 The Time Traders by Andre Norton Chapter 15 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recorded by R.J. Davis. The Time Traders by Andre Norton Chapter 15 It was such a small thing. A tag of ragged stuff looped around a length of splintered sapling. Ross climbed stipply over the welter of drift caught on the sand split and pulled it loose, recognizing the string even before he touched it. That square knot was McNeil's tang, and as Mardoc sat down weakly on the sand and mud, nervously fingering the twisted cord, staring vacantly at the river, his last fall hope died. The raft must have broken up, and neither ash nor McNeil could have survived the ultimate disaster. Ross Mardoc was alone, marooned in a time which was not his own, with little promise of escape. That one thought blanked out his mind with its own darkness. What was the use of getting up again, or trying to find food for his empty stomach, or warmth and shelter? He had always prided himself on being able to go it alone, had thought himself secure in that calculated loneliness. Now that belief had been washed away in the river, along with most of the willpower which had kept him going these past days. Before, there had always been some gold, no matter how remote. Now he had nothing. Even if he managed to reach the mouth of the river, he had no idea of where or how to summon a sub from the overseas post. All three of the time travelers might already have been written off the rolls, since they had not reported in. Ross pulled the rag free from the sapling and wreathed it in a tight bracelet about his grime's wrist for some unexplainable reason. Worn and tired, he tried to think ahead. There was no chance of again contacting Ulf's tribe. Along with all the other woodland hunters, they must have fled before the advance of the horsemen. No, there was no reason to go back, and why make the effort to advance? The sun was hot. This is one of those spring days which foretell the rightness of summer. Insects buzzed in the reed banks where a green sheen showed. Birds wheeled and circled in the sky. Sun flocked disturbed. Their cries reached Ross and horse calls of warning. He was still plastered with patches of dried mud and slime. The reek of it stick in his nostrils. Now Ross rushed at his spot on his knee, picking loose flakes to expose the alien cloth of his suit underneath. Seemingly unbefound. All at once it became necessary to be clean again at least. Ross waded into the stream, stooping to splash the brown water over his body and then rubbing away the resulting mud. In the sunlight, the fabric had a brilliant glow, as if it not only drew the light but reflected it. Waiting further out into the water, he began to swim. Not with any goal in view, but because it was easier than crawling back to land once more. Using the downstream current to supplement his skill, he was both thanks. He could not really hope to see either the wrap or indications that his passengers had won the shore. But somewhere deep inside him, he had not yet accepted the probable. The effort of swimming broke through that fog of inertia which had held him since he had awakened that morning. It was with a somewhat healthier interest in life that Ross came ashore again on an arm of what was a bay or inland angling back into the land. Here the banks of the river were well above his head, and believing that he was well sheltered, he stripped, hanging his suit in the sunlight and letting the unusual heat of the day soothe his body. A raw fish cornered in the shallows and scooped out, furnished one of the best meals he had ever tasted. He had reached for the suit draped over a willow limb when the first and only warning that his fortunes had once again changed came, swiftly, silently, and with deadly promise. One moment the willows had moved gently in the breeze, and then a spear suddenly set them all quivering. Russ, clutching the suit to him with a finite grab, skated about in the sand, going to one knee in his haste. He found himself completely at the mercy of the two men standing on the bank well above him. Unlike Opus people or the beaker traders, they were very tall. With heavy braids of light or sun-bleached tears swinging forward on their wide chest, the latter tunics hung to mid-thigh above leggings which were bound to their limbs with painted straps. Cuff bracelets of copper rained through forearms, and necklaces of animal teeth and beads displayed their personal wealth. Russ could not remember having seen their light on any of the briefing tapes at the base. One spear had been a warning, but a second was held ready, so Russ made the age-old signal for a surrender, reluctantly dropping his suit and raising his hands palm out and shoulder high. Friend, Russ asked in the beaker-tun, the traders ranged far, and perhaps there was a chance they had had contact with this tribe. The spear twirled, and the younger stranger effortlessly leaped down the bank, paddling over to Russ to pick up the suit he had dropped, holding it up while he made some comment to his companion. He seemed fascinated by the fabric, pulling and smoothing it between his hands, and Russ wondered if there was a chance of trading it for his own freedom. Both then were armed, not only with the long-bladed daggers favored by the beaker folk, but also with axes. When Russ made a slight effort to lower his hands, the man before him reached to his belt-axe, growling what was plainly a warning. Russ blinked, realizing that they might well knock him out and leave him behind, taking the suit with him. Finally, they decided in favor of including him in their loot. Throwing the suit over one arm, the stranger caught Russ by the shoulder and pushed him forward roughly. The pebble beach was painful to Russ's feet, and the breeze which whipped about him as he reached the top of the bank reminded him only too forcibly of his ordeal in the glacial world. Murdock was tempted to make a sudden dash out on the point of the bank and dive into the river, but it was already too late. The man who was holding the spear had moved behind him, and Russ's wrist, held in a vice grip at the small of his back, kept him prisoner as he was pushed into the meadow. There three shaggy horses grazed, their nose-robes gathered into the hands of a third man. A sharp stone half buried in the ground changed the pattern of the day. Russ's heels scraped against it, and the resulting pain triggered his rebellion into explosion. He threw himself backwards, his bruised heels sliding between the feet of his captor, bringing them both to the ground with himself on top. The other expelled air from his lungs in a grunt of surprise, and Russ whipped over. One hand grasping the hilt of the tribesman Dagger, while the other, free of that prisoning wristlock, chopped at the fellow's throat. Dagger out and ready, Russ faced the men in a half-crouch as he had been drilled. They stared at him in open-mouth amazement. Then too late the spears went up. Russ placed a point of his looted weapon at the throat of the now quiet man by whom he knelt. He spoke the language he had learned from Ulf's people. You strike, this one dies. They must have read the determined purpose in his eyes, for slowly, reluctantly, the spears went down. Having gained so much of a victory, Russ dared more. Take. He motioned to the waiting horses. Take and go. For a moment he thought that this time they would meet his challenge. But he continued to hold a dagger above the brown throat of the man who was now moaning faintly. His threat continued to register, for the other man shrugged a suit from his arm, left it lying on the ground, and retreated. Holding the nose-rope of his horse, he mounted, waved the herder up also, and both of them rode slowly away. The prisoner was slowly coming around, so Russ only had time to pull on the suit. He had not even fastened the breast studs before those blue eyes opened. A sunburned hand placed to a belt, but the dagger and axe which had once hung there were now in Russ's possession. He watched the tribesman carefully as he finished dressing. What you do, the words were in the speech of the forest people, distorted by a new accent. You go. Russ pointed to the third horse the others had left behind. I go. He indicated to the river. I take these. He patted the dagger and the axe, the other scout. Not good. Russ laughed a little hysterically. Not good you, he agreed. Good me. To the surprise, the tribesman's stiff face relaxed, and the fellow gave a bark of laughter. He said up, rubbing at his throat, a big grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. You, hunter, the man pointed northeast to the woodlands, fringing the mountains. Russ shook his head. Trader mean. Trader, the other repeated. Then he tapped one of the wide metal cuffs at his wrist. Trade this. That. More things. Where. Russ pointed downstream by bitter water. Trade there. The man appeared puzzled. Why you here? Ride river water like you ride. He said pointing to the horse. Ride on trees. Many trees tied together. Trees break apart. I come here. The concession of a raft boys apparently got across, but the tribesman was nodding. Getting to his feet, he walks across to take up the nose rope of the waiting horse. You come camp. Foscar. Foscar chief. He liked to, you show trick how you take Tuka. Make him sleep. Hold his axe knife. Russ hesitated. This Tuka seemed friendly now, but would that friendliness last? He shook his head. I go to bitter water. My chief there. Tuka was scowling again. You speak crooked words. Your chief there. He pointed eastward with a dramatic stretch of the arm. Your chief speak Foscar. Say he give much these. He touched his copper cuffs. Good knives. Axes. Get you back. Russ stared at him without understanding. Ash. Ash in this Fuscar's camp. Offering a reward for him. But how could that be? How you know my chief. Took a laugh this time derisively. You wear shining skin. Your chief wear shiny skin. He say find other shiny skin. Give many good things to man who bring you back. Shiny skin. The suit from the alien ship. Was it the ship people? Ross remembered the light on him as he climbed out of the red village. He must have been sighted by one of the space men. But why were they searching for him? Alerting the natives as an effort to scoop him up. What made Ross Murdoch so important that they must have him? He only knew that he was not going to be taken if he could help it. That he had no desire to meet this chief. Who had offered treasure for his capture. You will come. Took it when into action. His mount flashing forward almost in a running leap at Ross. Who stumbled back when horse and rider loomed over him. He swung up the axe, but it was a weapon with which he had had no training too heavy for him. As his blow met only thin air, the shoulder of the mount hit him and Ross went down. Avoiding by less than his fingers breadth, the thud of an unshoved hoof against his skull. Then the rider landed on him, crushing him flat. A fist connected with his jaw and for Ross the sun went out. He found himself hanging across a support which moved with a rocking gait. Whose pounding hurt his head, keeping him half days. Ross tried to move, but he realized that his arms were behind his back. Fastened wrist to wrist with 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 his feeding end to the gallop. Over his head passed a 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 dim. The horse stopped and Ross was pulled from his back and dropped to the trodden dust. To lie blinking up dizzily, trying to focus on the scene about him. They had arrived at the camp of the horseman whose high tents served as a backdrop for the fair long haired giants and the tall women hovering about to view the captive. The circle about him then broke and men stood aside for a newcomer. Ross had believed that his original captors were physically imposing, but this one was our master. Lying on the ground at the chieftain's feet, Ross felt like a small and helpless child. Foscar, if Foscar this was, could not yet have entered middle age and the muscles which moved along his arms and across his shoulders as he leaned over to study Tuca's fries made him bear strong. Ross cleared up at him the same hot rage which had led to his attack on Tuca, now urging him to the only defiance he had left, words. Look well, Foscar, free me and I would do more than look at you, he said in the speech of the woods hunters. Foscar's blue eyes widened and he lowered a fist which could have swallowed in his grasp both of Ross's hands. Linking those great fingers in the stuff of the suit and drawing the captive to his feet with no sign that his act had required any effort. Even standing, Ross was a good eight inches shorter than the chieftain. Yet he put up his chin and eyed the other squarely without giving ground. So, yet still my hands are tied. He put into that all the taunting inflection he could summon. His reception by Tuca had given him one faint clue to the character of these people. They might be brought to acknowledge the worth of one who stood up to them. Child. The fist shifted from his grip on the fabric covering Ross's chest to his shoulder. And now, under his compulsion, Ross swayed back and forth. Child. From somewhere Ross raised that short laugh, asked Tuca, I'd be no child. Foscar took his axe, took his knife. They were in my hand. A horse Tuca had to use to bring me down. Foscar regarded him intently and then grinned. Sharp tongue, he commented. Tuca lost knife, axe, soul, and gnar. He called over his shoulder and one of the men stepped out a pace beyond his fellow's. He was shorter and much younger than his chief. With a boy's range of slimmness and an open, good-looking face, his eyes brightened on Foscar with a kind of eager excitement. Like the other tribesmen, he was armed with belt dagger and axe. And since he wore two necklaces and both cuff bracelets and upper armlets as did Foscar, Ross thought he must be a relative of the older man. Child. Foscar clapped his hand on Ross's shoulder and then withdrew the hold. Child, he indicated in our two reddens. You take from in our axe, knife, Foscar ordered, as you took from Tuca. He made a sign and someone cut the phones about Ross's wrist. Ross rubbed one numbed hand against the other, setting his jaw. Foscar stunned this young fellow with his contipulous child. So the boy would be eager to match all his skill against the prisoner. This would not be as easy as he was taking Tuca by surprise. But if he refused, Foscar might well order him killed out of hand. He had chosen to be defiant. He would have to do his best. Take. Axe. 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 N'Nar's hand go to the half of the axe. Nothing had been said about N'Nar's not using his weapons and defense. But Ross discovered that there was some sense of sportsmanship in the tribesmen after all. It was Tuca who pushed to the chief's side and said something which made Foscar roar, bull-voiced, at his youthful chance. N'Nar's hand came away from the axe hilt as if that polished wood were quite hot. And he transferred his discupature to Ross as the other understood. N'Nar had to win now for his own pride's sake, and Ross felt he had to win for his life. They circled weirdly, Ross watching his opponent's eyes rather than those half-clothed hands held at waist level. Back at the base he had been masked with axe, and before axe with the tough bodies killed and merciless trainers in unarmed combat. He had had beaten into his bruised flesh knowledge of holes and blows intended to save his skin in just such an encounter. But then he had been well fed, alert, prepared. He had not been knocked silly and then transported for miles slung across a horse after days of exposure and hard usage. It remained to be learned was Ross Murdock as tough as he always thought himself to be? Tough or not, he was in this until he won or dropped. Comments from the crowd aroused N'Nar to the first definite action. He charged, stooping low in a wrestler stance, but Ross squatted even lower. One hand flicked to the churned dust of the ground and snapped up again, sending a cloud of grit into the trident's face. Then their bodies met with a shock, and N'Nar sailed over Ross' shoulder to skid along the earth. Had Ross been fresh, the contest would have ended there, and then in his favor. But when he tried to whirl and throw himself on his opponent, he was too slow. N'Nar was not waiting to be pinned flat, and it was Ross' turn to be caught at a disadvantage. A hand shot out to catch his leg just above the ankle, and once again Ross obeyed his teaching, following easily at that pull to land across his opponent. N'Nar, disconcerted by the too quick success of his attack, was unprepared for this. Ross rolled, trying to escape steel-fingered hands. His own chopping out in edgewise blows, striving to serve N'Nar as he had Tuka. He had to take a lot of punishment, though he managed to elude the powerful bear's hug, in which he knew the other was laboring to engulf him, a hole which would speedily crush him into submission. Clinging to the methods he had been taught, he fought on, only now he knew, with a growing padding, that his best was not good enough. He was too spent to make an end, unless he had some piece of great good luck, he could only delay his own defeat. Fingers clawed viciously at his eyes, and Ross did what he had never thought to do in any fight. He snapped wolfishly, his teeth closing on flesh as he brought up his knee, and drove it home into the body winged on his. There was a gasp of hot breath in his face, as Ross called upon the last rags of his strength. Tearing loose from the others slack and hold, he scrambled to one knee. N'Nar was also on his knees, crouching like a four-legged beast ready to spring. Ross risked everything on his last gamble. Clasping his head together, he raised him as high as he could, and brought them down on the nape of the other's neck. N'Nar sprawled forward, face down in the dust, where seconds later Ross joined him. This concludes the reading of Chapter 15. The Time Traders by Andre Norton. Chapter 16. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by RJ Davis. The Time Traders by Andre Norton. Chapter 16. Murdoch lay on his back, gazing up at the lace hides which stretched to make the tent roofing. Having been battered just enough to feel all one aching bruise, Ross had lost interest in the future. Only the present mattered, and it was a dark one. He might have fought N'Nar to a standstill, but in the eyes of the horsemen he had also been beaten, and he had not impressed them as he had hoped. That he still lived was a minor wonder, but he deduced that he continued to breathe only because they wanted to exchange him for the reward offered by the aliens from out of time. An unpleasant prospect to contemplate. His wrist relaxed over his head to a peg driven deeply into the ground. His ankles were bound to another. He could turn his head from side to side, but any further movement was impossible. He ate only bits of food dropped into his mouth by a dirty-fingered slave, a cowed hunter captured from a tribe overwhelmed in the migration of the horsemen. Ho, taker of axes, a toe-jard into his ribs, and Ross bit back the grunt of pain which answered that rude bid for his attention. He saw in the dim light N'Nar's face, and was savagely glad to note the discolorations above the right eye and along the jawline. The signature is left by his own skin knuckles. Ho, warrior! Ross returned hoarsely, trying to lay that title with all the scorn he could summon. N'Nar's hand, holding a knife, swung into his limited range of vision. To clip a sharp tongue is a good thing. The young tribesman grinned as he knelt down beside the helpless prisoner. Ross knew a thrill of fear worse than any pain. N'Nar might be about to do just what he hinted. Instead, the knife swung up, and Ross felt the sawing at the cords above his wrist. And during the pain in the raw gouges they had cut in his flesh with gratitude that it was not mutilation which had brought N'Nar to him. He knew that his arms were free, but to draw them down from over his head was almost more than he could do. And he lay quiet as N'Nar loosed his feet up. Without N'Nar's hands pulling at him, Ross could not have reached his feet, nor did he stay erect once he had been raised, crashing forward on his face as the other let him go, hot anger eating at him because of his own helplessness. In the end, N'Nar summoned two slaves who dragged Ross into the open where a council assembled about a fire. A debate was in progress, sometimes so heated that the speakers fingered their knife or ax hilt when they shouted their arguments. Ross could not understand their language, but he was certain that he was a subject under discussion and that Voskar had the deciding vote and had not yet given the nod to either side. Ross set where the slaves had dumped him, rubbing his smarting wrist so desperately weary in mind and beaten in body that he was not really interested in the fate they were planning for him. He was content merely to be free of his bonds, a small favor, but one he savored dully. He did not know how long the debate lasted, but at length N'Nar came to stand over him with a message. Your Chief, he give many good things for you. Voskar 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 Voskar fear his anger. N'Nar left, you run from your Chief. He will be happy with Voskar when you lie again under his hand. You will not like that, I think it so. I think it so too, Ross agreed silently. He spent the rest of that night lying between the watchful N'Nar and another guard, though they had the humanity not to bind him again. In the morning he was allowed to feed himself, and he feasted chunks of venison out of a stew with his unworse fingers. But in spite of the messiness, it was the best food he had eaten in days. The trip, however, was not to be a comfortable one. He was mounted on one of the shaggy horses, a rope run under the animal's belly to loop one foot to the other. Fortunately, his hands were bound so he was able to grasp the course while remaining and keep his seat after a fashion. The nose-rope of his mount was passed to Tuka, an N'Nar road beside him with only half an eye for the path of his own horse and the balance of his attention for the prisoner. They headed northeast, with the mountains as a sharp green and white gold against the morning sky. Though Ross's sense of direction was not too acute, he was certain that they were making for the general vicinity of the Hidden Village, which he believed the ship people had destroyed. He tried to discover something of the nature of the contact which had been made between the aliens and the horsemen. How find others cheap, he asked N'Nar. The young man tossed one of his braids back across his shoulder and turned his head to face Ross squarely. Your chief, come our camp. Talk with Foscar? Two? Four sleeps ago. How talk with Foscar? With Hunter talk? For the first time N'Nar did not appear altogether certain. He scowled and then snapped. He talked. Foscar. Us. We hear right words, not woods creeper talk. He speak to us good. Ross was puzzled. How could the alien out of time speak the proper language of a primitive tribe some thousands of years removed from his own era? Were the ship people also familiar with time travel? Did they have their own stations of transfer? Yet their fury with the reds had been hot. This was a complete mystery. This chief, he looks like me. Again N'Nar appeared at a loss. He were covering like you. But was he like me for sister Ross? He didn't know what he was trying to learn. Only that it seemed important at that moment to press home to at least one of the tribesmen that he was different from the man who had put a price on his head and to whom he was to be sold. Not like. Tuika spoke over his shoulder. You look like hunter people. Hair, eyes, strange teeth, no hair on head. Eyes not like. You saw him too, Ross demanded eagerly. I saw. I ride to camp. They come so. Stand on rock, call to Foscar. Make magic with fire. It jump up. He points his arms stiffly at a bush before them on the trail. They point little, little spear. Fire come out of the ground and burn. They say burn our camp if we do not give them man. We say not have man. Then they say many good things for us if we find and bring man. But they are not my people, Ross cut in. You see I have hair. I am not like them. They are bad. You may be taken in war by them. Chief slave N'Nar had a reply to that which was logical according to the customs of his own tribe. They want slave back. It is so. My people strong too. Much magic, Ross pushed. Take me to bitter water and they pay much. More than a stranger chief. Both tribesmen were amused. Where bitter water as took us. Ross jerked his head to the west. Some sleeps away. Some sleeps repeated in our jeeringly. We ride some sleeps. Maybe many sleeps where we know not the trails. Maybe no people there. Maybe no bitter water. All things you say with split tongue so that we not give you back to master. We go this way not even one sleep. Find sheep. Get good things. Why we do hard thing when we can do easy. What argument could Ross offer in rebuttal to the simple logic of his captors? For a moment he raged inwardly at his own helplessness. That long ago he had learned that giving away to hot fury was no good unless one did it deliberately to impress. And then only when one had the upper hand. Now Ross had no hand at all. For the most part they kept to the open. Whereas Ross and the other two agents had sculked in wooded areas on their flight through this same territory. So they approached the mountains from a different angle and though he tried Ross could pick out no familiar landmarks. If by some miracle he was able to free himself from his captors he could only head due west and hope to strike the river. At midday their party made camp in a grove of trees by a spring. The weather was as unseasonably warm as it had been the day before and flies brought out of cold weather hiding attacked the stamping horses and crawled over Ross. He tried to keep them off with swings of his bound hands for their bites drew blood. Having been tumbled from his mouth he remained fashioned to a tree with a noose about his neck while the horsemen built a fire and boiled strips of deer meat. It would seem that Foscar was in no hurry to get on. Since after they had eaten the men continued to lounge at ease. Some even dropping off to sleep. When Ross counted faces he learned that Tukar and another had both disappeared possibly to contact and warn the aliens they were coming. It was mid-afternoon before the scouts reappeared as unobtrusively as they had gone. They went before Foscar with a report which brought the chief over to Ross. We go. Your chief waits. Ross raised his swollen bitten face and made his usual protest. Not my chief. Foscar shrugged. He say so. He gave good things to get you back under his hand. So he your chief. Once again Ross was boosted on his mount and bound. But this time the party split into two groups as they rode off. He was within our again just behind Foscar with two other guards bringing up the rear. The rest of the men leading their mounts melted into the trees. Ross watched that quiet withdrawal spectatively. It argued that Foscar did not trust those he was about to do business with that he was taking certain precautions of his own. Only Ross could not see how that distrust which might be only ordinary prudence on Foscar's part could in any way be an advantage for him. They rode at a pace hardly above a walk into a small open meadow narrowing at the east. Then for the first time Ross was able to place himself. They were at the entrance to the valley of the village. About a mile away from the narrow throat above which Ross had lain to spy and had been captured. For he had come from the north over the spurs of rising ridges. Ross's horse was pulled up as Foscar drove his heel into the ribs of his own mount sending it at a brisker pace towards the neck of the valley. There was a blot of blue there more than one of the aliens were waiting. Ross caught his lip between his teeth bit down on it hard. He had stood up to the reds to Foscar's tridesmen but he shrank from meeting those strangers with an odd fear that the worst of men of his own species could do would be but a pale shadow to the treatment he might meet at their hands. Foscar was now a toy man of his own species. He halted his galloping mount facing the hand full of strangers. Ross counted for them. They seemed to be talking though there was still a good distance separating the mounted men and the blue suits. Menace passed before Foscar's arm raised in a way to summon the party guarding Ross. N.R. kicked his horse to a trot towing Ross's mount behind. The other two men thudding they were both armed with spears which they carried to the fore as they rode. They were perhaps three-quarters of the way to join Foscar and Ross could see plainly the bald heads of the aliens as their faces turned in his direction. Then the strangers struck. One of them raised a weapon shaped similarly to the automatic Ross knew except that he was longer in the barrel. Ross did not know why he cried out except that Foscar had only an axe and dagger which were both still sheets that he's built. The chief sat very still and then his horse gave his swift sideways swerve as if in fright. Foscar collapsed, limp bonelessly, to the trot and turf to lie unmoving face down. N.R. whooped. They cried combining defiance and despair in one. He reigned up with violence enough to set his horse rearing. Then dropping his hold on the leading Ross' mount, he whirled and set off in a wild dash for the trees to the left. A spear lanced across Ross' 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 yielded the spear dashed by at N.R.'s back. Ross clung to the mane with both hands. His greatest spear was that he might slip from the saddle pad and since he was tied by his feet, lie unprotected and helpless under those dashing hooves. Somehow he managed to cling to the horse's neck. His face laced by the rough mane while the animal pounded on. Had Ross been able to grasp the dangling nose row, he might have had a faint chance of controlling that run. But as it was he could only hold fast and hope. He had only broken glimpses of what lay ahead. Then a brilliant fire, as vivid as the flames which had eaten up the red village, burst from the ground a few yards ahead, sending the horse wild. There was more fire and the horse changed course through the rising smoke. Ross realized that the aliens were trying to cut him off from the thin safety of the woodlands. Why they didn't just shoot him as they had Foscar, he could not understand. The smoke of the burning grass was thick, shouting between him and the woods. Might it also provide a curtain behind which he could hope to escape both parties? The fire was sending the horse back towards the waiting shift people. Ross could hear a confused shouting in the smoke. Then his mouth made a miscalculation and a tongue of red licked too close. The animal screamed, dicing on blindly straight between two of the blazes and away from the blue-clad men. Ross knocked, almost choking. His eyes watering as a sense of sin's hair thickened the smoke. But he had been carried out of the fire circle and was shooting back into the meadowland. Mount and unwilling rider were well away from the upper end of that cleared space when another horse cut in from the left, matching speed to the uncontrolled animal to which Ross clung. It was one of the tribesmen riding easily. The trick worked. For the wild race slowed to a gallop and the other rider, in a feet of horsemanship at which Ross marveled, leaned from his seat to catch the dangling nose rope. Bringing the runaway against his own steady steed, Ross shaken, still coughing from the smoke and unable to set upright, held to the mane. The gallop slowed to a rocking pace and finally came to a halt, both horses blowing, white foam patches on their chest and their rider's legs. Having made his capture, the tribesmen seemed indifferent to Ross, looking back instead at the wide curtain of grass smoke, frowning as he studied the swift spread of the fire, muttering to himself. He pulled the lead rope and brought Ross's horse to follow in the direction for which Innar had brought the captive less than a half hour earlier. Ross tried to think. The unexpected death of their chief might well mean his own. Should the tribe's desire for vengeance now be aroused. On the other hand, there was a faint chance that he could now better impress them with the thought that he was indeed of another clan and that to aid him would be to work against a common enemy. It was hard to plan clearly, though which alone could save him now. The parley which had ended with Foscar's murder had brought Ross a small measure of time. He was still a captive, even though of the tribe's men and not the unearthly strangers. Perhaps to the ship people, these primities were hardly higher in scale than the forest animals. Ross did not try to talk to his present guard, who towed him into the western sun of late afternoon. They halted at last in that same small grove where they had rested at noon. The tribesmen fastened the mounts and then walked around to inspect what animal Ross had written. With a grunt, he loosened the prisoner and spilling him unceremoniously on the ground while he examined the horse. Ross levered himself up to sight the mark of the burn across that ron hide where the fire had blistered to skin. Thick handfuls of mud from the side of the spring were brought and plastered over the seared strip. Then, having rubbed down both animals with twist of grass, the man came over to Ross, pushed him back to the ground, and studied his left leg. Ross understood. By right his thighs should also have been scorched where the flame had hit. Yet, he had felt no pain. Now, as the tribesmen examined him for a burn, he could not see even the faintest discoloration of the strange fabric. He remembered how the aliens had strode unconcerned through the burning village. As the suit had insulated him against the cold frost, so it was seen that it had also protected him against the fire, for of which he was duly thankful. His escape from injury was a puzzle to the tribesmen, who, failing to find any trace of burn on him, left Ross alone and went to set 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. Last to come were Ennar and Tuka, carrying the body of their chief. The faces of both men were smeared with dust, and when the other sided the body, they too rubbed dust into their cheeks, reciting a string of words and going one by one to touch the dead chieftain's right hand. Ennar, resigning his burden to the others, slid from his tired horse and stood for a long moment, his head bowed. Then he gazed straight at Ross a tiny clearing to stand over the man of a later time. The boistness which had been a part of him when he had fought at Foscar's command was gone. His eyes were merciless as he leaned down to speak, shaping each word with slow care so that Ross could understand the promise that frightful promise. Woods wrapped, Foscar goes to his burial fire, and he shall take a slave with him to serve him beyond the sky, a slave to run at his voice, to shake when he thunders. Slave dog, you shall run for Foscar beyond the sky, and he shall have you forever to walk upon as a man walks upon the earth. I, Ennar, swear that Foscar shall be sent to the chiefs in the sky in all honor, and that you, dog one, shall lie at his feet in that going. He did not touch Ross, but there is no doubt in Ross's mind that he met every word he spoke. This concludes the reading of Chapter 16, The Time Traders by Andre Norton, Chapter 17. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by R. J. Davis. The Time Traders by Andre Norton, Chapter 17. The preparation for Foscar's funeral went on through the night. A wooden structure made up of tied faggots dragged in from the woodland grew taller beyond the big tribal camp. The constant crooning wail of the women in the tents produced a minor murmur of sound enough to drive a man to the edge of madness. Ross had been left under guard where he could watch it all. A refinement of torture which he would earlier have believed too subtle for Innar. Though the older men carried minor commands among the horsemen, because Innar was the closest of blood kin among the adult males, he was in charge of the coming ceremony. The pick of the horse herd, a ronestallion, was brought in to be picketed near Ross at sacrifice number two. And two of the hounds were in turn leased close by. Foscar, his best weapons to hand and a red cloak laughed about him, lay waiting on a briar. Nearby squatted the tribal wizard, shaking his thunder rattle and chanting in a voice which approached the street. This wild activity might have been a scene lifted slowly from some tape stored at the project base. It was very difficult for Ross to remember that this was reality, that he was to be one of the main actors in the coming event, with no timely aid from Operation Retrograde to snatch him to safety. Sometime during that nightmare he slept, his weariness of body overcoming him. He awoke days to find a hand clutching his moth of pulling his head up. You sleep, you do not fear, Foscar's dog won. Groguely, Ross blanked up. Fear, sure he was afraid. Fear, he realized with a clear thrust of consciousness, such as he had seldom experienced before had always stalked beside him, slipped in his bed. But he had never surrendered to it, and he would not now if he could help it. I do not fear. He threw that creed into Innar's face in one hot boast, he would not fear. We shall see if you speak so loudly when the fire bites you, the other spat, yet in that oath there was reluctant recognition of Ross's courage. When the fire bites, that sang in Ross's head, there was something else, if he could only remember, up to that moment he had kept a little shadow of hope. It is always impossible. He was conscious again with that strange clarity of mind for a man to face his own death honestly. A man always continues to believe to the last moment of his life that something will intervene to save him. The man led the horse to the mound of faggots which was now crowned with Foscar's briar. The stallion went quietly until a tall tridesman struck true with an axe and the animal fell. The hounds were also killed and laid at their dead master's feet. But Ross was not to fare so easily. The wizard danced about him. A hideous figure in a beast mask, a curled friend who dyed snakeskin swaying from his belt. Shaking his rattle, he squawked like an angry cat as they pulled Ross to the stacked wood. There was something about fire if he could only remember. Ross stumbled and nearly fell across one leg of the dead horse they were propping into place. Then he remembered that tongue of flame in the metalgrass which had burned a 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. There was such a slight chance and they were already pushing him onto that mound. His hands tied. Innar stooped and bound his ankle, securing him to the brush. So patient they left him. The tribe rang around the prior at a safe distance. Innar and five other men approached him from different directions, torches of flame. Ross watched these blazing knots thrust into the brush and heard the crackle of the fire. His eyes, hard and measuring, studied the flash of flame from dried brush to seasoned wood. A tongue of yellow-red flame licked up at him. Ross hardly dared to breathe as it wreathed about his foot. His head better smoldering. The insulation of the suit did not cut all the heat but it allowed him to stay put for the few seconds he needed to make his escape spectacular. The flame had eaten through his foot bounds and yet the burning sensation on his feet and legs was no greater than it would have been from the direct rays of a bright summer sun. Ross motioned his lips with his tongue. The impact of heat on his hands and his face was different. He leaned down, held his wrist to the flame. Taking his socal silence the burns which freed him. Then as a fire curled up so that he seemed to stand in a frame of wreathing red banners Ross leaped through the curtain protecting his bowed head with his arms as best he could. But to the onlookers it seemed he passed unheard through the heart of a roaring fire. He kept his footing and stood facing that part of the tribal ring directly before him. He heard a cry, perhaps a fear, and a blazing torch flew through the air and struck his hip. Although he felt the force of the blow the burning bits of the head barely slid down his thigh and leg leaving no mark on the smooth blue fabric. Ahhhh! Now the wizard capered before him shaking his rattle to make a deafening dent. Ross struck out slapping the sorcerer out of his path and stooped to pick up the spouldering brand which had been thrown at him. Hortling it about his head though every movement was tortured to his scorched hands he set it flaming once more. Holding it in front of him as a weapon he struck directly at the men and women before him. The torch was a poor enough defense against fears and axes but Ross did not care. He put into this last gamble all the determination he could summon. Nor did he realize what a figure he presented to the tribesmen a man who had crossed a curtain of fire without apparent hurt who appeared to wash in tongues of flame without harm and who now called upon fire in turn as a weapon was no man but a demon. The wall of people wavered and broke. Women screamed and rammed. Men shouted but no one fear or struck with an axe. Ross walked on a man possessed looking neither to the right or left. He was in the camp now stocking towards a fire burning before Foscar's tent. He did not turn aside for that either but holding the torch high showed through the heart of the flames risking for the burns for the sake of insuring his ultimate safety. The tribesmen felt it away as he approached the last line of tents with the open land beyond the horses of the herd which had been driven to this side to avoid the funeral fire were shifting nervously they sent a burning making them uneasy once more Ross whirled a dying torch above his head recalling how the aliens had sent his horseman he tossed it behind him into the grass between the tents the tender dry stuff caught immediately now if the men tried to ride after him they would have trouble without hindrance he walked across the meadow at the same even pace never turning to look behind his hands were two separate worlds of smarting pain his hair and eyebrows were cinched and a finger of burn read along the angle of his jaw but he was free and he did not believe that Foscar's men would be in any haste to pursue him somewhere before him lie the river the river which ran through the sea Ross walked on in the sunny morning while behind him black smoke raised a dark beacon to the sky afterward he guessed that he must have been lightheaded for several days remembering little say the pain in his hands it was necessary to keep moving once he fell to his knees and buried both hands in the cool moist earth where a thread of stream trickled from a pool the muck seemed to draw out a little of the agony while he drank with a fever thirst Ross seemed to move through a haze which lifted at intervals during which he noted his surroundings was able to recall a little of what lay behind him and to keep to the correct route however the gaps of time in between were forever lost to him he stumbled along the banks of a river and fronted a bear fishing the massive beast rose on his hind legs growled and Ross walked by it uncaring unmenaced by the puzzled animal sometimes he slipped through the dark periods which marked the nights or he stumbled along under the moon nursing his hands against his breast whimpering a little when his foot slipped and the jar of that mishap ran through his body once he heard singing only to realize that it was himself who sang hoarsely a melody which would be popular thousands of years later in the world through which he wavered but always Ross knew that he must go on using that thick stream of running water to guide to his final goal the sea after a long while those spaces of middle clarity grew longer appearing closer together he dug small shell things from under stone to along the river and ate them avidly once he clubbed a rabbit and feasted he sucked bird's eggs from a nest hidden among some reeds just enough to keep his cotton body magoing his eyes were now set in what was almost a death's head Ross did not know just when he realized that he was again being hunted it started with an uneasiness which differed from his previous fever bread hallucinations this was an inner pulling a growing compulsion to turn and retrace his way back towards the mountains to meet something or someone waiting for him on the backward path but Ross kept on fearing sleep now and fighting it for once he had laid down to rest and had awakened on his feet heading back as if that compulsion had the power to take over his body when his waking will was off guard so he rested but he dared not sleep the desire constantly tearing at his will striving to take over his weakened body but back perhaps against all reason he believed that it was the aliens who were trying to control him Ross did not even venture to guess why they were so determined to get him if there were tribesmen on his trail as well he did not know but he was sure that this was now purely a war of wills as the banks of the river were giving way to marshes he had to wade through mud and water featuring the boggy sections great clouds of birds whirled and shrieked to protest at his coming and sleek water animals paddled and poked curious heads out of the water as this two-legged thing walked mechanically through their green land always that pool was with him until Ross was more aware of fighting it man of traveling why did they want him to return why did they not follow him or were they afraid to venture too far from where they had come through the transfer yet the unseen rope which was tugging at him did not grow less tenuous as he put more distance between himself and the mountain valley Ross could understand neither their motives nor their methods but he could continue to fight the bog was endless he found an island and laced himself with his suit belt to the single willow which grew there knowing that he must have sleep or he could not hope to last through the next day then he slept only to awaken cold, shaking and afraid shoulder deep in a pool he was aware that in his sleep he must have opened the belt buckle and freed himself and only the mishap of falling into the water had brought him around to sanity somehow he got back to the tree re-hooked the buckle and twisted the belt around the branches so that he was sure he could not work it free until daybreak he lapsed into a deepening doze and awoke still safely anchored with the morning cries of the birds Ross considered the suit as he untangled the belt could the strange clothing be the time by which the aliens held to him if he were to strip leaving the garment behind would he be safe he tried to force open the studs across his chest but they would not yield to the slight pressure which was all his seared fingers could exert and when he pulled at the fabric he was unable to tear it so still wearing the livery of the off-world men Ross continued on his way hardly carrying where he went or how on him by his frequent falls was some protection against the swarm of insect life his passing stirred into attack however he was able to endure a swollen face and slitted eyes being far more conscious of the rinsing feeling within him than the misery of his body the character of the Mars began to change once more the river was splitting into a dozen smaller streams shaping out fan-like looking down at this from one of the Mars Helix Ross knew a faint surge of relief such a place had been on the map ash had made them memorize he was close to the sea at last and for the moment that was enough a salt-sharpened wind cut at him with the force of a fist in the face in the absence of sunlight the leaden clouds overhead set a winter-like gloom across the countryside to the constant sound of bird calls Ross trapped heavily through small pools feeding a path through tangles of marsh grass he stole eggs from nests sucking his nourishment eagerly with no dislike for the feisty flavor and drinking from stagnant brackish ponds suddenly Ross halted at first thinking that the continuous roll of sound he heard was thunder yet the clouds overhead were masked no more than before and there was no sign of lightning continuing on he realized that the mysterious sound was a pounding of surf he was near the sea willing his body to run he weaved forward at a reeling trot pitting all his energy against the incessant pull from behind his feet skidded out of marsh mud into sand ahead of him were dark rocks surrounded by the white lace of spray Ross headed straight towards that spray until he stood deep deep in the curling foam-ish water and felt his tug on his body almost as strong as that other tug upon his mind he knelt letting the salt water stain to life every cut every burn sputtering as it filled his mouth and nostrils washing from him the slime of the ball glands he was cold and bitter but it was a sea he had made it Ross Murdoch staggered back and sat down suddenly in the sand glancing about he saw that his refuge was a rough triangle between two of the small river arms littered with the debris of the spring floods which had grounded here after rejection by the sea although there was plenty of material for a fire he had no means of kindling a flame having lost the flint all beaker traders carried for city purpose this was a sea and against all odds he had reached it he lay back his self-confidence restored to the point where he dared once more to consider the future he wants a swooping flight of gulfs drawing patterns under the clouds above for the moment he wanted nothing to lie here and rest but he did not surrender to this first demand of his overdriven body for long hungry and cold sure that a storm was coming he knew he had to build a fire a fire on shore would define him with the means of signaling this up hardly knowing why because one part of the coastline was as good as another Ross began to walk again path in and out among the rocky outcrops so he found it a hollow between two such windbreaks within which was a black and circle of small stones holding charred wood with some empty shells piled nearby here was unmistakable evidence of a camp Ross plunged forward thrusting a hand impotously into the black mass of the dead fire to his astonishment he touched warmth hardly daring to disturb those precious bits of charcoal he dug around them then carefully blew into what appeared to be dead ashes there was an answering glow he could not have just imagined it from a pile of wood that had been left behind Ross snatched a small tweak poking it at the coal after he had rubbed it into a brush on the rough rock he watched all one ache of hope the twig caught with his stiff fingers so clumsy he had to be very careful but Ross had learned patience in a hard school bit by bit he fed that tiny blaze until he had a real fire then leaning back against the rock he watched it it was now obvious that the placement of the original fire had been chosen with care for the outcrops gave it wind shelter they also provided a dark backdrop partially hiding the flames on the landward side but undoubtedly making them more visible from the sea the sight seemed just right for a signal fire but to what Ross's hand shook slightly as he fed the blaze it was only too clear why anyone would make a signal on this shore McNeil or perhaps both he and Ash had survived the breakup of the raft after all they had reached this point abandoned no earlier than this morning judging by the life remaining in the coals and put up the signal then just as arranged they had been collected by the sub by now on his way back to the hidden North American post there was no hope of any pickup for him now just as he had believed him dead after he had found that rag on the sapling so they must have thought him finished after his fall in the river he was just a few hours too late Ross folded his arms across his hunched knees and rested his head on them there was no possible way he could ever reach the post or his own kind ever again thousands of miles lay between him and the temporary installation in this time he was so sunk in his own complete despair that he was long unaware of finally being free of the pressure to turn back which had so long haunted him but as he roused to feed the fire he got to wondering had those who hunted him given up the chase since he had lost his own race with time he did not really care the pile of wood was getting low but he decided that did not matter either even so Ross got to his feet moving over to the drifts of stormwreck to gather more why should he stay here by a useless beacon but somehow he could not force himself to move on as futile as his vigil seemed dragging the sun-dried bleached limbs of long dead trees to his half shelter he piled him up working until he left at the barricade he had built a siege for the first time in days he spoke aloud I might be ready for a siege he pulled over another branch added it to his pile and kneeled down once more by the flames there were feature folk to be found along this coast and tomorrow when he was rested there were primitive villages traders would be coming into this territory now that the red inspired raiders were gone if he could contact them but that spark of interest in the future died almost as soon as it was born to be a beaker trader as an agent for the project was one thing to live the role for the rest of his life was something else Ross stood by his fire staring out to sea for a sign he knew he would never see again as long as he lived then as if a spear had struck between his shoulder blades he was attacked the blow was not physical but came instead as a tearing red paint in his head a pressure so terrible he could not move he knew instantly that behind him now alerted the ultimate danger this concludes the reading of chapter 17 the time traders by Andre Norton the final chapter chapter 18 this is a lever box recording all lever box recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit leverbox.org recording by R.J. Davis the time traders by Andre Norton chapter 18 Ross thought to break that hold to turn his head to face the peril which crept upon him now unlike anything he had ever met before in his short lifetime it could only have come from some alien source this strange encounter was a battle of will against will the same rebellion against authority which had ruled his boyhood which had pushed him into the orbit of the project stiffening him to meet this attack he was going to turn his head he was going to see who stood there he was inch by inch Ross's head came around though sweat stung his seared and bitten flesh and every breath was an effort he caught a half glimpse of the beach behind the rocks and the stretch of sand was empty overhead the birds were gone as if they had never existed or as if they had been swept away by some impatient fighter who wanted no distractions from the purpose at hand having successfully turned his head Ross decided to turn his body his left hand went out slowly as if it moved some great weight his palm gritted painfully on the rock and he savored that pain for it pierced through the dead blanket of compulsion that was being used against him deliberately he ground his blistered skin against the stone concentrating on the sharp torment in his hand as he agonized shot up his arm while he focused his attention on the physical pain he could feel the pressure against him weakened summoning all his strength Ross swung around in a movement which was only a shadow of his former feline grace the beach was still empty except for the piles of driftwood the rocks and the other things he had originally found there yet he knew that something was waiting to pounce having discovered that for him pain was a defense weapon he had that one resource if they took him it would be after besting him in a fight even as he made this decision Ross was conscious of a curious weakening in the force bit upon him it was as if his opponents had been surprised either at his simple actions of the past few seconds or at his determination Ross leaped upon that surprise adding it to his stock of unseen weapons he leaned forward still grinding his torn hand against the rock as they steadying info took up a length of dried wood and thrust its end into the fire having once used fire to save himself he was ready and willing to do it again although at the same time another part of him shrank from what he intended holding his improvised torch rest high Ross stared across it searching the land for the faintest sign of his enemies in spite of the fire and the light he hailed before him the dust 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 knife and then hurled it straight into the drift among the dunes he was grabbing for a second brand almost before the blazing head of the first had falling into the twisted leaped roots of a dead tree he stood tense a second torch now kindled in his hand the sharp vice of another's will which had nipped him so tightly a moment ago was easing slowly disappearing as water might trickle away yet he could not believe that this small act of defiance had so daunted his unseed opponent as to make him give up the struggle this easily it was more likely the pause of a wrestler seeking a deadlier grip the brand in his hand roster's second line of defense was a weapon he was loath to use but would use it if he were forced to it he kept his hand mercifully flat against the rock as a reminder and his fur fire twisted and crackled among the driftwood for the first torch had lodged providing a flickering light yards from where he stood buried in the gloom of the gathering storm if they would only come to open war before the rain struck Ross sheltered his torch with his body as spray driven inward from the sea splattered his shoulders on his back if it rained he would lose what small advantage the fire gave him but then he would find some other way to meet them they would neither break him he had to wade into the sea and swim out into the lash of the cold northern waves until he could not move his tired limbs any longer once again that steel edge will struck at Ross probing his stubbornness assaulting his mind he whirled the torch brought to scorching breath of the flame across the hand resting on the rock unable to control his own cry of protest he was not sure he had the fortitude to meet such an act he had won again the pressure had fallen away in a click almost as if some current had been snapped off through the red curtain of his torment Ross sensed a surprise and disbelief he was unaware that in this queer duel he was using both a power of will and a depth of perception he had never known he possessed because of his daring he had shaken his opponents as no physical attack could have affected them come and get me he shouted again at the barren shoreline where the fire ate at the drift and nothing stirred yet something very much alive and consciously there this time there was more than simple challenge in Ross's demand there was a note of triumph the spray whipped by him striking at his fire at the brandy hell he would both out he would find another way of fighting he was certain of that and he sensed that those out there knew it too and were troubled the fire was being driven by the wind along the crisscross lines of bone white wood left high on the beach forming a wall of flame between him and the interior not however an insurmountable barrier to whatever lurked there again Ross leaned against the rock steadying the length of beach had he been wrong in thinking that they were within the range of his voice the power they had used might carry over a greater distance yeah instead of a demand he now voiced a taunting cry screaming his defiance some wild madness had been transmitted to him by the wind the roaring sea his own pain ready to face the worst they could send against him he tried to hurl that thought back at them as they had struck with their united will at him no answer came to his challenge no rise to counterattacks moving away from the rock Ross began to walk forward towards the burning drift his torch ready in his hand I am here he shouted into the wind come out face feet it was then that he saw those two tall thin figures wearing dark clothes were standing quietly watching him their eyes dark holes in the white ovals of their faces Ross halted though they were separated by yards of sand and rock and a burning barrier he could feel the force they yielded the nature of that force had changed however once it had struck with a vigorous spear point now it formed a shield of protection Ross could not break through that shield and they dared not drop it a stalemate existed between them in this strange battle the lack of which Ross's world had not known before he watched those expressionless white faces trying to find some reply to the deadlock their flashed into his mind certainly that while he lived and moved and they lived and moved this struggle, this unending pursuit would continue for some mysterious reason they wanted to have him under their control but that was never going to happen if they all had to remain here on this strip of water worst sand until they starved to death Ross tried to drive that thought across to them MIRDOCK that croaking cry born out of the sea by the wind might also have come from the bill of a seabird MIRDOCK Ross spun around visibility had been drastically curtailed by the lowering clouds and the dashing spray but he could see a round dark thing bobbing on the waves a sub, a raft sensing a movement behind him Ross wheeled about as one of the alien figures leaped the blazing drift heedless of the flames and ran light-footedly toward him in what could only be an all-out attempt at capture the man had ready a weapon the one that had felled Foscar Ross threw himself at his opponent in a reckless dive falling on him with a smashing impact in Ross's grasp the alien's body was fragile but he moved fluidly as MIRDOCK fought to break his grip on the hand-weapon and pin him to the sand Ross was too intent upon his own part of the strungle to heed the sounds of a shot over his head and a thin wailing cry he swammed his opponent's hand against a stone and a white face inches away from his own twisted silently with pain fumbling for a better hold Ross was sent rolling he came down on his left hand with a force which brought tears to his eyes and stopped him just long enough for the other to regain his feet the blue-suited man sprinted back to the body of his fellow where it lay up by the drift he slung his unconscious comrade over the barrier with more ease then Ross would have believed possible and bolted the barrier after him Ross, half crouched in the sand felt unusually light and empty the strange tie which had drawn and held him to the strangers had been broken MIRDOCK a rubber rack rode in on the waves two men aboard it Ross got up pulling at the studs of his suit with his right hand he could believe in what he saw now but he had not left after all the two men running towards him through the dusk were of his own kind MIRDOCK it did not seem at all strange that Kilgarious reached him first Ross caught up in this dream appealed to the major for aid with the studs if the strangers from the ship did trace him by the suit they were not going to follow the sub back to the post and serve the project as they had the rest got to get this off he pulled the words out one by one tugging frantically at the stubborn studs they can trace this and follow us Kilgarious needed no better explanation ripping loose the fastenings he pulled the clinging fabric from Ross sending him reeling with pain as he pulled the left sleeve down the younger man's arm the wind and spray were ice on his body as they dragged him down to the raft bundling him on the board he did not at all remember their arrival on board the sub he was lying in the vibrating heart of the undersea ship when he opened his eyes to see Kilgarious regarding him intently ice echoed a bandage about his shoulder and chest lay on a neighboring bunk McNeil stood watching a medical corpsman lay out supplies he needs a shot the medic was saying as Ross blinked at the major you left the suit back there Ross demanded we did what's this about them tracing you by it who was tracing you men from the spaceship that's the only way they could have trailed me down the river he was finding it difficult to talk and the protesting medic kept waving a needle in his direction but somehow in burst of half many sentences Ross got out his story Vosgar's death escaped from the teeth's funeral fryer and the weird duel of wheels back on the beach even as he ported out he thought how unlikely most of it must sound yet Kilgarious appeared to accept every word and there was no expression of disbelief in Ash's face so that's how you got those burns said the major slowly when Ross had finished his story deliberately searing your hand in the fire to break their hold he crashed his fist against the wall of the tiny cabin and then when Ross winched at the jar he hurriedly uncurled those fingers to press Ross' shoulder with a surprisingly warm and gentle touch put him to sleep he ordered the medic he deserved about a month of it I should judge I think he has brought us a bigger slice of the future that we had hoped for Ross felt the prick of the needle and then nothing more even when he was carried ashore at the post and later when he was transported into his proper time he did not awaken he only approached a strange dreamy state in which he ate and drowsed not caring for the world beyond his own bunk but there came a day when he did care setting up to demand food with a great deal of his old self-assertion the doctor looked him over permitting him to get out of bed and try out his legs they were exceedingly uncooperative at first and Ross was glad he had tried to move only from his bunk to a waiting chair visitors welcome Ross looked up eagerly and then smiled somewhat hesitatingly at ash the older man wore his arm in a sling but otherwise seemed his usual imperturbable self ash tell me what happened are we back at the main base we weren't traced by the ship people were we ash laughed did doctors wind you up to let you spin Ross? yes this is home sweet home as for the rest it is a long story and we are still picking up pieces of it here and there Ross pointed to the bunk in invitation can you tell me what is known he was still somewhat at a loss his old secret awe of ash tempering his outward show of eagerness Ross still feared one of those snugs the other so well knew how to deliver to the bunkiest but ash did come in and sat down none of his old formality now in evidence you have been a surprise package Murdoch his observation had some of the ring of the old ash but there was no withdrawal behind the words rather a busy lad weren't you after you were bumped off into that river Ross's reply was a grimace you heard all about that he had no time for his own adventures already receding into a past which made them both them and unimportant what happened to you and to the project and one thing at a time don't rush your fences Ross was surveying him with an odd intent which Ross could not understand he continued to explain in his instructor voice you made it down the river Hal, don't ask me that was something of a project in itself he left the raft came apart piece by piece and we waited most of the last couple of miles I think I'm none too clear on the details you'll have to get those out of McNeil who was still among those present then other than that we cannot compete with your adventures we built a signal fire and set by it toasting our sins until the sub came to collect us and took you off Ross experienced a fleeting return to that hollow feeling he had known on the shore when the still warm coals of the signal fire had told him the story of his too late arrival and took us off but Kilgarys agreed to spin out our waiting period for another 24 hours in case you did manage to survive that toss you took into the river then we sighted your spectacular display of fireworks on the beach and the rest was easy the ship people didn't trace us back to post not that we know of anyway we closed down the post on that time level you might be interested in a very particular tale our modern agents have picked up floating over and under the iron curtain a blast went off in the Baltic region of this time wiping some insulation and clean off the map the Reds have kept quiet as to the nature of the explosion and the exact place where it occurred the aliens followed them all the way up to this time Ross half rose from the chair but why? and why did they trail me? that we can only guess but I don't believe that they were moved by any private vengeance for the looting of their derelict there is some more imperative reason why they don't want us to find or use anything from one of their cargoes but they were in power thousands of years ago maybe they and their worlds are gone now why should things we do today matter to them? well it does matter and in some very important way and we have to learn that reason Charles Ross looked down at his left hand encased in a mitten of bandage under which he very genuinely tried to stretch his finger maybe he should have been eager to welcome another meeting with the ship people but if he were truly honest he had to admit that he did not he glanced up sure that Ash had read all that hesitation and scorned him for it but there was no sign that his discoverture had been noticed by doing some looting of our own Ash answered those tapes we brought back are going to be a big help more than one derelict was located we were right in our surmise that the Reds first discovered the remains of one in Siberia but it was in no condition to be explored they already had the basic idea of the time traveler so they applied it to the hunting down of other ships with several waste stops to throw people like us off the scent so they found an intact ship and also several others at least three are on this side of the Atlantic where they couldn't get at them very well those we can deal with now won't the aliens be waiting for us to try that as far as we can discover they don't know where any of these ships crashed either there were no survivors or passengers and crew took off boats while they were still in space they might never have known of the Reds activities if you hadn't triggered that communicator on the derelict Ross was reduced to a small boy who badly needed an alibi for some piece of juvenile mischief I didn't mean to that excuse sounded so people that he was surprised into a lamp only to see Ash grinning back at him seeing as how your action also put a very effective spike in the opposition's wheel you are freely forgiven anyway you have also provided us with a pretty good idea of what we may be up against with the aliens and we'll be prepared for that next time then there will be a next time we are calling in all-time agents concentrating our forces in the right period yes there will be a next time we'll learn just what they are trying so hard to protect what do you think it is space I spoke the word softly as if he relished the promises held space that ship you explored was a derelict from a galactic fleet but it was a ship and it used the principle of spaceflight do you understand now in those lost ships lies a secret which will make us free of all the stars we must claim it can we can we as we're laughing at Ross again with his eyes though his face remains sober then you shall want to be counted in on this game Ross looked down again at his bandage hand and remembered swiftly so many things the coast of Britain on a misty morning the excitement of prowling the alien ship even the long nightmare of his flight down the river and lastly the exaltation he had tasted when he faced the alien and had locked wheels to hold steady he knew that he could not would not give up what he had found here in the service of the project as long as it was in his power to cling to it yes it was a very simple answer but when his eyes met ashes Ross knew that it would serve better than any solemn oath this concludes the reading of Time Traders by Andre Norton there are seven novels in this series of those novels the Time Traders is in the public domain the second novel Galactic derelict the third novel The Defiant Agents are still under copyright the fourth novel Key Out of Time is in the public domain and will be recorded next