CHAPTER 4
Once again Ross sat waiting for others to decide his future. He was asoutwardly composed as he had been in Judge Rawle's chambers, butinwardly he was far more apprehensive. Out in the wilderness of thepolar night he had had no chance for escape. Heading away from Kurt'srendezvous, Ross had run straight into the search party from the base,had seen in action that mechanical hound that Kurt had said they wouldput on the fugitives' trail--the thing which would have gone on huntingthem until its metal rusted into powder. Kurt's boasted immunity to thattracker had not been as good as he had believed, though it had won thema start.
Ross did not know just how much it might count in his favor that he hadbeen 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. Thistime there was no show on the wall of his cell, nothing but time tothink--too much of that--and no pleasant things to think about.
But he had learned one valuable lesson on that cold expedition.Kelgarries and the others at the base were the most formidableopponents he had ever met, and all the balance of luck and equipment layon their side of the scales. Ross was now convinced that there could beno escape from this base. He had been impressed by Kurt's preparations,knowing that some of them were far beyond anything he himself could havedevised. He did not doubt that Kurt had come here fully prepared withevery ingenious device the Reds could supply.
At least Kurt's friends had had a rude welcome when they did arrive atthe meeting place. Kelgarries had heard Ross out and then had sent aheada team. Before Ross's party had reached the base there had been a blastwhich split the arctic night wide open. And Kurt, conscious by then, hadshown his only sign of emotion when he realized what it meant.
The door to Ross's cell room clicked, and he swung his feet to thefloor, sitting up on his bunk to face his future. This time he made noattempt to put on an act. He was not in the least sorry he had tried toget away. Had Kurt been on the level, it would have been a bright play.That Kurt was not, was just plain bad luck.
Kelgarries and Ashe entered, and at the sight of Ashe the taut feelingin Ross's middle loosened a bit. The major might come by himself to passsentence, but he would not bring Ashe along if the sentence was a reallyharsh one.
"You got off to a bad start here, Murdock." The major sat down on theedge of the wall shelf which doubled as a table. "You're going to have asecond chance, so consider yourself lucky. We know you aren't anotherplant of our enemies, a fact that saves your neck. Do you have anythingto add to your story?"
"No, sir." He was not adding that "sir" to curry any favor; it camenaturally when one answered Kelgarries.
"But you have some questions?"
Ross met that with the truth. "A lot of them."
"Why don't you ask them?"
Ross smiled thinly, an expression far removed and years older than hisbashful boy's grin of the shy act. "A wise guy doesn't spill hisignorance. He uses his eyes and ears and keeps his trap shut----"
"And goes off half cocked as a result..." the major added. "I don'tthink you would have enjoyed the company of Kurt's paymaster."
"I didn't know about him then--not when I left here."
"Yes, and when you discovered the truth, you took steps. Why?" For thefirst time there was a trace of feeling in the major's voice.
"Because I don't like the line-up on his side of the fence."'
"That single fact has saved your neck this time, Murdock. Step out ofline once more, and nothing will help you. But just so we won't have toworry about that, suppose you ask a few of those questions."
"How much of what Kurt fed me is the truth?" Ross blurted out. "I meanall that stuff about shooting back in time."
"All of it." The major said it so quietly that it carried completeconviction.
"But why--how--?"
"You have us on a spot, Murdock. Because of your little expedition, wehave to tell you more now than we tell any of our men before the finalbriefing. Listen, and then forget all of it except what applies to thejob at hand.
"The Reds shot up Sputnik and then Muttnik.... When--? Twenty-five yearsago. We got up our answers a little later. There were a couple ofspectacular crashes on the moon, then that space station that didn'tstay in orbit, after that--stalemate. In the past quarter century we'vehad no voyages into space, nothing that was prophesied. Too many bugs,too many costly failures. Finally we began to get hints of somethingbig, bigger than any football roaming the heavens.
"Any discovery in science comes about by steps. It can be traced backthrough those steps by another scientist. But suppose you wereconfronted by a result which apparently had been produced without anypreliminaries. What would be your guess concerning it?"
Ross stared at the major. Although he didn't see what all this had to dowith time-jumping, he sensed that Kelgarries was waiting for a seriousanswer, that somehow Ross would be judged by his reply.
"Either that the steps were kept strictly secret," he said slowly, "orthat the result didn't rightfully belong to the man who said hediscovered it."
For the first time the major regarded him with approval. "Suppose thisdiscovery was vital to your life--what would you do?"
"Try to find the source!"
"There you have it! Within the past five years our friends across theway have come up with three such discoveries. One we were able to trace,duplicate, and use, with a few refinements of our own. The other tworemain rootless; yet they are linked with the first. We are nowattempting to solve that problem, and the time grows late. For somereason, though the Reds now have their super, super gadgets, they arenot yet ready to use them. Sometimes the things work, and sometimes theyfail. Everything points to the fact that the Reds are now experimentingwith discoveries which are not basically their own----"
"Where did they get them? From another world?" Ross's imagination cameto 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 world of time--not space. Sevenyears ago we got a man out of East Berlin. He was almost dead, but helived long enough to record on tape some amazing data, so wild it wasalmost dismissed as the ravings of delirium. But that was after Sputnik,and we didn't dare disregard any hints from the other side of the IronCurtain. So the recording was turned over to our scientists, who provedit had a core of truth.
"Time travel has been written up in fiction; it has been discussedotherwise as an impossibility. Then we discover that the Reds have itworking----"
"You mean, they go into the future and bring back machines to use now."
The major shook his head. "Not the future, the past."
Was this an elaborate joke? Somewhat heatedly Ross snapped out theanswer to that. "Look here, I know I haven't the education of your bigbrains, but I do know that the farther back you go into history thesimpler things are. We ride in cars; only a hundred years ago men drovehorses. We have guns; go back a little and you'll find them wavingswords and shooting guys with bows and arrows--those that don't wear tinplate on them to stop being punctured----"
"Only they were, after all," commented Ashe. "Look at Agincourt, m'lad,and remember what arrows did to the French knights in armor."
Ross disregarded the interruption. "Anyway"--he stuck doggedly to hispoint--"the farther back you go, the simpler things are. How are theReds going to find anything in history we can't beat today?"
"That is a point which has baffled us for several years now," the majorreturned. "Only it is not _how_ they are going to find it, but _where_.Because somewhere in the past of this world they have contacted acivilization able to produce weapons and ideas so advanced as to baffleour experts. We have to find that source and either mine it ourselves orclose it off. As yet we're still trying to find it."
Ross shook his head. "It must be a long way back. Those guys whodiscover tombs and dig up old cities--couldn't they give you some hints?Wouldn't a civilization like that have left something we could findtoday
?"
"It depends," Ashe remarked, "upon the type of civilization. TheEgyptians built in stone, grandly. They used tools and weapons ofcopper, bronze, and stone, and they were considerate enough to operatein a dry climate which preserved relics well. The cities of the FertileCrescent 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 tobequeath it to their successors, and so did the Romans. And on this sideof the ocean the Incas, the Mayas, the unknown races before them, andthe Aztecs of Mexico all built in stone and worked in metal. And stoneand metal survive. But what if there had been an early people who usedplastics and brittle alloys, who had no desire to build permanentbuildings, whose tools and artifacts were meant to wear out quickly,perhaps for economic reasons? What would they leave us--considering,perhaps, that an ice age had intervened between their time and ours,with glaciers to grind into dust what little they did possess?
"There is evidence that the poles of our world have changed and thatthis northern region was once close to being tropical. Any catastropheviolent enough to bring about a switch in the poles of this planet mightwell have wiped out all traces of a civilization, no matter howsuperior. We have good reason to believe that such a people must haveexisted, but we must find them.
"And Ashe is a convert from the skeptics--" the major slipped down fromhis perch on the wall shelf--"he is an archaeologist, one of your tombdiscoverers, and knows what he is talking about. We must do our huntingin time earlier than the first pyramid, earlier than the first group offarmers who settled by the Tigris River. But we have to let the enemyguide us to it. That's where you come in."
"Why me?"
"That is a question to which our psychologists are still trying to findthe answer, my young friend. It seems that the majority of the people ofthe several nations linked together in this project have become toocivilized. The reactions of most men to given sets of circumstances havebecome set in regular patterns and they cannot break that conditioning,or if personal danger forces them to change those patterns, they areafterward so adrift they cannot function at their highest potential.Teach a man to kill, as in war, and then you have to recondition himlater.
"But during these same wars we also develop another type. He is the borncommando, the secret agent, the expendable man who lives on action.There are not many of this kind, and they are potent weapons. Inpeacetime that particular collection of emotions, nerve, and skillsbecomes a menace to the very society he has fought to preserve during awar. He is pressured by the peaceful environment into becoming acriminal or a misfit.
"The men we send out from here to explore the past are not only giventhe best training we can possibly supply for them, but they are all ofthe type once heralded as the frontiersman. History is sentimental aboutthat type--when he is safely dead--but the present finds him difficultto live with. Our time agents are misfits in the modern world becausetheir inherited abilities are born out of season now. They must be youngenough and possess a certain brand of intelligence to take the stifftraining and to adapt, and they must pass our tests. Do you understand?"
Ross nodded. "You want crooks because they are crooks----"
"No, not because they are crooks, but because they are misfits in theirtime and place. Don't, I beg of you, Murdock, think that we areoperating a penal institution here. You would never have been recruitedif you hadn't tested out to suit us. But the man who may be labeledmurderer in his own period might rank as a hero in another, an extremeexample, but true. When we train a man he not only can survive in theperiod to which he is sent, but he can also pass as a native born inthat era----"
"What about Hardy?"
The major gazed into space. "There is no operation which is foolproof.We have never said that we don't run into trouble or that there is nodanger in this. We have to deal with both natives of different times,and if we are lucky and hit a hot run, with the Reds. They suspect thatwe are casting about, hunting their trail. They managed to plant KurtVogel on us. He had an almost perfect cover and conditioning. Now youhave it straight, Murdock. You satisfy our tests, and you'll be given achance to say yes or no before your first run. If you say no and refuseduty, it means you must become an exile and stay here. No man who hasgone through our training can return to normal life; there is too muchchance of his being picked up and sweated by the opposition."
"Never?"
The major shrugged. "This may be a long-term operation. We hope not, butthere is no way of telling now. You will be in exile until we eitherfind what we want or fail entirely. That is the last card I have to layon the table." He stretched. "You're slated for training tomorrow. Thinkit over and then let us know your answer when the time comes. Meanwhile,you are to be teamed with Ashe, who will see to putting you through thecourse."
It was a big hunk to swallow, but once down, Ross found it digestible.The training opened up a whole new world to him. Judo and wrestling wereeasy enough to absorb, and he thoroughly enjoyed the workouts. But thepatient hours of archery practice, the strict instruction in the use ofa long-bladed bronze dagger were more demanding. The mastering of onenew language and then another, the intensive drill in unfamiliar socialcustoms, the memorizing of strict taboos and ethics were difficult. Rosslearned to keep records in knots on hide thongs and was inducted intothe art of primitive bargaining and trade. He came to understand theworth of a cross-shaped tin ingot compared to a string of amber beadsand some well-cured white furs. He now understood why he had been showna traders' caravan during that first encounter with the purpose behindOperation Retrograde.
During the training days his feeling toward Ashe changed materially. Aman could not work so closely with another and continue to resent hisattitude; either he blew up entirely, or he learned to adjust. His aweat Ashe's vast amount of practical knowledge, freely offered to servehis own blundering ignorance, created a respect for the man which mighthave become friendship, had Ashe ever relaxed his own shield ofimpersonal efficiency. Ross did not try to breach the barrier betweenthem mainly because he was sure that the reason for it was the factthat he was a "volunteer." It gave him an odd new feeling he avoidedtrying to analyze. He had always had a kind of pride in his record; nowhe had begun to wish sometimes that it was a record of a different type.
Men came and went. Hodaki and his partner disappeared, as did Jansen andhis. One lost track of time within that underground warren which was thebase. Ross gradually discovered that the whole establishment covered alarge area under an external crust of ice and snow. There werelaboratories, a well-appointed hospital, armories which stocked weaponsusually seen only in museums, but which here were free of any signs ofage, and ready for use. There were libraries with mile upon mile of taperecordings as well as films. Ross could not understand everything heheard and saw, but he soaked up all he could so that once or twice, whendrifting off to sleep at night, he thought of himself as a sponge whichhad nearly reached its total limit of absorption.
He learned to wear naturally the clumsy kilt-tunic he had seen on thewolf slayer, to shave with practiced assurance, using a leaf-shapedbronze razor, to eat strange food until he relished the taste. Makinglesson time serve a double duty, he lay under sunlamps while listeningto tape recordings, until his skin darkened to a weathered hueresembling Ashe's. There was always talk to listen to, important talkwhich he was afraid to miss.
"Bronze." Ashe weighed a dagger in his hand one day. Its hilt, made ofdark horn studded with an intricate pattern of tiny golden nail heads,had a gleam not unlike that of the blade. "Do you know, Murdock, thatbronze can be tougher than steel? If it wasn't that iron is so much moreplentiful and easier to work, we might never have come out of the BronzeAge? Iron is cheaper and easier found, and when the first smith learnedto work it, an end came to one way of life, a beginning to another.
"Yes, bronze is important to us here, and so are the men who worked it.Smiths were sacred i
n the old days. We know that they made a secret oftheir 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 themselves were under the protection of the gods; there waspeace on them for all wayfarers. The land was wide then, and it wasempty. The tribes were few and small, and there was plenty of room forthe hunter, the farmer, the trader. Life was not such a scramble of managainst man, but rather of man against nature----"
"No wars?" asked Ross. "Then why the bow-and-dagger drill?"
"Wars were small affairs, disputes between family clans or tribes. Asfor the bow, there were formidable things in the forests--giant animals,wolves, wild boars----"
"Cave bears?"
Ashe sighed with weary patience. "Get it through your head, Murdock,that history is much longer than you seem to think. Cave bears and theuse of bronze weapons do not overlap. No, you will have to go back maybeseveral thousand years earlier and then hunt your bear with aflint-tipped spear in your hand if you are fool enough to try it."
"Or take a rifle with you." Ross made a suggestion he had longed tovoice for some time.
Ashe rounded on him swiftly, and Ross knew him well enough now torealize that he was seriously displeased.
"That is just what you don't do, Murdock, not from this base, as youwell know by now. You take no weapon from here which is not designed forthe period in which your run lies. Just as you do not become embroiledwhile on that run in any action which might influence the course ofhistory."
Ross went on polishing the blade he held. "What would happen if someonedid break that rule?"
Ashe put down the dagger he had been playing with. "We don't know--wejust don't know. So far we have operated in the fringe territory,keeping away from any district with a history which we can traceaccurately. Maybe some day--" his eyes were on a wall of weapon racks heplainly did not see--"maybe some day we can stand and watch the rise ofthe pyramids, witness the march of Alexander's armies.... But not yet.We stay away from history, and we are sure that the Reds are doing thesame. It has become the old problem once presented by the atom bomb.Nobody wants to upset the balance and take the consequences. Let us findtheir outpost and we'll withdraw our men from all the other runs atonce."
"What makes everyone so sure that they have an outpost somewhere?Couldn't they be working right at the main source, sir?"
"They could, but for some reason they are not. As for how we know thatmuch, it's information received." Ashe smiled thinly. "No, the source ismuch farther back in time than their halfway post. But if we find that,then we can trail them. So we plant men in suitable eras and hope forthe best. That's a good weapon you have there, Murdock. Are you willingto wear it in earnest?"
The inflection in that question caught Ross's full attention. His grayeyes met those blue ones. This was it--at long last.
"Right away?"
Ashe picked up a belt of bronze plates strung together with chains, atwin to that Ross had seen worn by the wolf slayer. He held it out tothe younger man. "You can take your trial run any time--tomorrow."
Ross drew a deeper breath. "Where--to when?"
"An island which will later be Britain. When? About two thousand B.C.Beaker traders were beginning to open their stations there. This is yourgraduation exercise, Murdock."
Ross fitted the blade he had been polishing into the wooden sheath onthe belt. "If you say I can do it, I'm willing to try."
He caught that glance Ashe shot at him, but he could not read itsmeaning. Annoyance? Impatience? He was still puzzling over it when theother turned abruptly and left him alone.