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THE TIME TRADERS
BY ANDRE NORTON
_Science Fiction_
THE STARS ARE OURS!
STAR BORN
THE TIME TRADERS
_Historical Fiction_
YANKEE PRIVATEER
_Edited by Andre Norton_
BULLARD OF THE SPACE PATROL
SPACE SERVICE
SPACE PIONEERS
SPACE POLICE
_Andre Norton_
THE TIME
TRADERS
CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK
THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
_Published by_ The World Publishing Company 2231 West 110th Street,Cleveland 2, Ohio
_Published simultaneously in Canada by_ Nelson, Foster & Scott Ltd.
_Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 58-11154_
SECOND PRINTING
2WP759
Copyright (c) 1958 by The World Publishing Company All rights reserved. Nopart of this book may be reproduced in any form without writtenpermission from the publisher, except for brief passages included in areview appearing in a newspaper or magazine. Printed in the UnitedStates of America.
Transcriber's note:Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright onthis publication was renewed.
THE TIME TRADERS
CHAPTER 1
To anyone who glanced casually inside the detention room the young mansitting there did not seem very formidable. In height he might have beena little above average, but not enough to make him noticeable. His brownhair was cropped conservatively; his unlined boy's face was not one tobe remembered--unless one was observant enough to note those light-grayeyes and catch a chilling, measuring expression showing now and then foran instant in their depths.
Neatly and inconspicuously dressed, in this last quarter of thetwentieth century his like was to be found on any street of the city tenfloors below--to all outward appearances. But that other person underthe protective coloring so assiduously cultivated could touch heights ofencased and controlled fury which Murdock himself did not understand andwas only just learning to use as a weapon against a world he had alwaysfound hostile.
He was aware, though he gave no sign of it, that a guard was watchinghim. The cop on duty was an old hand--he probably expected some reactionother than passive acceptance from the prisoner. But he was not goingto get it. The law had Ross sewed up tight this time. Why didn't theyget about the business of shipping him off? Why had he had thatafternoon session with the skull thumper? Ross had been on the defensivethen, and he had not liked it. He had given to the other's questions allthe attention his shrewd mind could muster, but a faint, very faint,apprehension still clung to the memory of that meeting.
The door of the detention room opened. Ross did not turn his head, butthe guard cleared his throat as if their hour of mutual silence haddried his vocal cords. "On your feet, Murdock! The judge wants to seeyou."
Ross rose smoothly, with every muscle under fluid control. It never paidto talk back, to allow any sign of defiance to show. He would go throughthe 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'scheckered past. So he faced the man seated behind the desk in the otherroom with an uncertain, diffident smile, standing with boyishawkwardness, respectfully waiting for the other to speak first.
Judge Ord Rawle. It was his rotten luck to pull old Eagle Beak on hiscase. Well, he would simply have to take it when the old boy dished itout. Not that he had to remain stuck with it later....
"You have a bad record, young man."
Ross allowed his smile to fade; his shoulders slumped. But underconcealing lids his eyes showed an instant of cold defiance.
"Yes, sir," he agreed in a voice carefully cultivated to shakeconvincingly about the edges. Then suddenly all Ross's pleasure in theskill of his act was wiped away. Judge Rawle was not alone; that blastedskull thumper was sitting there, watching the prisoner with the samekeenness he had shown the other day.
"A very bad record for the few years you have had to make it." EagleBeak was staring at him, too, but without the same look of penetration,luckily for Ross. "By rights, you should be turned over to the newRehabilitation Service...."
Ross froze inside. That was the "treatment," icy rumors of which hadspread throughout his particular world. For the second time since he hadentered the room his self-confidence was jarred. Then he clung with adegree of hope to the phrasing of that last sentence.
"Instead, I have been authorized to offer you a choice, Murdock. Onewhich I shall state--and on record--I do not in the least approve."
Ross's twinge of fear faded. If the judge didn't like it, there must besomething in it to the advantage of Ross Murdock. He'd grab it for sure!
"There is a government project in need of volunteers. It seems that youhave tested out as possible material for this assignment. If you signfor it, the law will consider the time spent on it as part of yoursentence. Thus you may aid the country which you have heretoforedisgraced----"
"And if I refuse, I go to this rehabilitation. Is that right, sir?"
"I certainly consider you a fit candidate for rehabilitation. Yourrecord--" He shuffled through the papers on his desk.
"I choose to volunteer for the project, sir."
The judge snorted and pushed all the papers into a folder. He spoke to aman waiting in the shadows. "Here then is your volunteer, Major."
Ross bottled in his relief. He was over the first hump. And since hisluck had held so far, he might be about to win all the way....
The man Judge Rawle called "Major" moved into the light. At the firstglance Ross, to his hidden annoyance, found himself uneasy. To face upto Eagle Beak was all part of the game. But somehow he sensed one didnot play such games with this man.
"Thank you, your honor. We will be on our way at once. This weather isnot very promising."
Before he realized what was happening, Ross found himself walking meeklyto the door. He considered trying to give the major the slip when theyleft the building, losing himself in a storm-darkened city. But they didnot take the elevator downstairs. Instead, they climbed two or threeflights up the emergency stairs. And to his humiliation Ross foundhimself panting and slowing, while the other man, who must have been agood dozen years his senior, showed no signs of discomfort.
They came out into the snow on the roof, and the major flashed a torchskyward, guiding in a dark shadow which touched down before them. Ahelicopter! For the first time Ross began to doubt the wisdom of hischoice.
"On your way, Murdock!" The voice was impersonal enough, but that veryimpersonality got under one's skin.
Bundled into the machine between the silent major and an equally quietpilot in uniform, Ross was lifted over the city, whose ways he knew aswell as he knew the lines on his own palm, into the unknown he wasalready beginning to regard dubiously. The lighted streets andbuildings, their outlines softened by the soft wet snow, fell out ofsight. Now they could mark the outer highways. Ross refused to ask anyquestions. He could take this silent treatment; he _had_ taken a lot oftougher things in the past.
The patches of light disappeared, and the country opened out. The planebanked. Ross, with all the familiar landmarks of his world gone, couldnot have said if they were headed north or south. But moments later noteven the thick curtain of snowflakes could blot out the pattern of redlights on the ground, and the helicopter settled down.
"Come on!"
For the second time Ross obeyed. He stood shivering, engulfed in aminiature blizzard. His clothing, protection enough in the city, didlittle good against the push of the wind. A hand gr
ipped his upper arm,and he was drawn forward to a low building. A door banged and Ross andhis companion came into a region of light and very welcome heat.
"Sit down--over there!"
Too bewildered to resent orders, Ross sat. There were other men in theroom. One, wearing a queer suit of padded clothing, a bulbous headgearhooked over his arm, was reading a paper. The major crossed to speak tohim and after they conferred for a moment, the major beckoned Ross witha crooked finger. Ross trailed the officer into an inner room lined withlockers.
From one of the lockers the major pulled a suit like the pilot's, andbegan to measure it against Ross. "All right," he snapped. "Climb intothis! We haven't all night."
Ross climbed into the suit. As soon as he fastened the last zipper hiscompanion jammed one of the domed helmets on his head. The pilot lookedin the door. "We'd better scramble, Kelgarries, or we may be groundedfor the duration!"
They hurried back to the flying field. If the helicopter had been asurprising mode of travel, this new machine was something straight outof 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 to enter the ship.
Unwillingly, Ross climbed the same ladder and found that he must wedgehimself in on his back, his knees hunched up almost under his chin. Tomake it worse, cramped as those quarters were, he had to share them withthe major. A transparent hood snapped down and was secured, sealing themin.
During his short lifetime Ross had often been afraid, bitterly afraid.He had fought to toughen his mind and body against such fears. But whathe experienced now was no ordinary fear; it was panic so strong that itmade him feel sick. To be shut in this small place with the knowledgethat he had no control over his immediate future brought him face toface with every terror he had ever known, all of them combined into onehorrible whole.
How long does a nightmare last? A moment? An hour? Ross could not timehis. But at last the weight of a giant hand clamped down on his chest,and he fought for breath until the world exploded about him.
He came back to consciousness slowly. For a second he thought he wasblind. Then he began to sort out one shade of grayish light fromanother. Finally, Ross became aware that he no longer rested on hisback, but was slumped in a seat. The world about him was wrung with avibration that beat in turn through his body.
Ross Murdock had remained at liberty as long as he had because he wasable to analyze a situation quickly. Seldom in the past five years hadhe been at a loss to deal with any challenging person or action. Now hewas aware that he was on the defensive and was being kept there. Hestared into the dark and thought hard and furiously. He was convincedthat everything that was happening to him this day was designed withonly one end in view--to shake his self-confidence and make him pliable.Why?
Ross had an enduring belief in his own abilities and he also possesseda kind of shrewd understanding seldom granted to one so young. He knewthat while Murdock was important to Murdock, he was none too importantin the scheme of things as a whole. He had a record--a record so badthat Rawle might easily have thrown the book at him. But it differed inone important way from that of many of his fellows; until now he hadbeen able to beat most of the raps. Ross believed this was largelybecause he had always worked alone and taken pains to plan a job inadvance.
Why now had Ross Murdock become so important to someone that they woulddo all this to shake him? He was a volunteer--for what? To be a guineapig for some bug they wanted to learn how to kill cheaply and easily?They'd been in a big hurry to push him off base. Using the silenttreatment, this rushing around in planes, they were really working tokeep him groggy. So, all right, he'd give them a groggy boy all set upfor 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 flown out of the path of thestorm or were above it. There were stars shining through the cover ofthe cockpit, but no moon.
Ross's formal education was sketchy, but in his own fashion he hadacquired a range of knowledge which would have surprised many of theauthorities who had had to deal with him. All the wealth of a big citylibrary had been his to explore, and he had spent much time there,soaking up facts in many odd branches of learning. Facts were veryuseful things. On at least three occasions assorted scraps of knowledgehad preserved Ross's freedom, once, perhaps his life.
Now he tried to fit together the scattered facts he knew about hispresent situation into some proper pattern. He was inside some new typeof super-super atomjet, a machine so advanced in design that it wouldnot have been used for anything that was not an important mission. Whichmeant that Ross Murdock had become necessary to someone, somewhere.Knowing that fact should give him a slight edge in the future, and hemight well need such an edge. He'd just have to wait, play dumb, and usehis eyes and ears.
At the rate they were shooting along they ought to be out of the countryin a couple of hours. Didn't the Government have bases half over theworld to keep the "cold peace"? Well, there was nothing for it. To beplanted abroad someplace might interfere with plans for escape, but he'dhandle that detail when he was forced to face it.
Then suddenly Ross was on his back once more, the giant hand digginginto his chest and middle. This time there were no lights on the groundto guide them in. Ross had no intimation that they had reached theirdestination until they set down with a jar which snapped his teethtogether.
The major wriggled out, and Ross was able to stretch his cramped body.But the other's hand was already on his shoulder, urging him along. Rosscrawled free and clung dizzily to a ladderlike disembarking structure.
Below there were no lights, only an expanse of open snow. Men weremoving across that blank area, gathering at the foot of the ladder. Rosswas hungry and very tired. If the major wanted to play games, he hopedthat such action could wait until the next morning.
In the meantime he must learn where "here" was. If he had a chance torun, he wanted to know the surrounding territory. But that hand was onhis arm, drawing him along toward a door that stood half-open. As far asRoss could see, it led to the interior of a hillock of snow. Either thestorm or men had done a very good cover-up job, and somehow Ross knewthe camouflage was intentional.
That was Ross's introduction to the base, and after his arrival his viewof the installation was extremely limited. One day was spent inundergoing the most searching physical he had ever experienced. Andafter the doctors had poked and pried he was faced by a series of othertests no one bothered to explain. Thereafter he was introduced tosolitary, that is, confined to his own company in a cell-like room witha bunk that was more comfortable than it looked and an announcer in acorner of the ceiling. So far he had been told exactly nothing. And sofar he had asked no questions, stubbornly keeping up his end of what hebelieved to be a tug of wills. At the moment, safely alone and lyingflat on his bunk he eyed the announcer, a very dangerous young man andone who refused to yield an inch.
"Now hear this...." The voice transmitted through that grill wasmetallic, but its rasp held overtones of Kelgarries' voice. Ross's lipstightened. He had explored every inch of the walls and knew that therewas no trace of the door which had admitted him. With only his barehands to work with he could not break out, and his only clothes were theshirt, sturdy slacks, and a pair of soft-soled moccasins that they hadgiven him.
"... to identify ..." droned the voice. Ross realized that he must havemissed something, not that it mattered. He was almost determined not toplay along any more.
There was a click, signifying that Kelgarries was through braying. Butthe customary silence did not close in again. Instead, Ross heard aclear, sweet trilling which he vaguely associated with a bird. Hisacquaintance with all feathered life was limited to city sparrows andplump park pigeons, neither of which raised their voices in song, butsurely those sounds were bird notes. Ross glanced from the mike in theceiling to the opposite wall and what he saw there mad
e him sit up, withthe instant response of an alerted fighter.
For the wall was no longer there! Instead, there was a sharp slope ofground cutting down from peaks where the dark green of fir trees ranclose to the snow line. Patches of snow clung to the earth in shelteredplaces, and the scent of those pines was in Ross's nostrils, real as thewind touching him with its chill.
He shivered as a howl sounded loudly and echoed, bearing the age-oldwarning of a wolf pack, hungry and a-hunt. Ross had never heard thatsound before, but his human heritage subconsciously recognized it forwhat it was--death on four feet. Similarly, he was able to identify thegray shadows slinking about the nearest trees, and his hands balled intofists as he looked wildly about him for some weapon.
The bunk was under him and three of the four walls of the room enclosedhim like a cave. But one of those gray skulkers had raised its head andwas looking directly at him, its reddish eyes alight. Ross ripped thetop blanket off the bunk with a half-formed idea of snapping it at theanimal when it sprang.
Stiff-legged, the beast advanced, a guttural growl sounding deep in itsthroat. To Ross the animal, larger than any dog he had even seen andtwice as vicious, was a monster. He had the blanket ready before herealized that the wolf was not watching him after all, and that itsattention was focused on a point out of his line of vision.
The wolfs muzzle wrinkled in a snarl, revealing long yellow-white teeth.There was a singing twang, and the animal leaped into the air, fellback, and rolled on the ground, biting despairingly at a shaftprotruding from just behind its ribs. It howled again, and blood brokefrom its mouth.
Ross was beyond surprise now. He pulled himself together and got up, towalk steadily toward the dying wolf. And he wasn't in the least amazedwhen his outstretched hands flattened against an unseen barrier. Slowly,he swept his hands right and left, sure that he was touching the wall ofhis cell. Yet his eyes told him he was on a mountain side, and everysight, sound, and smell was making it real to him.
Puzzled, he thought a moment and then, finding an explanation thatsatisfied 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 illusionof wind, and other fancy touches to make it more vivid. The total effectwas so convincing that Ross had to keep reminding himself that it wasall just a picture.
The wolf was dead. Its pack mates had fled into the brush, but since thepicture remained, Ross decided that the show was not yet over. He couldstill hear a click of sound, and he waited for the next bit of action.But the reason for his viewing it still eluded him.
A man came into view, crossing before Ross. He stooped to examine thedead wolf, catching it by the tail and hoisting its hindquarters off theground. Comparing the beast's size with the hunter's, Ross saw that hehad not been wrong in his estimation of the animal's unusually largedimensions. The man shouted over his shoulder, his words distinctenough, but unintelligible to Ross.
The stranger was oddly dressed--too lightly dressed if one judged theclimate by the frequent snow patches and the biting cold. A strip ofcoarse cloth, extending from his armpit to about four inches above theknee, was wound about his body and pulled in at the waist by a belt. Thebelt, far more ornate than the cumbersome wrapping, was made of manysmall chains linking metal plates and supported a long dagger whichhung straight in front. The man also wore a round blue cloak, now sweptback on his shoulders to free his bare arms, which was fastened by alarge pin under his chin. His footgear, which extended above his calves,was made of animal hide, still bearing patches of shaggy hair. His facewas beardless, though a shadowy line along his chin suggested that hehad not shaved that particular day. A fur cap concealed most of hisdark-brown hair.
Was he an Indian? No, for although his skin was tanned, it was as fairas Ross's under that weathering. And his clothing did not resemble anyIndian apparel Ross had ever seen. Yet, in spite of his primitivetrappings, the man had such an aura of authority, of self-confidence,and competence that it was clear he was top dog in his own section ofthe world.
Soon another man, dressed much like the first, but with a rust-browncloak, came along, pulling behind him two very reluctant donkeys, whoseeyes rolled fearfully at sight of the dead wolf. Both animals wore packslashed on their backs by ropes of twisted hide. Then another man camealong, with another brace of donkeys. Finally, a fourth man, wearingskins for covering and with a mat of beard on his cheeks and chin,appeared. His uncovered head, a bush of uncombed flaxen hair, shonewhitish as he knelt beside the dead beast, a knife with a dull-grayblade in his hand, and set to work skinning the wolf with appreciableskill. Three more pairs of donkeys, all heavily laden, were led past thescene before he finished his task. Finally, he rolled the bloody skininto a bundle and gave the flayed body a kick before he ran lightlyafter the disappearing train of pack animals.