Lewis & Glark | Time Traders | Book One | Chapter 9
“And that is about all,” Glark concluded.
Ten days later, Glark, a dressing on his leg and a few of the pain lines smoothed from his face, sat on his bed at the arctic base, in the modern time, nursing a mug of tea in his large hands and smiling at Nel Laird.
Laird, the Major, and Doctor Feralon were now crammed into Glark’s small room. Lewis and Maarn were also present, behind the others and against the wall.
The tone of the conversation was upbeat. What they had hunted for months — years — now lay almost within their grasp.
Only Laird did not seem so confident. A large human female with a long thatch of coarse graying hair and a heavy, fleshy face, she was the director of the arctic base. Lewis had been there long enough to know that it was Laird’s capable hands that gathered together all the loose threads of Operation Retrograde and deftly wove them into a workable pattern and plan.
Now the director leaned back in the chair next to Glark’s bed which was too small for her bulk.
“So we have the first scent of a trail,” she commented without elation.
“A pretty strong lead,” the Major 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 Ones wouldn’t have attacked Kali Outpost if they did not consider it a menace to them. Their base must be in that time sector!”
“A massive base,” Laird corrected. “The one we are after. 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 Laird’s tone, intended to deflate, had no effect on the Major.
“And just how long would it take them to dismantle that large of a base?” the Major countered. “At least a month. If we shoot a team in there immediately — ”
Laird folded her huge hands over her barrel-shaped body and laughed, without a trace of humor. “Just where do we send that team, Major? Northeast of a coastal point on the continent is a rather vague direction, to say the least.” She turned to Glark. “Not that you didn’t do all you could, Glark. And you, Maarn, nothing to add?”
Maarn was still tired, but well on his way to recovering from his cuts and burns. He stepped forward toward Laird, beside the Doctor.
“No, ma’am,” Maarn replied. “They jumped us out of the blue when Harth thought he had every possible line tapped, every safeguard working. I don’t know how they caught on to us, unless they located our transmission to this post. If so, they must have been deliberately hunting us for some time, because we only used the beam as scheduled.”
“The Ones have patience and brains,” Laird replied. “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, Doctor?”
The quiet man, Feralon, adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, a flattish nose which did not support them very well.
“Just another point to add to our conjecture,” the Doctor replied. “I would say that they are located somewhere near the Calban 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 the continent. Their station may be close to the Eestern border. They could disguise it under half a dozen covers. That is strange country.”
Laird’s hands unfolded and she produced a small tablet from her jacket pocket and made a few taps on it. “Won’t hurt to consult some of the present-day intelligence agents. They might just come up with a useful hint. So you’d say the area near the Calban Sea. That is a big slice of country.”
Doctor Feralon nodded. “We have one advantage — the old trade routes. In the Boreal period they are pretty well marked. The main one into that section was established for the peroxite 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 Ones may run into trouble themselves there at this time — ”
“How?” the Major demanded.
“Invasion of the Nzap peoples,” the Doctor replied. “If they have not yet arrived, they are due in that area very soon. They formed one of the big waves of migratory people, who flooded the country, settled there. We don’t know whether they stamped out the native tribes they found there or assimilated them.”
“That might be a nice point to have settled more definitely,” Maarn commented. “It could mean the difference between getting your skull split and continuing to breathe.”
“I don’t think they would tangle with the traders,” the Doctor replied. “Evidence found today suggests that the Boreal folk simply went on about their business in spite of a change in customers.”
“Unless they were pushed into violence.” Glark handed his empty mug to Lewis. “Don’t forget Lurgha’s Wrath. From now on our enemies might take a very dim view of any Boreal trade posts near their property.”
Feralon shook his head slowly. “A large attack on Boreal establishments would constitute a shift in history. The Ones 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 temporal transmissions — ”
“No,” snapped Laird. “We can reduce the number of transmissions, but I won’t send our agents on runs without some means of quick communication. Major, put your laboratory staff to work and see what you can develop in the way of communication devices or methods that the Ones can’t hack.”
“With all due respect, we do not have the time,” Glark observed in his usual quiet voice. “If the Ones are afraid they’ve been spotted, they might be dismantling their outpost right now, working around the clock. We’ll never again have such a good chance to nail them. I would suggest that we move now.”
Laird’s eyes closed in thought. The Major stirred restlessly by the door. The Doctor’s round face had settled into what looked like permanent lines of disapproval. Lewis and Maarn exchanged a solemn glance.
“Your thoughts, Doctor?” Laird asked.
“Glark must be under treatment for at least five days,” Feralon replied. “Maarn’s burns aren’t too bad, and Freeman’s slash is almost healed.”
“Five days,” Laird repeated, and then flashed a glance at the Major. “Who in the run-queue could be reassigned without messing up our other operations?”
“No one,” the Major replied. “I can recall Ansen and Wyke. These Nzap people might be a good cover for them.” The momentary light in Major’s eyes faded. “No. We have no proper briefing. And we won’t have one until the Nzap appear on the map, and we complete our familiarization and integration protocols. I won’t send agents in cold. Their blunders would not only endanger them but might menace the whole operation.”
“So that leaves us with you three,” Laird 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 — ”
“Possible to more closely pinpoint where the One outpost might be?” Maarn boldly asked.
“No,” the Major glanced at Maarn, then back at Laird. “But with your permission, we can send the whale cruising offshore of the suspected area for the next five days. If there is any transmission activity, we should be able to intercept it. It’s a risk that might not pay off — ”
“But it would be something,” Laird seized upon it with the relief of one who needed solutions.
“And they will be waiting for just such a move on our part,” the Doctor continued deliberately.
“All right, so they’ll be watching,” the Major said, about to lose his temper. “But it’s about the only move we can make to support our agents when they do go in.”
The Major whipped around the door and was gone.
“I will work over the maps again,” the Doctor said to Glark. “We haven’t scouted that whole area, and we don’t dare send a scan-drone over it now. Any trip in will be a stab in the dark.”
“When you have only one road, you take it,” Glark replied. “I’ll be glad to see anything you can show me, Doctor.”
If Lewis had believed that his pretrial-run to the distant past had required a lot of training and studying, he was soon to laugh at that estimation. Since the burden of the next jump would rest on only three of them — Glark, Maarn, and himself — they were plunged into a whirlwind of instruction. Dazed and too tired to sleep on the third night, he felt more completely bewildered than indoctrinated.
He said as much to Maarn, as they had a meal and much-needed break in the chow block.
“Base has pulled back three other teams from the past,” Maarn replied. “But they all have to go through training again, and they won’t be ready for runs for maybe three, four weeks. To change runs means unlearning stuff as well as learning it.”
“What about new agents?” Lewis asked.
“Don’t think the Major isn’t out now recruiting for some,” Maarn replied. “Only, we have to be fitted to the physical races — on and off-planet — common on the continent at the time. Anyone not spot on is going to be noticed — maybe remembered too well. We can’t afford to take that chance.”
Lewis finished the last of his sandwich and his juice, spiked with a splash of off-planet soju Maarn had offered from a flask concealed under his belt-pack.
“So the Major has to scour the recruiting systems to find men and women who not only look the part, but are also temperamentally fitted for this job,” Maarn continued. “You can’t plant someone who thinks like a seaman among a wandering tribe of cattle herders. The protection for the individual and the operation lies in them being fitted into the right role and place, at the right time.”
Lewis had never really considered that point before. Now he realized that he and Glark and Maarn were of a common mold. They all physically matched various races of natives and immigrants found on that continent of Telaan Six at that distant time. They were all quick to learn and adapt, with the demanding physical and survival skills needed. And they were all of a similar temperament. Calm and clever, and easy to quickly adapt to any situation that might arise.
It was in the morning five days later, while the three were in the training block studying a map Feralon had produced, that Laird and the Major burst in on them.
“Luck is on our side this time,” Laird exclaimed. “We have it. The Ones slipped.”
“Miracles sometimes do happen,” the Doctor remarked. “I suppose the whale has a more precise location for us?”
The Major pulled out a data-pad and tapped on it. The map on the screen at the front of the room changed to a zoomed-in area of the continent near the coast. He swiped his finger on his data-pad and the map at the front then displayed a thin, red-lined circle around one area of the map.
“Well, it narrows it a bit,” the Major conceded. Everyone in the room looked at each other and offered a reserved grin.
“I would like to hear your definition of ‘narrow’ sometime,” Laird jested while still maintaining some professionalism. “Remember, they have to cover this on foot, and a difference of twenty kilometers can mean a lot.”
“That radius is quite a distance in from the sea,” Maarn offered to the group, his own protest when he saw the marking. “We don’t know that country — ”
The Doctor 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.
“I think we do,” Laird replied looking at Glark. “The three of you will transport through. But instead of wasting valuable time on the whale and on foot, you’ll parachute in.”
“Wait, what now?” Maarn blurted out uncontrollably.
“We’ve spent the last two months transporting through pieces of our own crude aircraft,” Laird continued. “Construction is nearly done, and will be expedited to ensure its ready to fly when you arrive.”
Lewis wasn’t scared of heights. But he sure hoped a crash course in parachutes and jumping from planes was on the agenda. Crash course, he thought. That was funny.
From his face and altered demeanor, Maarn didn’t seem to think any of this was funny. “So, you’re saying that we are going to have to jump — “
“Find the One’s base in the Boreal time sector,” Laird interrupted. “Finding the location of their base in that time will be challenging but doable. Once you’ve done that, you must do whatever is necessary — hack their transmissions, covert interrogation, whatever — to find where and when in time their most distant base is located. Its the primary goal of Operation Retrograde. Until you locate that, stick to the mission. And do not communicate with us until you have it.”
“There is the possibility,” Glark pointed out, “the Ones may have more than one intermediate station in time. 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 — ”
“If that proves true, just get us the location of the next one back in time,” Laird returned. “From there, we can trace them further back, even if we have to send agents back wearing caveman and dinosaur costumes.”
Everyone in the training room laughed, except Maarn who was still dwelling on the thought of jumping out of an airplane.
“How did you get the location of their Boreal base?” Lewis asked hesitantly.
“One of their field squads ran into trouble and called for help,” the Major replied.
“What kind of trouble?” Glark asked.
“Some kind of a local religious dispute,” the Major replied. “We do our best hacking their code, but we’re not a hundred percent perfect in decrypting it. I gather they were interfering with a local god and got their fingers burned.”
“Lurgha again, eh?” Glark smiled.
“Foolish,” the Doctor said impatiently. “That is a reckless thing to do. You were almost over the edge of discretion yourself, Glark, with that Lurgha business. To use the Great Mother as a cover for One actions was a risky thing to try, and you were lucky to get out of it so easily.”
“Once was enough,” Glark agreed. “Though doing that may have saved our lives. But I assure you I am not starting a holy war or setting up as a prophet.”
Within twenty-four hours, he, Glark and Maarn had transported back, and were aboard the bird — the flying equivalent of the whale. The bird was a crude, flying craft painted black to appear to natives on the ground to be a large crow. The only modern technology aboard was advanced sound deflection technology that dampened the sound of the craft’s engines.
Lewis had been taught something of map reading, but mentally he couldn’t make what he had seen onscreen at the base resemble the countryside below. 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.
The three of them wore protective flight suits, and parachute packs, all of which would be hidden or destroyed when they were on the ground.
Maarn cowered the farthest from the open door, terrified out of his mind by the impending jump out of the aircraft.
“You’ll be fine!” Lewis yelled over the sound of gusting wind outside the open door. “We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes!”
“I’m not worried about being on the ground!” Maarn yelled back. “I’m just worried about how many pieces I’m going to be in when I get there!”
Glark had time for none of this nonsense. “We are jumping out of this aircraft in ten seconds, even if I have to throw you out!” he boomed.
The jump was a matter of timing, and in the dark and light rain, the action was anything but pleasant. Leaving the plane in a blind, follow-the-leader fashion, Lewis found the descent into darkness one of the worst trials he had yet faced. But he didn’t make too bad a landing in the small grass-covered plateau they had chosen for their target.
Lewis pulled loose his harness and parachute, then dragged them to the edge of the clearing.
“Lew!” The sound of his Boreal name called through the dark brought Lewis back toward the center of the clearing.
“Here,” Lewis replied. He came upon Glark walking toward him, pulling off their harnesses and chutes.
“Maarn!” Glark said into the darkness. Lewis just then realized that Maarn’s Boreal and modern names were the same. They must have thought his name adequate to use in this time and have it be appropriate and accepted.
Maarn stumbled toward them out of the darkness, ripping off his harness and parachute as quickly as he could.
“You okay?” Lewis asked, putting his hand on Maarn’s shoulder. Lewis could tell he was in once piece, he was walking and breathing. The whole experience likely had just stunned him into silence.
“Get rid of your gear, and let’s go,” Glark said, unwilling to acknowledge Maarn’s personal ordeal.
Their eyes adjusted to a surrounding gloom. which was not as thick as it would be in the forest and they worked fast. Maarn followed Glark and they both ditched their harnesses and chutes at the edge of the clearing. They then moved away to the woodland and made camp for the rest of the night.
So much of their whole mission depended upon luck, and this small part had been successful. Unless some agent had been stationed to watch for their arrival, Lewis believed they could not be spotted.
The rest of their plan was fluid. 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 the continent — roving hunters who followed the sweep of game North or South with the seasons.
Along the shore, the fishermen had established more permanent clusters of buildings and amenities which were slowly becoming towns. There were perhaps a few hardy pioneer farmers on the Southern fringes of the area, but the principal reason traders came to this region was to get amber and furs. The Boreal people dealt in both.
As the three sheltered under the wide branches of a towering pine, Glark fumbled with a pack and brought out the “Boreal” which was the identifying offering of his adopted people. He measured into it a portion of the sour, stimulating drink which the traders introduced wherever they went. The cup passed from hand to hand, its taste unpleasant on the tongue, but comfortingly warm to one’s middle.
They took turns keeping the watch until the gray of false dawn became the clearer light of morning. After a morning meal flat protein cakes made palatable combined with some nearby berries, they set out to find the river and their path Southward.
Glark led, followed by Lewis, and Maarn 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.
“Smoke,” Glark commented when they had completed two thirds of their journey.
Lewis sniffed and was able to smell it too. Nodding to Glark, Maarn oozed into nothingness into the forest with an ease Lewis envied. Lewis followed Glark and they crouched behind the large trunk of a fallen tree.
As they waited in silence for Maarn to return, Lewis 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.
Lewis had been made aware of various creatures that lived in this time and place. But being here now in person was different.
A squip — a small, furry creature that was common on telaan Six at this time, but was extinct in modern time — ran out on a nearby tree limb and surveyed the two with curious beady eyes, then clung head down on the tree trunk to see them better. As fast as it had appeared, it was gone. Although it was quiet, there was a hum underneath the surface which Lewis tried to analyze, to identify the many small sounds which went into its making.
Perhaps because he was trying so hard, Lewis noted the faint noise. His hand touched Glark’s arm and a slight movement of his head indicated the direction of the sound. Then, as fluidly as he had melted into the woods, Maarn returned.
“Company,” he said in a soft voice.
“What kind?” Glark asked.
“Tribesmen,” Maarn replied, “but wilder than any I’ve seen, even on the training streams. We are certainly out on the fringes now. These people look about cave level. I don’t think they’ve ever heard of traders.”
“How many?” Glark asked.
“Three, maybe four families,” Maarn guessed. “Most of them must be out hunting, but there are about ten children and six or seven others. I don’t think they’ve had good luck lately by the look of them.”
“Maybe their luck and ours are going to turn together,” Glark said. “We will circle around them to the river for now.”
“And then what?” Lewis asked.
“We make contact,” Glark replied.
© 2024 Zen Brazen — All rights reserved
Based on Andre Norton’s Time Traders (public domain)
