The Time Trap (9 page)

They waved tiny hands upwards, gesticulating. Mason sent the ship down. Grounded it, flung open the port. Toward the craft raced the two men, eyes wide with hope they had long abandoned.

Erech pushed Murdach aboard, sprang after him. “By El-lil!” he swore. “You come in time, Ma-zhon! Let’s get out of here, quick!”

Murdach was fumbling with the controls. The time-ship lifted, lanced across the desolate plain.

At last the four were reunited. Now—now, Mason thought triumphantly, they could seek Greddar Klon. Seek the Master—and slay him!

The ship hung above the leaden sea, safe from attack, while the four talked, and Murdach and Mason planned. Murdach’s tattered leather uniform was hanging in rags. His hawk-face was gaunt and tired; his red hair dark with grime. But Erech seemed unchanged. His pale eyes watched coldly above the beak of a nose; the thin lips were grim as ever.

“What I can’t understand,” Mason observed, “is how I got from Arabia—Al Bekr—to South America, a continent on the other side of the globe. I was moving in time, not in space.”

“Globe?” murmured Alasa, puzzled. “Surely the Earth is flat, surrounded by an abyss?”

Murdach said, “You traveled in space, too. In a million years, or more or less, the world travels with the Sun, naturally, along its orbit. But the gravitational drag keeps the ship bound to Earth, which is lucky or we might find ourselves in space, light-years from any Solar System. The ship’s bound—but not too tightly. The Earth revolves; the time-ship lags; and so you found yourself once in Al Bekr, once in—what did you say?—South America, and once here. But all three places are near the equator.”

He turned to pages of calculations. “I’ve located Greddar Klon, I think. But nothing’s certain. We cannot stay here, though, or we’ll starve to death soon enough. Shall we—?” He read the answer in the others’ eyes. Without speaking he sent the ship into time.

The light failed, and grew again. They hung above a craggy mountain range, gigantic, towering to the sky. The Sun was warmer, closer and larger. Earth was green again, lacking the dead, leaden grimness of the ultimate future.

“This is before my own time, and after yours, Mason,” Murdach said. “About 2150.”

“2150 A.D.? That was Nirvor’s time-sector,” Mason said, remembering the words of the silver priestess. He went on, as a sudden thought came to him, “Hadn’t we better find weapons first? In my time I can dig up a few—machine-guns, bombs—and you probably have better ones in your time, Murdach.”

The other looked at him oddly, a curious expression in his eyes. “My time—I do not wish to return to it. Not yet, at least. As for weapons, the Master will not be expecting us. And we can perhaps find arms on our way. The needle points to the east, and we must go there. We’ll watch as we travel.”

Mason was not satisfied, but said no more. He scanned the barren mountains and plains, the teeming jungles, the lakes and broad sea over which they fled. Once he saw a gleaming globe on a mountaintop, and pointed it out to Murdach. The other brought the ship down.

A transparent globe, miles in diameter, hanging in empty air. Within it, as they hovered, Mason could see unfamiliar-looking machines, rows upon rows of long cylinders of glass. Within the cylinders were human beings, men and women, dead or asleep.

Murdach landed the ship, and they tried to find some way of entering the giant globe, but in vain. There were no openings, and the transparent substance was steel-hard.

“We have a legend of this,” Murdach said. “In the days of beast rule, ages ago, when experimenters sought to create human beings out of animals. Mankind foresaw some danger, a temporary waning of the solar rays, I think. They built huge spheres and sealed themselves within, throwing themselves into suspended animation for years. A few scientists tried to adapt themselves to the changing radiation, and spent their time making beasts into men, having some thought of creating an empire of their own to defeat the sleepers when they awakened. But they failed.”

“We can’t get weapons here,” Mason grunted. “That’s sure, anyway.”

“There was some weapon those last scientists perfected,” Murdach mused. “It was lost, forgotten. Only its power was remembered. No shield could bar it. If we could find that weapon, use it against Greddar Klon—” His eyes were alight.

“You need such magic to battle the Master,” said Erech. “My scimitar would fail. I know that!”

The ship rose, drifted on. A jungle slipped beneath. Far away, steadily growing nearer, was a city—and Mason caught his breath at its heartbreaking beauty. Not Rome nor Babylon nor Capri had ever had the delicate, poignant splendor of this strange metropolis, hidden in the jungle, crumbling and cracked with age at closer view, but still a matchless jewel of architecture.

“A rose-red city half as old as time,” Mason quoted softly, half to himself.

The ship drove down. There was furtive movement in the jungle metropolis—not human movement. Animals scurried from sight. A leopard loped swiftly away. Birds flew startled.

“Greddar Klon is close,” Murdach whispered. “My instruments show that.”

The ship landed in a marble street. Hesitating, Mason opened the port, stepped out. Nothing happened. The still, humid air was utterly silent.

Far away a beast cried, lonely and strangely poignant.

In the distance Mason saw a human figure. It came forward slowly, with a shambling, dragging gait. A man—an old man.

An Oriental, Mason guessed, noting the distinctive shape of the eyes, the facial contours, the hue of the skin. The oldster’s face was withered, shrunken and dry as a walnut. Sparse white hair patched the skull. The thin lips moved endlessly, whispering. Filmed eyes dwelt unseeingly on Mason and the others.

But the man halted, and a new look came into his face. He spoke louder, in a language Mason thought he recognized. It was Chinese, but oddly changed, with a different stress and accent. Yet if Chinese had persisted for so many centuries, there was no reason why it should not exist in 2150 A.D. Two hundred years would make little difference.

The Chinese said, “The Sleepers have awakened, then?”

Guessing at his meaning, Mason replied carefully, “We are not Sleepers. We come from another time—another age.”

The man closed his eyes; tears trickled from the wrinkled lids. “I thought I had been forgiven. Ah, we have been punished indeed.”

“Punished?”

“When the Sleepers went to their globes of refuge, we refused to join them. We thought to build a kingdom of beastmen. We reared cities for them, took possession of those already existing. We raised up the beasts … but that was long ago. Only a few are left now. They warred one upon another; slew and were slain … so now I, Li Keng, live alone in Corinoor, since Nirvor went across the desert with her leopards…”

Murdach had caught the familiar names. “Nirvor?” he broke in. “Ask him more of this, Mason! Is she here? What does he say?”

“I have met Nirvor,” Mason said in Chinese. “She is alive, I think. You are her friend?”

Li Keng did not reply. Into his eyes crept a dull glaze. His lips twiched, writhed. He mumbled wordlessly. Suddenly he broke into a maniacal cackle of laughter.

A chill shook Mason. The oldster was mad!

Li Keng sobered. He ran skeletal fingers through his thin hair. “I am alone,” he murmured. “Have the Sleepers forgiven? Did they send you?”

“We are from another time,” Mason said, striving to pierce the mists about the dulled brain.

“The Sleepers? Have they forgiven?”

But Li Keng had lost interest. His low, insane laughter rang out again.

Apparently the man knew nothing of Nirvor or Greddar Klon, though Mason could not be sure. He touched the Chinese’s shoulder.

“Is there food here? We are hungry.”

“Eh? There is fruit in the forest, and good water.”

“Ask him of the weapon!” Murdach whispered. “Ask him!”

Mason obeyed. Li Keng peered through rheumy eyes.

“Ah, yes. The Invincible Power. But it is forbidden … forbidden.”

He turned to go. Mason stepped forward, gripped the oldster’s arm gently. The other tried feebly to disengage it.

“We mean no harm,” Mason explained. “But we need your help. This Invincible Power—”

“You are from the Sleepers? They have forgiven?”

Mason hesitated. Then he said slowly, emphatically, “The Sleepers sent us to you. They have forgiven.”

Would the ruse work? Would the crazed brain respond?

Li Keng stared, his lips working nervously. A thin hand plucked at his scant hair.

“This is true? They will let me enter a globe of refuge?”

“Yes. But you betrayed them before. They demand that you prove your faith.”

The Chinese shook his head. “They—they—”

“You must give them the Invincible Weapon as proof that you will not betray them again.”

Li Keng did not answer for a long moment. Then he nodded. “Yes. You shall have it. Come.”

He lifted a hand as Mason beckoned to the others. “They may not come.”

“Why not?” The other’s voice was suspicious.

“There are only two suits of protective armor. The radium rays would kill you unless these are worn. We must go down into the radioactive caverns beneath Corinoor…” Li Keng paused, and a dull glaze crept over his eyes. Swiftly Mason translated.

“I don’t dare cross him now. Might set him off his head entirely. You three stay with the ship—guard it till I get back with the weapon.”

“But Kent!” Alasa’s face was worried. “There may be danger—”

“Not from Li Keng, at least,” Mason smiled. “I can look out for myself. Even if I were sure there’s danger, I’d have to go. Until we get the weapon, we’re unarmed.”

“Let him go,” Murdach said quietly. Erech said nothing, but his brown hand tightened on his scimitar-hilt.

“Let us start, Li Keng,” Mason told the old Chinese, and followed the other along the deserted marble street. Presently Li Keng turned into a half-ruined building, passing between sagging gates of bronze, curiously carved. He halted in the portal.

“You must wait,” he said. “Only worshippers of Selene and the condemned may enter here. I must tell the goddess my plans.”

Before Mason could reply he slipped through an inner door and was gone. Whispering an oath, Mason took a stride forward—and halted. He peered through the narrow crack left by the half-closed panel.

He saw a huge, dim chamber, cryptic with gloom, and towering at the further end a monstrous female statue. Li Keng was moving across the floor, and as Mason watched he dropped to hands and knees, supplicating himself before the idol.

Well, there was nothing to fear from a goddess of stone or metal. Grinning crookedly, Mason drew back, and caught his breath as he heard a tumult from outside. An angry shout—

With a leap Mason reached the bronze doors. He peered out. His stomach moved sickeningly at the sight before him.

Dozens of malformed, half-human figures filled the marble street. They milled uncertainly about the time-ship, and in their midst were two bound, prostrate figures—Alasa and Murdach. Coming toward Mason was—Greddar Klon!

The Master, moving forward with quick, hurried steps, pointed jaw set, eyes cold and deadly. Behind him came more of the strange creatures, beings more bestial than human, Mason sensed. He remembered the weird science that had changed animals to men, and guessed that the malformed, hairy, brute-faced monsters were products of that eerie experiment. Simultaneously Mason knew what he must do.

He saw Erech, scimitar red and lifted, running forward. The Sumerian roared a battle-cry. He sprang at the Master, set himself for a stroke that, for all its force, could not penetrate the shielding atomic mesh.

Mason charged out through the bronze gates. He caught a glimpse of Greddar Klon whirling, involuntarily shrinking under the Sumerian’s blow, lifting a metal tube in a tiny hand.

Mason’s shoulder hit Erech, sent the giant driving aside. He flung himself on the Sumerian, striving to wrench the scimitar free, reading stark amazement in the other’s pale eyes. Amazement—and anger, red rage that surged through Erech’s veins and gave him strength enough to throw Mason down with ease. But the beast-men by now had surrounded the two.

Mason felt rough hands seize him. He made no resistance. Quietly he stood up, let the beast-men drag him toward Greddar Klon. Erech was still battling furiously, but without his scimitar he was handicapped. He went down at last, still struggling. His captors trussed him up with thongs.

The Master’s cold eyes were probing. The shrill voice said, “Is Erech, then, your enemy, Mason?”

“Yes.” The archeologist was playing for time. He had acted on impulse, knowing instinctively the best plan. But now he needed a chance to scrutinize his cards, to see which ones to play. He said, “Can we talk alone, Greddar Klon?” He nodded toward Erech.

For a long moment the other did not reply. Then he called a command, and two of the beast-men pulled Mason toward a nearby doorway. The Master followed.

Inside the building, in a fungus-grown, ill-smelling little room, Greddar Klon sat cross-legged on the floor. He signalled for the beast-men to release their captive.

“Thanks,” Mason grunted. “There’s a lot to explain. I didn’t know if I’d ever find you.”

“And now that you have—what?”

“Well—I still want to hold you to your bargain.”

The other shrugged narrow shoulders. “Return you to your own time-sector?”

“Something more, now,” Mason said quietly. “After you left Al Bekr, Erech asked me to help him release Alasa and Murdach. I did. Murdach explained your plans, that you intended to conquer a civilization and rule. My own civilization—isn’t that so?”

“I, too, shall be frank,” Greddar Klon conceded. “That is true.”

“They wanted to find and kill you. Murdach built another time-ship. I helped him. I pretended to feel as they did. It wasn’t difficult—for I wanted to find you, for reasons of my own. Back in Al Bekr I’d have been satisfied if you had returned me to my own time. But now, knowing what you intend, I want something more. I want a part in your kingdom, Greddar Klon!”

“I had thought of offering you that,” the Master murmured. “But I did not need your aid.”

“Are you sure? My world is unfamiliar to you. You will not know where to strike—what countries and cities to attack, what shipping and trade routes to block. I know my own world, and with my help, the information I can give you, you’ll be able to subdue your enemies more swiftly and more easily.”

“And you want?”

“Rule. Rule of a nation, under you, of course. I want power—”

The Master stood up. “I see. You are very clever, Kent Mason—but whether you are speaking the truth I do not know, as yet. You may be in earnest, and you may be trying to trick me. Until I have reached a decision, therefore, you will remain a prisoner—but safe.”