wavelets no longer lapped with the same vigor. Morning ... the storm
over ... and somewhere Ashe!
Ross was about to snap his mask into place when Karara caught at his
arm.
"Be careful! Remember what I saw--last night they were killing
swimmers!"
He shook her off impatiently. "I'm no fool! And with the packs on we do
not have to surface. Listen--" he had another thought, one which would
provide an excellent excuse for keeping her safely out of his company,
reducing his responsibility for her, "you take the dolphins and try to
find the gate. We'll want out as soon as I locate Ashe."
"And if you do not find him soon?"
Ross hesitated. She had not said the rest. What if he could not find
Gordon at all? But he would--he had to!
"I'll be back here"--he checked his watch, no longer an accurate
timekeeper, for Hawaikan days held an hour more than the Terran
twenty-four, but the settlers kept the off-world measurement to check on
work periods--"in, say, two hours. You should know by then about the
gate, and I'll have some idea of the situation along the shore. But
listen--" Ross caught her shoulders in a taut grip, pulled her around to
face him, his eyes hot and almost angry as they held hers, "don't let
yourself be seen--" He repeated the cardinal rule of Agents in new
territory. "We don't dare risk discovery."
Karara nodded and he could see that she understood, was aware of the
importance of that warning. "Do you want Tino-rau or Taua?"
"No, I'm going to search along the shore first. Ashe would have tried
for that last night ... was probably driven in the way we were. He'd go
to ground somewhere. And I have this--" Ross touched the sonic on his
belt. "I'll set it on his call; you do the same with yours. Then if we
get within distance, he'll pick us up. Back here in two hours--"
"Yes." Karara kicked free of the weed, was already wading down to where
the dolphins circled in the cave pool waiting for her. Ross followed,
and the four swam for the open sea.
It could not be much after dawn, Ross thought, as he clung by one hand
to a rock and watched Karara and the dolphins on their way. Then he
paddled along the shore northward for his own survey of the coast. There
was a rose cast in the sky, warming the silver along the far reaches of
the horizon. And about him bobbed storm flotsam, so that he had to pick
a careful way through floating debris.
On the reef one of the wrecked ships had vanished entirely. Perhaps it
had been battered to death by the waves, ground to splinters against the
rocks. The other still held, its prow well out of the now receding
waves, jagged holes in its sides through which spurts of water cascaded
now and then.
The wreck which had been driven landward was composed of planks, boxes,
and containers rolled by the waves' force. Much of this was already free
of the sea, and on the beach figures moved examining it. In spite of the
danger of chance discovery, Ross edged along rocks, seeking a vantage
point from which he could watch that activity.
He was flat against a sea-girt boulder, a swell of floating weed draped
about him, when the nearest of the foraging parties moved into good
view.
Men ... at least they had the outward appearance of men much like
himself, though their skin was dark and their limbs appeared
disproportionately long and thin. There were two groups of them, four
wearing only a scanty loincloth, busy turning over and hunting through
the debris under the direction of the other two.
The workers had thick growths of hair which not only covered their
heads, but down their spines and the outer sides of their thin arms and
legs to elbow and knee. The hair was a pallid yellow-white in vivid
contrast to their dark skins, and their chins protruded sharply,
allowing the lower line of their faces to take on a vaguely disturbing
likeness to an animal's muzzle.
Their overseers were more fully clothed, wearing not only helmets on
their heads, whose helms had a protective visor over the face, but also
breast- and back-plates molded to their bodies. Ross thought that these
could not be solid metal since they adapted to the movements of the
wearers.
Feet and legs were covered with casing combinations of shoe and
leggings, colored dull red. They were armed with swords of an odd
pattern; their points curved up so that the blade resembled a fishhook.
Unsheathed, the blades were clipped to a waist belt by catches which
glittered in the weak morning light as if gem set.
Ross could see little of their faces, for the beak visors overhung their
features. But their skins were as dusky as those of the laborers, and
their arms and legs of the same unusual length ... men of the same race,
he deduced.
Under the orders of the armed overseers the laborers were reducing the
beach to order, sorting out the flotsam into two piles. Once they
gathered about a find, and the sound of excited speech reached Ross as
an agitated clicking. The armored men came up, surveyed the discovery.
One of them shrugged, and clicked an order.
Ross caught only a half glimpse of the thing two of the workers dragged
away. A body! Ashe.... The Terran was about to move closer when he saw
the green cloak dragging about the corpse. No, not Gordon, just another
victim from the wrecks.
The aliens were working their way toward Ross, and perhaps it was time
for him to go. He was pushing aside his well-arranged curtain of weed
when he was startled by a shout. For a second he thought he might have
been sighted, until resulting action on shore told him otherwise.
The furred workers shrank back against the mound to which they had just
dragged the body. While the two guards took up a position before them,
curved swords, snapped from their belt hooks, ready in their hands.
Again that shout. Was it a warning or a threat? With the language
barrier Ross could only wait to see.
Another party approached along the beach from the south. In the lead was
a cloaked and hooded figure, so muffled in its covering of silver-gray
that Ross had no idea of the form beneath. Silvery-gray--no, now that
hue was deepening with blue tones, darkening rapidly. By the time the
cloaked newcomer had passed the rock which sheltered the Terran the
covering was a rich blue which seemed to glow.
Behind the leader were a dozen armed men. They wore the same beaked
helmets, the supple encasing breast- and back-plates, but their leggings
were gray. They, too, carried curved swords, but the weapons were still
latched to their belts and they made no move to draw them in spite of
the very patent hostility of the guards before them.
Blue cloak halted some three feet from the guards. The sea wind pulled
at the cloak, wrapping it about the body beneath. But even so, the
wearer remained well hidden. From under a flapping edge came a hand. The
fingers, long and slender, were curled about an ivory-colored wand which
ended in a knob. Sparks flashed from it in a continuous flickering.
Ross clapped his hand to his belt. To his complete amazement the sonic
disk he wore was reacting to those flashes, pricking sharply in perfect
beat to their blink-blink. The Terran cupped his scarred fingers over
the disk as he waited to see what was going to happen, wondering if the
holder of that wand might, in return, pick up the broadcast of the code
set on Ashe's call.
The hand clasping the wand was not dusky-skinned but had much of the
same ivory shade as the rod, so that to Ross the meeting between flesh
and wand was hardly distinguishable. Now by one firm thrust the hand
planted the rod into the sand, leaving it to stand sentinel between the
two parties.
Retreating a step or two, the red-clad guards gave ground. But they did
not reclasp their swords. Their attitude, Ross judged, was that of men
in some awe of their opponent, but men urged to defiance, either by a
belief in the righteousness of their cause, or strengthened by an old
hatred.
Now the cloaked one began to speak--or was that speech? Certainly the
flow of sound had little in common with the clicking tongue Ross had
caught earlier. This trill of notes possessed the rise and fall of a
chant or song which could have been a formula of greeting--or a warning.
And the lines of warriors escorting the chanter stood to attention,
their weapons still undrawn.
Ross caught his lower lip between his teeth and bit down on it. That
chanting--it crawled into the mind, set up a pattern! He shook his head
vigorously and then was shocked by that recklessness. Not that any of
those on shore had glanced in his direction.
The chant ended on a high, broken note. It was followed by a moment of
silence through which sounded only the wind and the beat of wave.
Then one of the laborers flung up his head and clicked a word or two. He
and his fellows fell face down on the beach, cupping their hands to pour
sand over their unkempt heads. One of the guards turned with a sharp
yell to boot the nearest of the workers in the ribs.
But his companion cried out. The wand which had stood so erect when it
was first planted, now inclined toward the working party, its sparks
shooting so swiftly and with such slight break between that they were
fast making a single beam. Ross jerked his hand from contact with the
sonic; a distinct throb of pain answered that stepping up of the
mysterious broadcast.
The laborers broke and ran, or rather crawled on their bellies until
they were well away, before they got to their feet and pelted back down
the strand. However, the guards were of sterner stuff. They were
withdrawing all right, but slowly backing away, their swords held up
before them as men might retreat before insurmountable odds.
When they were well gone the robed one took up the wand. Holding it out
beyond, the cloaked leader of the second party approached the two piles
of salvage the workers had heaped into rough order. There was a detailed
inspection of both until the robed one came upon the body.
At a trilled order two of the warriors came up and laid out the corpse.
When the robed one nodded they stood well back. The rod moved, the tip
rather than the knobbed head being pointed at the body.
Ross's head snapped back. That bolt of light, energy, fire--whatever it
was--issuing from the rod had dazzled him into momentary blindness. And
a vibration of force through the air was like a blow.
When he was able to see once more there was nothing at all on the sand
where the corpse had lain, nothing except a glassy trough from which
some spirals of vapor arose. Ross clung to his rock support badly
shaken.
Men with swords ... and now this--some form of controlled energy which
argued of technical development and science. Just as the cliff castle
had bombarded with rocks ships sailing with a speed which argued engine
power of an unknown type. A mixture of barbaric and advanced knowledge.
To assess this, he needed more experience, more knowledge than he
possessed. Now Ashe could....
Ashe!
Ross was jerked back to his own quest. The rod was quiet, no more sparks
were flung from its knob. And under Ross's touch his sonic was quiet
also. He snapped off the broadcast. If that device had picked up the
flickering of the rod, the reverse could well be true.
The cloaked one chose from the pile of goods, and its escort gathered up
the designated boxes, a small cask or two. So laden, the party returned
south the way they had come. Ross allowed his breath to expel in a sigh
of relief.
He worked his way farther north along the coast, watching other parties
of the furred workers and their guards. Lines of the former climbed the
cliff, hauling their spoil, their destination the castle. But Ross saw
no sign of Ashe, received no answer to the sonic code he had reset once
the strangers were out of distance. And the Terran began to realize that
his present search might well be fruitless, though he fought against
accepting it.
When he turned back to the slit cave Ross's fear was ready to be
expressed in anger, the anger of frustration over his own helplessness.
With no chance of trying to penetrate the castle, he could not learn
whether or not Ashe had been taken prisoner. And until the workers left
the beach he could not prowl there hunting the grimmer evidence his mind
flinched from considering.
Karara waited for him on the inner ledge. There was no sign of the
dolphins and as Ross pulled out of the water, pushing aside his mask,
her face in the thin light of the cave was deeply troubled.
"You did not find him," she made that a statement rather than a
question.
"No."
"And I did not find it--"
Ross used a length of weed from the nest as a towel. But now he stood
very still.
"The gate ... no sign of it?"
"Just this--" She reached behind her and brought up a sealed container.
Ross recognized one of the supply cans they had had in the cache by the
gate. "There are others ... scattered. Taua and Tino-rau seek them now.
It is as if all that was on the other side was sucked through with us."
"You are sure you found the right place?"
"Is--is this not part of it?" Again the girl sought for something on the
ledge. What she held out to him was a length of metal rod, twisted and
broken at one end as if a giant hand had wrenched it loose from the
installation.
Ross nodded dully. "Yes," his voice was harsh as if the words were
pulled out of him against his will and against all hope--"that's part of
a side bar. It--it must have been totally wrecked."
Yet, even though he held that broken length in his hands, Ross could not
really believe the gate was gone. He swam out once more, heading for the
reef where the dolphins joined him as guides. There was a second piece
of broken tube, the scattered containers of supplies, that was all. The
Terrans were wrecked in time as surely as those ships had been wrecked
on the sea reef the night before!
Ross headed once again for the cave. Their immediate needs were of major
importance now. The containers must be all gathered and taken into their
hiding place, because upon their contents three human lives could
depend.
He paused just at the entrance to adjust the net of containers he
transported. And it was that slight chance which brought him knowledge
of the intruder.
On the ledge Karara was heaping up the kelp of the nest. But to one side
and on a level with the girl's head....
Ross dared not flash his torch, thus betraying his presence. Leaving the
net hitched to the rock by its sling, he swam under water along the side
of the cave by a route which should bring him out within striking
distance of that hunched figure perching above to watch Karara's every
move.
6
Loketh the Useless
The wash of waves covered Ross's advance until he came up against the
wall not too far from the spy's perch. Whoever crouched there still
leaned forward to watch Karara. And Ross's eyes, having adjusted to the
gloom of the cavern, made out the outline of head and shoulders. The
next two or three minutes were the critical ones for the Terran. He must
emerge on the ledge in the open before he could attack.
Karara might almost have read his mind and given conscious help. For now
she went out on the point of the ledge to whistle the dolphins' summons.
Tino-rau's sleek head bobbed above water as he answered the girl with a
bubbling squeak. Karara knelt and the dolphin came to butt against her
out-held hand.
Ross heard a gasp from the watcher, a faint sound of movement. Karara
began to sing softly, her voice rippling in one of the liquid chants of
her own people, the dolphin interjecting a note or two. Ross had heard
them at that before, and it made perfect cover for his move. He sprang.
His grasp tightened on flesh, fingers closed about thin wrists. There
was a yell of astonishment and fear from the stranger as the Terran
jerked him from his perch to the ledge. Ross had his opponent flattened
under him before he realized that the other had offered no struggle, but
lay still.
"What is it?" Karara's torch beam caught them both. Ross looked down
into a thin brown face not too different from his own. The wide-set eyes
were closed, and the mouth gaped open. Though he believed the Hawaikan
unconscious, Ross still kept hold on those wrists as he moved from the
sprawled body. With the girl's aid he used a length of kelp to secure
the captive.
The stranger wore a garment of glistening skintight material which
covered body, legs, and feet, but left his lanky arms bare. A belt about
his waist had loops for a number of objects, among them a hook-pointed
knife which Ross prudently removed.
"Why, he is only a boy," Karara said. "Where did he come from, Ross?"
The Terran pointed to the wall crevice. "He was up there, watching you."
Her eyes were wide and round. "Why?"
Ross dragged his prisoner back against the wall of the cave. After
witnessing the fate of those who had swum ashore from the wreck, he did
not like to think what motive might have brought the Hawaikan here.
Again Karara's thoughts must have matched his, for she added:
"But he did not even draw his knife. What are you going to do with him,
Ross?"
That problem already occupied the Terran. The wisest move undoubtedly
was to kill the native out of hand. But such ruthlessness was more than
he could stomach. And if he could learn anything from the stranger--gain
some knowledge of this new world and its ways--he would be twice winner.
Why, this encounter might even lead to Ashe!
"Ross ... his leg. See?" The girl pointed.
The tight fit of the alien's clothing made the defect clear; the right
leg of the stranger was shrunken and twisted. He was a cripple.
"What of it?" Ross demanded sharply. This was no time for an appeal to
the sympathies.
But Karara did not urge any modification of the bonds as he half feared
she would. Instead, she sat back cross-legged, an odd, withdrawn
expression making her seem remote though he could have put out his hand
to touch her.
"His lameness--it could be a bridge," she observed, to Ross's
mystification.
"A bridge--what do you mean?"
The girl shook her head. "This is only a feeling, not a true thought.
But also it is important. Look, I think he is waking."
The lids above those large eyes were fluttering. Then with a shake of
the head, the Hawaikan blinked up at them. Blank bewilderment was all
Ross could read in the stranger's expression until the alien saw Karara.
Then a flood of clicking speech poured from his lips.
He seemed utterly astounded when they made no answer. And the fluency of
his first outburst took on a pleading note, while the expectancy of his
first greeting faded away.
Karara spoke to Ross. "He is becoming afraid, very much afraid. At
first, I think, he was pleased ... happy."
"But why?"
The girl shook her head. "I do not know; I can only feel. Wait!" Her
hand rose in imperious command. She did not rise to her feet, but
crawled on hands and knees to the edge of the ledge. Both dolphins were
there, raising their heads well out of the water, their actions
expressing unusual excitement.
"Ross!" Karara's voice rang loudly. "Ross, they can understand him!
Tino-rau and Taua can understand him!"
"You mean, they understand this language?" Ross found that fantastic,
awesome as the abilities of the dolphins were.
"No, his mind. It's his mind, Ross. Somehow he thinks in patterns they
can pick up and read! They do that, you know, with a few of us, but not
in the same way. This is more direct, clearer! They're so excited!"
Ross glanced at the prisoner. The alien had wriggled about, striving to
raise his head against the wall as a support. His captor pulled the
Hawaikan into a sitting position, but the native accepted that aid
almost as if he were not even aware of Ross's hands on his body. He
stared with a kind of horrified disbelief at the bobbing dolphin heads.
"He is afraid," Karara reported. "He has never known such communication
before."
"Can they ask him questions?" demanded Ross. If this odd mental tie
between Terran dolphin and Hawaikan did exist, then there was a chance
to learn about this world.
"They can try. Now he only knows fear, and they must break through
that."
What followed was the most unusual four-sided conversation Ross could
have ever imagined. He put a question to Karara, who relayed it to the
dolphins. In turn, they asked it mentally of the Hawaikan and conveyed
his answer back via the same route.
It took some time to allay the fears of the stranger. But at last the
Hawaikan entered wholeheartedly into the exchange.
"He is the son of the lord ruling the castle above." Karara produced the
first rational and complete answer. "But for some reason he is not
accepted by his own kind. Perhaps," she added on her own, "it is because
he is crippled. The sea is his home, as he expresses it, and he believes
me to be some mythical being out of it. He saw me swimming, masked, and
with the dolphins, and he is sure I change shape at will."
She hesitated. "Ross, I get something odd here. He does know, or thinks
he knows, creatures who can appear and disappear at will. And he is
afraid of their powers."
"Gods and goddesses--perfectly natural."
Karara shook her head. "No, this is more concrete than a religious
belief."
Ross had a sudden inspiration. Hurriedly he described the cloaked figure
who had driven the castle people from the piles of salvage. "Ask him
about that one."
She relayed the question. Ross saw the prisoner's head jerk around. The
Hawaikan looked from Karara to her companion, a shade of speculation in
his expression.
"He wants to know why you ask about the Foanna? Surely you must well
know what manner of beings they are."
"Listen--" Ross was sure now that he had made a real discovery, though
its importance he could not guess, "tell him we come from where there
are no Foanna. That we have powers and must know of their powers."
If he could only carry on this interrogation straight and not have to
depend upon a double translation! And could he even be sure his
questions reached the alien undistorted?
Wearily Ross sat back on his heels. Then he glanced at Karara with a
twinge of concern. If he was tired by their roundabout communication,
she must be doubly so. There was a droop to her shoulders, and her last
reply had come in a voice hoarse with fatigue. Abruptly he started up.
"That's enough--for now."
Which was true. He had to have time for evaluation, to adjust to what
they had learned during the steady stream of questions passed back and
forth. And in that moment he was conscious of his hunger, just as his
voice was paper dry from lack of drink. The canister of supplies he had
left by the cave entrance ...
"We need food and drink." He fumbled with his mask, but Karara motioned
him back from the water.
"Taua brings ... Wait!"
The dolphin trailed the net of containers to them. Ross unscrewed one,
pulled out a bulb of fresh water. A second box yielded the dry wafers of
emergency rations.
Then, after a moment's hesitation, Ross crossed to the prisoner, cut his
wrist bonds, and pressed both a bulb and a wafer into his hold. The
Hawaikan watched the Terrans eat before he bit into the wafer, chewing
it with vigor, turning the bulb around in his fingers with alert
interest before he sucked at its contents.
As Ross chewed and swallowed, mechanically and certainly with no relish,
he fitted one fact to another to make a picture of this Hawaikan time
period in which they were now marooned. Of course, his picture was based
on facts they had learned from their captive. Perhaps he had purposely
misled them or fogged some essentials. But could he have done that in a
mental contact? Ross would simply have to accept everything with a
certain amount of cautious skepticism.
Anyway, there were the Wreckers of the castle--petty lordlings setting
up their holds along the coasts, preying upon the shipping which was the
lifeblood of this island-water world. The Terrans had seen them in
action last night and today. And if the captive's information was
correct, it was not only the storm's fury which brought the waves'
harvest. The Wreckers had some method of attracting ships to crack up on
their reefs.
Some method of attraction.... And that force which had pulled the
Terrans through the time gate; could there be a connection? However,
there remained the Wreckers on the cliff. And their prey, the seafarers
of the ocean, with an understandably deep enmity between them.