CHAPTER 8
"... and that is about all." Ten days later Ashe, a dressing on his legand a few of the pain lines smoothed from his face, sat on a bunk in thearctic time post nursing a mug of coffee in his hands and smiling, alittle crookedly, at Nelson Millaird.
Millaird, Kelgarries, Dr. Webb, all the top brass of the project had notonly come through the transfer point to meet the three from Britain butwere now crammed into the room, nearly pushing Ross and McNeil throughthe wall. Because this was it! What they had hunted formonths--years--now lay almost within their grasp.
Only Millaird, the director, did not seem so confident. A big man with abushy thatch of coarse graying hair and a heavy, fleshy face, he did notlook 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 allthe loose threads of Operation Retrograde and deftly wove them into aworkable pattern. Now the director leaned back in a chair which was toosmall for his bulk, chewing thoughtfully on a toothpick.
"So we have the first whiff of a trail," he commented without elation.
"A pretty strong lead!" Kelgarries broke in. Too excited to sit still,the major stood with his back against the door, as alert as if he wereabout to turn and face the enemy. "The Reds wouldn't have moved againstGog if they did not consider it a menace to them. Their big base must bein this time sector!"
"_A_ big base," Millaird corrected. "The one we are after, no. And rightnow they may be switching times. Do you think they will sit here andwait for us to show up in force?" But Millaird's tone, intended todeflate, had no effect on the major.
"And just how long would it take them to dismantle a big base?" thatofficer countered. "At least a month. If we shoot a team in there in ahurry--"
Millaird folded his huge hands over his barrel-shaped body and laughed,without a trace of humor. "Just where do we send that team, Kelgarries?Northeast of a coastal point in Britain is a rather vague direction, tosay the least. Not," he spoke to Ashe now, "that you didn't do all youcould, Ashe. And you, McNeil, nothing to add?"
"No, sir. They jumped us out of the blue when Sandy thought he had everypossible line tapped, every safeguard working. I don't know how theycaught on to us, unless they located our beam to this post. If so, theymust have been deliberately hunting us for some time, because we onlyused the beam as scheduled----"
"The Reds have patience and brains and probably some more of theirsurprise gadgets to help them. We have the patience and the brains, butnot the gadgets. And time is against us. Get anything out of this,Webb?" Millaird asked the hitherto silent third member of his rulingcommittee.
The quiet man adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, aflattish nose which did not support them very well. "Just another pointto add to our surmises. I would say that they are located somewhere nearthe Baltic Sea. There are old trade routes there, and in our own time itis a territory closed to us. We never did know too much about thatsection of Europe. Their installation may be close to the Finnishborder. They could disguise their modern station under half a dozencovers; that is strange country."
Millaird's hands unfolded and he produced a notebook and pen from ashirt pocket. "Won't hurt to stir up some of the present-day agents ofthe M.I. and the rest. They might just come up with a useful hint. Soyou'd say the Baltic. But that is a big slice of country."
Webb nodded. "We have one advantage--the old trade routes. In the Beakerperiod they are pretty well marked. The major one into that section wasestablished for the amber trade. The country is forested, but not soheavily as it was in an earlier period. The native tribes are mostlyroving hunters, and fishermen along the coast. But they have had contactwith traders." He shoved his glasses back into place with a nervousgesture. "The Reds may run into trouble themselves there at thistime----"
"How?" Kelgarries demanded.
"Invasion of the ax people. If they have not yet arrived, they are duevery soon. They formed one of the big waves of migratory people, whoflooded the country, settled there. Eventually they became the Norse orCeltic stock. We don't know whether they stamped out the native tribesthey found there or assimilated them."
"That might be a nice point to have settled more definitely," McNeilcommented. "It could mean the difference between getting your skullsplit and continuing to breathe."
"I don't think they would tangle with the traders. Evidence found todaysuggests that the Beaker folk simply went on about their business inspite of a change in customers," Webb returned.
"Unless they were pushed into violence." Ashe handed his empty mug toRoss. "Don't forget Lurgha's Wrath. From now on our enemies might take avery dim view of any Beaker trade posts near their property."
Webb shook his head slowly. "A wholesale attack on Beaker establishmentswould constitute a shift in history. The Reds won't dare that, not juston general suspicion. Remember, they are not any more eager to tinkerwith history than we are. No, they will watch for us. We will have tostop communication by radio----"
"We can't!" snapped Millaird vehemently. "We can cut it down, but Iwon't send the boys out without some means of quick communication. Youlab boys put your brains to work and see what you can turn out in theway of talk boxes that they can't snoop. Time!" He drummed on his kneewith his thick fingers. "It all comes back to a question of time."
"Which we do not have," Ashe observed in his usual quiet voice. "If theReds are afraid they have been spotted, they must be dismantling theirpost right now, working around the clock. We'll never again have such agood chance to nail them. We must move now."
Millaird's lids drooped almost shut; he might have been napping.Kelgarries stirred restlessly by the door, and Webb's round face hadsettled into what looked like permanent lines of disapproval.
"Doc," Millaird spoke over his shoulder to the fourth man of hisfollowing, "what is your report?"
"Ashe must be under treatment for at least five days. McNeil's burnsaren't too bad, and Murdock's slash is almost healed."
"Five days--" Millaird droned, and then flashed a glance at the major."Personnel. We're tied down without any useful personnel. Who inprocessing could be switched without tangling them up entirely?"
"No one. I can recall Jansen and Van Wyke. These ax people might be agood cover for them." The momentary light in Kelgarries' eyes faded."No, we have no proper briefing and can't get it until the tribe doesappear on the map. I won't send any men in cold. Their blunders wouldnot only endanger them but might menace the whole project."
"So that leaves us with you three," Millaird said. "We'll recall whatmen we can and brief them again as fast as possible. But you know howlong that will take. In the meantime----"
Ashe spoke directly to Webb. "You can't pinpoint the region closer thanjust the Baltic?"
"We can do this much," the other answered him slowly, and with obviousreluctance. "We can send the sub cruising offshore there for the nextfive days. If there is any radio activity--any communication--we shouldbe able to trace the beams. It all depends upon whether the Reds haveany parties operating from their post. Flimsy----"
"But something!" Kelgarries seized upon it with the relief of one whoneeded action.
"And they will be waiting for just such a move on our part," Webbcontinued deliberately.
"All right, so they'll be watching!" the major said, about to lose histemper, "but it is about the only move we can make to back up the boyswhen they do go in."
He whipped around the door and was gone. Webb got up slowly. "I willwork over the maps again," he told Ashe. "We haven't scouted that area,and we don't dare send a photo-plane over it now. Any trip in will be astab in the dark."
"When you have only one road, you take it," Ashe replied. "I'll be gladto see anything you can show me, Miles."
If Ross had believed that his pre-trial-run cramming had been a rigorousbusiness, he was soon to laugh at that estimation. Since the burden ofthe next jump would rest on only three of them--Ashe, McNeil, andhimself--they were plunged into a whirlwind of ins
truction, until Ross,dazed and too tired to sleep on the third night, believed that he wasmore completely bewildered than indoctrinated. He said as much sourly toMcNeil.
"Base has pulled back three other teams," McNeil replied. "But the menhave to go to school again, and they won't be ready to come on for maybethree, four weeks. To change runs means unlearning stuff as well aslearning it----"
"What about new men?"
"Don't think Kelgarries isn't out now beating the bushes for some! Only,we have to be fitted to the physical type we are supposed to represent.For instance, set a small, dark-headed pugnose among your Norse searovers, and he's going to be noticed--maybe remembered too well. Wecan't afford to take that chance. So Kelgarries had to discover men whonot only look the part but are also temperamentally fitted for this job.You can't plant a fellow who thinks as a seaman--not a seaman, youunderstand, but one whose mind works in that pattern--among a wanderingtribe of cattle herders. The protection for the man and the project liesin his being fitted into the right spot at the right time."
Ross had never really thought of that point before. Now he realized thathe and Ashe and McNeil were of a common mold. All about the sameheight, they shared brown hair and light eyes--Ashe's blue, his owngray, and McNeil's hazel--and they were of similar build, small-boned,lean, and quick-moving. He had not seen any of the true Beakermen excepton the films. But now, recalling those, he could see that the three timetraders were of the same general physical type as the far-roving peoplethey used as a cover.
It was on the morning of the fifth day while the three were studying amap Webb had produced that Kelgarries, followed at his own weighty paceby Millaird, burst in upon them.
"We have it! This time _we_ have the luck! The Reds slipped. Oh, howthey slipped!"
Webb watched the major, a thin little smile pulling at his pursed mouth."Miracles sometimes do happen," he remarked. "I suppose the sub has afix for us."
Kelgarries passed over the flimsy strip of paper he had been waving as abanner of triumph. Webb read the notation on it and bent over the map,making a mark with one of those needle-sharp pencils which seemed togrow in his breast pocket, ready for use. Then he made a second mark.
"Well, it narrows it a bit," he conceded. Ashe looked in turn andlaughed.
"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 ownprotest when he saw the marking. "We don't know that country--"
Webb shoved his glasses back for the hundredth time that morning. "Isuppose we could consider this critical, condition red," he said in sucha dubious tone that he might have been begging someone to protest hisstatement. But no one did. Millaird was busy with the map.
"I think we do, Miles!" He looked to Ashe. "You'll parachute in. Thepacks with which you will be equipped are special stuff. Once you havethem off sprinkle them with a powder Miles will provide and in tenminutes there won't be enough of them left for anyone to identify. Wehaven't but a dozen of these, and we can't throw them away except in acrisis. Find the base and rig up the detector. Your fix in this timewill 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 youhave it!"
"There is the possibility," Ashe pointed out, "the Reds may have morethan one intermediate post. They probably have played it smart and setup a series of them to spoil a direct trace, as each would lead only toanother farther back in time----"
"All right. If that proves true, just get us the next one back,"Millaird returned. "From that we can trace them along if we must send insome of the boys wearing dinosaur skins later. We _have_ to find theirprimary base, and if that hunt goes the hard way, well, we do it thehard way."
"How did you get the fix?" McNeil asked.
"One of their field parties ran into trouble and yelled for help."
"Did they get it?"
The major grinned. "What do you think? You know the rules--and the onesthe Reds play by are twice as tough on their own men."
"What kind of trouble?" Ashe wanted to know.
"Some kind of a local religious dispute. We do our best with their code,but we're not a hundred per cent perfect in reading it. I gather theywere playing with a local god and got their fingers burned."
"Lurgha again, eh?" Ashe smiled.
"Foolish," Webb said impatiently. "That is a silly thing to do. You werealmost over the edge of prudence yourself, Gordon, with that Lurghabusiness. To use the Great Mother was a ticklish thing to try, and youwere lucky to get out of it so easily."
"Once was enough," Ashe agreed. "Though using it may have saved ourlives. But I assure you I am not starting a holy war or setting up as aprophet."
Ross had been taught something of map reading, but mentally he could notmake what he saw on paper resemble the countryside. A few landmarks, ifthere were any outstanding ones, were all he could hope to impress uponhis memory until he was actually on the ground.
Landing there according to Millaird's instruction was another experiencehe 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 wasanything but pleasant. Leaving the plane in a blind, follow-the-leaderfashion, Ross found the descent into darkness one of the worst trials hehad yet faced. But he did not make too bad a landing in the smallparklike expanse they had chosen for their target.
Ross pulled loose his harness and chute, dragging them to what he judgedto be the center of the clearing. Hearing a plaintive bray from the air,he dodged as one of the two burden asses sent to join them landed andbegan to kick at its trappings. The animals they had chosen were themost docile available and they had been given sedation before the jumpso that now, feeling Ross's hands, the donkey stood quietly while Rossstripped it of its hanging straps.
"Rossa--" The sound of his Beaker name called through the dark broughtRoss facing in the other direction.
"Here, and I have one of the donkeys."
"And I the other!" That was McNeil.
Their eyes adjusted to a gloom which was not as thick as it would be inthe forest and they worked fast. Then they dragged the parachutestogether in a heap. The rain would, Webb had assured them, add to therapid destruction wrought by the chemical he had provided. Ashe shook itover the pile, and there was a faint greenish glow. Then they moved awayto the woodland and made camp for the balance of the night.
So much of their whole exploit depended upon luck, and this small parthad been successful. Unless some agent had been stationed to watch fortheir arrival Ross believed they could not be spotted.
The rest of their plan was elastic. Posing as traders who had come toopen a new station, they were to stay near a river which drained a lakeand then angled southward to the distant sea. They knew this section wasonly sparsely settled by small tribes, hardly larger than family clans.These people were generations behind the civilized level of thevillagers of Britain--roving hunters who followed the sweep of gamenorth or south with the seasons.
Along the seashore the fishermen had established more permanent holdingswhich were slowly becoming towns. There were perhaps a few hardy pioneerfarmers on the southern fringes of the district, but the principlereason traders came to this region was to get amber and furs. The Beakerpeople dealt in both.
Now as the three sheltered under the wide branches of a towering pineAshe fumbled with a pack and brought out the "beaker" which was theidentifying mark of his adopted people. He measured into it a portion ofthe sour, stimulating drink which the traders introduced wherever theywent. The cup passed from hand to hand, its taste unpleasant on thetongue, but comfortingly warm to one's middle.
They took turns keeping the watch until the gray of false dawn becamethe clearer light of morning. After breakfasting on flat cakes of meal,they packed the donkeys, using the same knots and cross lashing whichwere the mark of real Beaker traders. T
heir bows protected from dampnessunder their cloaks, they set out to find the river and their pathsouthward.
Ashe led, Ross towed the donkeys, and McNeil brought up the rear. In theabsence of a path they had to set a ragged course, keeping to the edgeof the clearing until they saw the end of the lake.
"Woodsmoke," Ashe commented when they had completed two thirds of theirjourney. Ross sniffed and was able to smell it too. Nodding to Ashe,McNeil oozed into nothingness between the trees with an ease Murdockenvied. As they waited for him to return, Ross became conscious ofanother life about them, one busy with its own concerns, which were inno way those of human beings, except that food and perhaps shelter wereto be reckoned among them.
In Britain, Ross had known there were others of his kind about, but thiswas different. Here, he could have believed it if he had been told hewas the first man to walk this way.
A squirrel ran out on a tree limb and surveyed the two men with curiousbeady eyes, then clung head down on the tree trunk to see them better.One of the donkeys tossed its head, and the squirrel was gone with aflirt of its tail. Although it was quiet, there was a hum underneath thesurface which Ross tried to analyze, to identify the many small soundswhich went into its making.
Perhaps because he was trying so hard, he noted the faint noise. Hishand touched Ashe's arm and a slight movement of his head indicated thedirection of the sound. Then, as fluidly as he had melted into thewoods, McNeil returned. "Company," he said in a soft voice.
"What kind?"
"Tribesmen, but wilder than any I've seen, even on the tapes. We arecertainly out on the fringes now. These people look about cave level. Idon't think they've ever heard of traders."
"How many?"
"Three, maybe four families. Most of the males must be out hunting, butthere'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 turn together," Ashe said,motioning Ross forward with the donkeys. "We will circle about them tothe river and then try bartering later. But I do want to establishcontact."