Andre Norton - Galactic Derelict

The scouts reached the floor of the valley in time to see the technicians dropping from the grillwork and hurrying to the time transfer. But they had not come up to the grill when the world went mad. Flame, noise, a thunder in the north, a great up-leap of fire to scorch the underside of lowering clouds. Travis was thrown off his feet as the ground crawled sickeningly. He saw the grid sway about the globe, heard cries and shouts.

“—quake!” A word out of the general clamor made sense of a sort. The volcanic outburst was being matched by earthquake. Travis stared up at the grid fascinated, expecting every moment to see the rods fly apart, come crashing down upon the dome of the ship. But, strangely enough, though the framework swayed, it did not fall.

In the thickening murk Kelgarries drove his men to the personnel transfer. Travis knew that he should join that line, but he was simply too amazed by the scene to stir. The fogsmoke was denser and out of it arose a shout in a voice he recognized. Getting to his feet, he ran to answer that plea for help.

Ashe lay on the ground. Ross was bending over him, trying to get him to his feet. As Travis blundered up, his spears thrown away, the smoke closed in and set them to a strangled coughing. Travis’ sense of direction faltered. Which way was the time transfer? Light ashes drifting through the air blurred air and ground alike—they might have been caught in a snowstorm.

He heard a scream of sheer terror, scaling up. A black shape, larger than the fruit of any nightmare, pounded into sight. The mammoths were charging down-valley as Ashe had feared.

“—get out!” Ross pulled Ashe to the right. Now the older man was between them, stumbling dazedly along.

They skirted the wall of rods about the globe, squeezed through to the ball. A mammoth trumpeted behind them. There was little hope now of reaching the personnel transfer in time and Ashe must have realized that. For he pulled free of the other two and began to move around the ship, one hand on its surface for guide.

Travis guessed his reason—Ashe wanted to find the ladder which led to the open port, use the ship as a refuge. He heard Ashe call, and slipped around behind him to discover that the other held the ladder.

Ross gave his officer a boost, then followed on his heels, while Travis steadied the dangling ladder as best he could. He started to ascend when he saw Ashe, only a dark blot, claw through the port above. He heard again the screeching trumpet of a mammoth and wondered that the beasts had not already smashed into the framework about the ship. Then he in turn was able to scramble through the port, and lay gasping and coughing, the irritation carried in the fog biting into nose and throat tissues.

“Shut it!” Travis was jerked roughly away from the door us someone pushed past him. The outer covering closed with a clang. Now the fog was only a wisp or two, and utter silence look the place of the bedlam outside.

Travis drew a long breath, one which did not this time rasp in his throat. The bluish light from the walls of the ship was subdued, but it was not so dim that he could not see Ashe clearly. The older man lay with his head and shoulders supported by the wall. A bruise was beginning to discolor on his forehead, which was no longer shadowed by any wig. Ross came back from the outer hatch.

“Kind of close quarters here,” he commented. “We might as well spread out some.”

They went out the inner door of the lock, and Murdock swung that shut behind them, a move which was perhaps to save their lives.

“In here—” Murdock indicated the nearest door. Those barriers which had been tightly closed on their first visit to the ship had been opened by the technicians. And the cabin beyond contained a furnishing which was a cross between a bunk and a hammock, being both fastened to the wall and swung on straps from the ceiling. Together they guided Ashe to it and got him down, still dazed. Travis had time for no more than a quick glance about when a voice rang down the well of the stair.

“Hey! Who’s down there? What’s going on?”

They climbed to the control cabin. In front of them stood a wiry young man wearing technician’s coveralls, who stared at them wide-eyed.

“Who are you?” he demanded, as he backed away, his fists up to repel an attack.

Travis was completely bewildered until he caught sight of a reflection on the shining surface of the control board—a dirty, three-quarters naked savage. And Ross was his counterpart—the two of them must certainly look like savages to the stranger. Murdock’s hands went to his ash-encrusted wig and he peeled it off, a gesture Travis copied. The technician relaxed.

“You’re time agents.” He made that recognition sound close to an accusation. “What’s going on, anyway?”

“General blowup.” Ross sat down suddenly and heavily in one of the swinging chairs. Travis leaned against the wall. Here in this silent cabin it was difficult to believe in the disaster and confusion without. “There’s a volcanic eruption in progress,” Murdock continued. “And the mammoths charged— just before we made it in here—”

The technician started for the stairwell. “We’ve got to get to the transfer.”

Travis caught his arm. “No getting out of the ship now. You can’t even see—ash too thick in the air.”

“How close were they to taking this ship through?” Ross wanted to know.

“All ready, as far as I know,” the technician began, and then added quickly, “d’you mean they’ll try to warp her through now—with us inside?”

“It’s a chance, just a chance. If the grid survived the quake and the mammoths.” Ross’s voice was a thin thread, overlaid with a crust of fatigue. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

“We can see— a little.” The technician stepped to one of the side panels his hand going to a button there.

Ross moved, coming out of his seat in a spring which rivaled a sabertooth’s for speed and deadly purpose. He struck out at the other, sent him sprawling on the floor. But not before the button was pressed home. A plate arose from the board, glowed. Then, over the head of the bewildered and angry technician still on his hands and knees, they caught sight of swirling ash-filled vapor, as if they were looking through a window into the valley.

“You fooll” Ross stood over the technician, and the cold threat Travis had seen in him at their first meeting was very much alive. “Don’t touch anything in here!”

“Wise guy, eh?” The technician, his face flushed and hard, was getting up, his fists ready. “I know what I’m doing—”

“Look—out there!” Travis’ cry broke them apart before they tangled.

The fogged picture still held. But there was something else to see there now. It was a build up, bar by bar, square by open square of yellow-green lines of light, possessing the brutal force of lightning but with none of its jagged freedom. The pattern grew fast, dominated the gray of the drifting ash.

“The grid!” The technician broke away from Ross. With his hands on the back of one of the swinging seats, he leaned forward eagerly to watch the vision plate. “They’ve turned the power on. They’re going to try to pull us through!”

The grid continued to glow—to scream with light. They could not watch it now because of its eye-searing brilliance. Then the ship rocked. Another earth quake—or something else? Before Travis could think clearly he was caught up in a fury of sensation for which there had surely never been any name, or any description possible. It was as if his flesh and his mind were at war with each other. He gasped, writhed. The momentary discomfort he had felt when he used the personnel transfer was nothing compared to this wrenching. He tried to find some stability in a dissolving world.