Harry Harrison: The Technicolor Time Machine

Snorey began to howl and Slithey swung him around and began to open the top of her dress.

“I’ll get Charley Chang working,” Barney said. “We’ll write the kid into the script. This picture is going to be full of surprises.”

This brought back a painful memory and he looked down at his right hand and wondered how and when, then jammed it deep into the safety of his pocket.

The stone-headed spear had gone right through the side of the motorboat and was stuck into the flooring.

“I left it there to plug the hole,” Tex said. “A few more came close but we was already leaving.”

“They must have been surprised or something,” Barney said. “Maybe the sound of the motor frightened them.”

“We were paddling.”

“There had to have been a reason. The Cape Dorset are a peaceful people, you saw the way they behaved when they came here.”

“Maybe they didn’t like the idea of their relatives being chopped down when they acted friendly the first time,” Dallas broke in. “We didn’t go looking for trouble now, they gave it free without asking. If the motor hadn’t started first pull we would have had a burial at sea or gone into their cooking pot or something. Tex and I talked it over on the way back, and we figured that we should get combat pay for this mission…”

“Make a note of it on your voucher, I’ll see what can be done—but just don’t bug me about it now.” Barney pulled on the spear but it wouldn’t come free. “I’ve got a few more important tilings to worry about. This picture is just about finished, except for the absolutely vital and very important Indian battle. We have to have it, and it is going to be a little difficult to have an Indian battle without Indians. There are a couple of thousand of them offshore there on the ice, and I send you out with the wampum and the beads to hire a couple and what do I get? Excuses.”

The stunt men were unimpressed by this argument and Dallas pointed coldly to the spear. A brassy wail split the air.

“Do they have to do that here?” Barney snapped.

“As I remember, it was your order,” Tex told him. “The only place they wouldn’t bother people with their playing was on the beach.”

The black-robed procession filed down onto the shore, with the drummer beating time and Spiderman leading the way. They carried folding chairs, as well as their instruments, and were wrapped in an exotic collection of scarves, deerskins and caribou robes.

“Pull the boat up on the beach and let’s get out of here,” Barney said.

“I second that,” Dallas grunted. “These rehearsal sessions are but murder.”

Spiderman tottered across the sand toward them, clutching his tube to his chest, his red nose standing out starkly against the pallor of his skin.

“We gotta get a rehearsal hall, Barney,” he pleaded. “All this fresh air will kill us for cert. Some of these cats haven’t been outdoors in years.”

“It’ll clean their lungs out.”

“They like ’em dirty.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange—”

“Enemy in sight!” Tex shouted. “Look at that task force.”

It was an astonishing sight. From behind the islands that stood in the mouth of the bay came boatload after boatload of Cape Dorset, more and more until the water was dark with them. As they came closer a flickering could be seen in the air above each boat and a deep humming filled the air.

“This ain’t no social call,” Tex said.

“They might be friendly,” Barney said with very little enthusiasm.

“How much you wanta bet?” Dallas said scornfully.

“All right—so we take, what do you call it, a defensive position. What do you suggest?”

Tex pointed his thumb at Dallas and said, “He has the seniority, so he issues the orders.”

“Right then,” Dallas snapped. “We get the civilians off the beach, we pass the word to Ottar to lock up his fort, we pull back to the camp. We form the vehicles into a circle with the house trailers inside, and pass out weapons to all the guys who have seen service. Then we sit tight. Tex, start the civilians back to the camp.”

“It sounds all right,” Barney agreed. “But aren’t you forgetting that we still have a movie to make? I want Gino and his camera on the hill there, overlooking the whole thing. And I should have another camera, hand held maybe, inside the stockade to film them when they come up.” He ran through the possible second cameramen and arrived at the inevitable, though depressing, conclusion that he was the only qualified one available. “I guess I’ll have to go in with Ottar and his crowd.”

“If that’s the way you want it,” Dallas said, and watched thoughtfully for a moment while the musicians fled back the way they had come. “Gino and his camera go in the back of the truck. The truck will be on the hill and it will have a driver. Since the truck is between the beach and the camp, Tex can ride shotgun on it—and he’s in charge. When he says pull back, they pull back. I’ll come with you into the stockade.”

“Good, it sounds good, let’s go.”

The forward movement of the boats slowed as more and more of them appeared, as though they were massing for an attack. Whatever the reason, it gave the people onshore time to set up their defenses. Once the movie people were organized to Dallas’s satisfaction, he and Barney climbed into the six-by and bumped down the hill to the Viking camp. Dallas wore his pistol, had a submachine gun and bandoleers of ammunition slung over his shoulders, and unloaded some heavy and sinister metal boxes. They were the last ones inside the walls, and the big double gate, with the long wooden bar to lock it, was closed behind them. From the firing step Barney could see the truck back into position on the crest of the hill above.

“What makes the noise?” Ottar asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Barney told him. “Here they come!”

There was a ripple of motion that spread across the bay as the skin boats started in.

Barney rested the 35-mm camera against the top of the log stockade and panned across the line of advancing boats. Sunlight slashed down through an opening in the clouds and glinted from the spray and the chopping blades of the countless paddles. It was a grim, steady advance, and the blackness of the boats and the clothing of the men gave them the uniform of an army of darkness. The outlandish and frightening noise grew louder as the boats approached, and Barney clutched the camera and kept shooting, glad of the task that kept him busy. He had the feeling that if it hadn’t been for that he would have turned tail and run.

“I’ve heard that noise before,” Dallas said. “The same kind of humming whistle, only not so loud.”

“Do you remember where?” Barney asked, zooming the lens in for a close-up of one of the leading boats. It was very close.

“Sure, Australia. They have these natives there, what they call Abos, and a witch doctor was spinning this stick around his head on the end of a piece of string so it made the noise.”

“A bullroarer, of course. A lot of primitive tribes use them and they are supposed to have magical qualities. I’m beginning to see why, with a sound like that. There must be an Indian in each boat who is spinning one.”

“I have magic here to fix their magic,” Ottar said, whirling his ax over his head.

“Don’t look for trouble,” Barney said. “We have to avoid a fight if we can.”

“What?” Ottar shouted, shocked to the bottom of his Viking spirit. “They want fight—we fight. No cowards here.” He glared at Barney, daring him to answer.

“They’re landing,” Dallas said, stepping between the two men.