CHAPTER 18
Ross fought to break that hold, to turn his head, to face the perilwhich crept upon him now. Unlike anything he had ever met before in hisshort lifetime, it could only have come from some alien source. Thisstrange encounter was a battle of will against will! The same rebellionagainst authority which had ruled his boyhood, which had pushed him intothe orbit of the project, stiffened 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 hisseared and bitten flesh, and every breath was an effort. He caught ahalf glimpse of the beach behind the rocks, and the stretch of sand wasempty. 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 nodistractions from the purpose at hand.
Having successfully turned his head, Ross decided to turn his body. Hisleft hand went out, slowly, as if it moved some great weight. His palmgritted painfully on the rock and he savored that pain, for it piercedthrough 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 the agony shot up hisarm. While he focused his attention on the physical pain, he could feelthe pressure against him weaken. Summoning all his strength, Ross swungaround 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 thatsomething was waiting to pounce. Having discovered that for him pain wasa defense weapon, he had that one resource. If they took him, it wouldbe after besting him in a fight.
Even as he made this decision, Ross was conscious of a curious weakeningof the force bent upon him. It was as if his opponents had beensurprised, either at his simple actions of the past few seconds or athis determination. Ross leaped upon that surprise, adding it to hisstock of unseen weapons.
He leaned forward, still grinding his torn hand against the rock as asteadying influence, took up a length of dried wood, and thrust its endinto the fire. Having once used fire to save himself, he was ready andwilling to do it again, although at the same time, another part of himshrank from what he intended.
Holding his improvised torch breast-high, Ross stared across it,searching the land for the faintest sign of his enemies. In spite of thefire and the light he held before him, the dusk prevented him fromseeing too far. Behind him the crash of the surf could have covered thenoise of a marching army.
"Come and get me!"
He whirled his brand into bursting life and then hurled it straight intothe drift among the dunes. He was grabbing for a second brand almostbefore the blazing head of the first had fallen into the twisted,bleached roots of a dead tree.
He stood tense, a second torch now kindled in his hand. The sharp viseof another's will which had nipped him so tightly a moment ago waseasing, slowly disappearing as water might trickle away. Yet he couldnot believe that this small act of defiance had so daunted his unseenopponent as to make him give up the struggle this easily. It was morelikely the pause of a wrestler seeking for a deadlier grip.
The brand in his hand--Ross's second line of defense--was a weapon hewas loath to use, but would use if he were forced to it. He kept hishand mercilessly flat against the rock as a reminder and a spur.
Fire twisted and crackled among the driftwood where the first torch hadlodged, providing a flickering light yards from where he stood. He wasgrateful for it in the gloom of the gathering storm. If they would onlycome to open war before the rain struck....
Ross sheltered his torch with his body as spray, driven inward from thesea, spattered his shoulders and his back. If it rained, he would losewhat small advantage the fire gave him, but then he would find someother way to meet them. They would neither break him nor take him, evenif he had to wade into the sea and swim out into the lash of the coldnorthern waves until he could not move his tired limbs any longer.
Once again that steel-edge will struck at Ross, probing hisstubbornness, assaulting his mind. He whirled the torch, brought thescorching 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 thefortitude to repeat such an act.
He had won again! The pressure had fallen away in a flick, almost as ifsome current had been snapped off. Through the red curtain of historment Ross sensed a surprise and disbelief. He was unaware that inthis queer duel he was using both a power of will and a depth ofperception he had never known he possessed. Because of his daring, hehad shaken his opponents as no physical attack could have affected them.
"Come and get me!" He shouted again at the barren shoreline where thefire ate at the drift and nothing stirred, yet something very much aliveand conscious lay hidden. This time there was more than simple challengein Ross's demand--there was a note of triumph.
The spray whipped by him, striking at his fire, at the brand he held.Let the sea water put both out! He would find another way of fighting.He was certain of that, and he sensed that those out there knew it tooand were troubled.
The fire was being driven by the wind along the crisscross lines ofbone-white wood left high on the beach, forming a wall of flame betweenhim and the interior, not, however, an insurmountable barrier towhatever lurked there.
Again Ross leaned against the rock, studying the length of beach. Had hebeen wrong in thinking that they were within the range of his voice? Thepower they had used might carry over a greater distance.
"Yahhhh--" Instead of a demand, he now voiced a taunting cry, screaminghis defiance. Some wild madness had been transmitted to him by thewinds, the roaring sea, his own pain. Ready to face the worst they couldsend against him, he tried to hurl that thought back at them as they hadstruck with their united will at him. No answer came to his challenge,no rise to counter-attack.
Moving away from the rock, Ross began to walk forward toward the burningdrift, his torch ready in his hand. "I am here!" he shouted into thewind. "Come out--face me!"
It was then that he saw those who had tracked him. Two tall thinfigures, wearing dark clothes, were standing quietly watching him, theireyes dark holes in the white ovals of their faces.
Ross halted. Though they were separated by yards of sand and rock and aburning barrier, he could feel the force they wielded. The nature ofthat force had changed, however. Once it had struck with a vigorousspear point; now it formed a shield of protection. Ross could not breakthrough that shield, and they dared not drop it. A stalemate existedbetween them in this strange battle, the like of which Ross's world hadnot known before.
He watched those expressionless white faces, trying to find some replyto the deadlock. There flashed into his mind the certainty that while helived and moved, and they lived and moved, this struggle, this unendingpursuit, would continue. For some mysterious reason they wanted to havehim under their control, but that was never going to happen if they allhad to remain here on this strip of water-washed sand until they starvedto death! Ross tried to drive that thought across to them.
"Murrrrdock!" That croaking cry borne out of the sea by the wind mightalmost have come from the bill of a sea bird.
"Murrrrdock!"
Ross spun around. Visibility had been drastically curtailed by thelowering clouds and the dashing spray, but he could see a round darkthing bobbing on the waves. The sub? A raft?
Sensing a movement behind him, Ross wheeled about as one of the alienfigures leaped the blazing drift, heedless of the flames, and ranlight-footedly toward him in what could only be an all-out attempt atcapture. The man had ready a weapon like the one that had felled Foscar.Ross threw himself at his opponent in a reckless dive, falling on himwith a smashing impact.
In Ross's grasp the alien's body was fragile, but he moved fluidly asMurdock fought to break his grip on the hand weapon and pin him to thesand. Ross was too intent upon his own part of the struggle to heed thesounds of a sho
t over his head and a thin, wailing cry. He slammed hisopponent's hand against a stone, and the white face, inches away fromhis own, twisted silently with pain.
Fumbling for a better hold, Ross was sent rolling. He came down on hisleft hand with a force which brought tears to his eyes and stopped himjust long enough for the other to regain his feet.
The blue-suited man sprinted back to the body of his fellow where it layby the drift. He slung his unconscious comrade over the barrier withmore ease than Ross would have believed possible and vaulted the barrierafter him. Ross, half crouched on the sand, felt unusually light andempty. The strange tie which had drawn and held him to the strangers hadbeen broken.
"Murdock!"
A rubber raft 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 believein what he saw now--the sub had not left, after all. The two men runningtoward him through the dusk were of his own kind.
"Murdock!"
It did not seem at all strange that Kelgarries 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 notgoing to follow the sub back to the post and serve the project as theyhad the Reds.
"Got--to--get--this--off--" He pulled the words out one by one, tuggingfrantically at the stubborn studs. "They can trace this and followus--"
Kelgarries needed no better explanation. Ripping loose the fastenings,he pulled the clinging fabric from Ross, sending him reeling with painas 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 theraft, bundling him aboard. He did not at all remember their arrival onboard the sub. He was lying in the vibrating heart of the undersea shipwhen he opened his eyes to see Kelgarries regarding him intently. Ashe,a coat of bandage about his shoulder and chest, lay on a neighboringbunk. 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 space ship. That's the only way they could have trailed medown the river." He was finding it difficult to talk, and the protestingmedic kept waving a needle in his direction, but somehow in bursts ofhalf-finished sentences Ross got out his story--Foscar's death, his ownescape from the chief's funeral pyre, and the weird duel of wills backon the beach. Even as he poured it out he thought how unlikely most ofit must sound. Yet Kelgarries appeared to accept every word, and therewas no expression of disbelief on Ashe's face.
"So that's how you got those burns," said the major slowly when Ross hadfinished his story. "Deliberately searing your hand in the fire to breaktheir hold--" He crashed his fist against the wall of the tiny cabin andthen, when Ross winced at the jar, he hurriedly uncurled those fingersto press Ross's shoulder with a surprisingly warm and gentle touch. "Puthim to sleep," he ordered the medic. "He deserves about a month of it,I should judge. I think he has brought us a bigger slice of the futurethan we had hoped for...."
Ross felt the prick of the needle and then nothing more. Even when hewas carried ashore at the post and later when he was transported intohis proper time, he did not awaken. He only approached a strange dreamystate in which he ate and drowsed, not caring for the world beyond hisown bunk.
But there came a day when he did care, sitting up to demand food with agreat deal of his old self-assertion. The doctor looked him over,permitting him to get out of bed and try out his legs. They wereexceedingly uncooperative at first, and Ross was glad he had tried tomove only from his bunk to a waiting chair.
"Visitors welcome?"
Ross looked up eagerly and then smiled, somewhat hesitatingly, at Ashe.The older man wore his arm in a sling but otherwise seemed his usualimperturbable self.
"Ashe, tell me what happened. Are we back at the main base? What aboutthe Reds? We weren't traced by the ship people, were we?"
Ashe laughed. "Did Doc just wind you up to let you spin, Ross? Yes, thisis home, sweet home. As for the rest--well, it is a long story, and weare 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 Ashe temperinghis outward show of eagerness. Ross still feared one of those snubs theother so well knew how to deliver to the bumptious. But Ashe did come inand sit down, none of his old formality now in evidence.
"You have been a surprise package, Murdock." His observation had someof the ring of the old Ashe, but there was no withdrawal behind thewords. "Rather a busy lad, weren't you, after you were bumped off intothat river?"
Ross's reply was a grimace. "You heard all about that!" He had no timefor his own adventures, already receding into a past which made themboth dim and unimportant. "What happened to you--and to theproject--and----"
"One thing at a time, and don't rush your fences." Ashe was surveyinghim with an odd intentness which Ross could not understand. He continuedto explain in his "instructor" voice. "We made it down the river--how,don't ask me. That was something of a 'project' in itself," he laughed."The raft came apart piece by piece, and we waded most of the lastcouple of miles, I think. I'm none too clear on the details; you'll haveto get those out of McNeil, who was still among those present then.Other than that, we cannot compete with your adventures. We built asignal fire and sat by it toasting our shins for a few days, until thesub came to collect us----"
"And took you off." Ross experienced a fleeting return of that hollowfeeling he had known on the shore when the still-warm coals of thesignal fire had told him the story of his too-late arrival.
"And took us off. But Kelgarries agreed to spin out our waiting periodfor another twenty-four hours, in case you did manage to survive thattoss you took into the river. Then we sighted your spectacular displayof 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've closed down the post on that timelevel. You might be interested in a very peculiar tale our modern agentshave picked up, floating over and under the iron curtain. A blast wentoff in the Baltic region of this time, wiping some installation cleanoff the map. The Reds have kept quiet as to the nature of the explosionand the exact place where it occurred."
"The aliens followed _them_ all the way up to this time!"--Ross halfrose 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 anyprivate vengeance for the looting of their derelict. There is some moreimperative reason why they don't want us to find or use anything fromone of their cargoes----"
"But they were in power thousands of years ago. Maybe they and theirworlds 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 tolearn that reason."
"How?" Ross looked down at his left hand, encased in a mitten of bandageunder which he very gingerly tried to stretch a finger. Maybe he shouldhave been eager to welcome another meeting with the ship people, but ifhe were truly honest, he had to admit that he did not. He glanced up,sure that Ashe had read all that hesitation and scorned him for it. Butthere was no sign that his discomfiture had been noticed.
"By doing some looting of our own," Ashe answered. "Those tapes webrought back are going to be a big help. More than one derelict waslocated. We were right in our surmise that the Reds first discovered theremains 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 itto the hunting down of other ships, with several way stops to throwpeople like us off the scent. So they found an intact ship, and alsoseveral others. At least three are on _this_ side of the Atlantic wherethey couldn't get at them very well. Those we can deal with now----" r />
"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 shipscrashed. Either there were no survivors, or passengers and crew took offin lifeboats while they were still in space. They might never have knownof the Reds' activities if you hadn't triggered that communicator on thederelict."
Ross was reduced to a small boy who badly needed an alibi for some pieceof juvenile mischief. "I didn't mean to." That excuse sounded so feeblethat he was surprised into a laugh, only to see Ashe grinning back athim.
"Seeing as how your action also put a very effective spike in theopposition's wheel, you are freely forgiven. Anyway, you have alsoprovided us with a pretty good idea of what we may be up against withthe 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 theright period. Yes, there will be a next time. We have to learn just whatthey are trying so hard to protect."
"What do you think it is?"
"Space!" Ashe spoke the word softly as if he relished the promise itheld.
"Space?"
"That ship you explored was a derelict from a galactic fleet, but it wasa ship and it used the principle of space flight. Do you understand now?In these lost ships lies the secret which will make us free of all thestars! We must claim it."
"Can we----?"
"Can _we_?" Ashe was laughing at Ross again with his eyes, though hisface remained sober. "Then _you_ still want to be counted in on thisgame?"
Ross looked down again at his bandaged hand and remembered swiftly somany things--the coast of Britain on a misty morning, the excitement ofprowling the alien ship, the fight with Ennar, even the long nightmareof his flight down the river, and lastly, the exultation he had tastedwhen he had faced the alien and had locked wills--to hold steady. Heknew that he could not, would not, give up what he had found here in theservice 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 Ashe's, Rossknew that it would serve better than any solemn oath.