<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_8" id="CHAPTER_8"></SPAN>CHAPTER 8</h2>
<p>"... and that is about all." Ten days later Ashe, a dressing on his leg
and a few of the pain lines smoothed from his face, sat on a bunk in the
arctic time post nursing a mug of coffee in his hands and smiling, a
little crookedly, at Nelson Millaird.</p>
<p>Millaird, Kelgarries, Dr. Webb, all the top brass of the project had not
only come through the transfer point to meet the three from Britain but
were now crammed into the room, nearly pushing Ross and McNeil through
the wall. Because this was it! What they had hunted for
months—years—now lay almost within their grasp.</p>
<p>Only Millaird, the director, did not seem so confident. A big man with a
bushy thatch of coarse graying hair and a heavy, fleshy face, he did not
look like a brain. Yet Ross had been on the roster long enough to know
that it was Millaird's thick and hairy hands that gathered together all
the loose threads of Operation Retrograde and deftly wove them into a
workable pattern. Now the director leaned back in a chair which was too
small for his bulk, chewing thoughtfully on a toothpick.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"So we have the first whiff of a trail," he commented without elation.</p>
<p>"A pretty strong lead!" Kelgarries broke in. Too excited to sit still,
the major stood with his back against the door, as alert as if he were
about to turn and face the enemy. "The Reds wouldn't have moved against
Gog if they did not consider it a menace to them. Their big base must be
in this time sector!"</p>
<p>"<i>A</i> big base," Millaird corrected. "The one we are after, no. And right
now they may be switching times. Do you think they will sit here and
wait for us to show up in force?" But Millaird's tone, intended to
deflate, had no effect on the major.</p>
<p>"And just how long would it take them to dismantle a big base?" that
officer countered. "At least a month. If we shoot a team in there in a
hurry—"</p>
<p>Millaird folded his huge hands over his barrel-shaped body and laughed,
without a trace of humor. "Just where do we send that team, Kelgarries?
Northeast of a coastal point in Britain is a rather vague direction, to
say the least. Not," he spoke to Ashe now, "that you didn't do all you
could, Ashe. And you, McNeil, nothing to add?"</p>
<p>"No, sir. They jumped us out of the blue when Sandy thought he had every
possible line tapped, every safeguard working. I don't know how they
caught on to us, unless they located our beam to this post. If so, they
must have been deliberately hunting us for some time, because we only
used the beam as scheduled——"</p>
<p>"The Reds have patience and brains and probably some more of their
surprise gadgets to help them. We have the patience and the brains, but
not the gadgets. And time is against us. Get anything out of this,
Webb?" Millaird asked the hitherto silent third member of his ruling
committee.</p>
<p>The quiet man adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></SPAN></span> a
flattish nose which did not support them very well. "Just another point
to add to our surmises. I would say that they are located somewhere near
the Baltic Sea. There are old trade routes there, and in our own time it
is a territory closed to us. We never did know too much about that
section of Europe. Their installation may be close to the Finnish
border. They could disguise their modern station under half a dozen
covers; that is strange country."</p>
<p>Millaird's hands unfolded and he produced a notebook and pen from a
shirt pocket. "Won't hurt to stir up some of the present-day agents of
the M.I. and the rest. They might just come up with a useful hint. So
you'd say the Baltic. But that is a big slice of country."</p>
<p>Webb nodded. "We have one advantage—the old trade routes. In the Beaker
period they are pretty well marked. The major one into that section was
established for the amber trade. The country is forested, but not so
heavily as it was in an earlier period. The native tribes are mostly
roving hunters, and fishermen along the coast. But they have had contact
with traders." He shoved his glasses back into place with a nervous
gesture. "The Reds may run into trouble themselves there at this
time——"</p>
<p>"How?" Kelgarries demanded.</p>
<p>"Invasion of the ax people. If they have not yet arrived, they are due
very soon. They formed one of the big waves of migratory people, who
flooded the country, settled there. Eventually they became the Norse or
Celtic stock. We don't know whether they stamped out the native tribes
they found there or assimilated them."</p>
<p>"That might be a nice point to have settled more definitely," McNeil
commented. "It could mean the difference between getting your skull
split and continuing to breathe."</p>
<p>"I don't think they would tangle with the traders. Evidence<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></SPAN></span> found today
suggests that the Beaker folk simply went on about their business in
spite of a change in customers," Webb returned.</p>
<p>"Unless they were pushed into violence." Ashe handed his empty mug to
Ross. "Don't forget Lurgha's Wrath. From now on our enemies might take a
very dim view of any Beaker trade posts near their property."</p>
<p>Webb shook his head slowly. "A wholesale attack on Beaker establishments
would constitute a shift in history. The Reds won't dare that, not just
on general suspicion. Remember, they are not any more eager to tinker
with history than we are. No, they will watch for us. We will have to
stop communication by radio——"</p>
<p>"We can't!" snapped Millaird vehemently. "We can cut it down, but I
won't send the boys out without some means of quick communication. You
lab boys put your brains to work and see what you can turn out in the
way of talk boxes that they can't snoop. Time!" He drummed on his knee
with his thick fingers. "It all comes back to a question of time."</p>
<p>"Which we do not have," Ashe observed in his usual quiet voice. "If the
Reds are afraid they have been spotted, they must be dismantling their
post right now, working around the clock. We'll never again have such a
good chance to nail them. We must move now."</p>
<p>Millaird's lids drooped almost shut; he might have been napping.
Kelgarries stirred restlessly by the door, and Webb's round face had
settled into what looked like permanent lines of disapproval.</p>
<p>"Doc," Millaird spoke over his shoulder to the fourth man of his
following, "what is your report?"</p>
<p>"Ashe must be under treatment for at least five days.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></SPAN></span> McNeil's burns
aren't too bad, and Murdock's slash is almost healed."</p>
<p>"Five days—" Millaird droned, and then flashed a glance at the major.
"Personnel. We're tied down without any useful personnel. Who in
processing could be switched without tangling them up entirely?"</p>
<p>"No one. I can recall Jansen and Van Wyke. These ax people might be a
good cover for them." The momentary light in Kelgarries' eyes faded.
"No, we have no proper briefing and can't get it until the tribe does
appear on the map. I won't send any men in cold. Their blunders would
not only endanger them but might menace the whole project."</p>
<p>"So that leaves us with you three," Millaird said. "We'll recall what
men we can and brief them again as fast as possible. But you know how
long that will take. In the meantime——"</p>
<p>Ashe spoke directly to Webb. "You can't pinpoint the region closer than
just the Baltic?"</p>
<p>"We can do this much," the other answered him slowly, and with obvious
reluctance. "We can send the sub cruising offshore there for the next
five days. If there is any radio activity—any communication—we should
be able to trace the beams. It all depends upon whether the Reds have
any parties operating from their post. Flimsy——"</p>
<p>"But something!" Kelgarries seized upon it with the relief of one who
needed action.</p>
<p>"And they will be waiting for just such a move on our part," Webb
continued deliberately.</p>
<p>"All right, so they'll be watching!" the major said, about to lose his
temper, "but it is about the only move we can make to back up the boys
when they do go in."<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>He whipped around the door and was gone. Webb got up slowly. "I will
work over the maps again," he told Ashe. "We haven't scouted that area,
and we don't dare send a photo-plane over it now. Any trip in will be a
stab in the dark."</p>
<p>"When you have only one road, you take it," Ashe replied. "I'll be glad
to see anything you can show me, Miles."</p>
<p>If Ross had believed that his pre-trial-run cramming had been a rigorous
business, he was soon to laugh at that estimation. Since the burden of
the next jump would rest on only three of them—Ashe, McNeil, and
himself—they were plunged into a whirlwind of instruction, until Ross,
dazed and too tired to sleep on the third night, believed that he was
more completely bewildered than indoctrinated. He said as much sourly to
McNeil.</p>
<p>"Base has pulled back three other teams," McNeil replied. "But the men
have to go to school again, and they won't be ready to come on for maybe
three, four weeks. To change runs means unlearning stuff as well as
learning it——"</p>
<p>"What about new men?"</p>
<p>"Don't think Kelgarries isn't out now beating the bushes for some! Only,
we have to be fitted to the physical type we are supposed to represent.
For instance, set a small, dark-headed pugnose among your Norse sea
rovers, and he's going to be noticed—maybe remembered too well. We
can't afford to take that chance. So Kelgarries had to discover men who
not only look the part but are also temperamentally fitted for this job.
You can't plant a fellow who thinks as a seaman—not a seaman, you
understand, but one whose mind works in that pattern—among a wandering
tribe of cattle herders. The protection for the man and the project lies
in his being fitted into the right spot at the right time."</p>
<p>Ross had never really thought of that point before. Now he realized that
he and Ashe and McNeil were of a common mold.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></SPAN></span> All about the same
height, they shared brown hair and light eyes—Ashe's blue, his own
gray, and McNeil's hazel—and they were of similar build, small-boned,
lean, and quick-moving. He had not seen any of the true Beakermen except
on the films. But now, recalling those, he could see that the three time
traders were of the same general physical type as the far-roving people
they used as a cover.</p>
<p>It was on the morning of the fifth day while the three were studying a
map Webb had produced that Kelgarries, followed at his own weighty pace
by Millaird, burst in upon them.</p>
<p>"We have it! This time <i>we</i> have the luck! The Reds slipped. Oh, how
they slipped!"</p>
<p>Webb watched the major, a thin little smile pulling at his pursed mouth.
"Miracles sometimes do happen," he remarked. "I suppose the sub has a
fix for us."</p>
<p>Kelgarries passed over the flimsy strip of paper he had been waving as a
banner of triumph. Webb read the notation on it and bent over the map,
making a mark with one of those needle-sharp pencils which seemed to
grow in his breast pocket, ready for use. Then he made a second mark.</p>
<p>"Well, it narrows it a bit," he conceded. Ashe looked in turn and
laughed.</p>
<p>"I would like to hear your definition of 'narrow' sometime, Miles.
Remember we have to cover this on foot, and a difference of twenty miles
can mean a lot."</p>
<p>"That mark is quite a bit in from the sea." McNeil offered his own
protest when he saw the marking. "We don't know that country—"</p>
<p>Webb shoved his glasses back for the hundredth time that morning. "I
suppose we could consider this critical, condition red," he said in such
a dubious tone that he might have been begging someone to protest his
statement. But no one did. Millaird was busy with the map.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"I think we do, Miles!" He looked to Ashe. "You'll parachute in. The
packs with which you will be equipped are special stuff. Once you have
them off sprinkle them with a powder Miles will provide and in ten
minutes there won't be enough of them left for anyone to identify. We
haven't but a dozen of these, and we can't throw them away except in a
crisis. Find the base and rig up the detector. Your fix in this time
will be easy—but it is the other end of the line we must have. Until
you locate that, stick to the job. Don't communicate with us until you
have it!"</p>
<p>"There is the possibility," Ashe pointed out, "the Reds may have more
than one intermediate post. They probably have played it smart and set
up a series of them to spoil a direct trace, as each would lead only to
another farther back in time——"</p>
<p>"All right. If that proves true, just get us the next one back,"
Millaird returned. "From that we can trace them along if we must send in
some of the boys wearing dinosaur skins later. We <i>have</i> to find their
primary base, and if that hunt goes the hard way, well, we do it the
hard way."</p>
<p>"How did you get the fix?" McNeil asked.</p>
<p>"One of their field parties ran into trouble and yelled for help."</p>
<p>"Did they get it?"</p>
<p>The major grinned. "What do you think? You know the rules—and the ones
the Reds play by are twice as tough on their own men."</p>
<p>"What kind of trouble?" Ashe wanted to know.</p>
<p>"Some kind of a local religious dispute. We do our best with their code,
but we're not a hundred per cent perfect in reading it. I gather they
were playing with a local god and got their fingers burned."<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Lurgha again, eh?" Ashe smiled.</p>
<p>"Foolish," Webb said impatiently. "That is a silly thing to do. You were
almost over the edge of prudence yourself, Gordon, with that Lurgha
business. To use the Great Mother was a ticklish thing to try, and you
were lucky to get out of it so easily."</p>
<p>"Once was enough," Ashe agreed. "Though using it may have saved our
lives. But I assure you I am not starting a holy war or setting up as a
prophet."</p>
<p>Ross had been taught something of map reading, but mentally he could not
make what he saw on paper resemble the countryside. A few landmarks, if
there were any outstanding ones, were all he could hope to impress upon
his memory until he was actually on the ground.</p>
<p>Landing there according to Millaird's instruction was another experience
he would not have chosen of his own accord. To jump was a matter of
timing, and in the dark with a measure of rain thrown in, the action was
anything but pleasant. Leaving the plane in a blind, follow-the-leader
fashion, Ross found the descent into darkness one of the worst trials he
had yet faced. But he did not make too bad a landing in the small
parklike expanse they had chosen for their target.</p>
<p>Ross pulled loose his harness and chute, dragging them to what he judged
to be the center of the clearing. Hearing a plaintive bray from the air,
he dodged as one of the two burden asses sent to join them landed and
began to kick at its trappings. The animals they had chosen were the
most docile available and they had been given sedation before the jump
so that now, feeling Ross's hands, the donkey stood quietly while Ross
stripped it of its hanging straps.</p>
<p>"Rossa—" The sound of his Beaker name called through the dark brought
Ross facing in the other direction.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Here, and I have one of the donkeys."</p>
<p>"And I the other!" That was McNeil.</p>
<p>Their eyes adjusted to a gloom which was not as thick as it would be in
the forest and they worked fast. Then they dragged the parachutes
together in a heap. The rain would, Webb had assured them, add to the
rapid destruction wrought by the chemical he had provided. Ashe shook it
over the pile, and there was a faint greenish glow. Then they moved away
to the woodland and made camp for the balance of the night.</p>
<p>So much of their whole exploit depended upon luck, and this small part
had been successful. Unless some agent had been stationed to watch for
their arrival Ross believed they could not be spotted.</p>
<p>The rest of their plan was elastic. Posing as traders who had come to
open a new station, they were to stay near a river which drained a lake
and then angled southward to the distant sea. They knew this section was
only sparsely settled by small tribes, hardly larger than family clans.
These people were generations behind the civilized level of the
villagers of Britain—roving hunters who followed the sweep of game
north or south with the seasons.</p>
<p>Along the seashore the fishermen had established more permanent holdings
which were slowly becoming towns. There were perhaps a few hardy pioneer
farmers on the southern fringes of the district, but the principle
reason traders came to this region was to get amber and furs. The Beaker
people dealt in both.</p>
<p>Now as the three sheltered under the wide branches of a towering pine
Ashe fumbled with a pack and brought out the "beaker" which was the
identifying mark of his adopted people. He measured into it a portion of
the sour, stimulating drink which the traders introduced wherever they
went. The cup<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></SPAN></span> passed from hand to hand, its taste unpleasant on the
tongue, but comfortingly warm to one's middle.</p>
<p>They took turns keeping the watch until the gray of false dawn became
the clearer light of morning. After breakfasting on flat cakes of meal,
they packed the donkeys, using the same knots and cross lashing which
were the mark of real Beaker traders. Their bows protected from dampness
under their cloaks, they set out to find the river and their path
southward.</p>
<p>Ashe led, Ross towed the donkeys, and McNeil brought up the rear. In the
absence of a path they had to set a ragged course, keeping to the edge
of the clearing until they saw the end of the lake.</p>
<p>"Woodsmoke," Ashe commented when they had completed two thirds of their
journey. Ross sniffed and was able to smell it too. Nodding to Ashe,
McNeil oozed into nothingness between the trees with an ease Murdock
envied. As they waited for him to return, Ross became conscious of
another life about them, one busy with its own concerns, which were in
no way those of human beings, except that food and perhaps shelter were
to be reckoned among them.</p>
<p>In Britain, Ross had known there were others of his kind about, but this
was different. Here, he could have believed it if he had been told he
was the first man to walk this way.</p>
<p>A squirrel ran out on a tree limb and surveyed the two men with curious
beady eyes, then clung head down on the tree trunk to see them better.
One of the donkeys tossed its head, and the squirrel was gone with a
flirt of its tail. Although it was quiet, there was a hum underneath the
surface which Ross tried to analyze, to identify the many small sounds
which went into its making.</p>
<p>Perhaps because he was trying so hard, he noted the faint noise. His
hand touched Ashe's arm and a slight movement of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></SPAN></span> his head indicated the
direction of the sound. Then, as fluidly as he had melted into the
woods, McNeil returned. "Company," he said in a soft voice.</p>
<p>"What kind?"</p>
<p>"Tribesmen, but wilder than any I've seen, even on the tapes. We are
certainly out on the fringes now. These people look about cave level. I
don't think they've ever heard of traders."</p>
<p>"How many?"</p>
<p>"Three, maybe four families. Most of the males must be out hunting, but
there're about ten children and six or seven women. I don't think
they've had good luck lately by the look of them."</p>
<p>"Maybe their luck and ours are going to turn together," Ashe said,
motioning Ross forward with the donkeys. "We will circle about them to
the river and then try bartering later. But I do want to establish
contact."<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></SPAN></span></p>
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