they located our beam to this post. if so, they must havebeen deliberately hunting us for some time, because we only used the beam as scheduled——"

"the reds have patience and brains and probablysome 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?" millairdasked the hitherto silent third member of his ruling committee. the quiet man adjusted his glasses on thebridge of his nose, a flattish nose which did not support them very well. "just anotherpoint to add to our surmises. i would say that they are located somewhere near the balticsea. there are old trade routes there, and in our own time it is a territory closed tous. we never did know too much about that section of europe. their installation maybe close to the finnish border. they could

disguise their modern station under half adozen covers; that is strange country." millaird's hands unfolded and he produceda notebook and pen from a shirt pocket. "won't hurt to stir up some of the present-day agentsof the m.i. and the rest. they might just come up with a useful hint. so you'd say thebaltic. but that is a big slice of country." webb nodded. "we have one advantage—theold trade routes. in the beaker period they are pretty well marked. the major one intothat section was established for the amber trade. the country is forested, but not soheavily as it was in an earlier period. the native tribes are mostly roving hunters, andfishermen along the coast. but they have had contact with traders." he shoved his glassesback into place with a nervous gesture. "the

reds may run into trouble themselves thereat this time——" "how?" kelgarries demanded. "invasion of the ax people. if they have notyet 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. wedon't know whether they stamped out the native tribes they found there or assimilated them." "that might be a nice point to have settledmore definitely," mcneil commented. "it could mean the difference between getting your skullsplit and continuing to breathe." "i don't think they would tangle with thetraders. evidence found today suggests that

the beaker folk simply went on about theirbusiness in spite of a change in customers," webb returned. "unless they were pushed into violence." ashehanded his empty mug to ross. "don't forget lurgha's wrath. from now on our enemies mighttake a very dim view of any beaker trade posts near their property." webb shook his head slowly. "a wholesale attackon 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 historythan we are. no, they will watch for us. we will have to stop communication by radio——"

"we can't!" snapped millaird vehemently. "wecan 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 boxesthat they can't snoop. time!" he drummed on his knee with his thick fingers. "it all comesback to a question of time." "which we do not have," ashe observed in hisusual quiet voice. "if the reds are afraid they have been spotted, they must be dismantlingtheir post right now, working around the clock. we'll never again have such a good chanceto nail them. we must move now." millaird's lids drooped almost shut; he mighthave been napping. kelgarries stirred restlessly by the door, and webb's round face had settledinto what looked like permanent lines of disapproval.

"doc," millaird spoke over his shoulder tothe fourth man of his following, "what is your report?" "ashe must be under treatment for at leastfive days. mcneil's burns aren't too bad, and murdock's slash is almost healed." "five days—" millaird droned, and then flasheda glance at the major. "personnel. we're tied down without any useful personnel. who inprocessing 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 appearon the map. i won't send any men in cold. their blunders would not only endanger thembut might menace the whole project." "so that leaves us with you three," millairdsaid. "we'll recall what men we can and brief them again as fast as possible. but you knowhow long that will take. in the meantime——" ashe spoke directly to webb. "you can't pinpointthe region closer than just the baltic?" "we can do this much," the other answeredhim slowly, and with obvious reluctance. "we can send the sub cruising offshore there forthe next five days. if there is any radio activity—any communication—we should beable to trace the beams. it all depends upon whether the reds have any parties operatingfrom their post. flimsy——"

"but something!" kelgarries seized upon itwith the relief of one who needed action. "and they will be waiting for just such amove on our part," webb continued deliberately. "all right, so they'll be watching!" the majorsaid, about to lose his temper, "but it is about the only move we can make to back upthe boys when they do go in." he whipped around the door and was gone. webbgot up slowly. "i will work over the maps again," he told ashe. "we haven't scoutedthat area, and we don't dare send a photo-plane over it now. any trip in will be a stab inthe 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-runcramming had been a rigorous business, he was soon to laugh at that estimation. sincethe burden of the next jump would rest on only three of them—ashe, mcneil, and himself—theywere plunged into a whirlwind of instruction, until ross, dazed and too tired to sleep onthe 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 comeon for maybe three, four weeks. to change runs means unlearning stuff as well as learningit——" "what about new men?"

"don't think kelgarries isn't out now beatingthe 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 goingto be noticed—maybe remembered too well. we can't afford to take that chance. so kelgarrieshad to discover men who not only look the part but are also temperamentally fitted forthis 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 protectionfor 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 pointbefore. now he realized that he and ashe and

mcneil were of a common mold. all about thesame height, they shared brown hair and light eyes—ashe's blue, his own gray, and mcneil'shazel—and they were of similar build, small-boned, lean, and quick-moving. he had not seen anyof the true beakermen except on the films. but now, recalling those, he could see thatthe three time traders were of the same general physical type as the far-roving people theyused as a cover. it was on the morning of the fifth day whilethe three were studying a map webb had produced that kelgarries, followed at his own weightypace by millaird, burst in upon them. "we have it! this time we have the luck! thereds slipped. oh, how they slipped!" webb watched the major, a thin little smilepulling at his pursed mouth. "miracles sometimes

do happen," he remarked. "i suppose the subhas a fix for us." kelgarries passed over the flimsy strip ofpaper he had been waving as a banner of triumph. webb read the notation on it and bent overthe map, making a mark with one of those needle-sharp pencils which seemed to grow in his breastpocket, 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 milescan 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 hundredthtime that morning. "i suppose we could consider this critical, condition red," he said insuch 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. onceyou have them off sprinkle them with a powder miles will provide and in ten minutes therewon'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. yourfix in this time will be easy—but it is the other end of the line we must have. untilyou 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 andset up a series of them to spoil a direct trace, as each would lead only to anotherfarther back in time——" "all right. if that proves true, just getus the next one back," millaird returned. "from that we can trace them along if we mustsend in some of the boys wearing dinosaur skins later. we have to find their primarybase, 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 troubleand yelled for help." "did they get it?" the major grinned. "what do you think? youknow 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. wedo 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 isa silly thing to do. you were almost over the edge of prudence yourself, gordon, withthat lurgha business. to use the great mother was a ticklish thing to try, and you werelucky to get out of it so easily." "once was enough," ashe agreed. "though usingit may have saved our lives. but i assure you i am not starting a holy war or settingup 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 untilhe was actually on the ground. landing there according to millaird's instructionwas another experience he would not have chosen of his own accord. to jump was a matter oftiming, and in the dark with a measure of rain thrown in, the action was anything butpleasant. leaving the plane in a blind, follow-the-leader fashion, ross found the descent into darknessone of the worst trials he had yet faced. but he did not make too bad a landing in thesmall parklike expanse they had chosen for their target. ross pulled loose his harness and chute, draggingthem to what he judged to be the center of the clearing. hearing a plaintive bray fromthe air, he dodged as one of the two burden

asses sent to join them landed and began tokick at its trappings. the animals they had chosen were the most docile available andthey had been given sedation before the jump so that now, feeling ross's hands, the donkeystood quietly while ross stripped it of its hanging straps. "rossa—" the sound of his beaker name calledthrough 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 notas thick as it would be in the forest and

they worked fast. then they dragged the parachutestogether in a heap. the rain would, webb had assured them, add to the rapid destructionwrought by the chemical he had provided. ashe shook it over the pile, and there was a faintgreenish glow. then they moved away to the woodland and made camp for the balance ofthe night. so much of their whole exploit depended uponluck, and this small part had been successful. unless some agent had been stationed to watchfor their arrival ross believed they could not be spotted. the rest of their plan was elastic. posingas traders who had come to open a new station, they were to stay near a river which draineda lake and then angled southward to the distant

sea. they knew this section was only sparselysettled by small tribes, hardly larger than family clans. these people were generationsbehind the civilized level of the villagers of britain—roving hunters who followed thesweep of game north or south with the seasons. along the seashore the fishermen had establishedmore permanent holdings which were slowly becoming towns. there were perhaps a few hardypioneer farmers on the southern fringes of the district, but the principle reason traderscame to this region was to get amber and furs. the beaker people dealt in both. now as the three sheltered under the widebranches of a towering pine ashe fumbled with a pack and brought out the "beaker" whichwas 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 handto hand, its taste unpleasant on the tongue, but comfortingly warm to one's middle. they took turns keeping the watch until thegray of false dawn became the clearer light of morning. after breakfasting on flat cakesof meal, they packed the donkeys, using the same knots and cross lashing which were themark of real beaker traders. their bows protected from dampness under their cloaks, they setout to find the river and their path southward. ashe led, ross towed the donkeys, and mcneilbrought up the rear. in the absence of a path they had to set a ragged course, keeping tothe edge of the clearing until they saw the

end of the lake. "woodsmoke," ashe commented when they hadcompleted two thirds of their journey. ross sniffed and was able to smell it too. noddingto ashe, mcneil oozed into nothingness between the trees with an ease murdock envied. asthey waited for him to return, ross became conscious of another life about them, onebusy with its own concerns, which were in no way those of human beings, except thatfood and perhaps shelter were to be reckoned among them. in britain, ross had known there were othersof his kind about, but this was different. here, he could have believed it if he hadbeen told he was the first man to walk this

way. a squirrel ran out on a tree limb and surveyedthe two men with curious beady eyes, then clung head down on the tree trunk to see thembetter. one of the donkeys tossed its head, and the squirrel was gone with a flirt ofits tail. although it was quiet, there was a hum underneath the surface which ross triedto analyze, to identify the many small sounds which went into its making. perhaps because he was trying so hard, henoted the faint noise. his hand touched ashe's arm and a slight movement of his head indicatedthe 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 cavelevel. i don't think they've ever heard of traders." "how many?" "three, maybe four families. most of the malesmust be out hunting, but there're about ten children and six or seven women. i don't thinkthey've had good luck lately by the look of them." "maybe their luck and ours are going to turntogether," ashe said, motioning ross forward

with the donkeys. "we will circle about themto the river and then try bartering later. but i do want to establish contact." chapter 9 "not to be too hopeful—" mcneil rubbed hisarm across his hot face—"so far, so good." after kicking from his path some of the branchesross had lopped from the trees they had been felling, he went to help his companion rollanother small log up to a shelter which was no longer temporary. if there had been anyeyes other than the woodland hunters' to spy upon them, they would have seen only the usualprocedure 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 assumefor their own safety. they might prowl at night, but in the daytime all of the timeagents kept within the bounds of the roles they were acting. barter with the head men of the hunting clanhad brought those shy people into the camp of the strangers who had such wonders to exchangefor tanned deer hides and better furs. the news of the traders' arrival spread quicklyduring the short time they had been here, so that two other clans had sent men to watchthe proceedings. with the trade came news which the agentssifted and studied. each of them had a list

of questions to insert into their conversationswith the tribesmen if and when that was possible. although they did not share a common speechwith 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 theydiscovered, going hunting with the men as an excuse to penetrate the unknown sectionthey must quarter in their search for the red base. ross drank river water and mopped his ownhot 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—recruitthem in our own time. or in the way lots of tribes grew during periods of stress." ross set down the water jug. "you mean, killoff 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 trainingat the project he had been confronted by things which shook his belief in his own strong stomachand nerve. "it has been done," mcneil remarked bleakly,"hundreds of times by invaders. in this setup—small family clans, widely scattered—that movewould 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, maybeunderground." how right their guesses were they learnedthat night when ashe returned, a deer's haunch on his shoulder. ross knew him well enoughby now to sense his preoccupation. "you found something?" "a new set of ghosts," ashe replied with astrange little smile. "ghosts!" mcneil pounced upon that. "the redslike 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 territorysoutheast of here, a stretch strictly taboo for all hunters. we were following a bisontrack 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 hedoes, it's in a damaged condition, blown upon by ghosts and burned to death! that's onepoint." he sat down by the fire and stretched hisarms wearily. "the second is a little more disturbing for us. a beaker camp about twentymiles south of here, as far as i can judge, was exterminated just a week ago. the messagewas passed to me because i was thought to

be a kinsman of the slain——" mcneil sat up. "done because they were huntingus?" "might well be. on the other hand, the affairmay have been just one of general precaution." "the ghosts did it?" ross wanted to know. "i asked that. no, it seems that strange tribesmenoverran it at night." "at night?" mcneil whistled. "just so." ashe's tone was dry. "the tribesdo not fight that way. either someone slipped up in his briefing, or the reds are overconfidentand 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 andthat they might protest intrusions of such with penalties all around——" "like the wrath of lurgha," supplied ross. "there is a certain repetition in this whichsuggests a lot to the suspicious mind," ashe agreed. "i'd say no more hunting expeditions for thepresent," mcneil said. "it is too easy to mistake a friend for a deer and weep overhis grave afterward." "that is a thought which entered my mind severaltimes 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, butit takes only one slip to make it fatal. in the meantime, i think we'd better make thisplace a little more snug, and it might be well to post sentries as unobtrusively aspossible." "how about faking some signs of a ruined campand 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 againstit would be the missing bodies. it seems that the tribesmen who raided the beaker camp leftsome very distasteful evidence of what happened to the camp's personnel. and those we can'tproduce to cover our trail."

mcneil was not yet convinced. "we might beable to fake something along that line, too——" "we may have to fake nothing," ross cut insoftly. he was standing close to the edge of the clearing where they were building theirhut, his hand on one of the saplings in the palisade they had set up so laboriously thatday. ashe was beside him in an instant. "what is it?" ross's hours of listening to the sounds ofthe 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, wentfor the water jug. "get your trail supplies,"

he ordered. their leather pouches which held enough ironrations to keep them going were always at hand. mcneil gathered them from behind thefur curtain fronting their half-finished cabin. again the bird called, its cry piercing andcovering a long distance. ross could understand why a careless man would select it for thesignal. 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, butat least they would have their chance to escape. mcneil, his cloak slung about him to concealthe ration bags, picked up the leather bucket as if he were merely going down to the riverfor water, and came to join ross. they believed

that they were carrying it off well, thatthe camp must appear normal to any lurkers in the woods. but either they had made someslip or the enemy was impatient. an arrow sped out of the night to flash across thefire, 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 rolledin the other direction. ross plunged for the brush with mcneil. lyingflat on the half-frozen ground, they started to work their way to the river bank wherethe open area would make surprise less possible. "ashe?" he whispered and felt mcneil's warmbreath on his cheek as he replied: "he'll make it the other way! he's the bestwe 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 passingof 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 beenimpossible for him a few months earlier. the glimmer of the river was pale throughthe clumps of bushes which sometimes grew into the flood. in this country winter stillclung tenaciously in shadowy places with cups of leftover snow, and there was a bite inthe wind and water. ross rose to his knees with an involuntary gasp as a scream cut throughthe 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, halfbent to the ground. the river was swollen with spring floods which were only now beginningto subside, but two days earlier they had noticed a sandbar at one spot. by crossingthat shelf across the bed, they might hope to put water between them and the unknownenemy tonight. it would give them a breathing space, even though ross privately shrank fromthe thought of plowing into the stream. he had seen good-sized trees swirling along inthe current only yesterday. and to make such a dash in the dark.... from mcneil's throat burst a startling soundwhich ross had last heard in britain—the

questing howl of a hunting wolf. the cry wasanswered seconds later from downstream. they worked their way along the edge of thewater with continued care, until they came upon ashe at last, so much a part of his backgroundthat ross started when the lump he had taken for a bush hunched forward to join them. togetherthey made the river crossing and turned south again to head for the mountains. it was thenthat 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 frombehind. one moment he had been trailing mcneil and ashe; the next moment was black nothingness. he was aware of a throb of pain which carriedthroughout his body and then localized in

his head. forcing open his eyes, the dazzleof 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 himout of the bushes. wolf? no, the wolf was dead, but then it came alive again to howlon a river bank. ross forced his eyes open once more, enduringthe pain of beams he recognized as sunshine. he turned his head to avoid the glare. itwas hard to focus, but he fought to steady himself. there was some reason why it wasnecessary to move, to get away. but away from

what and where? when ross tried to think hecould only see muddled pictures which had no connection. then a moving object crossed his very narrowfield of vision, passing between him and a thing he knew was a tree trunk. a four-footedcreature with a red tongue hanging from its jaws. it came toward him stiff-legged, growlinglow in its throat, and sniffed at his body before barking in short excited bursts ofsound. the noise hurt his head so much that rossclosed his eyes. then a shock of icy liquid thrown into his face aroused him to make afeeble protest and he saw, hanging over him in a strange upside-down way, a bearded facewhich he knew from the past.

hands were laid on him and the roughness withwhich he was moved sent ross spiraling back into the dark once again. when he arousedfor the second time it was night and the pain in his head was dulled. he put out his handsand discovered that he lay on a pile of fur robes, and was covered by one. "assha—" again he tried that name. but itwas not assha who came in answer to his feeble call. the woman who knelt beside him witha horn cup in her hand had neatly braided hair in which gray strands showed silver byfirelight. ross knew he had seen her before, but again where and when eluded him. she slippeda sturdy arm under his head and raised him while the world whirled about. the edge ofthe horn cup was pressed to his lips, and

he drank bitter stuff which burned in histhroat and lit a fire in his insides. then he was left to himself once again and in spiteof 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 arguedthe tribe into caring for a man they believed almost dead when they found him, and who nursedross back to life with knowledge acquired through half a hundred exchanges between thosewise women who were the doctors and priestesses of these roaming peoples. why frigga had bothered with the injured strangerat all ross learned when he was able to sit up and marshal his bewildered thoughts intosome sort of order. the matriarch of the tribe

thirsted for knowledge. that same urge whichhad led her to certain experiments with herbs, had made her consider ross a challenge toher healing skill. when she knew that he would live she determined to learn from him allhe had to give. ulffa and the men of the tribe might haveeyed the metal weapons of the traders with awe and avid desire, but frigga wanted morethan trade goods. she wanted the secret of the making of such cloth as the strangerswore, everything she could learn of their lives and the lands through which they hadcome. she plied ross with endless questions which he answered as best he could, for helay in an odd dreamy state where only the present had any reality. the past was dimand far away, and while he was now and then

dimly aware that he had something to do, heforgot it easily. the chief and his men prowled the half-builtstation after the attackers had withdrawn, bringing back with them a handful of loot—abronze 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 everythingabout him was often blanked out by headaches which kept him limp on his bed, uncaring andstupid for hours or even full days. he gathered that the tribe had been livingin fear of an attack from the same raiders who had wiped out the trading post. but atlast their scouts returned with the information that the enemy had gone south.

there was one change of which ross was notaware but which might have startled both ashe and mcneil. ross murdock had indeed died underthat blow which had left him unconscious beside the river. the young man whom frigga had drawnback to sense and a slow recovery was rossa of the beaker people. this same rossa nurseda 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 himto try his strength now, to keep to his feet even when they were unsteady. his bow wasgone, but ross spent hours fashioning another, and he traded his copper bracelet for thebest dozen arrows in ulffa's camp. the jet

pin from his cloak he presented to friggawith all his gratitude. now that his strength was coming back he couldnot rest easy in the camp. he was ready to leave, even though the gashes on his headwere still tender to the touch. ulffa indulgently planned a hunt southward, and rossa took thetrail with the tribesmen. he broke with the clan hunters when they turnedaside at the beginning of the taboo land. ross, his own mind submerged and taken overby his beaker cover, hesitated too. yet he could not give up, and the others left himthere, his eyes on the forbidden heights, unhappy and tormented by more than the headacheswhich still came and went with painful regularity. in the mountains lay what he sought—a hiddensomething within his brain told him that over

and over—but the mountains were taboo, andhe should not venture into them. how long he might have hesitated there ifhe had not come upon the trail, ross did not know. but on the day after the hunters ofulffa's clan left, a glint of sunlight striking between two trees pointed out a woodsman'sblaze on a third tree trunk. the two halves of ross's memory clicked together for an instantas he examined that cut. he knew that it marked a trace and he pushed on, hunting a secondcut 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-traveledroute: a spring cleared of leaves and walled

with stone, a couple of steps cut in the turfon 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 supplantedthe real ones. that night he built no fire, crawling insteadinto the heart of a rotted log to sleep, awakening once to the call of a wolf and another timeat the distant crash of a dead tree yielding to wind. in the morning he was about to climb backto the trail he had prudently left the night before when he saw five bearded, fur-cladmen looking much the same as ulffa's people. ross hugged the earth and watched them passout of sight before he followed.

all that day he wove an up-and-down trailbehind the small band, sometimes catching sight of them as they topped a rise well aheador stopped to eat. it was late afternoon when he crept cautiously to the top of a ridgeand gazed down into a valley. there was a town in that valley, sturdy housesof logs behind a stockade. he had seen towns vaguely like it before, yet it had a dreamlikequality as if it were not as real as it appeared. ross rested his chin on his arms and watchedthat town and the people moving in it. some were fur-clad hunters, but others dressedquite differently. he started up with a little cry at the sight of one of the men who hadwalked so swiftly from one house to the next; surely he was a beaker trader!

his unease grew stronger with every momenthe watched, but it was the oddness he sensed in that town which bothered him and not anywarning that he, himself, was in danger. he had gotten to his knees to see better whenout of nowhere a rope sang through the air, settling about his chest with a vicious jerkwhich not only drove the air from his lungs but pinioned his arms tight to his body.chapter 10 having been cuffed and battered into submissionmore quickly than would have been possible three weeks earlier, murdock now stood sullenlysurveying the man who, though he dressed like a beaker trader, persisted in using a languageross did not know. "we do not play as children here." at lastthe man spoke words ross could understand.

"you will answer me or else others shall askthe 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 tableat him, his inbred antagonism to authority aroused by that contemptuous demand, but thencommon sense cautioned. his initial introduction to this village had left him bruised and withone of his headaches. there was no reason to let them beat him until he was in no shapeto 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 kinsmenwho 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 grewas 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, ableto subdue ross's wildcat resistance in a very short struggle. "i came to this land from the south," rossanswered, "after the manner of my people. this is a new land with furs and the goldentears of the sun to be gathered and bartered.

the traders move in peace, and their handsare 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 andross answered fully with details of the past of one rossa, a beaker merchant. yes, he wasfrom the south. his father was gurdi, who had a trading post in the warm lands alongthe big river. this was rossa's first trip to open new territory. he had come with hisfather's blood brother, assha, who was a noted far voyager, and it was an honor to be chosenas donkey-leader for such a one as assha. with assha had been macna, one who was alsoa 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 traderblood and no uncivilized woodsrunner. how long had he known assha? ross shrugged. asshahad come to his father's post the winter before and had stayed with them through the coldseason. gurdi and assha had mingled blood after he pulled gurdi free from the riverin flood. assha had lost his boat and trade goods in that rescue, so gurdi had made goodhis loss this year. detail by detail he gave the story. in spite of the fact that he providedthese details glibly, sure that they were true, ross continued to be haunted by an oddfeeling that he was indeed reciting a tale of adventure which had happened long ago andto someone else. perhaps that pain in his head made him think of these events as verycolorless and far away.

"it would seem"—the quiet man turned tothe one behind the table—"that this is indeed one rossa, a beaker trader." but the man looked impatient, angry. he madea sign to the other guard, who turned ross around roughly and sent him toward the doorwith a shove. once again the leader gave an order in his own language, adding a few wordsmore with a stinging snap that might have been a threat or a warning. ross was thrust into a small room with a hardfloor and not even a skin rug to serve as a bed. since the quiet man had ordered theremoval of the ropes from ross's arms, he leaned against the wall, rubbing the painof returning circulation away from his wrists

and trying to understand what had happenedto him and where he was. having spied upon it from the heights, he knew it wasn't anordinary trading station, and he wanted to know what they did here. also, somewhere inthis village he hoped to find assha and macna. at the end of the day his captors opened thedoor only long enough to push inside a bowl and a small jug. he felt for those in thedusk, dipping his fingers into a lukewarm mush of meal and drinking the water from thejug avidly. his headache dulled, and from experience ross knew that this bout was almostover. 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 couldenter without arousing him.

it was still dark when he awoke with a curiousurgency remaining from a dream he could not remember. ross sat up, flexing his arms andshoulders to combat the stiffness which had come with his cramped sleep. he could notrid himself of a feeling that there was something to be done and that time was his enemy. assha! gratefully he seized on that. he mustfind assha and macna, for the three of them could surely discover a way to get out ofthis village. that was what was so important! he had been handled none too gently, and theywere holding him a prisoner. but ross believed that this was not the worst which could happento him here, and he must be free before the worst did come. the question was, how couldhe escape? his bow and dagger were gone, and

he did not even have his long cloak pin fora weapon, since he had given that to frigga. running his hands over his body, ross inventoriedwhat remained of his clothing and possessions. he unfastened the bronze chain-belt stillbuckled in his kilt tunic, swinging the length speculatively in one hand. a masterpiece ofcraftsmanship, it consisted of patterned plates linked together with a series of five finelywrought chains and a front buckle in the form of a lion's head, its protruding tongue servingas a hook to support a dagger sheath. its weight promised a weapon of sorts, which whenadded to the element of surprise might free by rights they would be expecting him to producesome opposition, however. it was well known that only the best fighters, the shrewdestminds, 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 thebright horns would send. were he ever to return to gurdi's post, ba-bal, whose boat rode acrossthe sky from dawn to dusk, would have a fine ox, jars of the first brewing, and sweet-smellingamber laid upon his altar. ross had patience which he had learned fromthe mixed heritage of his two pasts, the real and the false graft. he could wait as he hadwaited 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 thenewcomer for that necessary instant or two. if his attack was to be successful, it mustoccur inside the room. he heard the sound of a bar being slid out of its brackets, andhe poised himself, the belt rippling from his right hand. the door was opening inward, and a man stoodsilhouetted against the outer light. he muttered, looking toward the corner where ross had thrownhis single garment in a roll which might just resemble, for the needed second or two, aman curled in slumber. the man in the doorway took the bait, coming forward far enough forross to send the door slamming shut as he himself sprang with the belt aimed for theother's head.

there was a startled cry, cut off in the middleas the belt plates met flesh and bone in a crushing force. luck was with him! ross caughtup his kilt and belted it around him after he had made a hurried examination of the bodynow lying at his feet. he was not sure that the man was dead, but at any rate he was completelyunconscious. ross stripped off the man's cloak, located his dagger, freed it from the belthook, 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 theportal open, and dagger in hand, sprang out, ready for attack. he closed the door, slippingthe 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 easiestpart of what he planned to do, as ross well knew. to find assha and macna in this mazeof rooms occupied by the enemy was far more difficult. although he had no idea in whichof the village buildings they might be confined, this one was the largest and seemed to bethe headquarters of the chief men, which meant it could also serve as their prison. light came from a torch in a bracket halfwaydown the hall. the wood burned smokily, giving off a resinous odor, and to ross the glowwas sufficient illumination. he slipped along as close to the wall as he could, ready tofreeze 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 theywere 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 silenttread and vigilant wariness before, ross was doubly on guard now as he wriggled to a pointfrom which he could see beyond that turn. mere luck prevented him from giving himselfaway a moment later. assha! assha, alive, well, apparently underno restraint, was just turning away from the same quiet man who had had a part in ross'sinterrogation. that was surely assha's brown hair, his slender wiry body draped with abeaker's kilt. a familiar tilt of the head

convinced ross, though he could not see theman's face. the quiet man went down the hall, leaving assha before a door. as he passedthrough it ross sped forward and followed him inside. assha had crossed the bare room and was standingon a glowing plate in the floor. ross, aroused to desperate action by some fear he did notunderstand, leaped after him. his left hand fell upon assha's shoulder, turning the manhalf around as ross, too, stepped upon the patch of luminescence. murdock had only an instant to realize thathe was staring into the face of an astonished stranger. his hand flashed up in an edgewiseblow which caught the other on the side of

the throat, and then the world came apartabout them. there was a churning, whirling sickness which griped and bent ross almostdouble across the crumpled body of his victim. he held his head lest it be torn from hisshoulders by the spinning thing which seemed based behind his eyes. the sickness endured only for a moment, andsome 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 stoopedto drag him from the plate and began binding and gagging him with lengths torn from hiskilt. 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 traderrossa rubbed sweating palms on his kilt and thought fleetingly of forest ghosts and othermysteries. not that the traders bowed to those ghosts which were the plague of lesser menand 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 theroom and then went back to the plate with the persistence of a man who refused to treatwith ghosts and wanted something concrete to explain the unexplainable. though he rubbedhis hands across the smooth surface of the

plate, it did not light up again. his captive having writhed himself half outof the corner of the room, ross debated the wisdom of another silencing—say a tap onthe skull with the heavy hilt of his dagger. deciding against it because he might needa guide, he freed the victim's ankle bonds and pulled him to his feet, holding the daggerready where the man could see it. were there any more surprises to be encountered in thisplace, 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 theyentered a short passage with walls of some smooth stuff which had almost the sheen ofpolished 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, rosscame to the nearest door and looked within, to be faced by incomprehensible frames ofmetal rods and boxes. rossa of the traders marveled and stared, but again, he realizedthat what he saw was not altogether strange. part of one wall was a board on which smalllights flashed and died, to flash again in winks of bright color. a mysterious objectmade 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 metalboxes. then he made the rounds of the room,

touching nothing, but studying what he couldnot understand. puffs of warm air came in through grills near the floor, but the roomhad the same general chill as the hall outside. meanwhile the lights on the board had becomemore active, flashing on and off in complex patterns. ross now heard a buzzing, as ifa swarm of angry insects were gathered for an attack. crouching beside his captive, rosswatched 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 overhis 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 manat the lights was interrupted by a sharp pattern of long-and-short sounds, and his hands fleweven 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 inone piece to cover his arms and legs as well as his body, and his hair was so short thathis 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 hislike before somewhere, yet the background

had not been gurdi's post on the southernriver. where and when had he, rossa, ever been with such strange beings? and why couldhe not remember it all more clearly? boots sounded once more in the hall, and anotherfigure strode in. this one wore furs, but he, too, was no woods hunter, ross realizedas he studied the newcomer in detail. the loose overshirt of thick fur with its hoodthrown back, the high boots, and all the rest were not of any primitive fashioning. andthe man had four eyes! one pair were placed normally on either side of his nose, and theother two, black-rimmed and murky, were set above on his forehead. the fur-clad man tapped the one seated atthe board. he freed his head partially from

the wire cage so that they could talk togetherin a strange language while lights continued to flash and the buzzing died away. ross'scaptive wriggled with renewed vigor and at last thrashed free a foot to kick at one ofthe metal installations. the resulting clang brought both men around. the one at the boardtore 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 wonderedat his recognition of that black thing and of the danger it promised, even as he preparedfor battle. he pushed his captive across the path of the man in fur and threw himself inthe other direction. there was a blast to make a torment in his head as he hurled towardthe door.

so intent was ross upon escape that he didnot glance behind but skidded out on his hands and knees, thus fortunately presenting a poortarget to the third man coming down the hall. ross's shoulder hit the newcomer at thighlevel, and they tangled in a struggling mass which saved ross's life as the others burstout behind them. ross fought grimly, his hands and feet movingin blows he was not conscious of planning. his opponent was no easy match and at lastross was flattened, in spite of his desperate efforts. he was whirled over, his arms jerkedbehind him, and cold metal rings snapped about his wrists. then he was rolled back, to lieblinking up at his enemies. all three men gathered over him, barking questionswhich he could not understand. one of them

disappeared and returned with ross's formercaptive, his mouth a straight line and a light in his eyes ross understood far better thanwords. "you are the trader prisoner?" the man wholooked like assha leaned over murdock, patches of red on his tanned skin where the gag andwrist 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 havedone yourself ill, my young friend. we have a better prison here for you, one from whichyou shall not escape."

he spoke to the other men, and there was thering 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 therooms 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, butno fur shirt was given him. he shivered more and more as the chill which clung to thatwarren of rooms and halls bit into his half-clad body. he was certain of only one thing aboutthis 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 filledwith bulky metal objects of bright scarlet or violet that gleamed weirdly and were equippedwith rods along which all the colors of the rainbow ringed. here was a round door, andwhen one of the guards used both hands to tug it open, the cold that swept in at themwas a frigid breath that burned as it touched bare skin.chapter 11 it took ross a while to learn that the dirty-whitewalls of this tunnel which were almost entirely opaque, with dark objects showing dimly throughthem here and there, were of solid ice. a black wire was hooked overhead and at regularintervals hung with lights which did nothing

to break the sensation of glacial cold aboutthem. ross shuddered. every breath he drew stungin his lungs; his bare shoulders and arms and the exposed section of thigh between kiltand boot were numb. he could only move on stiffly, pushed ahead by his guards when hefaltered. 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 theboring through the solid ice, but they were at last fronted by another opening, a raggedone which might have been hacked with an ax. they emerged from it into the wildest sceneross had ever seen. of course, he was familiar

with ice and snow, but here was a world surrenderedcompletely to the brutal force of winter in a strange, abnormal way. it was a still, deadwhite-gray world in which nothing moved save the wind which curled the drifts. his guards covered their eyes with the murkylenses they had worn pushed up on their foreheads within the shelter, for above them sunlightdazzled on the ice crest. ross, his eyes smarting, kept his gaze centered on his feet. he wasgiven no time to look about. a rope was produced, a loop of it flipped in a noose about histhroat, 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 heavyobjects had been sledded there. ross slipped

and stumbled in the ruts, fearing to falllest he be dragged. the numbness of his body reached into his head. he was dizzy, the worldabout him misting over now and again with a haze which arose from the long stretchesof 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 crustdelivered a knife's cut. unemotionally, he watched a thin line of red trickle in a sluggishdrop or two down the blue skin of his leg. the rope jerked him forward, and ross scrambledawkwardly until one of his captors hooked a fur mitten in his belt and heaved him tohis feet once more. the purpose of that trek through the snowwas obscure to ross. in fact, he no longer

cared, save that a hard rebel core deep insidehim would not let him give up as long as his legs could move and he had a scrap of consciouswill 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 theslope of a glass-slick slope. he lay at the foot, unable to get up. through the haze anddeadening blanket of the cold he knew that he was being pulled about, shaken, generallymishandled; but this time he could not respond. someone snapped open the rings about his wrists. there was a call, echoing eerily across theice. the fumbling about his body changed to a tugging and once more he was sent rollingdown the slope. but the rope was now gone

from his throat, and his arms were free. thistime when he brought up hard against an obstruction he was not followed. ross's conscious mind—that portion of himthat was rossa, the trader—was content to lie there, to yield to the lethargy born ofthe 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 ithad been hatred of circumstances and authority; now it became hatred for those who had ledhim into this wilderness with the purpose, as he knew now, of leaving him to freeze anddie. ross pulled his hands under him. though therewas no feeling in them, they obeyed his will

clumsily. he levered himself up and lookedaround. he lay in a narrow crevicelike cut, partly walled in by earth so frozen as toresemble steel. crusted over it in long streaks from above were tongues of ice. to remainhere 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 hurryto be rid of him. he believed that he could climb out if he could make his body answerto his determination. somehow ross made that supreme effort andcame again to the rutted path from which they had tumbled him. even if he could, there wasno sense in going along that rutted trail, for it led back to the ice-encased buildingfrom 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. thetrace continued down the slope. now the towering walls of ice and snow were broken by rockyteeth as if they had bitten deep upon this land, only to be gnawed in return. roundingone of those rock fangs, ross looked at a stretch of level ground. snow lay here, butthe beaten-down trail led straight through it to the rounded side of a huge globe halfburied in the ground, a globe of dark material which could only be man-made. ross was past caution. he must get to warmthand shelter or he was done for, and he knew

it. wavering and weaving, he went on, hisattention 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 queerglimmering radiance of bluish light. the light rousing him because it promisedmore, 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 againsthis 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 lungswhen he ventured to draw in more than shallow gulps.

with that realization a measure of animalcaution returned to him. to remain where he was, just inside the entrance, was to courtdisaster. he must find a hiding place before he collapsed, for he sensed he was very nearthe end of his ability to struggle. hope had given him a flash of false strength, the impetusto move, and he must make the most of that gift. his path ended at a wide ladder, coiling inslow curves into gloom below and shadows above. he sensed that he was in a building of somesize. he was afraid to go down, for even looking in that direction almost finished his senseof 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, frombelow. it was someone moving. he dragged his body into the fourth level where the lightwas very faint, hoping to crawl far enough into one of the passages to remain unseenfrom 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. hewas falling through it! ross had a second, perhaps two, of stupefiedwonder. lying on a soft surface, he was enfolded by a warmth which eased his bruised and frozenbody. there was a sharp prick in his thigh, another in his arm, and the world was a hazydream until he finally slept in the depths

of exhaustion. there were dreams, detailed ones, and rossstirred uneasily as his sleep thinned to waking. he lay with his eyes closed, fitting togetherodd bits of—dreams? no, he was certain that they were memories. rossa of the beaker tradersand ross murdock of the project were again fused into one and the same person. how ithad happened he did not know, but it was true. opening his eyes, he noticed a curved ceilingof 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 inthe night his headache was gone. he raised his hand to explore that old hurt near hishairline that had been so tender only yesterday

that it could not bear pressure. there remainedonly a thin, rough line like a long-healed scar, that was all. ross lifted his head to look about him. hisbody lay supported in a cradlelike arrangement of metal, almost entirely immersed in a redgelatinous substance with a clean, aromatic odor. just as he was no longer cold, neitherwas he hungry. he felt as fit as he ever had in his life. sitting up in the cradle, hestroked the jelly away from his shoulders and chest. it fell from him cleanly, leavingno trace of grease or dampness on his skin. there were other fixtures in the small cylinderlikechamber besides that odd bed in which he had lain. two bucket-shaped seats were placedat the narrow fore part of the room and before

those seats was a system of controls he couldnot comprehend. as ross swung his feet to the floor therewas a click from the side which brought him around, ready for trouble. but the noise hadbeen caused by the opening of a door into a small cupboard. inside the cupboard laya fat package. obviously this was an invitation to investigate the offering. the package contained a much folded articleof fabric, compressed and sealed in a transparent bag which he fumbled twice before he succeededin releasing its fastening. ross shook out a garment of material such as he had neverseen before. its sheen and satin-smooth surface suggested metal, but its stuff was as suppleas fine silk. color rippled across it with

every twist and turn he gave to the length—darkblue fading to pale violet, accented with wavering streaks of vivid and startling green. ross experimented with a row of small, brilliant-greenstuds which made a transverse line from the right shoulder to the left hip, and they cameapart. as he climbed into the suit the stuff modeled to his body in a tight but perfectfit. across the shoulders were bands of green to match the studs, and the stockinglike tightswere 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 orhis surroundings. his head was clear; he could

remember every detail of his flight up tothe time he had fallen through the wall. and he was certain that he had passed throughnot only one, but two, of the red time posts. could this be the third? if so, was he stilla captive? why would they leave him to freeze in the open country one moment and then treathim this way later? he could not connect the ice-encased buildingfrom which the reds had taken him with this one. at the sound of another soft noise rossglanced over his shoulder just in time to see the cradle of jelly, from which he hademerged, close in upon itself until its bulk was a third of its former size. compact asa 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 lookat what vaguely resembled the control of a helicopter—like the one in which he hadtaken the first stage of his fantastic journey across space and time—he did not find itcomfortable. he realized that it had not been constructed to accommodate a body shaped preciselylike his own. a body like his own.... that jelly bath orbed or whatever it was.... the clothing which adapted so skillfully to his measurements.... ross leaned forward to study the devices onthe control board, confirming his suspicions. he had made the final jump of them all! hewas now in some building of that alien race upon whose existence millaird and kelgarrieshad staked the entire project. this was the

source, or one of the sources, from whichthe reds were getting the knowledge which fitted no modern pattern. a world encased in ice and a building withstrange 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 activatedthat cupboard to supply him with clothing? and what had become of the tunic he was wearingwhen he entered? ross got up to search the chamber. the bed-bathwas 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 hungerand thirst.

there were two possible explanations for itall. one was that the aliens still lived here and for some reason had come to his aid. theother was that he stood in a place where robot machinery worked, though those who had setit up were no longer there. it was difficult to separate his memory of the half-buriedglobe he had seen from his sickness of that moment. yet he knew that he had climbed andcrawled through emptiness, neither seeing nor hearing any other life. now ross restlesslypaced up and down, seeking the door through which he must have come, but there was noteven a line to betray such an opening. "i want out," he said aloud, standing in thecenter of the cramped room, his fists planted on his hips, his eyes still searching forthe 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 againsta wall which moved inward and allowed him to fall. but where had he fallen? into thatjelly bath? ross, stung by a sudden idea, glanced at theceiling. it was low enough so that by standing on tiptoes he could drum his fingers on itssurface. now he moved to the place directly above where the cradle had swung before ithad folded itself away. rapping and poking, his efforts were rewardedat last. the blue curve gave under his assault. he pushed now, rising on his toes, thoughin 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 theback of one of the bucket-seats. he jumped and by hooking his hands over theedge 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, hiseyes widening at what he saw. for it was plain now that he had just climbed out of a machinewith the unmistakable outline of a snub-nosed rocket. the small flyer—or a jet, or whateverit was—had been fitted into a pocket in the side of the big structure as a ship intoa berth, and it must have been set there to shoot from that enclosing chamber as a bulletis 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 hefell into it by chance and the bed machine had caught him as if it had been created forjust 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 whohad 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 andstared about him with open and incredulous wonder. could this be some form of ship, groundedhere, deserted and derelict, and now being

plundered by the reds? the facts fitted! theyfitted so well with all he had been able to discover that ross was sure it was true. buthe determined to prove it beyond all doubt. he closed the door leading to the lifeboatberth, but not so securely that he could not open it again. that was too good a hidingplace. 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 fromabove there was nothing, so he would explore above before he ventured into that other dangerzone. ross climbed, passing two more levels, tocome 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 stoodbewildered, content for the moment merely to look. there were—he counted slowly—fivecontrol boards like those he had seen in the small escape ship. each of these was facedby two or three of the bucket-seats, only these swung in webbing. he put his hand onone, and it bobbed elastically. the control boards were so complicated thatthe one in the lifeboat might have been a child's toy in comparison. the air in theship had been good; in the lifeboat it had held the pleasant odor of the jelly; but hereross sniffed a faint but persistent hint of corruption, of an old malodor. he left the vantage point by the stairs andpaced between the control boards and their

empty swinging seats. this was the main controlroom, of that he was certain. from this point all the vast bulk beneath him had been setin motion, sailed here and there. had it been on the sea, or through the air? the globeshape suggested an air-borne craft. but a civilization so advanced as this would surelyhave left some remains. ross was willing to believe that he could be much farther backin time than 2000 b.c., but he was still sure that traces of those who could build a thinglike 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 theforgotten corners of asia—had been a clue.

having had little schooling other than theintensive cramming at the base and his own informal education, the idea of the race whohad created this ship overawed ross more than he would admit. if the project could findthis, turn loose on it the guys who knew about such things.... but that was just what theywere 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 wherehe could find his own people. perhaps the job was impossible, but he had to try. hissurvival was considered impossible by the men who had thrown him into the crevice, buthere he was. thanks to the men who had built this ship, he was alive and well.

ross sat down in one of the uncomfortableseats to think and thus avoided immediate disaster, for he was hidden from the stairson which sounded the tap of boots. a climber, maybe two, were on their way up, and therewas no other exit from the control cabin. chapter 12 ross dropped from the web-slung chair to thefloor 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, theodd, unpleasant odor clung and became stronger to ross's senses as he waited tensely forthe climbers to appear. though he had searched, there was nothing in sight even faintly resemblinga weapon. in a last desperate bid for freedom

he crept back to the stairwell. he had been taught a blow during his trainingperiod, 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 flooropening, and ross struck, knowing as his hand chopped against the folds of a fur hood thathe had failed. but the impetus of that unexpected blow savedhim 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 scrambledaway from it. he might have delayed the final battle, but they had him cornered. he facedthat fact bleakly. they need only sit below

and let nature take its course. his sessionin the lifeboat had restored his strength, but a man could not live forever without foodand water. however, he had bought himself perhaps a yardof time which must be put to work. turning to examine the seats, ross discovered thatthey could be unhooked from their webbing swings. freeing all of them, he dragged theirweight to the stairwell and jammed them together to make a barricade. it could not hold longagainst any determined push from below, but, he hoped, it would deflect bullets if somesharpshooter tried to wing him by ricochet. every so often there was the crash of a shotand some shouting, but ross was not going to be drawn out of cover by that.

he paced around the control cabin, still huntingfor a weapon. the symbols on the levers and buttons were meaningless to him. they madehim feel frustrated because he imagined that among that countless array were some thatmight 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 frozensea. these control boards must have given the ship's master the means not only of propellingthe vast bulk, but of unloading and loading cargo, lighting, heating, ventilation, andperhaps defense! of course, every control might be dead now, but he remembered thatin the lifeboat the machines had worked successfully,

fulfilled expertly the duty for which theyhad 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 almostforgotten childhood, turned around three times, and pointed. then he looked to see where luckhad directed him. his finger indicated a board before whichthere had been three seats, and he crossed to it slowly, with a sense that once he touchedthe controls he might inaugurate a chain of events he could not stop. the crash of a shotunderlined the fact that he had no other recourse. since the symbols meant nothing, ross concentratedon the shapes of the various devices and chose one which vaguely resembled the type of lightswitch he had always known. since it was up,

he pressed it down, counting to twenty slowlyas he waited for a reaction. below the switch was an oval button marked with two wigglesand 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 moveup and down, ross pulled them out without even waiting to count off. this time he had results! a crackling of noisewith a singsong rhythm, the volume of which, low at first, arose to a drone filled thecabin. ross, deafened by the din, twisted first one lever and then the other until hehad brought the sound to a less piercing howl. but he needed action, not just noise; he movedfrom behind the first chair to the next one.

here were five oval buttons, marked in thesame 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 tothe surface, and ross pushed all the buttons in rapid succession. the results were, ina measure, spectacular. out of the top of the control board rose a triangle of screenwhich steadied and stood firm while across it played a rippling wave of color. meanwhilethe singsong became an angry squawking as if in protest. well, he had something, even if he didn'tknow what it was! and he had also proved that the ship was alive. however, ross wanted morethan 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 ascreen. at the section of board before the third andlast seat there was less choice—only two switches. as ross flicked up the first thepattern on the screen dwindled into a brown color shot with cream in which there was asuggestion of a picture. suppose one didn't put the switch all the way up? ross examinedthe 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 hadjammed into the stairwell. the squawks were

now coming only at intervals, and ross couldhear nothing to suggest that his barrier was being forced. he returned to the lever and moved it backtwo notches, standing open-mouthed at the immediate result. the cream-and-brown streakswere making a picture! moving another notch down caused the picture to skitter back andforth on the screen. with memories of tv tuning to guide him, ross brought the other leverdown to a matching position, and the dim and shadowy images leaped into clear and completefocus. but the color was still brown, not the black and white he had expected. only, he was also looking into a face! rossswallowed, his hand grasping one of the strings

of chair webbing for support. perhaps becausein some ways it did resemble his own, that face was more preposterously nonhuman. thevisage on the screen was sharply triangular with a small, sharply pointed chin and a jawline running at an angle from a broad upper face. the skin was dark, covered largely witha soft and silky down, out of which hooked a curved and shining nose set between twolarge round eyes. on top of that astonishing head the down rose to a peak not unlike acockatoo's crest. yet there was no mistaking the intelligence in those eyes, nor the other'samazement at sight of ross. they might have been staring at each other through a window. squawk ... squeek ... squawk.... the creaturein the mirror—on the vision plate—or outside

the window—moved its absurdly small mouthin time to those sounds. ross swallowed again and automatically made answer. "hello." his voice was a weak whistle, andperhaps it did not reach the furry-faced one, for he continued his questions if questionsthey were. meanwhile ross, over his first stupefaction, tried to see something of thecreature's background. though the objects were slightly out of focus, he was sure herecognized fittings similar to those about him. he must be in communication with anothership of the same type and one which was not deserted! furry-face had turned his head away to squawkrapidly over his shoulder, a shoulder which

was crossed by a belt or sash with an elaboratepattern. then he got up from his seat and stood aside to make room for the one he hadsummoned. 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, thoughit was hairless as was the smooth dome of his skull. when one became accustomed to thategg slickness, the stranger was not bad-looking, and he was wearing a suit which matched theone 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 friendlywith 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 couldpack into a look. ross might have been startled by furry-face, but now his stubborn streakarose to meet this implied challenge. he found himself breathing hard and glaring back withan intensity which he hoped would get across and prove to baldy that he would not haveeverything his own way if he proposed to tangle with ross. his preoccupation with the stranger on thescreen betrayed ross into the hands of those from below. he heard their attack on the barricadetoo late. by the time he turned around, the cork of seats was heaved up and a gun waspointing at his middle. his hands went up

in small reluctant jerks as that threat heldhim 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 thenshouted an order at his companion. the other spun murdock around, bringing his hands downbehind him to clamp his wrists together. once again ross fronted the screen and saw baldywatching the whole scene with an expression suggesting that he had been shocked out ofhis complacent superiority. "ah...." ross's captors were staring at thescreen and the unearthly man there. then one flung himself at the control panel and hishands whipped back and forth, restoring to

utter silence both screen and room. "what are you?" the man who might have beenashe spoke slowly in the beaker tongue, drilling ross with his stare as if by the force ofhis 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 timeowners of this ship. let that worry the red! but they did not try to answer him. at a signalhe 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 rossdelayed all he could. he realized that in his recognition of the power of the gun backin the control chamber, his surrender to its threat, he had betrayed his real origin. sohe 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 himwith a fur parka at the entrance to the ship, once more manacling his hands and droppinga noose leash on him. so, they were taking him back to their posthere. well, in the post was the time transporter which could return him to his own kind. itwould 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 thevalley. he did manage to catch a good look at theglobe-ship. more than half of it, he judged, was below the surface of the ground. to beso buried it must either have lain there a long time or, if it were an air vessel, crashedhard enough to dig itself that partial grave. yet ross had established contact with anothership like it, and neither of the creatures he had seen were human, at least not humanin any way he knew. ross chewed on that as he walked. he believedthat those with him were looting the ship of its cargo, and by its size, that cargomust be a large one. but cargo from where?

made by what hands, what kind of hands? enrouteto what port? and how had the reds located the ship in the first place? there were plentyof questions and very few answers. ross clung to the hope that somehow he had endangeredthe reds' job here by activating the communication system of the derelict and calling the attentionof its probable owners to its fate. he also believed that the owners might takesteps to regain their property. baldy had impressed him deeply during those few momentsof silent appraisal, and he knew he would not like to be on the receiving end of anyretaliation from the other. well, now he had only one chance, to keep the reds guessingas long as he could and hope for some turn of fate which would allow him to try for thetime transport. how the plate operated he

did not know, but he had been transferredhere from the beaker age and if he could return to that time, escape might be possible. hehad only to reach the river and follow it down to the sea where the sub was to makerendezvous at intervals. the odds were overwhelmingly against him, and ross knew it. but there wasno reason, he decided, to lie down and roll over dead to please the reds. as they approached the post ross realizedhow much skill had gone into its construction. it looked as if they were merely coming upto the outer edge of a glacier tongue. had it not been for the track in the snow, therewould have been no reason to suspect that the ice covered anything but a thick coreof its own substance. ross was shoved through

the white-walled tunnel to the building beyond. he was hurried through the chain of roomsto a door and thrust through, his hands still fastened. it was dark in the cubby and colderthan 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. therewas no reply, but after a pause that distant beat began again. ross stepped cautiouslyforward, and by the simple method of running fullface into the walls, discovered that hewas in a bare cell. he also discovered that

the noise lay behind the left-hand wall, andhe stood with his ear flat against it, listening. the sound did not have the regular rhythmof a machine in use—there were odd pauses between some blows, others came in a quickrain. it was as if someone were digging! were the reds engaged in enlarging their iceboundheadquarters? having listened for a considerable time, ross doubted that, for the sound wastoo irregular. it seemed almost as if the longer pauses were used to check up on theresult of labor—was it the extent of the excavation or the continued preservation ofsecrecy? ross slipped down along the wall, his shouldersstill 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 hishands as small as possible, tried to slip them through the rings. the only result wasthat he chafed his skin raw to no advantage. they had not taken off his parka, and in spiteof the chill about him, he was too warm. only that part of his body covered by the suithe had taken from the ship was comfortable; he could almost believe that it possessedsome built-in conditioning device. with no hope of relief ross rubbed his handsback and forth against the wall, scraping the hoops on his wrists. the distant poundinghad 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 surfacebehind him.

he was hungry when he awoke, and with thathunger his rebellion sparked into flame. awkwardly he got to his feet and lurched along to thedoor through which he had been thrown, where he proceeded to kick at the barrier. the cushionystuff forming the soles of his tights muffled most of the force of those blows, but somenoise was heard outside, for the door opened and ross faced one of the guards. "food! i want to eat!" he put into the beakerlanguage all the resentment boiling in him. the fellow ignoring him, reached in a longarm, and nearly tossing the prisoner off balance, dragged him out of the cell. ross was marchedinto another room to face what appeared to be a tribunal. two of the men there he knew—ashe'sdouble 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 beforei make talk with you. i have not done any wrong that you should treat me as a barbarianwho has stolen salt from the trading post——" "you are an agent," the leader corrected himdispassionately, "of whom you will tell us in due time. but first you shall speak ofthe ship, of what you found there, and why you meddled with the controls.... wait a momentbefore you refuse, my young friend." he raised his hand from his lap, and once again rossfaced an automatic. "ah, i see that you know

what i hold—odd knowledge for an innocentbronze age trader. and please have no doubts about my hesitation to use this. i shall notkill you, naturally," the man continued, "but there are certain wounds which supply a maximumof pain and little serious damage. remove his parka, kirschov." once more ross was unmanacled, the fur strippedfrom him. his questioner carefully studied the suit he wore under it. "now you will tellus exactly what we wish to hear." there was a confidence in that statement whichchilled ross; major kelgarries had displayed its like. ashe had it in another degree, andcertainly it had been present in baldy. there was no doubt that the speaker meant exactlywhat he said. he had at his command methods

which would wring from his captive the fullsum of what he wanted, and there would be no consideration for that captive during theprocess. his implied threat struck as cold as the glacialair, and ross tried to meet it with an outward show of uncracked defenses. he decided topick and choose from his information, feeding them scraps to stave off the inevitable. hopedies 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 volunteernothing.... let it be pulled from him reluctant word by word! he would spin it out as longas he could and hope that time might fight for him.

"you are an agent...." ross accepted this statement as one he wouldneither affirm nor deny. "you came to spy under the cover of a barbariantrader," smoothly, without pause, the man changed language in mid-sentence, slippingfrom the beaker speech into english. but long experience in meeting the dangerouswith an expression of complete lack of comprehension was ross's weapon now. he stared somewhatstupidly at his interrogator with that bewildered, boyish look he had so long cultivated to bemuseenemies in his past. whether he could have held out long againstthe other's skill—for ross possessed no illusions concerning the type of examinerhe now faced—he was never to know. perhaps

the drastic interruption that occurred thenext 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 hadbeen pried from their setting of ice and were being rolled about by the exploring thumband 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 determinedroar from the leader brought a semblance of order, but it was plain that they had notbeen expecting this. ross was hustled out of the room back to his cell. his guards wereopening the cell door when a second shock

was felt and he was thrust into safekeepingwith no ceremony. he half crouched against the questionablesecurity of the wall, waiting through two more twisting earth waves, both of which wereaccompanied or preceded by dull sounds. bombing! that last wrench was really bad. ross foundhimself lying on the floor, feeling tremors rippling along the earth. his stomach knottedconvulsively with a fear unlike any he had known before. it was as if the very securityof the world had been jerked from under him. but that last explosion—if it was an explosion—appearedto be the end. ross sat up gingerly after several long moments during which no moreshocks moved the floor and walls. a line of light marked the door, showing cracks wherenone had previously existed. ross, not yet

ready to try standing erect, was heading towardit 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 certainthat the scrape of metal against metal sounded from the far side of the wall. he crawledback and put his ear to the surface. now he heard not only that scraping, but an undercurrentof clicks, chippings.... under his exploring hands the surface remainedas smooth as ever, however. then suddenly, perhaps a foot from his head, there soundeda rip of metal. the wall was being holed from the other side! ross caught a flicker of veryweak light, and moving in it was the point of a tool pulling at the smooth surface ofthe wall. it broke away with a brittle sound,

and a hand holding a light reached throughthe 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 thehand with the light whipped back beyond the wall, a wide section gave away and a hunchedfigure crawled through, followed by a second. in the limited glow he saw the first tunnelerclearly enough. "assha!" ross was unprepared for what followed hiscry. 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; theother's muscular body held him flat in spite

of his struggles. the light of the small flashglowed inches beyond his eyes as he fought to fill his lungs. then the hand on his throatwas gone and he gasped, a little dizzy. "murdock! what are you doing—?" ashe's clippedvoice was muffled by another sudden explosion. this time the earth tremors not only hurledthem from their feet, but seemed to run along the walls and across the ceiling. ross, buryinghis face in the crook of his arm, could not rid himself of the fear that the buildingwas 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 bywhom—don't ask me! you are a prisoner, i

suppose, murdock?" "yes, sir." ross was glad that his voice soundednormal 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 thatsection of the dark where ashe had been. "have you been here all the time? are you tryingto dig your way out? i don't see how you can cut out of this glacier that we're parkedunder——" "glacier!" ashe's exclamation was as explosiveas 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. "supplyingour dear friends with a lot of information they already have and some flights of fancythey never dreamed about. however, they didn't know we had a few surprise packets of ourown 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." rosswas 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 wrongmoment. however, you appear to have done fairly

well...." the heat of ross's rising anger was chilledby the noise which cracked over their heads, ground to them through the walls, flattenedand threatened them. he had thought those first shocks the end of this ice burrow andthe world; he knew that this one was. and the silence that followed was as threateningin its way as the clamor had been. then there was a shout, a shriek. the space of lightnear the cell door was widening as that barrier, broken from its lock, swung open slowly. thefear 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-fireguns. somewhere in this warren a fight was in progress. ross, remembering the arrogantface of the bald ship's officer, wondered if this was not an attack in force—the aliensagainst the looting reds. if so, would the ship people distinguish between those foundhere. 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 roaredfrom beyond as if ordering them back to some post. one of them took a step forward in reluctantobedience, but the other grabbed his arm and pulled him away. they turned to run, and anautomatic cracked.

the man nearest ross gave a queer little coughand folded forward to his knees, sprawling on his face. his companion stared at him wildlyfor an instant, and then skidded into the passage beyond, escaping by inches a shotwhich clipped the door as he lunged through it. no one followed, for outside there was a crescendoof noise—shouting, cries of pain, an unidentifiable hissing. ashe darted into the room, takingcover by the body. then he came back, the fellow's gun in his hand, and with a jerkof his head summoned the other two. he motioned them on in a direction away from the soundsof battle. "i don't get all this," mcneil commented asthey 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 youget that rig?" in the bright light it was easy to see ross's alien dress. mcneil fingeredthe 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 betweenus 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 outof the dark. "i never did care for blindman's buff." "the transfer plate—" ross clung to hisown plan of escape—"if we can reach that—" the light which had served ashe and mcneilin their tunneling clicked on. since the earth shocks appeared to be over for a while, theymoved on, with ashe in the lead and mcneil bringing up the rear. ross hoped ashe knewthe way. the sound of fighting had died out, so one side or the other must have gainedthe 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 notlead them to the room with the glowing plate, and ross stifled a protest as they came insteadto a small record room. on a table were three spools of tape whichashe caught up avidly, thrusting two in the front of his baggy tunic, passing the thirdto mcneil. then he sped about trying the cupboards on the walls, but all were locked. his handfalling 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 tobe the filling in an ice sandwich, but i don't! another shock and we'll be buried so deepeven a drill couldn't find us. let's get out now. the kid is right about that—if we stillcan." once more ashe took the lead and they wovethrough 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 thelights blew out the transfer plate might also have been affected. he jumped for the plate. neither ashe nor mcneil wasted time in joininghim 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 ofthe plate he saw the red leader of the post and behind him, his hairless face hangingoddly bodiless in the gloom, was the alien. were those two now allies? before ross couldbe sure that he had really seen them, the wracking of space time caught him and therest of the room faded away. "... free. get a move on!" ross glanced across ashe's bowed shouldersto mcneil's excited face. the other was pulling at ashe, who was only half-conscious. a streamof 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 movedhis 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 thosetwo small favors. but if they were now returned to the bronze age village, they were stillin enemy territory. with ashe wounded, the odds against them were so high it was almosthopeless. working hurriedly with strips torn from mcneil'skilt, 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 foremostenemies. ross, ashe's gun in hand, kept watch on the transfer plate, ready to shoot at anythingappearing there. "that will have to do!" ashe pulled free frommcneil. "we must move." he hesitated, and

then pulling the spools of tape from his bloodstainedtunic, passed them to mcneil. "you'd better carry these." "all right," the other answered almost absently. "move!" the force of that order from ashesent them into the corridor beyond. "the plate...." but the plate remained clear. and ross notedthat they must have returned to the proper time, for the walls about them were the logsand stone of the village he remembered. "someone coming through?" "should be—soon." they fled, the hide boots of the other twomaking only the faintest whisper of sound,

ross's foam-soled feet none at all. he couldnot have found the door to the outer world, but again ashe guided them, and only oncedid they have to seek cover. at last they faced a barred door. ashe leaned against thewall, mcneil supporting him, as ross pulled free the locking beam. they let themselvesout into the night. "which way?" mcneil asked. to ross's surprise ashe did not turn to thegate 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," venturedmcneil.

ashe stirred. "when it becomes too tough forme"—his voice was dry—"i shall say so, never fear." he started out with some of his old ease ofmovement, but his companions closed in on either side, ready to offer aid. ross oftenwondered 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 wouldhave depended upon a fabulous run of luck such as men seldom encounter. as it was, they had just reached a pool ofshadow beside a small hut some two buildings away from the one they had fled, when thefireworks began. as if on signal the three

fugitives threw themselves flat. from theroof of the building at the center of the village a pencil of brilliant-green lightpointed straight up into the sky, and around that spear of radiance the roof sprouted tonguesof more natural red-and-yellow flames. figures shot from doors as the fire lapped down thepeak of the roof. "now!" in spite of the rising clamor, ashe'svoice carried to his two companions. the three sprinted for the palisade, minglingwith bewildered men who ran out of the other cabins. the waves of fire washed on, providinglight, too much light. ashe and mcneil could pass as part of the crowd, but ross's unusualclothing might be easily marked. others were running for the wall. ross andmcneil boosted ashe to the top, saw him over

in safety. mcneil followed. ross was justreaching to draw himself up when he was enveloped in a beam of light. a high, screeching call, unlike any shouthe had heard, split the clamor. frantically ross tried for a hold, knowing that he waspresenting a perfect target for those behind. he gained the top of the stockade, lookeddown into a black block of shadow, not knowing whether ashe and mcneil were waiting for himor 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 tohis 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 partof the valley. behind its stockade the open ground narrowed swiftly, like the point ofa 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 neverbe able to pick up their trail in the wilderness ahead. thankful for the dark suit he wore which wasprotective covering in the night, he twice

ducked into the brush to allow parties ofrefugees to pass him. hearing them speak the guttural clicking speech he had learned fromulffa's people, ross deduced that they were innocent of the village's real purpose. thesepeople were convinced they had been attacked by night demons. perhaps there had only beena handful of reds in that hidden retreat. ross pulled himself up a hard climb, and pausingto catch his breath, looked back. he was not overly surprised to see figures moving leisurelyabout the village examining the cabins, perhaps in search of the inhabitants. each of thosesearchers was clad in a form-fitting suit that matched his own, and their bulbous hairlessheads gleamed white in the firelight. ross was astonished to see that they passed straightthrough walls of flame, apparently unconcerned

and unsinged by the heat. the human beings trapped in the town wailedand 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 hurledout again into the dark, unharmed; a few others were retained. a sorting of prisoners wasplainly in progress. there was no question that the ship people had followed throughinto 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 wastoo weary, too hungry, to keep on his feet without stumbling, and a fall in the darkon these heights could be costly. ross discovered a small hollow behind a stunted tree and creptinto it as best he could, his heart laboring against his ribs, a hot stab of pain cuttinginto his side with every breath he drew. he awoke all at once with the snap of a fightingman who is alert to ever present danger. a hand lay warm and hard over his mouth, andabove 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, bruisedbody, ross crawled out of the hollow. he looked

around, but mcneil stood there alone. "ashe?"ross questioned him. mcneil, showing a haggard face covered withseveral days' growth of rusty-brown beard, nodded his head toward the slope. fumblinginside 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, gettingup to follow mcneil down into the tree-grown lower slopes. "it's not good." mcneil spoke jerkily, usingbeaker speech. "ashe is out of his head some of the time. that hole in his shoulder isworse than we thought it was, and there's

always the threat of infection. this wholewood is full of people flushed out of that blasted village! most of them—all i've seen—arenatives. but they have it firmly planted in their minds now that there are devils afterthem. 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. "idon't know just what happened back there, but it certainly must have been plenty!" ross swallowed a very dry mouthful of grainand then stooped to scoop up some leftover snow in the shadow of a tree root. it wasnot 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 drainsto the sea, and at its mouth we are supposed to make contact with the sub." the proposal sounded impossible to ross, butso many impossible things had happened lately he was willing to go along with the idea—aslong as he could. gathering up more snow, he stuffed it into his mouth before he followedthe already disappearing mcneil. chapter 14 "... that's my half of it. the rest of ityou know." ross held his hands close to the small fire sheltered in the pit he had helpeddig 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 coverin an angle where the massed remains of an old avalanche provided a cave-pocket. mcneilwas off scouting in the gray drizzle of the day, and their escape from the village wasnow some forty-eight hours behind them. "so the crackpots were right, after all. theyonly had their times mixed." ashe shifted on the bed of brush and leaves they had rakedtogether for his comfort. "i don't understand——" "flying saucers," ashe returned with an oddlittle laugh. "it was a wild possibility,

but it was on the books from the start. thiscertainly 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 couldwrestle 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 eitherlook like normal terrans to you?" "but—a spaceship!" it was something thathad so long been laughed to scorn. when men had failed to break into space after the initialexcitement of the satellite launchings, space

flight had become a matter for jeers. on theother 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 lyingflat now, gazing speculatively up at the projection of logs and earth which made them a partialroof—"along with a lot of other bright ideas, by a gentleman named charles fort, who tooka 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 whichhe dared the scientists of his day to explain. and one of his bright suggestions was thatsuch phenomena as the vast artificial earthworks

found in ohio and indiana were originallythrown up by space castaways to serve as s o s signals. an intriguing idea, and now perhapswe may prove it true." "but if such spaceships were wrecked on thisworld, i still don't see why we didn't find traces of them in our own time." "because that wreck you explored was beddedin 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 ebbedout 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 firstreal types of man clinging to a few warmer fringes of wilderness. "climatic changes, geographical changes, allaltered 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 groundto bits by the ice flow, buried miles deep in quakes, or rusted away generations beforethe first really intelligent man arrived to wonder at them. certainly there couldn't betoo many such wrecks to be found. what do you think this planet was, a flypaper to attractthem?" "but if ships crashed here once, why didn'tthey later when men were better able to understand

them?" ross countered. "for several reasons—all of them possibleand able to be fitted into the fabric of history as we know it on this world. civilizationsrise, exist, and fall, each taking with it into the limbo of forgotten things some ofthe discoveries which made it great. how did the indian civilizations of the new worldlearn to harden gold into a useable point for a cutting weapon? what was the secretof building possessed by the ancient egyptians? today you will find plenty of men to arguethese problems and half a hundred others. "the egyptians once had a well-traveled traderoute to india. bronze age traders opened up roads down into africa. the romans knewchina. then came an end to each of these empires,

and those trade routes were forgotten. toour european ancestors of the middle ages, china was almost a legend, and the fact thatthe egyptians had successfully sailed around the cape of good hope was unknown. supposeour space voyagers represented some star-born confederacy or empire which lived, rose toits highest point, and fell again into planet-bound barbarism all before the first of our speciespainted pictures on a cave wall? "or take it that this world was an unluckyreef 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 rulethat when a planet developed a primitive race of its own, it was to be left strictly aloneuntil it discovered space flight for itself."

"yes." every one of ashe's suppositions madegood sense, and ross was able to believe them. it was easier to think that both furry-faceand baldy were inhabitants of another world than to think their kind existed on this planetbefore his own species was born. "but how did the reds locate that ship?" "unless that information is on the tapes wewere able to bring along, we shall probably never know," ashe said drowsily. "i mightmake one guess—the reds have been making an all-out effort for the past hundred yearsto open up siberia. in some sections of that huge country there have been great climaticchanges almost overnight in the far past. mammoths have been discovered frozen in theice with half-digested tropical plants in

their stomach. it's as if the beasts weregiven some deep-freeze treatment instantaneously. if in their excavations the reds came acrossthe remains of a spaceship, remains well enough preserved for them to realize what they haddiscovered, they might start questing back in time to find a better one intact at anearlier date. that theory fits everything we know now." "but why would the aliens attack the redsnow?" "no ship's officers ever thought gently ofpirates." ashe's eyes closed. there were questions, a flood of them, thatross wanted to ask. he smoothed the fabric on his arm, that stuff which clung so tightlyto 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 beenbrought that he could wear it now? suddenly mcneil slid into their shelter anddropped two hares at the edge of the fire. "how goes it?" he said, as ross began to cleanthem. "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." mcneilanswered in a dry tone. "and we have company all right, lots of it!" that brought ashe up, leaning forward on hisgood elbow. "what kind?"

"not from the village." mcneil frowned atthe fire which he fed with economic handfuls of sticks. "something's happening on thisside of the mountains. it looks as if there's a mass migration in progress. i counted fivefamily clans on their way west—all in just this one morning." "the village refugees' stories about devilsmight 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 waitingwhere they promised. we do possess one thing in our favor—the spring floods are subsiding." "and the high water should have plenty ofraft material." ashe lay back again. "we'll

make those five miles tomorrow." mcneil stirred uneasily and ross, having cleanedand 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 wantedto—"for a well man." "i will make it," ashe promised, and bothlisteners knew that as long as his body would obey him he meant to keep that promise. theyalso knew the futility of argument. ashe proved to be a prophet to be honoredon two counts. they did make the trek to the river the next day, and there was a wealthof raft material marking the high-water level of the spring flood. the migrations mcneilhad reported were still in progress, and the

three men hid twice to watch the passing ofsmall family clans. once a respectably sized tribe, including wounded men, marched acrosstheir route, seeking a ford at the river. "they've been badly mauled," mcneil whisperedas they watched the people huddled along the water's edge while scouts cast upstream anddown, searching for a ford. when they returned with the news that there was no ford to befound, the tribesmen then sullenly went to work with flint axes and knives to make rafts. "pressure—they are on the run." ashe restedhis 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—animalsrunning before a forest fire. they can't all be looking for new hunting territory," mcneilreturned. "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 voicewas still a whisper, but it carried a note of triumph as if he had fitted some stubbornjigsaw 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 axesfor weapons and tamed horses."

"tartars"—mcneil was puzzled—"this farwest?" "not tartars, no. you needn't expect thoseto come boiling out of middle asia for some thousands of years yet. we don't know toomuch about the ax people, save that they moved west from the interior plains. eventuallythey crossed to britain; perhaps they were the ancestors of the celts who loved horsestoo. 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 tribesmenbelow were gone. so they lay in hiding another night, witnessing on the next morning thearrival of a smaller party of the red-painted men, again with wounded among them. at thecoming 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-worthyenough to take them downstream—to the sea if they were lucky. and to build such a sturdyraft would take time, time they did not have now. in fact, mcneil waited only until the lasttribal 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 asaching backs. when it was too dark to work any longer, ashepointed back over the track they had followed. marking the mountain pass was a light. itlooked like fire, and if it was, it must be a big one for them to be able to sight itacross this distance. "camp?" mcneil wondered. "must be," ashe agreed. "those who built thatblaze 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 finishedgrimly. "and we can't be here when they arrive." ross stretched, grimacing at the twinge ofpain in his shoulders. his hands smarted and throbbed, and this was just the beginningof their task. if ashe had been fit, they might have trusted to logs for support andswum downstream to hunt a safer place for their shipbuilding project. but he knew thatashe could not stand such an effort. ross slept that night mainly because his bodywas 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 resistingsaplings together with cords twisted from bark. they reinforced them at crucial pointswith some strings torn from their kilts, and strips of rabbit hide saved from their killsof 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. whetherit would answer to either pole or improvised paddle, they could not know until they triedit. ashe, his face flushed and his skin hot tothe touch, crawled on board and lay in the middle, on the thin heap of bedding they hadput there for him. he eagerly drank the water

they carried to him in cupped hands and gavea little sigh of relief as ross wiped his face with wet grass, muttering something aboutkelgarries which neither of his companions understood. mcneil shoved off and the bobbing craft spunaround dizzily as the current pulled it free from the shore. they made a brave start, butluck deserted them before they had gotten out of sight of the spot where they embarked. striving to keep them in mid-current, mcneilpoled 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. twiceits 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 massstruck them fairly, they would not have a chance. he dug in with his own pole, but hishasty push did not meet bottom; the stake in his hands plunged into some pothole inthe hidden river bed. he heard mcneil cry out as he toppled into the water, gaspingas the murky liquid flooded his mouth, choking 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 controlledconditions was far different from fighting

death in a river of icy water when one hadalready 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 roughbark, dragged on by it. the tree! he blinked his eyes to clear them of water, to try tosee. but he could not pull his exhausted body high enough out of the water to see past thescreen of roots; he could only cling to the small safety he had won and hope that he couldrejoin the raft somewhere downstream. after what seemed like a very long time hewedged one arm between two water-washed roots, sure that the support would hold his headabove the surface. the chill of the stream

struck at his hands and head, but the protectionof the alien clothing was still effective, and the rest of his body was not cold. hewas simply too tired to wrest himself free and trust again to the haphazard chance ofmaking shore through the gathering dusk. suddenly a shock jarred his body and strainedthe arm he had thrust among the roots, wringing a cry out of him. he swung around and brushedfooting 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 werecovered with stale-smelling mud. like a wounded animal he dragged himself through the oozeto higher land, coming out upon an open meadow flooded with moonlight.

for a while he lay there, his cold, sore handsunder him, plastered with mud and too tired to move. the sound of a sharp barking arousedhim—an imperative, summoning bark, neither belonging to a wolf nor a hunting fox. helistened to it dully and then, through the ground upon which he lay, ross felt as wellas heard the pounding of hoofs. hoofs—horses! horses from over the mountains—horseswhich might mean danger. his mind seemed as dull and numb as his hands, and it took quitea long time for him to fully realize the menace horses might bring. getting up, ross noticed a winged shape sweepingacross the disk of the moon like a silent dart. there was a single despairing squeakout of the grass about a hundred feet away,

and the winged shape arose again with itsprey. then the barking sound once more—eager, excited barking. ross crouched back on his heels and saw asmoky 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 hadto 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 spoiledscent spurred him on. having reached the rising bank he had climbedso laboriously before, ross miscalculated and tumbled back, rolling down into the mudof the reed bed. mechanically he wiped the

slime from his face. the tree was still anchoredthere; by some freak the current had rammed its rooted end up on a sand spit. above in the meadow the barking sounded veryclose, and now it was answered by a second canine belling. ross wormed his way back throughthe reeds to the patch of water between the tree and the bank. his few poor efforts atescape were almost half-consciously taken; he was too tired to really care now. soon he saw a four-footed shape running alongthe top of the bank, giving tongue. it was then joined by a larger and even more vocalcompanion. the dogs drew even with ross, who wondered dully if the animals could sighthim 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 hecould only lie where he was—the tangle of roots between him and the bank serving asa screen, which would be little enough protection when men came with torches. ross was mistaken, however, for his worm'sprogress across the reed bed had liberally besmeared his dark clothing and masked theskin 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 ofthe tree wedged against a mound of mud.

ross heard a confused murmur of voices brokenby 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 thehounds 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 raggedstuff looped about a length of splintered sapling. ross climbed stiffly over the welterof drift caught on the sand spit and pulled it loose, recognizing the string even beforehe touched it. that square knot was of mcneil's tying, and as murdock sat down weakly in thesand and mud, nervously fingering the twisted

cord, staring vacantly at the river, his lastsmall hope died. the raft must have broken up, and neither ashe nor mcneil could havesurvived the ultimate disaster. ross murdock was alone, marooned in a timewhich was not his own, with little promise of escape. that one thought blanked out hismind with its own darkness. what was the use of getting up again, of trying to find foodfor his empty stomach, or warmth and shelter? he had always prided himself on being ableto go it alone, had thought himself secure in that calculated loneliness. now that beliefhad been washed away in the river along with most of the will power which had kept himgoing 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 ofwhere or how to summon the sub from the overseas post. all three of the time travelers mightalready have been written off the rolls, since they had not reported in. ross pulled the rag free from the saplingand 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'stribe. along with all the other woodland hunters they must have fled before the advance ofthe 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 springdays which foretell the ripeness of summer.

insects buzzed in the reed banks where a greensheen showed. birds wheeled and circled in the sky, some flock disturbed, their criesreaching ross in hoarse calls of warning. he was still plastered with patches of driedmud and slime, the reek of it thick in his nostrils. now ross brushed at a splotch onhis knee, picking loose flakes to expose the alien cloth of his suit underneath, seeminglyunbefouled. all at once it became necessary to be clean again at least. ross waded into the stream, stooping to splashthe brown water over his body and then rubbing away the resulting mud. in the sunlight thefabric had a brilliant glow, as if it not only drew the light but reflected it. wadingfarther out into the water, he began to swim,

not with any goal in view, but because itwas easier than crawling back to land once more. using the downstream current to supplementhis skill, he watched both banks. he could not really hope to see either the raft orindications that its passengers had won to shore, but somewhere deep inside him he hadnot yet accepted the probable. the effort of swimming broke through thatfog of inertia which had held him since he had awakened that morning. it was with a somewhathealthier interest in life that ross came ashore again on an arm of what was a bay orinlet 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 sunlightand letting the unusual heat of the day soothe his body. a raw fish, cornered in the shallows and scoopedout, furnished one of the best meals he had ever tasted. he had reached for the suit drapedover a willow limb when the first and only warning that his fortunes had once again changedcame, swiftly, silently, and with deadly promise. one moment the willows had moved gently inthe breeze, and then a spear suddenly set them all quivering. ross, clutching the suitto him with a frantic grab, skated about in the sand, going to one knee in his haste. he found himself completely at the mercy ofthe 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 forwardon their wide chests. their leather tunics hung to mid-thigh above leggings which werebound 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 rememberhaving seen their like on any of the briefing tapes at the base. one spear had been a warning, but a secondwas held ready, so ross made the age-old signal of surrender, reluctantly dropping his suitand 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 thistribe. the spear twirled, and the younger strangereffortlessly 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 thefabric, pulling and smoothing it between his hands, and ross wondered if there was a chanceof trading it for his own freedom. both men were armed, not only with the long-bladeddaggers favored by the beaker folk, but also with axes. when ross made a slight effortto lower his hands the man before him reached to his belt ax, growling what was plainlya 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 includinghim in their loot. throwing the suit over one arm, the stranger caught ross by the shoulderand pushed him forward roughly. the pebbled beach was painful to ross's feet, and thebreeze which whipped about him as he reached the top of the bank reminded him only tooforcibly of his ordeal in the glacial world. murdock was tempted to make a sudden dashout on the point of the bank and dive into the river, but it was already too late. theman who was holding the spear had moved behind him, and ross's wrist, held in a vise gripat the small of his back, kept him prisoner as he was pushed on into the meadow. therethree shaggy horses grazed, their nose ropes

gathered into the hands of a third man. a sharp stone half buried in the ground changedthe pattern of the day. ross's heel scraped against it, and the resulting pain triggeredhis rebellion into explosion. he threw himself backward, his bruised heel sliding betweenthe feet of his captor, bringing them both to the ground with himself on top. the otherexpelled air from his lungs in a grunt of surprise, and ross whipped over, one handgrasping 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 ina half crouch as he had been drilled. they stared at him in open-mouthed amazement, thentoo late the spears went up. ross placed the

point of his looted weapon at the throat ofthe now quiet man by whom he knelt, and he spoke the language he had learned from ulffa'speople. "you strike—this one dies." they must have read the determined purposein his eyes, for slowly, reluctantly, the spears went down. having gained so much ofa victory, ross dared more. "take—" he motioned to the waiting horses—"take and go!" for a moment he thought that this time theywould meet his challenge, but he continued to hold the dagger above the brown throatof the man who was now moaning faintly. his threat continued to register, for the otherman shrugged the suit from his arm, left it

lying on the ground, and retreated. holdingthe nose rope of his horse, he mounted, waved the herder up also, and both of them rodeslowly away. the prisoner was slowly coming around, soross only had time to pull on the suit; he had not even fastened the breast studs beforethose blue eyes opened. a sunburned hand flashed to a belt, but the dagger and ax which hadonce hung there were now in ross's possession. he watched the tribesman carefully as he finisheddressing. "what you do?" the words were in the speechof the forest people, distorted by a new accent. "you go—" ross pointed to the third horsethe others had left behind—"i go—" he indicated the river—"i take these"—hepatted the dagger and the ax. the other scowled.

"not good...." ross laughed, a little hysterically. "notgood you," he agreed, "good—me!" to his surprise the tribesman's stiff facerelaxed, and the fellow gave a bark of laughter. he sat up, rubbing at his throat, a big grinpulling at the corners of his mouth. "you—hunter?" the man pointed northeastto the woodlands fringing the mountains. ross shook his head. "trader, me." "trader," the other repeated. then he tappedone of the wide metal cuffs at his wrist. "trade—this?" "that. more things."

"where?" ross pointed downstream. "by bitter water—tradethere." 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—icome here." the conception of a raft voyage apparentlygot across, for the tribesman was nodding. getting to his feet, he walked across to takeup the nose rope of the waiting horse. "you come camp—foscar. foscar chief. he likeyou show trick how you take tulka, make him sleep—hold his ax, knife."

ross hesitated. this tulka seemed friendlynow, but would that friendliness last? he shook his head. "i go to bitter water. mychief there." tulka was scowling again. "you speak crookedwords—your chief there!" he pointed eastward with a dramatic stretch of the arm. "yourchief 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. "youwear shining skin—your chief wear shiny

skin. he say find other shiny skin—givemany 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 redvillage. he must have been sighted by one of the spacemen. but why were they searchingfor him, alerting the natives in an effort to scoop him up? what made ross murdock soimportant that they must have him? he only knew that he was not going to be taken ifhe could help it, that he had no desire to meet this "chief" who had offered treasurefor his capture. "you will come!" tulka went into action, hismount flashing forward almost in a running leap at ross, who stumbled back when horseand rider loomed over him. he swung up the

ax, but it was a weapon with which he hadhad no training, too heavy for him. as his blow met only thin air the shoulderof the mount hit him, and ross went down, avoiding by less than a finger's breadth thethud of an unshod hoof against his skull. then the rider landed on him, crushing himflat. a fist connected with his jaw, and for ross the sun went out. he found himself hanging across a supportwhich moved with a rocking gait, whose pounding hurt his head, keeping him half dazed. rosstried 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 endto 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 horsestopped and ross was pulled from its back and dropped to the trodden dust, to lie blinkingup dizzily, trying to focus on the scene about 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 womenhovering about to view the captive. the circle about him then broke, and men stood asidefor 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 feltlike a small and helpless child. foscar, if foscar this was, could not yethave entered middle age, and the muscles which moved along his arms and across his shouldersas he leaned over to study tulka's prize made him bear-strong. ross glared up at him, thatsame hot rage which had led to his attack on tulka now urging him to the only defiancehe had left—words. "look well, foscar. free me, and i would domore than look at you," he said in the speech of the woods hunters. foscar's blue eyes widened and he lowereda fist which could have swallowed in its grasp both of ross's hands, linking those greatfingers in the stuff of the suit and drawing

the captive to his feet, with no sign thathis act had required any effort. even standing, ross was a good eight inches shorter thanthe chieftain. yet he put up his chin and eyed the other squarely, without giving ground. "so—yet still my hands are tied." he putinto that all the taunting inflection he could summon. his reception by tulka had given himone faint clue to the character of these people; they might be brought to acknowledge the worthof one who stood up to them. "child—" the fist shifted from its gripon the fabric covering ross's chest to his shoulder, and now under its compulsion rossswayed back and forth. "child?" from somewhere ross raised that shortlaugh. "ask tulka. i be no child, foscar.

tulka's ax, tulka's knife—they were in myhand. 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 hisshoulder, 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 kindof eager excitement. like the other tribesmen he was armed with belt dagger and ax, andsince 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'sshoulder and then withdrew the hold. "child!" he indicated ennar, who reddened. "you takefrom ennar ax, knife," foscar ordered, "as you took from tulka." he made a sign, andsomeone 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," sothe boy would be eager to match all his skill against the prisoner. this would not be aseasy as his taking tulka by surprise. but if he refused, foscar might well order himkilled 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'shand go to the haft of the ax. nothing had been said about ennar's not using his weaponsin 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 madefoscar roar bull-voiced at his youthful champion. ennar's hand came away from the ax hilt asif that polished wood were white-hot, and he transferred his discomfiture to ross asthe other understood. ennar had to win now for his own pride's sake, and ross felt hehad to win for his life. they circled warily,

ross watching his opponent's eyes rather thanthose half-closed hands held at waist level. back at the base he had been matched withashe, and before ashe with the tough-bodied, skilled, and merciless trainers in unarmedcombat. he had had beaten into his bruised flesh knowledge of holds and blows intendedto 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 daysof exposure and hard usage. it remained to be learned—was ross murdock as tough ashe always thought himself to be? tough or not, he was in this until he won—or dropped. comments from the crowd aroused ennar to thefirst definite action. he charged, stooping

low in a wrestler's stance, but ross squattedeven lower. one hand flicked to the churned dust of the ground and snapped up again, sendinga cloud of grit into the tribesman's face. then their bodies met with a shock, and ennarsailed over ross's shoulder to skid along the earth. had ross been fresh, the contest would haveended there and then in his favor. but when he tried to whirl and throw himself on hisopponent he was too slow. ennar was not waiting to be pinned flat, and it was ross's turnto be caught at a disadvantage. a hand shot out to catch his leg just abovethe ankle, and once again ross obeyed his teaching, falling easily at that pull, toland across his opponent. ennar, disconcerted

by the too-quick success of his attack, wasunprepared for this. ross rolled, trying to escape steel-fingered hands, his own choppingout in edgewise blows, striving to serve ennar as he had tulka. he had to take a lot of punishment, thoughhe managed to elude the powerful bear's hug in which he knew the other was laboring toengulf him, a hold which would speedily crush him into submission. clinging to the methodshe had been taught, he fought on, only now he knew, with a growing panic, that his bestwas not good enough. he was too spent to make an end. unless he had some piece of greatgood luck, he could only delay his own defeat. fingers clawed viciously at his eyes, andross did what he had never thought to do in

any fight—he snapped wolfishly, his teethclosing on flesh as he brought up his knee and drove it home into the body wrigglingon his. there was a gasp of hot breath in his face as ross called upon the last fewrags of his strength, tearing loose from the other's slackened hold. he scrambled to oneknee. 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 highas he could and brought them down on the nape of the other's neck. ennar sprawled forwardface-down in the dust where seconds later ross joined him.chapter 16 murdock lay on his back, gazing up at thelaced hides which stretched to make the tent

roofing. having been battered just enoughto 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 ofthe 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 onlybecause 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 apeg driven deeply into the ground; his ankles were bound to another. he could turn his headfrom side to side, but any further movement was impossible. he ate only bits of food droppedinto his mouth by a dirty-fingered slave,

a cowed hunter captured from a tribe overwhelmedin the migration of the horsemen. "ho—taker of axes!" a toe jarred into hisribs, 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 aboutthe right eye and along the jaw line, the signatures left by his own skinned knuckles. "ho—warrior!" ross returned hoarsely, tryingto lade that title with all the scorn he could summon. ennar's hand, holding a knife, swung intohis limited range of vision. "to clip a sharp tongue is a good thing!" the young tribesmangrinned as he knelt down beside the helpless

prisoner. ross knew a thrill of fear worse than anypain. ennar might be about to do just what he hinted! instead, the knife swung up andross felt the sawing at the cords about his wrists, enduring the pain in the raw gougesthey had cut in his flesh with gratitude that it was not mutilation which had brought ennarto him. he knew that his arms were free, but to draw them down from over his head was almostmore than he could do, and he lay quiet as ennar loosed his feet. "up!" without ennar's hands pulling at him, rosscould not have reached his feet. nor did he

stay erect once he had been raised, crashingforward on his face as the other let him go, hot anger eating at him because of his ownhelplessness. in the end, ennar summoned two slaves whodragged 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 shoutedtheir arguments. ross could not understand their language, but he was certain that hewas the subject under discussion and that foscar had the deciding vote and had not yetgiven 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 notreally interested in the fate they were planning

for him. he was content merely to be freeof 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 manygood 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. hewill be happy with foscar when you lie again under his hand. you will not like that—ithink it so!"

"i think so, too," ross agreed silently. he spent the rest of that night lying betweenthe 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 stewwith his unwashed fingers. but in spite of the messiness, it was the best food he hadeaten in days. the trip, however, was not to be a comfortableone. he was mounted on one of the shaggy horses, a rope run under the animal's belly to loopone 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 thebalance of his attention for the prisoner. they headed northeast, with the mountainsas a sharp green-and-white goal against the morning sky. though ross's sense of directionwas not too acute, he was certain that they were making for the general vicinity of thehidden village, which he believed the ship people had destroyed. he tried to discoversomething 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 backacross 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 altogethercertain. he scowled and then snapped, "he talk—foscar, us. we hear right words—notwoods creeper talk. he speak to us good." ross was puzzled. how could the alien outof time speak the proper language of a primitive tribe some thousands of years removed fromhis own era? were the ship people also familiar with time travel? did they have their ownstations of transfer? yet their fury with the reds had been hot. this was a completemystery. "this chief—he look like me?" again ennar appeared at a loss. "he wear coveringlike you."

"but was he like me?" persisted ross. he didn'tknow what he was trying to learn, only that it seemed important at that moment to presshome to at least one of the tribesmen that he was different from the man who had puta 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. standon rock, call to foscar. make magic with fire—it jump up!" he pointed his arm stiffly at abush before them on the trail. "they point

little, little spear—fire come out of theground and burn. they say burn our camp if we do not give them man. we say—not haveman. 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'sslave." ennar had a reply to that which was logical according to the customs of his owntribe. "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 bitterwater?" asked tulka. ross jerked his head to the west. "some sleepsaway——" "some sleeps!" repeated ennar jeeringly. "weride 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 youback to master. we go this way not even one sleep—find chief, get good things. why wedo hard thing when we can do easy?" what argument could ross offer in rebuttalto 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 itdeliberately to impress, and then only when

one had the upper hand. now ross had no handat all. for the most part they kept to the open, whereasross and the other two agents had skulked in wooded areas on their flight through thissame 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 himselffrom his captors, he could only head due west and hope to strike the river. at midday their party made camp in a groveof 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 remainedfastened to a tree with a noose about his neck while the horsemen built a fire and broiledstrips of deer meat. it would seem that foscar was in no hurryto get on, since after they had eaten, the men continued to lounge at ease, some evendropping off to sleep. when ross counted faces he learned that tulka and another had bothdisappeared, 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 broughtthe chief over to ross. "we go. your chief

waits—" ross raised his swollen, bitten face and madehis usual protest. "not my chief!" foscar shrugged. "he say so. he give goodthings 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 ennaragain, just behind foscar, with two other guards bringing up the rear. the rest of themen, leading their mounts, melted into the trees. ross watched that quiet withdrawalspeculatively. 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 thatdistrust, which might be only ordinary prudence on foscar's part, could in any way be an advantagefor him. they rode at a pace hardly above a walk intoa small open meadow narrowing at the east. then for the first time ross was able to placehimself. they were at the entrance to the valley of the village, about a mile away fromthe narrow throat above which ross had lain to spy and had been captured, for he had comefrom the north over the spurs of rising ridges. ross's horse was pulled up as foscar drovehis heel into the ribs of his own mount, sending it at a brisker pace toward the neck of thevalley. there was a blot of blue there—more than one of the aliens were waiting. rosscaught his lip between his teeth and bit down

on it hard. he had stood up to the reds, tofoscar's tribesmen, but he shrank from meeting those strangers with an odd fear that theworst the men of his own species could do would be but a pale shadow to the treatmenthe 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 fourof them. they seemed to be talking, though there was still a good distance separatingthe mounted man and the blue suits. minutes passed before foscar's arm raisedin a wave to summon the party guarding ross. ennar kicked his horse to a trot, towing ross'smount behind, the other two men thudding along more discreetly. ross noted that they wereboth armed with spears which they carried

to the fore as they rode. they were perhaps three quarters of the wayto join foscar, and ross could see plainly the bald heads of the aliens as their facesturned in his direction. then the strangers struck. one of them raised a weapon shapedsimilarly to the automatic ross knew, except that it was longer in the barrel. ross did not know why he cried out, exceptthat foscar had only an ax and dagger which were both still sheathed at his belt. thechief sat very still, and then his horse gave a swift sidewise swerve as if in fright. foscarcollapsed, limp, bonelessly, to the trodden turf, to lie unmoving face down.

ennar whooped, a cry combining defiance anddespair in one. he reined up with violence enough to set his horse rearing. then, droppinghis hold on the leading rope of ross's mount, he whirled and set off in a wild dash forthe 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. hisgreatest fear was that he might slip from the saddle pad and since he was tied by hisfeet, lie unprotected and helpless under those dashing hoofs. somehow he managed to clingto the horse's neck, his face lashed by the

rough mane while the animal pounded on. hadross been able to grasp the dangling nose rope, he might have had a faint chance ofcontrolling 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, burstfrom the ground a few yards ahead, sending the horse wild. there was more fire and thehorse changed course through the rising smoke. ross realized that the aliens were tryingto cut him off from the thin safety of the woodlands. why they didn't just shoot himas 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 couldhope to escape both parties? the fire was sending the horse back toward the waitingship 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 straightbetween two of the blazes and away from the blue-clad men. ross coughed, almost choking, his eyes wateringas the stench of singed hair thickened the smoke. but he had been carried out of thefire circle and was shooting back into the meadowland. mount and unwilling rider werewell 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 tribesmenriding easily. the trick worked, for the wild race slowedto a gallop and the other rider, in a feat of horsemanship at which ross marveled, leanedfrom his seat to catch the dangling nose rope, bringing the runaway against his own steadysteed. ross shaken, still coughing from the smoke and unable to sit upright, held to themane. 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 seemedindifferent to ross, looking back instead at the wide curtain of grass smoke, frowningas he studied the swift spread of the fire.

muttering to himself, he pulled the lead ropeand brought ross's horse to follow in the direction from which ennar had brought thecaptive less than a half hour earlier. ross tried to think. the unexpected deathof 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 withthe thought that he was indeed of another clan and that to aid him would be to workagainst a common enemy. but it was hard to plan clearly, though witsalone could save him now. the parley which had ended with foscar's murder had broughtross a small measure of time. he was still a captive, even though of the tribesmen andnot the unearthly strangers. perhaps to the

ship people these primitives were hardly higherin 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 samesmall grove where they had rested at noon. the tribesman fastened the mounts and thenwalked around to inspect the animal ross had ridden. with a grunt he loosened the prisonerand spilled him unceremoniously on the ground while he examined the horse. ross leveredhimself up to sight the mark of the burn across that roan hide where the fire had blisteredthe skin. thick handfuls of mud from the side of thespring were brought and plastered over the seared strip. then, having rubbed down bothanimals 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 shouldalso have been scorched where the flame had hit, yet he had felt no pain. now as the tribesmanexamined him for a burn, he could not see even the faintest discoloration of the strangefabric. he remembered how the aliens had strolled unconcerned through the burning village. asthe suit had insulated him against the cold of the ice, so it would seem that it had alsoprotected him against the fire, for which he was duly thankful. his escape from injurywas a puzzle to the tribesman, who, failing to find any trace of burn on him, left rossalone 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 ennarand tulka, carrying the body of their chief. the faces of both men were smeared with dustand when the others sighted the body they, too, rubbed dust into their cheeks, recitinga 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 gazedstraight at ross and came across the tiny clearing to stand over the man of a latertime. the boyishness which had been a part of him when he had fought at foscar's commandwas gone. his eyes were merciless as he leaned

down to speak, shaping each word with slowcare 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 hisvoice, to shake when he thunders. slave-dog, you shall run for foscar beyond the sky, andhe shall have you forever to walk upon as a man walks upon the earth. i, ennar, swearthat 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 doubtin ross's mind that he meant every word he spoke.

chapter 17 the preparations for foscar's funeral wenton through the night. a wooden structure, made up of tied fagots dragged in from thewoodland, grew taller beyond the big tribal camp. the constant crooning wail of the womenin 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 whichhe would earlier have believed too subtle for ennar. though the older men carried minorcommands among the horsemen, because ennar was the closest of blood kin among the adultmales, 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 houndswere in turn leashed close by. foscar, his best weapons to hand and a red cloak lappedabout him, lay waiting on a bier. near-by squatted the tribal wizard, shaking his thunderrattle and chanting in a voice which approached a shriek. this wild activity might have beena scene lifted directly from some tape stored at the project base. it was very difficultfor ross to remember that this was reality, that he was to be one of the main actors inthe coming event, with no timely aid from operation retrograde to snatch him to safety. sometime during that nightmare he slept, hisweariness of body overcoming him. he awoke, dazed, to find a hand clutching his mop ofhair, pulling his head up.

"you sleep—you do not fear, foscar's dog-one?" groggily ross blinked up. fear? sure, he wasafraid. fear, he realized with a clear thrust of consciousness such as he had seldom experiencedbefore, had always stalked beside him, slept in his bed. but he had never surrendered toit, and he would not now if he could help "i do not fear!" he threw that creed intoennar's face in one hot boast. he would not fear! "we shall see if you speak so loudly whenthe fire bites you!" the other spat, yet in that oath there was a reluctant recognitionof ross's courage. "when the fire bites...." that sang in ross'shead. there was something else—if he could

only remember! up to that moment he had kepta poor little shadow of hope. it is always impossible—he was conscious again with thatstrange clarity of mind—for a man to face his own death honestly. a man always continuesto believe to the last moment of his life that something will intervene to save him. the men led the horse to the mound of fagotswhich was now crowned with foscar's bier. the stallion went quietly, until a tall tribesmanstruck true with an ax, and the animal fell. the hounds were also killed and laid at theirdead master's feet. but ross was not to fare so easily. the wizarddanced about him, a hideous figure in a beast mask, a curled fringe of dried snakeskinsswaying from his belt. shaking his rattle,

he squawked like an angry cat as they pulledross to the stacked wood. fire—there was something about fire—ifhe could only remember! ross stumbled and nearly fell across one leg of the dead horsethey were propping into place. then he remembered that tongue of flame in the meadow grass whichhad 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 thatmound, his hands tied. ennar stooped, and bound his ankles, securing him to the brush. so fastened, they left him. the tribe ringedaround the pyre at a safe distance, ennar

and five other men approaching from differentdirections, torches aflame. ross watched those blazing knots thrust into the brush and heardthe crackle of the fire. his eyes, hard and measuring, studied the flash of flame fromdried brush to seasoned wood. a tongue of yellow-red flame licked up athim. 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 forthe 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 havebeen 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 wriststo the flame, taking in stoical silence the burns which freed him. then, as the fire curled up so that he seemedto stand in a frame of writhing red banners, ross leaped through that curtain, protectinghis bowed head with his arms as best he could. but to the onlookers it seemed he passed unhurtthrough the heart of a roaring fire. he kept his footing and stood facing thatpart of the tribal ring directly before him. he heard a cry, perhaps of fear, and a blazingtorch 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 thesmooth blue fabric. "ahhhhhhh!" now the wizard capered before him, shakinghis 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 itabout his head, though every movement was torture to his scorched hands, he set it flamingonce more. holding it in front of him as a weapon, he stalked directly at the men andwomen before him. the torch was a poor enough defense againstspears and axes, but ross did not care—he put into this last gamble all the determinationhe could summon. nor did he realize what a

figure he presented to the tribesmen. a manwho had crossed a curtain of fire without apparent hurt, who appeared to wash in tonguesof flame without harm, and who now called upon fire in turn as a weapon, was no manbut a demon! the wall of people wavered and broke. womenscreamed and ran; men shouted. but no one threw a spear or struck with an ax. ross walkedon, a man possessed, looking neither to the right or left. he was in the camp now, stalkingtoward the fire burning before foscar's tent. he did not turn aside for that either, butholding the torch high, strode through the heart of the flames, risking further burnsfor the sake of insuring his ultimate safety. the tribesmen melted away as he approachedthe last line of tents, with the open land

beyond. the horses of the herd, which hadbeen driven to this side to avoid the funeral pyre, were shifting nervously, the scent ofburning making them uneasy. once more ross whirled the dying torch abouthis head. recalling how the aliens had sent his horse mad, he tossed it behind him intothe grass between the tents and the herd. the tinder-dry stuff caught immediately. nowif the men tried to ride after him, they would have trouble. without hindrance he walked across the meadowat the same even pace, never turning to look behind. his hands were two separate worldsof smarting pain; his hair and eyebrows were singed, and a finger of burn ran along theangle of his jaw. but he was free, and he

did not believe that foscar's men would bein any haste to pursue him. somewhere before him lay the river, the river which ran tothe sea. ross walked on in the sunny morning while behind him black smoke raised a darkbeacon to the sky. afterward he guessed that he must have beenlightheaded for several days, remembering little save the pain in his hands and thefact that it was necessary to keep moving. once he fell to his knees and buried bothhands in the cool, moist earth where a thread of stream trickled from a pool. the muck seemedto draw out a little of the agony while he drank with a fever thirst. ross seemed to move through a haze which liftedat intervals during which he noted his surroundings,

was able to recall a little of what lay behindhim, and to keep to the correct route. however, the gaps of time in between were forever lostto him. he stumbled along the banks of a river and fronted a bear fishing. the massive beastrose on its hind legs, growled, and ross walked by it uncaring, unmenaced by the puzzled animal. sometimes he slept through the dark periodswhich marked the nights, or he stumbled along under the moon, nursing his hands againsthis breast, whimpering a little when his foot slipped and the jar of that mishap ran throughhis body. once he heard singing, only to realize that it was himself who sang hoarsely a melodywhich 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 guideto his final goal, the sea. after a long while those spaces of mentalclarity grew longer, appearing closer together. he dug small shelled things from under stonesalong the river and ate them avidly. once he clubbed a rabbit and feasted. he suckedbirds' eggs from a nest hidden among some reeds—just enough to keep his gaunt bodygoing, though his gray eyes were now set in what was almost a death's-head. ross did not know just when he realized thathe was again being hunted. it started with an uneasiness which differed from his previousfever-bred hallucinations. this was an inner pulling, a growing compulsion to turn andretrace his way back toward the mountains

to meet something, or someone, waiting forhim on the backward path. but ross kept on, fearing sleep now and fightingit. for once he had lain down to rest and had wakened on his feet, heading back as ifthat compulsion had the power to take over his body when his waking will was off guard. so he rested, but he dared not sleep, thedesire constantly tearing at his will, striving to take over his weakened body and draw itback. perhaps against all reason he believed that it was the aliens who were trying tocontrol 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 thiswas now purely a war of wills.

as the banks of the river were giving wayto marshes, he had to wade through mud and water, detouring the boggy sections. greatclouds of birds whirled and shrieked their protests at his coming, and sleek water animalspaddled and poked curious heads out of the water as this two-legged thing walked mechanicallythrough their green land. always that pull was with him, until ross was more aware offighting it than of traveling. why did they want him to return? why did theynot follow him? or were they afraid to venture too far from where they had come through thetransfer? yet the unseen rope which was tugging at him did not grow less tenuous as he putmore distance between himself and the mountain valley. ross could understand neither theirmotives nor their methods, but he could continue

to fight. the bog was endless. he found an island andlashed himself with his suit belt to the single willow which grew there, knowing that he musthave sleep, or he could not hope to last through the next day. then he slept, only to wakencold, shaking, and afraid. shoulder deep in a pool, he was aware that in his sleep hemust have opened the belt buckle and freed himself, and only the mishap of falling intothe water had brought him around to sanity. somehow he got back to the tree, rehookedthe buckle and twisted the belt around the branches so that he was sure he could notwork it free until daybreak. he lapsed into a deepening doze, and awoke, still safelyanchored, with the morning cries of the birds.

ross considered the suit as he untangled thebelt. could the strange clothing be the tie by which the aliens held to him? if he wereto strip, leaving the garment behind, would he be safe? he tried to force open the studs across hischest, but they would not yield to the slight pressure which was all his seared fingerscould exert, and when he pulled at the fabric, he was unable to tear it. so, still wearingthe livery of the off-world men, ross continued on his way, hardly caring where he went orhow. the mud plastered on him by his frequent falls was some protection against the swarmof insect life his passing stirred into attack. however, he was able to endure a swollen faceand slitted eyes, being far more conscious

of the wrenching feeling within him than themisery of his body. the character of the marsh began to changeonce 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 seaat last, and for the moment that was enough. a salt-sharpened wind cut at him with theforce of a fist in the face. in the absence of sunlight the leaden clouds overhead seta winterlike gloom across the countryside. to the constant sound of birdcalls ross trampedheavily through small pools, beating a path through tangles of marsh grass. he stole eggsfrom nests, sucking his nourishment eagerly

with no dislike for the fishy flavor, anddrinking from stagnant, brackish ponds. suddenly ross halted, at first thinking thatthe continuous roll of sound he heard was thunder. yet the clouds overhead were massedno more than before and there was no sign of lightning. continuing on, he realized thatthe mysterious sound was the pounding of surf—he was near the sea! willing his body to run, he weaved forwardat a reeling trot, pitting all his energy against the incessant pull from behind. hisfeet skidded out of marsh mud into sand. ahead of him were dark rocks surrounded by the whitelace of spray. ross headed straight toward that spray untilhe stood knee-deep in the curling, foam-edged

water and felt its tug on his body almostas strong as that other tug upon his mind. he knelt, letting the salt water sting tolife every cut, every burn, sputtering as it filled his mouth and nostrils, washingfrom him the slime of the bog lands. it was cold and bitter, but it was the sea! he hadmade it! ross murdock staggered back and sat down suddenlyin the sand. glancing about, he saw that his refuge was a rough triangle between two ofthe small river arms, littered with the debris of the spring floods which had grounded hereafter rejection by the sea. although there was plenty of material for a fire, he hadno means of kindling a flame, having lost the flint all beaker traders carried for sucha purpose.

this was the sea, and against all odds hehad reached it. he lay back, his self-confidence restored to the point where he dared oncemore to consider the future. he watched the swooping flight of gulls drawing patternsunder the clouds above. for the moment he wanted nothing more than to lie here and rest. but he did not surrender to this first demandof his over-driven body for long. hungry and cold, sure that a storm was coming, he knewhe had to build a fire—a fire on shore could provide him with the means of signaling thesub. hardly knowing why—because one part of the coastline was as good as another—rossbegan to walk again, threading a path in and out among the rocky outcrops.

so he found it, a hollow between two suchwindbreaks within which was a blackened circle of small stones holding charred wood, withsome empty shells piled near-by. here was unmistakable evidence of a camp! ross plungedforward, thrusting a hand impetuously into the black mass of the dead fire. to his astonishment,he touched warmth! hardly daring to disturb those precious bitsof 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 onthe rough rock. he watched, all one ache of

hope. the twig caught! with his stiff fingers so clumsy, he had tobe very careful, but ross had learned patience in a hard school. bit by bit he fed that tinyblaze until he had a real fire. then, leaning back against the rock, he watched it. it was now obvious that the placement of theoriginal fire had been chosen with care, for the outcrops gave it wind shelter. they alsoprovided a dark backdrop, partially hiding the flames on the landward side but undoubtedlymaking them more visible from the sea. the site seemed just right for a signal fire—butto what? ross's hands shook slightly as he fed theblaze. it was only too clear why anyone would

make a signal on this shore. mcneil—or perhapsboth he and ashe—had survived the breakup of the raft, after all. they had reached thispoint—abandoned no earlier than this morning, judging by the life remaining in the coals—andput up the signal. then, just as arranged, they had been collected by the sub, by nowon its way back to the hidden north american post. there was no hope of any pickup forhim 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 hourstoo late! ross folded his arms across his hunched kneesand rested his head on them. there was no possible way he could ever reach the postor his own kind—ever again. thousands of

miles lay between him and the temporary installationin this time. he was so sunk in his own complete despairthat he was long unaware of finally being free of the pressure to turn back which hadso long haunted him. but as he roused to feed the fire he got to wondering. had those whohunted him given up the chase? since he had lost his own race with time, he did not reallycare. what did it matter? the pile of wood was getting low, but he decidedthat did not matter either. even so, ross got to his feet, moving over to the driftsof storm wrack to gather more. why should he stay here by a useless beacon? but somehowhe could not force himself to move on, as futile as his vigil seemed.

dragging the sun-dried, bleached limbs oflong-dead trees to his half shelter, he piled them up, working until he laughed at the barricadehe had built. "a siege!" for the first time in days he spoke aloud. "i might be readyfor a siege...." he pulled over another branch, added it to his pile, and kneeled down oncemore by the flames. there were fisherfolk to be found along thiscoast, and tomorrow when he was rested he would strike south and try to find one oftheir primitive villages. traders would be coming into this territory now that the red-inspiredraiders were gone. if he could contact them.... but that spark of interest in the future diedalmost as soon as it was born. to be a beaker trader as an agent for the project was onething, to live the role for the rest of his

life was something else. ross stood by his fire, staring out to seafor a sign he knew he would never see again as long as he lived. then, as if a spear hadstruck between his shoulder blades, he was attacked. the blow was not physical, but came insteadas a tearing, red pain in his head, a pressure so terrible he could not move. he knew instantlythat behind him now lurked the ultimate danger. chapter 18 ross fought to break that hold, to turn hishead, to face the peril which crept upon him now. unlike anything he had ever met beforein his short lifetime, it could only have

come from some alien source. this strangeencounter was a battle of will against will! the same rebellion against authority whichhad ruled his boyhood, which had pushed him into the orbit of the project, stiffened himto meet this attack. he was going to turn his head; he was goingto see who stood there. he was! inch by inch, ross's head came around, though sweat stunghis seared and bitten flesh, and every breath was an effort. he caught a half glimpse ofthe beach behind the rocks, and the stretch of sand was empty. overhead the birds weregone—as if they had never existed. or, as if they had been swept away by some impatientfighter, who wanted no distractions from the purpose at hand.

having successfully turned his head, rossdecided 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 throughthe dead blanket of compulsion that was being used against him. deliberately he ground hisblistered skin against the stone, concentrating on the sharp torment in his hand as the agonyshot up his arm. while he focused his attention on the physical pain, he could feel the pressureagainst him weaken. summoning all his strength, ross swung around in a movement which wasonly a shadow of his former feline grace. the beach was still empty, except for thepiles of driftwood, the rocks, and the other things he had originally found there. yethe knew that something was waiting to pounce.

having discovered that for him pain was adefense weapon, he had that one resource. if they took him, it would be after bestinghim in a fight. even as he made this decision, ross was consciousof 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 leapedupon that surprise, adding it to his stock of unseen weapons. he leaned forward, still grinding his tornhand against the rock as a steadying influence, took up a length of dried wood, and thrustits end into the fire. having once used fire to save himself, he was ready and willingto 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 spiteof 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 andthen hurled it straight into the drift among the dunes. he was grabbing for a second brandalmost before the blazing head of the first had fallen into the twisted, bleached rootsof a dead tree.

he stood tense, a second torch now kindledin his hand. the sharp vise of another's will which had nipped him so tightly a moment agowas easing, slowly disappearing as water might trickle away. yet he could not believe thatthis small act of defiance had so daunted his unseen opponent as to make him give upthe struggle this easily. it was more likely the pause of a wrestler seeking for a deadliergrip. the brand in his hand—ross's second lineof 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 driftwoodwhere 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 toopen war before the rain struck.... ross sheltered his torch with his body asspray, 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 otherway to meet them. they would neither break him nor take him, even if he had to wade intothe sea and swim out into the lash of the cold northern waves until he could not movehis tired limbs any longer. once again that steel-edge will struck atross, probing his stubbornness, assaulting his mind. he whirled the torch, brought thescorching breath of the flame across the hand

resting on the rock. unable to control hisown cry of protest, he was not sure he had the fortitude to repeat such an act. he had won again! the pressure had fallenaway in a flick, almost as if some current had been snapped off. through the red curtainof his torment ross sensed a surprise and disbelief. he was unaware that in this queerduel he was using both a power of will and a depth of perception he had never known hepossessed. because of his daring, he had shaken his opponents as no physical attack couldhave affected them. "come and get me!" he shouted again at thebarren shoreline where the fire ate at the drift and nothing stirred, yet something verymuch alive and conscious lay hidden. this

time there was more than simple challengein ross's demand—there was a note of triumph. the spray whipped by him, striking at hisfire, at the brand he held. let the sea water put both out! he would find another way offighting. he was certain of that, and he sensed that those out there knew it too and weretroubled. the fire was being driven by the wind alongthe crisscross lines of bone-white wood left high on the beach, forming a wall of flamebetween him and the interior, not, however, an insurmountable barrier to whatever lurkedthere. again ross leaned against the rock, studyingthe length of beach. had he been wrong in thinking that they were within the range ofhis voice? the power they had used might carry

over a greater distance. "yahhhh—" instead of a demand, he now voiceda taunting cry, screaming his defiance. some wild madness had been transmitted to him bythe winds, the roaring sea, his own pain. ready to face the worst they could send againsthim, he tried to hurl that thought back at them as they had struck with their unitedwill at him. no answer came to his challenge, no rise to counter-attack. moving away from the rock, ross began to walkforward toward the burning drift, his torch ready in his hand. "i am here!" he shoutedinto the wind. "come out—face me!" it was then that he saw those who had trackedhim. two tall thin figures, wearing dark clothes,

were standing quietly watching him, theireyes dark holes in the white ovals of their faces. ross halted. though they were separated byyards of sand and rock and a burning barrier, he could feel the force they wielded. thenature 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 theydared not drop it. a stalemate existed between them in this strange battle, the like of whichross'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 certaintythat 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-washedsand until they starved to death! ross tried to drive that thought across to them. "murrrrdock!" that croaking cry borne outof the sea by the wind might almost have come from the bill of a sea bird. "murrrrdock!" ross spun around. visibility had been drasticallycurtailed by the lowering clouds and the dashing spray, but he could see a round dark thingbobbing on the waves. the sub? a raft?

sensing a movement behind him, ross wheeledabout as one of the alien figures leaped the blazing drift, heedless of the flames, andran light-footedly toward him in what could only be an all-out attempt at capture. theman had ready a weapon like the one that had felled foscar. ross threw himself at his opponentin 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 pinhim to the sand. ross was too intent upon his own part of the struggle to heed the soundsof a shot over his head and a thin, wailing cry. he slammed his opponent's hand againsta stone, and the white face, inches away from

his own, twisted silently with pain. fumbling for a better hold, ross was sentrolling. he came down on his left hand with a force which brought tears to his eyes andstopped him just long enough for the other to regain his feet. the blue-suited man sprinted back to the bodyof his fellow where it lay by the drift. he slung his unconscious comrade over the barrierwith 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 haddrawn and held him to the strangers had been broken.

"murdock!" a rubber raft rode in on the waves, two menaboard it. ross got up, pulling at the studs of his suit with his right hand. he couldbelieve in what he saw now—the sub had not left, after all. the two men running towardhim through the dusk were of his own kind. it did not seem at all strange that kelgarriesreached him first. ross, caught up in this dream, appealed to the major for aid withthe studs. if the strangers from the ship did trace him by the suit, they were not goingto follow the sub back to the post and serve the project as they had the reds. "got—to—get—this—off—" he pulledthe words out one by one, tugging frantically

at the stubborn studs. "they can trace thisand follow us—" kelgarries needed no better explanation. rippingloose the fastenings, he pulled the clinging fabric from ross, sending him reeling withpain as he pulled the left sleeve down the younger man's arm. the wind and spray were ice on his body asthey dragged him down to the raft, bundling him aboard. he did not at all remember theirarrival on board the sub. he was lying in the vibrating heart of the undersea ship whenhe opened his eyes to see kelgarries regarding him intently. ashe, a coat of bandage abouthis shoulder and chest, lay on a neighboring bunk. mcneil stood watching a medical corpsmanlay out supplies.

"he needs a shot," the medic was saying asross blinked at the major. "you left the suit—back there?" ross demanded. "we did. what's this about them tracing youby it? who was tracing you?" "men from the space ship. that's the onlyway they could have trailed me down the river." he was finding it difficult to talk, and theprotesting medic kept waving a needle in his direction, but somehow in bursts of half-finishedsentences ross got out his story—foscar's death, his own escape from the chief's funeralpyre, and the weird duel of wills back on the beach. even as he poured it out he thoughthow unlikely most of it must sound. yet kelgarries appeared to accept every word, and there wasno expression of disbelief on ashe's face.

"so that's how you got those burns," saidthe major slowly when ross had finished his story. "deliberately searing your hand inthe fire to break their hold—" he crashed his fist against the wall of the tiny cabinand then, when ross winced at the jar, he hurriedly uncurled those fingers to pressross's shoulder with a surprisingly warm and gentle touch. "put him to sleep," he orderedthe medic. "he deserves about a month of it, i should judge. i think he has brought usa bigger slice of the future than we had hoped for...." ross felt the prick of the needle and thennothing more. even when he was carried ashore at the post and later when he was transportedinto his proper time, he did not awaken. he

only approached a strange dreamy state inwhich he ate and drowsed, not caring for the world beyond his own bunk. but there came a day when he did care, sittingup to demand food with a great deal of his old self-assertion. the doctor looked himover, permitting him to get out of bed and try out his legs. they were exceedingly uncooperativeat 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, somewhathesitatingly, at ashe. the older man wore his arm in a sling but otherwise seemed hisusual imperturbable self.

"ashe, tell me what happened. are we backat 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 tolet you spin, ross? yes, this is home, sweet home. as for the rest—well, it is a longstory, and we are still picking up pieces of it here and there." ross pointed to the bunk in invitation. "canyou tell me what is known?" he was still somewhat at a loss, his old secret awe of ashe temperinghis outward show of eagerness. ross still feared one of those snubs the other so wellknew how to deliver to the bumptious. but ashe did come in and sit down, none of hisold 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 behindthe words. "rather a busy lad, weren't you, after you were bumped off into that river?" ross's reply was a grimace. "you heard allabout that!" he had no time for his own adventures, already receding into a past which made themboth dim and unimportant. "what happened to you—and to the project—and——" "one thing at a time, and don't rush yourfences." 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'task me. that was something of a 'project'

in itself," he laughed. "the raft came apartpiece by piece, and we waded most of the last couple of miles, i think. i'm none too clearon the details; you'll have to get those out of mcneil, who was still among those presentthen. other than that, we cannot compete with your adventures. we built a signal fire andsat by it toasting our shins for a few days, until the sub came to collect us——" "and took you off." ross experienced a fleetingreturn of that hollow feeling he had known on the shore when the still-warm coals ofthe signal fire had told him the story of his too-late arrival. "and took us off. but kelgarries agreed tospin out our waiting period for another twenty-four

hours, in case you did manage to survive thattoss you took into the river. then we sighted your spectacular display of fireworks on thebeach, and the rest was easy." "the ship people didn't trace us back to post?" "not that we know of. anyway, we've closeddown the post on that time level. you might be interested in a very peculiar tale ourmodern agents have picked up, floating over and under the iron curtain. a blast went offin the baltic region of this time, wiping some installation clean off the map. the redshave kept quiet as to the nature of the explosion and the exact place where it occurred." "the aliens followed them all the way up tothis time!"—ross half rose from the chair—"but

why? and why did they trail me?" "that we can only guess. but i don't believethat they were moved by any private vengeance for the looting of their derelict. there issome more imperative reason why they don't want us to find or use anything from one oftheir cargoes——" "but they were in power thousands of yearsago. maybe they and their worlds are gone now. why should things we do today matterto them?" "well, it does matter, and in some very importantway. 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, butif he were truly honest, he had to admit that he did not. he glanced up, sure that ashehad read all that hesitation and scorned him for it. but there was no sign that his discomfiturehad 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 waslocated. we were right in our surmise that the reds first discovered the remains of onein siberia, but it was in no condition to be explored. they already had the basic ideaof the time traveler, so they applied it to the hunting down of other ships, with severalway stops to throw people like us off the scent. so they found an intact ship, and alsoseveral others. at least three are on this

side of the atlantic where they couldn't getat them very well. those we can deal with now——" "won't the aliens be waiting for us to trythat?" "as far as we can discover they don't knowwhere any of these ships crashed. either there were no survivors, or passengers and crewtook off in lifeboats while they were still in space. they might never have known of thereds' activities if you hadn't triggered that communicator on the derelict." ross was reduced to a small boy who badlyneeded an alibi for some piece of juvenile mischief. "i didn't mean to." that excusesounded so feeble that he was surprised into

a laugh, only to see ashe grinning back athim. "seeing as how your action also put a veryeffective spike in the opposition's wheel, you are freely forgiven. anyway, you havealso 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, concentratingour forces in the right period. yes, there will be a next time. we have to learn justwhat they are trying so hard to protect." "what do you think it is?" "space!" ashe spoke the word softly as ifhe relished the promise it held.

"space?" "that ship you explored was a derelict froma galactic fleet, but it was a ship and it used the principle of space flight. do youunderstand now? in these lost ships lies the secret which will make us free of all thestars! we must claim it." "can we——?" "can we?" ashe was laughing at ross againwith his eyes, though his face remained sober. "then you still want to be counted in on thisgame?" ross looked down again at his bandaged handand remembered swiftly so many things—the coast of britain on a misty morning, the excitementof prowling the alien ship, the fight with

ennar, even the long nightmare of his flightdown the river, and lastly, the exultation he had tasted when he had faced the alienand had locked wills—to hold steady. he knew that he could not, would not, give upwhat he had found here in the service of the project as long as it was in his power tocling to it. "yes." it was a very simple answer, but whenhis eyes met ashe's, ross knew that it would serve better than any solemn oath.

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