by Jerry
Burdeen muttered, “Wonder what they’re up to?”
“I’m trying not to think of it,” I said.
“Do you suppose they’re going to . . . kill us?”
“It looks that way. And indications are that they intend to get a lot of amusement out of it.”
“Torture . . .?” Burdeen whispered.
I nodded slowly.
ELVAR didn’t seem to be aware that we had spoken. Before we had been brought into the room, he had seemed almost his normal self, conscious of what was happening around him. But now he was once more staring fixedly into space, like one held in a trance. I called his name a few times, without results.
Burdeen asked, “What’s the matter with him?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. He seems to have been frozen by shock.”
Burdeen was silent for a while. Then he said:
“Julon is our only hope. He might grow worried by our absence and search for us.”
“He wouldn’t know where to look,” I said. “The city is too big. And he was too high up in the building to have noticed us being carried away.”
Burdeen’s face twisted in desperation. “Then we’ve got to do something! We can’t just let them do . . . whatever they intend to do to us!”
“What can we do?” I asked.
With an inarticulate sound, Burdeen abruptly lunged against his bonds. Almost instantly the two guards left the door, leaping at him and pointing their spears at his body. He quieted. His face took on a hopeless resignation that wasn’t good to see.
Faintly, from outside, came an excited babble of voices. I twisted around to glance through the one large window with which the room was provided. Through it I saw the fronts of other buildings some distance away. I realized that the building in which we were located faced upon the courtyard. The excited clamor was coming from there.
I don’t know how much time passed. I sunk into an apathetic listlessness, only dimly aware of the boisterous tumult taking place outside.
Then the door opened and a number of degenerates strode purposefully in. Their faces had been painted in weird designs, as though for a ceremony of some kind. Burdeen, Elvar, and I were hauled to our feet and pushed at spear’s end from the room. We were taken outside, to the courtyard. A sick emptiness filled me at what I saw there.
Approximately in the center three wooden posts had been driven into the hard-packed snow. Piled at the bases of each were mounds of brushwood.
We were going to be burned to death—and evidently while alive.
Despite our frenzied struggles, we were borne relentlessly to the posts and lashed immovably in place. The instruction sheets which we had obtained from the Omni-mech and the atomic cylinders were placed at our feet, useless things to be destroyed along with us. Nor had our flying devices been removed. Apparently they were considered parts of our clothing.
The degenerates gathered in a circle around us, a wall of leering, wolfish faces. There was a sudden booming of drums. The painted warriors who had bound us to the posts now began stamping and chanting in what was obviously a sort of victory dance. By degrees, the beat of the drums increased in tempo. The warriors danced faster, their feet thudding against the snow in a quickening staccato rhythm. The crowd took up the tuneless chant, and the surrounding buildings hurled it back.
It didn’t seem real. It was like something out of a dream. In the heart of the greatest city the world had ever known, savage throwbacks to a dim primitive age danced and chanted.
And then the crowd parted to let a figure enter the ring. It was the fat old chief. In one pudgy hand he clutched a flaming torch.
In a pompous waddle, the chief strode to Elvar’s stake, bent to ignite the brushwood. Elvar didn’t seem at all concerned. He was looking upward, toward the sky.
THE chief paused a moment, glancing upward, too, as thought to see what could possibly interest Elvar more than his own impending horrible death. He screamed, a thin bleating sound. Dropping the torch, he flung himself madly at the crowd, now a solid unmoving mass of flesh as it, too, stared up at the sky.
The drums had stopped. The chanting had stopped. A thick stifled silence lay over the courtyard.
Overhead, dropping swiftly down, came the Starling!
With shouts and yells of fear, the crowd awoke into motion. Sheer press of numbers thwarted its concerted efforts to flee. It became a maddened beast, ripping and clawing at itself in wild unreasoning fright.
The Starling descended to within a few feet of the ground and swung in a great circle, its tapering nose plowing into the heaving mass of figures and spreading further pandemonium. It kept moving until the courtyard had been cleared of all who had been able to escape. The motionless figures of those who had been trampled were scattered numerously over the snow. Among them was the fat old chief who had ordered our deaths.
At last, a few feet from where we stood, the Starling came to rest. The entrance port opened, and Julon swung to the ground. He peered warily about him for a moment, the atomic cylinder gripped in his hands. But the degenerates hadn’t yet recovered sufficient presence of mind to return. With a fleeting smile in our direction, Julon bent to pluck a knife from the belt of a nearby sprawled form. Then he ran over to us, sliced quickly at our bonds.
“Hurry!” Julon urged. “Into the vessel!”
I paused only long enough to snatch up the precious instruction sheets. Burdeen and Elvar gathered the atomic cylinders, and then we clambered into the ship.
Within seconds, Burdeen at the controls, we were rising into the air. With the familiar confines of the control room once more around me, everything that had happened seemed a fevered delusion. Only did the miracle of our escape strike home. I whirled on Julon.
“But how did you know what had happened?” I demanded. “How did you know where to find us?”
Julon smiled. “Elvar told me.”
“You must surely be joking,” I protested. “How could Elvar possibly have told you?”
“By telepathy, of course.”
“Telepathy!” I gasped.
“Can it be that you know nothing of this science?” Elvar asked, surprised.
“I know it,” I said. “But the people of my time never considered it a science.” I understood suddenly Elvar’s strange trance-like condition while we were held captive by the degenerates. It had not been the result of a blow on the head, as I had feared. He had merely been in telepathic contact with Julon.
“The studies of the ancients brought mental telepathy to the state of a science,” Julon said. “But learning to use it efficiently is very difficult, and for most persons impossible. Elvar and I had the advantage of kinship, being father and son, and in addition we have been practicing ever since Elvar was a child.”
“And the ship?” I said, aware of another inconsistency. “How did you know how to operate the ship?”
Julon shrugged. “I watched Dan Burdeen operate the controls, and merely imitated his motions. My mind has been trained to observe and remember.” He smiled again. “That is another science of which we know. And now I should like to ask a question of my own. You have secured the information we need?”
“All of it,” I said. I showed him the instruction sheets. They were not written in his language, but the diagrams and illustrations would be easy to follow. And I could always make such translations as were necessary, as they were not greatly technical. The interstellar vessels of the ancients had, in fact, been astonishingly simple machines, despite the magnitude and intricacy of the principles on which they operated.
AFTER a moment Julon looked up from the sheets. His eyes shone with a strange moistness. “Were it not for your coming, all this would never have been possible,” he said. “How can my people and I ever thank you?”
“You must not try to thank me,” I told him. “If thanks is due at all, it is to the Fate that wove the threads of our lives into this pattern.”
Julon nodded sl
owly. “We might call it Fate. The more men learn of science and the Universe, the deeper grows the realization that the ordering of laws and forces is too perfect for mere blind chance. Who can deny that the hand which controls the destinies of atoms and suns does not occasionally reach to embrace human lives as well?” And his eyes, shining in gratitude that this might be, looked toward the stars.
The ship hummed on its way to Ard.
Our return, unharmed, and with the information for which we had set out, was the cause for a delightful celebration. A huge banquet was given in our honor at the Council Building that evening. Festivities lasted until far into the night. Exhausted physically and emotionally by the tumultuous events of the day, we were glad when an opportunity finally presented itself that would permit us to leave. I fell asleep almost as soon as I reached by bed.
The weeks that followed were busy ones. I didn’t immediately begin any work on preparing the Starling for the return to our own time of Burdeen and myself. The adjustments were simple and could be performed at any time within a few hours. They involved merely a reversal in the winding of the warp generator armatures, a different alignment of the field coils, and certain changes in the power connections. These alterations wouldn’t change greatly the operating principle of the ship; it would still travel by riding a warp in the fabric of space—but it would be negative space. As the force created by the generators reached a certain intensity, the warp would invert into negative space; and since the ship would be carried along by the warp, it too would be swung into negative space. To exit, it was only necessary to decrease the propelling force below the intensity which had given entrance. It was as beautifully simple as all really great ideas are.
The time was spent mainly in company with Julon and a group of other learned Ardians, translating and clarifying the information given by the Omni-mech for the construction of an interstellar vessel. Everything, as we progressed, was recorded permanently on record-spools. When we had finished, the information compiled was arranged and classified according to a working plan and divide up among technicians, both human and mechanical.
With all this under way, my help was no longer needed. The Ardians were mechanical marvels, as evidenced by the fact that they had not only learned to repair and use the ancient machines, but had built others and in many cases improved on them. There was no doubt in my mind but that they would be able to conclude successfully the task which had been started.
I got to work on the changes in the warp generators of the Starling. As I went more thoroughly over the instructions given me by the Omni-mech, the feeling that something was wrong took hold of me. It was only a vague suspicion, nothing that I could definitely explain. But a certainty that it was of vital importance made it persist.
It wasn’t until the changes had been completed and Burdeen and I were beginning our preparations to leave that realization of what was wrong finally came.
Burdeen and I happened to be inside the Starling, packing away some of the things we intended to take back with us as souvenirs. I dropped a box I’d been holding, and it fell with a startling crash to the floor.
Burdeen whirled and took in the expression on my face. “Why . . . what’s the matter?” he asked puzzledly.
I DIDN’T answer. Instead, I went to the place in the control room where I had left the instruction sheets. I went carefully over one of the mathematical expressions they contained, then seized a writing pad and stylus and performed certain calculations. A chill wind seemed to blow through me as I finished. The check-up had proven my realization correct.
Burdeen had followed me to the control room. “Say, what’s wrong with you?” he demanded.
“Wrong?” I echoed dully. “Plenty’s wrong. You see, one of us will have to stay here. For one of us there is to be no return.”
Burdeen said slowly, “But why? What do you mean?”
“It’s because of the changes we made in the warp generators,” I said. “The operating principle remains basically the same, but in the translation to negative space, an entirely new factor has to be considered—the mass of the ship. As the propelling force created by the generators reaches a certain critical intensity, the inversion of the warp and consequent translation of the ship take place. But this critical intensity is a function of the mass of the ship. If its mass is over a maximum limit, inversion and translation fail to take place. Instead, a terrific strain upon the fabric of space would be created which would cause a collapse. As a result, we would be hurled into some alien space-time continuum from which we could never hope to return.”
“And the ship is over this maximum mass limit?” Burdeen said.
I nodded. “By over two-hundred pounds.”
“Couldn’t we get rid of this excess weight by stripping the ship?”
“You know the answer to that as well as I do,” I said. “Everything that wasn’t absolutely necessary has already been removed. We might be able to discard a few parts here and there, but they certainly wouldn’t total over two-hundred pounds in weight. No—the solution I gave is the only one that can be considered. One of us has to stay.”
“I weigh over two-hundred pounds,” Burdeen said thoughtfully. His blue eyes turned grim and hard. “Listen, Gilroy, are you trying to trick me into staying here? If you’re lying to me, I’ll knock you from one end of the valley to the other.”
“Take the instruction sheets and my calculations to Julon,” I said. “Have him check them. He’ll tell you the same thing I did.”
The doubt left Burdeen’s face. He looked at me, and I looked at him, and the same thought ran through our minds.
Which of us would be the one to remain?
CHAPTER VIII
The Long Way Home
IT WAS a fateful moment. Until now I had been too startled by my discovery to think of its possible effects upon my hopes of returning to Suzanne. Fear chilled me as I realized what might happen.
Burdeen wanted to return as badly as I did. That was evident from his restraint toward Varis. If he had been reconciled to the idea of remaining permanently in Ard, he certainly would have paid her more attention. But he had merely been kind to her, as a man will be kind to a girl when he has another on his mind. Like myself, he hadn’t been able to forget Suzanne and the world from which we had come.
Now a return was possible—but only for one. For either of us to volunteer willingly to remain seemed out of the question. And I knew that Burdeen would no more gamble his chance than I would. It was too precious to risk. That eliminated such obvious solutions as choosing straws, contests of strength or intelligence, or leaving the decision to an impartial outsider.
The only way out of the dilemma seemed for one ruthlessly to exterminate the other. It was a conclusion at which a man of Burdeen’s temperament would logically arrive. I recalled only too well the fear I’d felt on the morning just before the flight that Burdeen, aware Suzanne loved me, might try to get me out of the way by some means which would look like an accident. Nothing so complicated was necessary now. Burdeen could merely overpower me, reduce the weight of the ship by the additional amount needed, and leave. Back in our own time, he could simply explain that I had volunteered to remain behind. The explanation that I had fallen in love with Varis would satisfy Suzanne as to my reason for having done so.
I knew Burdeen was thinking thoughts similar to mine. And I knew he must already have decided on a course of action.
Only one of us would leave the control room. It would not be willingly. It would not even be while conscious—or alive.
And it would happen now, within seconds. Neither of us could allow the other any time to prepare an offensive.
Burdeen had been looking at me. A flicker crossed his face—warning of an impending motion. With the instantaneous reaction of tight-wound nerves, I leaped to the nearest pilot chair and poised my fingers over the control studs in its arm.
“Stop!” I snapped. “Come near me by so much as one single step, and I’ll send the shi
p into an acceleration which will kill us both.”
For a moment Burdeen looked puzzled. Then he smiled and shook his head. “Don’t be a fool, Gilroy. If you have any ideas that I might force you to stay here, you can forget them.”
“You’re lying!” I said. “I know very well that you want to get back as badly as I do.”
Burdeen shook his head again. His smile became faintly sad, faintly contemptuous. “You’re wrong. You see, Gilroy, for a long time I’ve been torn between two desires—to stay here, and to return home. I just couldn’t seem to make up my mind, but now it’s been made up for me. I’m staying.
“This is the way I look at it. There’d be nothing for me if I went back. Suzanne loves you. I could win her over in time, but it would be only to share her with a memory—and I want all or nothing. And back home I was just a pilot—a good one, maybe, but good pilots are easy to find. Here, I’m a power behind the throne, so to speak. Julon and the others need me. They’ll get their star ship, but they don’t know piloting or navigation. Somebody’ll have to teach them that. Besides, I’d like to see the stars, and this is my chance.” He paused a moment, as if in hesitation.
“And there’s Varis. She’s a sweet kid. I couldn’t seem to make up my mind about her either, but now I know I love her. And I know she loves me. So there’s no reason for me to want to go back. I know when I’m well off—even if it did take me quite a while to realize it.”
Burdeen was sincere. His eyes and the tone of his voice told me that beyond any slightest doubt.
A wave of sudden shame beat over me. I had thought and acted like a melodramatic fool.
I don’t know how I managed to overcome my pride, but I went over to Burdeen and held out my hand. I said awkwardly, “I’m sorry . . . Dan. I didn’t know all this. I judged you according to my own feelings about the situation, and I know from experience that this is never a good guide to the other fellow’s thoughts. I won’t be so quick at jumping to conclusions next time.”