It took Ross a while to learn that the dirty-white of this which were almost opaque, with dark objects through them here and there, were of solid ice. A black wire was overhead and at regular with lights which did nothing to the of cold about them.
Ross shuddered. Every he in his lungs; his and arms and the of and were numb. He only move on stiffly, pushed ahead by his when he faltered. He that were he to his here and to the cold, he would the and with it his life.
He had no way of the length of the through the solid ice, but they were at last by another opening, a one which might have been with an ax. They from it into the Ross had seen. Of course, he was familiar with ice and snow, but here was a world to the of winter in a strange, way. It was a still, white-gray world in which nothing moved save the wind which the drifts.
His their with the they had pushed up on their the shelter, for above them on the ice crest. Ross, his smarting, his on his feet. He was no time to look about. A rope was produced, a of it in a about his throat, and he was along like a dog. Before them was a path in the snow, not only by the of feet, but with more scored marks as if objects had been there. Ross and in the ruts, to he be dragged. The of his into his head. He was dizzy, the world about him over now and again with a which from the long of fields.
Tripping in a rut, he upon one knee, his too now to the additional cold of the snow, so hard that its delivered a knife's cut. Unemotionally, he a thin line of red in a or two the skin of his leg. The rope him forward, and Ross until one of his a in his and him to his once more.
The purpose of that through the was to Ross. In fact, he no longer cared, save that a hard him would not let him give up as long as his move and he had a of will left in him. It was more difficult to walk now. He and twice more. Then, the last time he slipped, he past the man who him, the of a glass-slick slope. He at the foot, unable to up. Through the and of the cold he that he was being about, shaken, mishandled; but this time he not respond. Someone open the about his wrists.
There was a call, across the ice. The about his to a and once more he was sent the slope. But the rope was now gone from his throat, and his arms were free. This time when he up hard against an he was not followed.
Ross's mind—that of him that was Rossa, the trader—was to there, to to the of the world about him. But the Ross Murdock of the Project at him. He had always had a cold which and a spur. Once it had been of and authority; now it for those who had him into this with the purpose, as he now, of him to freeze and die.
Ross his hands under him. Though there was no in them, they his will clumsily. He himself up and looked around. He in a narrow cut, in by earth so as to steel. Crusted over it in long from above were of ice. To here was to his captors' purpose.
Ross his way to his feet. This opening, which was as his grave, was not so as the men had it in their to be of him. He that he climb out if he make his answer to his determination.
Somehow Ross that and came again to the path from which they had him. Even if he could, there was no in going along that trail, for it to the ice-encased from which he had been brought. They had him out to die; they would not take him in.
But a road so well marked must have some goal, and in that he might at the other end, Ross to the left. The the slope. Now the of ice and were by teeth as if they had upon this land, only to be in return. Rounding one of those fangs, Ross looked at a of level ground. Snow here, but the beaten-down through it to the of a in the ground, a of dark material which only be man-made.
Ross was past caution. He must to and or he was done for, and he it. Wavering and weaving, he on, his attention on the door ahead—a closed door. With a of effort, Ross himself against it. The gave, him into a of light.
The light him it promised more, he on past another door which was against the wall. It was like making one's way a tube. Ross paused, pressing his hands against his under the of his tunic, that there was here. His did not out in him, did the air his when he to in more than gulps.
With that a measure of animal returned to him. To where he was, just the entrance, was to disaster. He must a place he collapsed, for he he was very near the end of his ability to struggle. Hope had him a of false strength, the to move, and he must make the most of that gift.
His path ended at a wide ladder, in slow into and above. He that he was in a of some size. He was to go down, for looking in that direction almost his of balance, so he up.
Step by step, Ross that painful journey, from which three or four ran out like the of a spider's web. He was close to the end of his when he a sound, echoed, magnified, from below. It was someone moving. He his into the fourth level where the light was very faint, to into one of the passages to from the stair. But he had gone only part-way his road when he collapsed, panting, and against the wall. His hands against that surface. He was through it!
Ross had a second, two, of wonder. Lying on a soft surface, he was by a which his and body. There was a in his thigh, another in his arm, and the world was a until he slept in the of exhaustion.
There were dreams, ones, and Ross as his sleep to waking. He with his closed, together odd of—dreams? No, he was that they were memories. Rossa of the Beaker and Ross Murdock of the project were again into one and the same person. How it had he did not know, but it was true.
Opening his eyes, he noticed a of soft which at the into gray. The color on his troubled, mind like a word. For the time since he had been in the night his was gone. He his hand to that old near his that had been so only yesterday that it not pressure. There only a thin, line like a long-healed scar, that was all.
Ross his to look about him. His supported in a of metal, almost in a red with a clean, odor. Just as he was no longer cold, neither was he hungry. He as fit as he had in his life. Sitting up in the cradle, he the jelly away from his and chest. It from him cleanly, no of or on his skin.
There were other in the small that odd in which he had lain. Two bucket-shaped seats were at the narrow part of the room and those seats was a of he not comprehend.
As Ross his to the there was a from the which him around, for trouble. But the noise had been by the opening of a door into a small cupboard. Inside the a package. Obviously this was an to the offering.
The a much article of fabric, and sealed in a which he twice he succeeded in its fastening. Ross out a of material such as he had before. Its and satin-smooth surface metal, but its was as as silk. Color across it with every and turn he gave to the length—dark to violet, with of and green.
Ross with a of small, brilliant-green which a line from the right to the left hip, and they came apart. As he into the the modeled to his in a tight but perfect fit. Across the were of green to match the studs, and the were with a thick which a for his feet.
He pressed the together, them lock, and then that strange, fabric, unable to account for either it or his surroundings. His was clear; he every detail of his up to the time he had through the wall. And he was that he had passed through not only one, but two, of the Red time posts. Could this be the third? If so, was he still a captive? Why would they him to freeze in the open country one moment and then him this way later?
He not the ice-encased from which the Reds had taken him with this one. At the of another soft noise Ross over his just in time to see the of jelly, from which he had emerged, close in upon itself until its was a third of its size. Compact as a box, it up against the wall.
Ross, his making no sound, to the bucket-chairs. But his into one of them for a look at what the of a helicopter—like the one in which he had taken the stage of his across space and time—he did not it comfortable. He that it had not been to a like his own.
A like his own.... That jelly or or it was.... The which so to his measurements....
Ross to study the on the board, his suspicions. He had the final jump of them all! He was now in some of that upon Millaird and Kelgarries had the entire project. This was the source, or one of the sources, from which the Reds were the knowledge which no modern pattern.
A world in ice and a with machinery. This thing—a with a pilot's seat and a set of controls. Was it an place? But the jelly bath—and the of it.... Had his presence that to supply him with clothing? And what had of the he was when he entered?
Ross got up to search the chamber. The bed-bath was against the wall, but there was no of his Beaker clothing, his belt, the boots. He not his own of well being, the of and thirst.
There were two possible for it all. One was that the still here and for some had come to his aid. The other was that he in a place where worked, though those who had set it up were no longer there. It was difficult to his memory of the half-buried he had from his of that moment. Yet he that he had and through emptiness, neither any other life. Now Ross up and down, the door through which he must have come, but there was not a line to such an opening.
"I want out," he said aloud, in the center of the room, his planted on his hips, his still for the door. He had tapped, he had pushed, he had every possible way to it. If he only how he had come in! But all he was against a which moved and allowed him to fall. But where had he fallen? Into that jelly bath?
Ross, by a idea, at the ceiling. It was low so that by on he his on its surface. Now he moved to the place directly above where the had it had itself away.
Rapping and poking, his were at last. The gave under his assault. He pushed now, on his toes, though in that position he little pressure. Then as if some catch had been released, the up so that he his and would have had he not the of one of the bucket-seats.
He jumped and by his hands over the of the opening, was able to work his way up and out, to a small line of light. His at that, and he opened a second door, entering a familiar corridor.
Holding the door open, Ross looked back, his at what he saw. For it was plain now that he had just out of a machine with the of a snub-nosed rocket. The small flyer—or a jet, or it was—had been into a pocket in the of the big as a ship into a berth, and it must have been set there to shoot from that as a is from a barrel. But why?
Ross's jumped from to theory. The be an jet. All right, he had been in shape when he into it by and the machine had him as if it had been for just such a duty. What of a small plane would be with a apparatus? Only one to emergencies, to transport who had to the in a hurry.
In other words, a lifeboat!
But why would a need a lifeboat? That would be for a ship. Ross into the and about him with open and wonder. Could this be some of ship, here, and derelict, and now being by the Reds? The fitted! They so well with all he had been able to that Ross was sure it was true. But he to prove it all doubt.
He closed the door leading to the berth, but not so that he not open it again. That was too good a place. On his he to the stairway, and he there listening. Far were sounds, a of metal against metal, a low of voices. But from above there was nothing, so he would above he into that other zone.
Ross climbed, two more levels, to come out into a room with a which must the whole of the globe. Here was such a of machines, controls, he not that he bewildered, for the moment to look. There were—he slowly—five like those he had in the small ship. Each of these was by two or three of the bucket-seats, only these in webbing. He put his hand on one, and it elastically.
The were so that the one in the might have been a child's toy in comparison. The air in the ship had been good; in the it had the odor of the jelly; but here Ross a but hint of corruption, of an old malodor.
He left the point by the stairs and the and their empty seats. This was the main room, of that he was certain. From this point all the him had been set in motion, here and there. Had it been on the sea, or through the air? The shape an air-borne craft. But a so as this would surely have left some remains. Ross was to that he be much in time than 2000 b.c., but he was still sure that of those who a thing like this would have in the century a.d.
Maybe that was how the Reds had this. Something they had up their country—say, in Siberia, or some of the of Asia—had been a clue.
Having had little other than the at the and his own education, the idea of the who had this ship Ross more than he would admit. If the project this, turn on it the who about such things.... But that was just what they were for, and he was the only project man to have the prize. Somehow, someway, he had to back—out of this half-buried ship and its world—back to where he his own people. Perhaps the job was impossible, but he had to try. His was by the men who had him into the crevice, but here he was. Thanks to the men who had this ship, he was alive and well.
Ross sat in one of the seats to think and thus disaster, for he was from the stairs on which the of boots. A climber, maybe two, were on their way up, and there was no other from the cabin.
