Now the white curtain was unbroken, flaming all around the ovoid’s transparent walls. Mason’s eyes ached as he watched it.
Then it snapped out and vanished. It was gone.
Coldly Greddar Klon said, “It is ended. My experiment is finished—and successful.”
He touched the control board. “One test, though. We’ll move back in time—for one revolution of the Earth.”
The ship trembled, swayed. And suddenly utter, stygian blackness fell, through which screamed the vibration of energy inconceivable!
CHAPTER VI
Terror in Al Bekr
Before Mason could do more than catch his breath light came again. The ship had apparently not moved—yet the scene visible through the transparent walls was entirely different.
No longer were they in the room of the twin monoliths. The ship hung in empty air twenty feet above the roofs of a strange, archaic city. It was Al Bekr, Mason knew—but Al Bekr as it had been before the Master’s arrival.
A city of roughly-cut stone and mud-daubed huts, such a city as Babylon might have been before the days of its splendor—like Chaldean Ur before its ruin. Men and women moved quietly about the streets. They had not as yet glimpsed the ship hovering above.
“I am satisfied,” the Master said. “I can control the time-change accurately. Now we return.”
Again darkness. And again it lifted, to show the room of the green towers. Greddar Klon sent the ship drifting down to the distant floor.
“When are you going to start?” Mason asked. The cold eyes probed him.
“Tomorrow. You had best return to your apartment and rest. I will need your aid soon.”
Mason turned to the opening port. He vaulted lightly down and went to a tunnel-mouth. But something he had read in the Master’s glance made him wary. He lurked in the passage out of sight, waiting.
Nor had he long to wait. Presently a low, distant voice sounded.
“You sent for me, Greddar Klon.”
The voice of Nirvor, the Silver Priestess.
And the Master’s reply:
“All is ready. We can start now.”
A pause. Then Nirvor said, “My leopards. I must get them.”
Mason wiped his forehead. So Greddar Klon intended betrayal. He planned to return to the future with Nirvor, leaving Mason behind. Well—Mason would not have gone without Alasa; but the thought came to him: would it not be best thus? With Nirvor and Greddar Klon gone, Alasa could rule Al Bekr as before.
And then—what? Mason himself would be marooned in a long-forgotten time-sector, together with Murdach, the man from the future. Perhaps Murdach could help. True, Mason had been ordered to obey the Master till he received word from the Sumerian, but this was an emergency.
If he could only find Erech! But he did not know where to look. Mason, about to turn away, was halted by Nirvor’s return. He edged forward cautiously, listening to the priestess’ soft laughter, and caught sight of the woman. She was moving toward the time-ship, the two leopards beside her. She entered it. The leopards sprang lithely through the portal. Greddar Klon followed.
What now? Indecision held Mason motionless. His impulse was to halt the Master, kill him if possible. But how? The atomic shield could not be penetrated by any weapon made by man. And there were the leopards—
The problem was solved for him. The ship suddenly grew hazy, a shimmering, oval shadow. It faded and was gone.
Where the time-ship had been was nothing. It had been launched on its incredible journey into the future.
A hand gripped Mason’s shoulder. He whirled to face Erech.
“Murdach sent me,” the Sumerian said. “The Master’s gone, eh?”
Mason nodded wordlessly. Suddenly Erech grinned.
“Good! That’s what Murdach wanted. He sent me to watch you, to stop you from doing anything rash. There was no time before to warn you. Come along now. I’ve freed Murdach, with the aid of his magic weapon. He’s with Alasa.”
Mason was conscious of a heightening of his pulses as he followed the Sumerian along the corridor. The robots were not visible; Mason wondered what they would do without the Master’s will to direct them.
Soon he was to find out, in a manner that would not be pleasant. No premonition of this came to him now as he paused with Erech before a metal door, followed the other over the threshold. In the bare room two people were standing, Alasa, and a slim, hawk-faced patrician figure who was, Mason knew, Murdach. The man from the future wore the remnants of a tattered leather uniform. His forehead, while high and broad, did not have the bulging malformation of Greddar Klon’s. Red hair stood up stiffly, but of eyebrows and lashes he had no trace.
Murdach said, his voice smooth and velvety, “You’ve brought him. Good.” Enigmatic black eyes regarded Mason intently.
“Greddar Klon’s gone,” the archeologist said, frowning. “You know that?”
“Yes. And that is well. He is out of the way, while we make our plans to follow him.”
At the audacity of the scheme Mason’s eyes widened. Murdach went on:
“You do not know Greddar Klon’s plan. He intends to become the ruler of the greatest civilization ever erected. A cosmic pirate, traveling through all ages, picking the best brains and the mightiest scientific powers from ancient times to the furthermost future. He told me of this, and asked my aid. Mason—that is your name, eh?—he plans to build his civilization in a time-sector which can offer little resistance. He has chosen your decade.”
Mason caught his breath. “He can’t—”
“He has the power, with the time-ship to aid him. When he has looted time, he’ll halt in 1929, wipe out mankind, subjugating a few races into slavery, and rear his civilization there. My plan is to follow him, building another time-ship—and kill him if I can. Will you aid me?”
Mason nodded. “That goes without saying!” A nightmare vision rose up in the archeologist’s mind; a vision of a world in which time had lost its meaning, a world cowering beneath the tremendous powers of Greddar Klon. He drew a deep breath. “Can you build the ship?”
“With your aid. That was why I told you to watch the Master as you helped him. In collaboration we can fit together the pieces of the puzzle.”
Alasa put a slim hand on Mason’s arm. “I’m going with you, of course.”
“You can’t,” Mason told her. “There’ll be danger, and lots of it.”
She lifted an imperious head. “What of that? Greddar Klon put me to shame—enslaved me and slew my subjects. Also, you have saved me, and I pay my debts. I go with you!”
“And I, too,” the Sumerian broke in. “I’ve a wish to try my scimitar on the Master’s neck, when his magic isn’t guarding him.”
“No more argument,” Murdach said. “They will accompany us, if they wish. They hate Greddar Klon—and hatred is sometimes a powerful weapon.” He turned to the door, and the others followed. Mason slipped the girl’s arm within his own, squeezing it reassuringly. Her golden eyes laughed up at him gaily. They might be going into deadly peril—but Alasa was not lacking in courage.
In the room of the green monoliths all was still. Quickly Murdach moved about, his keen black eyes taking in all that was to be seen. He indicated a twenty-foot ovoid nearby.
“We can use that for our time-ship, he said. “But it’s necessary first to build up the atomic force Greddar Klon used. Do you remember how he used this ray-device?”
Mason explained as well as he was able. “Murdach nodded with satisfaction and made hasty adjustments. Slowly, gradually, the brain of the man from the future duplicated the Master’s experiments. Mason began to feel hope mounting within him.
He was beneath one of the monoliths, explaining a control board to Murdach, when the girl cried warning. Mason swung about. From a tunnel-mouth raced two robots, faceted eyes alight, arm-tentacles swinging. They made for the group under the time towers.
Swiftly Murdach brought up his egg-shaped weapon. From it the ray sprang out, stilli
ng the robots with fantastic swiftness. They stood silent, unmoving. But from the passage came the thunder of racing feet.
Murdach bit his lips. “I was afraid of this,” he whispered. “Greddar Klon foresaw that we might follow him. Before he left, he ordered his robots to kill us. I doubt if we’ll have time now.”
“Time?” It was the Sumerian, battle-lust in his eyes. He stooped, snatched up a huge sledge-hammer. “Give Alasa your weapon, Murdach. You and Ma-zhon finish your task. We’ll hold off those demons!”
Alasa snatched the ray-projector, raced toward the tunnel-mouth, Erech at her heels. Murdach smiled grimly.
“Let us hurry. We may have a chance, after all.”
Mason was frowning, looking around for a weapon. The other gripped his arm.
“You can best help by aiding me. We can’t battle all the robots. Only if we get the time-ship completed can we escape.”
A metal man lunged into view, silent and menacing. The ray-projector in Alasa’s hand stilled him. But there were others—hundreds of them, pressing eagerly forward. Some the girl halted. Others fell victim to Erech.
The Sumerian roared red battle-curses. The sledge rose and fell in sweeping, crashing blows, grinding the metal heads of the robots beneath its drive. But slowly the two were pressed back—slowly, inexorably.
Murdach’s fingers flew, adjusting, testing. Mason stole a glance at the battling pair, and straightened, his breath hissing between his teeth as he saw Erech go down beneath a flailing tentacle. The archeologist leaped forward. The girl might hold back the robots for a moment—no longer.
Leaping over the Sumerian’s body, Mason snatched up the sledge. He saw the featureless, blank head of a robot looming before him. A tentacle slashed down, vicious and deadly. Mason swung the hammer in a great arc.
Metal sang under the blow. The robot fell away and was gone. But behind him came others. Erech sprang up, spitting blood.
“The hammer, Ma-zhon! Let me—”
Behind them came Murdach’s urgent cry. “Come! It’s finished!”
Mason gripped Alasa’s hand, ran toward Murdach, half dragging the girl. Behind him Erech shouted triumphantly, and then followed. The robots came in pursuit with a dull thudding of swift feet.
Murdach was waiting at the port of the ship. He sprang back into the interior as Mason thrust the girl aboard, tumbled after her, Erech behind him. The door clanged shut just as the robots reached the ovoid. With insensate, brainless fury they attacked the metallic walls.
White-faced, Murdach turned to the control board, sent the ship driving up. He lowered it gently on the platform at the summit of the twin monoliths.
“That lever,” he said, pointing. “You moved that one?”
Mason nodded. “Shall I—”
“Yes.”
The archeologist opened the port, slipped out. He glanced over the platform’s edge to see the robots milling about aimlessly beneath. Then he moved the lever and raced back to the ship.
Breathlessly the four waited. Presently white flame fingered out from the monoliths. Silently it spread, lacing and interweaving, till the walls were a sea of pale flame.
And it died.
For a moment no one spoke.
“Think it’ll work?” Mason asked shakily.
“It must!” But Murdach’s voice was none too steady. Nevertheless he turned to the controls, fingering them tentatively. Though Mason had expected it, nevertheless he felt a shock when darkness blanketed them.
It lifted. The ship hung above a green oasis, with high palms growing about a pool. In the cloudless blue sky the sun blazed brilliantly. For miles around the oasis was a desolate wilderness of sand and rock.
Alasa whispered, “Our legends say Al Bekr was like this once, long and long ago.”
“There was no oasis in my day,” Mason said. “We’ve gone back into the past.”
“Then we’ll go forward again,” Murdach smiled, his eyes no longer grim and cold. “All time lies before us.”
“Gods!” the Sumerian said hoarsely. “This is magic indeed!”
The girl touched Murdach’s arm. “What of my people? The robots may slay them.”
“No. Their energy must be renewed periodically, or they’re lifeless and inanimate. Without Greddar Klon to do that, they’ll run down—lose their life-force. Your people are safe enough, Alasa.”
“But my epoch isn’t,” Mason grunted. He was beginning to understand something of the incredible task before them. How could they find Greddar Klon in the vast immensity of time—and, if they succeeded in finding him, how could they defeat the super-science of the Master, augmented, perhaps, by the powers of a dozen future civilizations?
As though guessing his thought, Murdach said, “I can locate Greddar Klon easily enough. His ship causes a warp in the space-time continuum that instruments can detect. But as for fighting him—I would like to get aid first. We can best do that far in the future. Surely there must exist there some weapon that will destroy the Master!”
He touched the instrument board. Once more darkness blanketed them. Mason felt the girl’s soft body huddle against him, and he put a protective arm about her. The Sumerian was cursing softly and fluently.
And the ship raced into time, into the cryptic twilight of Earth, driving blindly toward mystery and toward horror inconceivable!
CHAPTER VII
In Time’s Abyss
Light came. They hung a thousand feet about the black, sullen waters of a sea that stretched to the horizon. There was no sign of land. In a black, star-studded sky loomed a globe of dull silver, incredibly vast. Its diameter covered fully a third of the heavens.
Mason said uncomprehendingly, “The Moon—but it’s close, Murdach—very close! How far in the future have we gone?”
Murdach’s face was white. He eyed the instruments, reached out a tentative hand, withdrew it. Hesitating, he said, “Something is wrong. I did not know—”
“Wrong?” The Sumerian growled an oath. “You said you’d mastered this hell-chariot!”
“I—I thought I had. But it is abstruse—Greddar Klon came from a more advanced world than mine.”
“We’re not—” Mason felt oddly cold as he asked the question. “We’re not marooned here, are we!”
Murdach’s lips tightened. He gripped a lever, swung it over. His slim fingers danced over the control panel. Nothing happened.
“For a while, at least,” he said at last. “I cannot send the machine into time. But soon I can discover what’s wrong, or at least I think so.”
Alasa smiled, though her eyes were frightened golden pools. “Then do your best, Murdach. The sooner you succeed, the sooner we’ll find the Master.”
“No, no,” Murdach told her impatiently. “We’ll find Greddar Klon in a certain time-sector. Whether we start now or in an hour or in fifty years will make no difference.”
“Fifty years!” Erech’s vulturine face was worried. “And in the meantime—what will we live on? What will we eat?”
Ten hours later the question reoccurred. Both Murdach and Mason were haggard and red-eyed from their calculations and their study of the time-ship’s principles. The former said at last, “How long this will take I don’t know. We’d better find food. Too bad we took none with us.”
“Where?” the Sumerian asked. He glanced around expressively at the bleak, lonely expanse of sea and Moon-filled sky. “I think Ran, the goddess of the Northmen, has claimed the world for her own. The ocean-goddess…”
“There’ll be land,” Mason said rather hopelessly as Murdach sent the ship lancing through the air. “If we go far enough.”
But it was no long distance to the shore—a flat, barren plain of grayish sandy soil, eroded to a horizontal monotony by the unceasing action of wind and wave. No mountains were visible. Only the depressingly drab land, stretching away to a dark horizon. And there was no life. No animals, no vegetation; a chill emptiness that seemed to have no end. The dreadful loneliness of it made Mason sh
udder a little.
“Is this the end?” he wondered softly, aloud. “The end of all Earth?”
Sensing his mood, though not comprehending the reason for it, Alasa came close, gripped his arm with slim fingers. “We’ll find food,” she said. “Somewhere.”
“We don’t need to worry about water, anyway,” he grunted. “It’s easy to distill that. And there’s—”
“Hai!”
Erech shouted, pointing, his pale eyes ablaze.
“Men—see? There—”
Below them, a little to the left of the drifting ship, a great, jagged crack loomed in the plain. There was movement around it, life—vague figures that were busy in the unchanging silvery twilight of a dying Earth.
“Men?” Murdach whispered. “No…”
Nor were they men. As the ship slanted down Mason was able to make out the forms of the strange creatures. Vaguely anthropoid in outline, there was something curiously alien about these people of a dying world.
“Shall we land?” Murdach asked.
Mason nodded. “Might as well. If they show signs of fight, we can get away in a hurry.”
The craft grounded with scarcely a jar near the great crack in the ground. Confusion was evident among the creatures. They retreated, in hurried confusion, and then a group of four advanced slowly. Through the transparent walls Mason scrutinized them with interest.
They were perhaps eight feet tall, with a tangle of tentacles that propelled them swiftly forward. Other tentacles swung from the thick, bulging trunk. The head was small, round, and without features—a smooth knob, covered with glistening scales. The bodies were covered with pale, pinkish skin that did not resemble human flesh.
Murdach said, “They are—plants!”
Plant-men! Amazing people of this lost time-sector! Yet evolution seeks to perfect all forms of life, to adapt it perfectly to its environment. In earlier days trees had no need to move from their places, Mason knew, for their food was constantly supplied from the ground itself. With the passing of slow eons perhaps that food had been depleted; limbs and branches had stretched out slowly, gropingly, hungrily. Painfully a tree had uprooted itself. The mutant had given life to others. And now, free of age-old shackles, Mason saw the plant-men, and fought down his unreasoning horror at the sight.
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