Poul Anderson - The Dancer from Atlantis

“You should have let me learn yours, then."

“No. Too confusing. You wouldn’t know how to use ... too many of the concepts. Teach that scar-faced savage over there words like ... like ‘steam engine’ ... and you still couldn’t talk to him for days, weeks, till he’d digested the idea. About steam engines, I mean. But you two could get together at once ... on horses.” The pilot paused for breath. “I haven’t got that kind of time to spare.”

In the background Oleg was crossing himself, right to left, and muttering Russian prayers. Uldin had scrambled to a distance, where he made gestures that must be against black magic. Erissa held firm by Reid, though she touched her amulet to her lips. He saw, surprised at noticing, that it had the form of a double-bitted ax.

“You’re from the future, aren’t you?” Reid asked.

A wraith of a smile passed over the pilot’s mouth. “We all are. I’m Sahir. Of the ... I don’t remember what the base date of, your calendar was. Is. Will be. I started from ... yes, Hawaii ... in the ... anakro—call it a space-time vehicle. Pass over Earth’s surface, or waters, while traveling through time. We were bound for ... prehistoric Africa. Protoman. We’re ... we were ... anthropologists, I guess, comes closest Could I have some more to drink?”

“Sure.” Reid and Erissa helped him.

“Ahh!” Sahir lay back. “I feel a little stronger. It won’t last. I’d better talk while I can. Figured you’re postindustrial, you. Makes a difference. Identify yourself?”

“Duncan Reid, American, from 1970—latter twentieth century—well, we’d lately made the first lunar landings, and we’d had atomic energy for, uh, twenty-five years—”

“So. I see. Shortly before the Age of—no, I shouldn’t say. You might get back. Will, if I can help it. You’d not like to know what’s coming. I’m terribly sorry about this mess. Who’re your friends?”

“The blond man’s early Russian, I think. The short man says he’s a Hun—I think. The woman here ... I can’t figure her out.”

“Hm. Yes. We can get—you can get—closer information after using the mental*. The helmets are set for scan and imprint. Make sure which is which.

“Listen, pick whoever’s from the most ancient period—looks like that’ll be her—make her supply your common language. Most useful one, you see? We’re only a short ways back in time and south in space from ... the point .. where the machine sucked in the last person. I’d nearly gotten it braked ... by then.

“Early model. S’posed to be insulated ... against energy effects. Takes immense energy concentration to warp the continuum. For returning home ... would’ve assembled the nuclear generator we carry ... outside the vessel, of course, because the energy release’s in the megaton range....”

Sahir plucked at his robe. His head rolled, as did his eyes within their sockets. His voice was nearly inaudible, the momentary strength running out of him like wine from a broken cup; but he whispered in pathetic haste:

“Warp fields ... s’posed to be contained, controlled, not interact with matter en route ... but defect here. Defect. Soon after we started, instruments mentated to us that we’d drawn a body along. I ordered a halt right away ... but inertia—We c’lected higher animals only, men, horse, ‘cause control, instrumentation, everything mentated.... And then we passed too close in spacetime to—to some monstrous energy release, I don’t know what, terrible catastrophe in this far past. Course was preset, y’ get me? We were s’posed to pass by—for a boost—but we were leaving the whole job to the computer.... Now, when we’d nearly stopped ... faulty insulation, did I tell you? Interaction with our warp fields. Blew out our interior power cybernets. Radiation blast—s’prised I’m still alive—partner’s dead—knocked me out for a while—I came to, figured I’d go meet you, but—”

Sahir tried to lift his hands. Reid took them. It was like holding smoldering parchment. “Listen,” Sahir susurrated desperately. “That ... blowup, crash, whatever it is ... in this part of the world. Near future. Year or less. Listen. There aren’t ... won’t be ... many time expeditions. Ever. Energy cost too great ... and ... environment couldn’t stand much of that.... But anything this big, bound t’ be observers. Understand? You find ‘em, identify yourself, get help—maybe for me too—”

“How?” Reid choked.

“First ... get me to vehicle. It’s wrecked, but ... medical supplies.... They’ll come through time, to this day, bring help, surely—” Sahir jerked as if a lightning bolt coursed through him. “ Nia!” he screamed. “Faber, Teo, nia, nia!”

He crumpled. His eyeballs rolled back, his jaw dropped. Reid attempted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and chest massage. They were of no use.

Night brought cold air and brilliant stars. The sea glimmered vaguely. It was without surf or tides, but wavelets chuckled against the stones of the beach. The land reared and rolled southward, a blackness where hills stood hump-backed athwart the constellations and yelps resounded which Reid guessed were from jackals.

He had considered gathering brush for a fire, after Sahir was laid in a gully and covered with clods and, rocks for lack of grave-digging tools. His pipe lighter would kindle it. Uldin, assuming they must go through the laborious use of the flint and steel he carried, spoke against the idea. “No need. You and I have coats, Oleg has his padding, I can lend Erissa my saddle blanket. And the ... shaman wagon ... it shines, no? Why wear ourselves out scratching around for sticks?”

“Water nearby will keep the air from growing too chill,” Oleg pointed out from the experience of a sailor. Reid decided to save his lighter fluid for emergencies, or for what tobacco was in his pouch, though he dared not smoke until he had an abundance to drink.

The sea—definitely a sea, salt as it was—would help a trifle. He’d read Alain Bombard’s report; you can keep alive awhile by taking continual sips. And they might try for fish with whatever tackle they could rig. In the long run, however, and not a terribly long run either, nothing would save them but rescue from outside.

The glow enclosing the time vessel swirled in soft white and pastels, a hateful loveliness that barred off the water, food, shelter, medicine, tools, weapons within. It lit the desert wanly for some yards around. Sahir had known how to unlock it; but Sahir lay stiff awaiting the jackals. Reid felt sorry for him, who had been a well-intentioned man and wanted to live as badly as anyone, and sorry likewise for the partner whose ray-raddled flesh sprawled in the machine that had betrayed them all. But his pity was abstract. He’d never known them as people. He himself, and these three with him, remained to be saved or to die a harder death.

Oleg yawned cavernously. “Woof, what a day! Are we lost in time as you believe, Duncan, or borne off by evil Lyeshy as I think? Either way, I’m for sleep. Maybe I’ll have such pious dreams the angels will carry me back to my little wife.”

“Do you want the second or third watch, then?” Uldin asked.

“None. I sleep in my mail, helmet and ax to hand. What use, seeing an enemy from afar?”

“To make ready for him, you lump. or find a hiding place if he’s too strong,” Uldin snapped. Dirt, grease, stink, scars, and everything, the Hun nonetheless reminded Reid of a martinet captain he’d had. The Russian growled but yielded.

“Let me take first watch,” Reid offered. “I can’t sleep yet anyway.”

“You think too much,” Uldin grunted. “It weakens a man. As you will, though. You, next me, last Oleg.”