Ross shuddered4. Every breath he drew stung in his lungs; his bare shoulders and arms and the exposed section of thigh5 between kilt and boot were numb6. He could only move on stiffly, pushed ahead by his guards when he faltered7. He guessed that were he to lose his footing here and surrender to the cold, he would forfeit8 the battle entirely and with it his life.
He had no way of measuring the length of the boring through the solid ice, but they were at last fronted by another opening, a ragged9 one which might have been hacked10 with an ax. They emerged from it into the wildest scene Ross had ever seen. Of course, he was familiar with ice and snow, but here was a world surrendered completely to the brutal11 force of winter in a strange, abnormal way. It was a still, dead white-gray world in which nothing moved save the wind which curled the drifts.
His guards covered their eyes with the murky12 lenses they had worn pushed up on their foreheads within the shelter, for above them sunlight dazzled on the ice crest14. Ross, his eyes smarting, kept his gaze centered on his feet. He was given no time to look about. A rope was produced, a loop of it flipped15 in a noose16 about his throat, and he was towed along like a leashed dog. Before them was a path worn in the snow, not only by the passing of booted feet, but with more deeply scored marks as if heavy objects had been sledded there. Ross slipped and stumbled in the ruts, fearing to fall lest he be dragged. The numbness17 of his body reached into his head. He was dizzy, the world about him misting over now and again with a haze18 which arose from the long stretches of unbroken snow fields.
Tripping in a rut, he went down upon one knee, his flesh too numbed19 now to feel the additional cold of the snow, snow so hard that its crust delivered a knife's cut. Unemotionally, he watched a thin line of red trickle20 in a sluggish21 drop or two down the blue skin of his leg. The rope jerked him forward, and Ross scrambled22 awkwardly until one of his captors hooked a fur mitten23 in his belt and heaved him to his feet once more.
The purpose of that trek24 through the snow was obscure to Ross. In fact, he no longer cared, save that a hard rebel core deep inside him would not let him give up as long as his legs could move and he had a scrap25 of conscious will left in him. It was more difficult to walk now. He skidded26 and went down twice more. Then, the last time he slipped, he sledded past the man who led him, sliding down the slope of a glass-slick slope. He lay at the foot, unable to get up. Through the haze and deadening blanket of the cold he knew that he was being pulled about, shaken, generally mishandled; but this time he could not respond. Someone snapped open the rings about his wrists.
There was a call, echoing eerily27 across the ice. The fumbling28 about his body changed to a tugging29 and once more he was sent rolling down the slope. But the rope was now gone from his throat, and his arms were free. This time when he brought up hard against an obstruction30 he was not followed.
Ross's conscious mind—that portion of him that was Rossa, the trader—was content to lie there, to yield to the lethargy born of the frigid31 world about him. But the subconscious32 Ross Murdock of the Project prodded33 at him. He had always had a certain cold hatred34 which could crystalize and become a spur. Once it had been hatred of circumstances and authority; now it became hatred for those who had led him into this wilderness35 with the purpose, as he knew now, of leaving him to freeze and die.
Ross pulled his hands under him. Though there was no feeling in them, they obeyed his will clumsily. He levered himself up and looked around. He lay in a narrow crevicelike cut, partly walled in by earth so frozen as to resemble steel. Crusted over it in long streaks37 from above were tongues of ice. To remain here was to serve his captors' purpose.
Ross inched his way to his feet. This opening, which was intended as his grave, was not so deep as the men had thought it in their hurry to be rid of him. He believed that he could climb out if he could make his body answer to his determination.
Somehow Ross made that supreme38 effort and came again to the rutted path from which they had tumbled him. Even if he could, there was no sense in going along that rutted trail, for it led back to the ice-encased building from which he had been brought. They had thrust him out to die; they would not take him in.
But a road so well marked must have some goal, and in hopes that he might find shelter at the other end, Ross turned to the left. The trace continued down the slope. Now the towering walls of ice and snow were broken by rocky teeth as if they had bitten deep upon this land, only to be gnawed39 in return. Rounding one of those rock fangs40, Ross looked at a stretch of level ground. Snow lay here, but the beaten-down trail led straight through it to the rounded side of a huge globe half buried in the ground, a globe of dark material which could only be man-made.
Ross was past caution. He must get to warmth and shelter or he was done for, and he knew it. Wavering and weaving, he went on, his attention fixed41 on the door ahead—a closed oval door. With a sob42 of exhausted43 effort, Ross threw himself against it. The barrier gave, letting him fall forward into a queer glimmering44 radiance of bluish light.
The light rousing him because it promised more, he crawled on past another door which was flattened45 back against the inner wall. It was like making one's way down a tube. Ross paused, pressing his lifeless hands against his bare chest under the edge of his tunic46, suddenly realizing that there was warmth here. His breath did not puff47 out in frosty streamers before him, nor did the air sear his lungs when he ventured to draw in more than shallow gulps48.
With that realization49 a measure of animal caution returned to him. To remain where he was, just inside the entrance, was to court disaster. He must find a hiding place before he collapsed50, for he sensed he was very near the end of his ability to struggle. Hope had given him a flash of false strength, the impetus51 to move, and he must make the most of that gift.
His path ended at a wide ladder, coiling in slow curves into gloom below and shadows above. He sensed that he was in a building of some size. He was afraid to go down, for even looking in that direction almost finished his sense of balance, so he climbed up.
Step by step, Ross made that painful journey, passing levels from which three or four hallways ran out like the radii52 of a spider's web. He was close to the end of his endurance when he heard a sound, echoed, magnified, from below. It was someone moving. He dragged his body into the fourth level where the light was very faint, hoping to crawl far enough into one of the passages to remain unseen from the stair. But he had gone only part-way down his chosen road when he collapsed, panting, and fell back against the wall. His hands pawed vainly against that sleek53 surface. He was falling through it!
Ross had a second, perhaps two, of stupefied wonder. Lying on a soft surface, he was enfolded by a warmth which eased his bruised54 and frozen body. There was a sharp prick55 in his thigh, another in his arm, and the world was a hazy56 dream until he finally slept in the depths of exhaustion57.
There were dreams, detailed58 ones, and Ross stirred uneasily as his sleep thinned to waking. He lay with his eyes closed, fitting together odd bits of—dreams? No, he was certain that they were memories. Rossa of the Beaker traders and Ross Murdock of the project were again fused into one and the same person. How it had happened he did not know, but it was true.
Opening his eyes, he noticed a curved ceiling of soft blue which misted at the edges into gray. The restful color acted on his troubled, waking mind like a soothing59 word. For the first time since he had been struck down in the night his headache was gone. He raised his hand to explore that old hurt near his hairline that had been so tender only yesterday that it could not bear pressure. There remained only a thin, rough line like a long-healed scar, that was all.
Ross lifted his head to look about him. His body lay supported in a cradlelike arrangement of metal, almost entirely immersed in a red gelatinous substance with a clean, aromatic60 odor. Just as he was no longer cold, neither was he hungry. He felt as fit as he ever had in his life. Sitting up in the cradle, he stroked the jelly away from his shoulders and chest. It fell from him cleanly, leaving no trace of grease or dampness on his skin.
There were other fixtures61 in the small cylinderlike chamber63 besides that odd bed in which he had lain. Two bucket-shaped seats were placed at the narrow fore13 part of the room and before those seats was a system of controls he could not comprehend.
As Ross swung his feet to the floor there was a click from the side which brought him around, ready for trouble. But the noise had been caused by the opening of a door into a small cupboard. Inside the cupboard lay a fat package. Obviously this was an invitation to investigate the offering.
The package contained a much folded article of fabric64, compressed and sealed in a transparent65 bag which he fumbled66 twice before he succeeded in releasing its fastening. Ross shook out a garment of material such as he had never seen before. Its sheen and satin-smooth surface suggested metal, but its stuff was as supple67 as fine silk. Color rippled68 across it with every twist and turn he gave to the length—dark blue fading to pale violet, accented with wavering streaks of vivid and startling green.
Ross experimented with a row of small, brilliant-green studs which made a transverse line from the right shoulder to the left hip69, and they came apart. As he climbed into the suit the stuff modeled to his body in a tight but perfect fit. Across the shoulders were bands of green to match the studs, and the stockinglike tights were soled with a thick substance which formed a cushion for his feet.
He pressed the studs together, felt them lock, and then stood smoothing that strange, beautiful fabric, unable to account for either it or his surroundings. His head was clear; he could remember every detail of his flight up to the time he had fallen through the wall. And he was certain 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 leave him to freeze in the open country one moment and then treat him this way later?
He could not connect the ice-encased building from which the Reds had taken him with this one. At the sound of another soft noise Ross glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the cradle of jelly, from which he had emerged, close in upon itself until its bulk was a third of its former size. Compact as a box, it folded up against the wall.
Ross, his cushioned feet making no sound, advanced to the bucket-chairs. But lowering his body into one of them for a better look at what vaguely70 resembled the control of a helicopter—like the one in which he had taken the first stage of his fantastic journey across space and time—he did not find it comfortable. He realized that it had not been constructed to accommodate a body shaped precisely71 like his own.
A body like his own.... That jelly bath or bed or whatever it was.... The clothing which adapted so skillfully to his measurements....
Ross leaned forward to study the devices on the control board, confirming his suspicions. He had made the final jump of them all! He was now in some building of that alien race upon whose existence Millaird and Kelgarries had staked the entire project. This was the source, or one of the sources, from which the Reds were getting the knowledge which fitted no modern pattern.
A world encased in ice and a building with strange machinery72. This thing—a cylinder62 with a pilot's seat and a set of controls. Was it an alien place? But the jelly bath—and the rest of it.... Had his presence activated73 that cupboard to supply him with clothing? And what had become of the tunic he was wearing when he entered?
Ross got up to search the chamber. The bed-bath was folded against the wall, but there was no sign of his Beaker clothing, his belt, the hide boots. He could not understand his own state of well being, the lack of hunger and thirst.
There were two possible explanations for it all. One was that the aliens still lived here and for some reason had come to his aid. The other was that he stood in a place where robot machinery worked, though those who had set it up were no longer there. It was difficult to separate his memory of the half-buried globe he had seen from his sickness of that moment. Yet he knew that he had climbed and crawled through emptiness, neither seeing nor hearing any other life. Now Ross restlessly paced up and down, seeking the door through which he must have come, but there was not even a line to betray such an opening.
"I want out," he said aloud, standing74 in the center of the cramped75 room, his fists planted on his hips76, his eyes still searching for the vanished door. He had tapped, he had pushed, he had tried every possible way to find it. If he could only remember how he had come in! But all he could recall was leaning against a wall which moved inward and allowed him to fall. But where had he fallen? Into that jelly bath?
Ross, stung by a sudden idea, glanced at the ceiling. It was low enough so that by standing on tiptoes he could drum his fingers on its surface. Now he moved to the place directly above where the cradle had swung before it had folded itself away.
Rapping and poking77, his efforts were rewarded at last. The blue curve gave under his assault. He pushed now, rising on his toes, though in that position he could exert little pressure. Then as if some faulty catch had been released, the ceiling swung up so that he lost his footing and would have fallen had he not caught the back of one of the bucket-seats.
He jumped and by hooking his hands over the edge of the opening, was able to work his way up and out, to face a small line of light. His fingers worked at that, and he opened a second door, entering a familiar corridor.
Holding the door open, Ross looked back, his eyes widening at what he saw. For it was plain now that he had just climbed out of a machine with the unmistakable outline of a snub-nosed rocket. The small flyer—or a jet, or whatever it was—had been fitted into a pocket in the side of the big structure as a ship into a berth78, and it must have been set there to shoot from that enclosing chamber as a bullet is shot from a rifle barrel. But why?
Ross's imagination jumped from fact to theory. The torpedo79 craft could be an atomic jet. All right, he had been in bad shape when he fell into it by chance and the bed machine had caught him as if it had been created for just such a duty. What kind of a small plane would be equipped with a restorative apparatus80? Only one intended to handle emergencies, to transport badly injured living things who had to leave the building in a hurry.
In other words, a lifeboat!
But why would a building need a lifeboat? That would be rather standard equipment for a ship. Ross stepped into the corridor and stared about him with open and incredulous wonder. Could this be some form of ship, grounded here, deserted81 and derelict, and now being plundered82 by the Reds? The facts fitted! They fitted so well with all he had been able to discover that Ross was sure it was true. But he determined83 to prove it beyond all doubt.
He closed the door leading to the lifeboat berth, but not so securely that he could not open it again. That was too good a hiding place. On his cushioned feet he padded back to the stairway, and he stood there listening. Far below were sounds, a rasp of metal against metal, a low murmur84 of muted voices. But from above there was nothing, so he would explore above before he ventured into that other danger zone.
Ross climbed, passing two more levels, to come out into a vast room with a curving roof which must fill the whole crown of the globe. Here was such a wealth of machines, controls, things he could not understand that he stood bewildered, content for the moment merely to look. There were—he counted slowly—five control boards like those he had seen in the small escape ship. Each of these was faced by two or three of the bucket-seats, only these swung in webbing. He put his hand on one, and it bobbed elastically85.
The control boards were so complicated that the one in the lifeboat might have been a child's toy in comparison. The air in the ship had been good; in the lifeboat it had held the pleasant odor of the jelly; but here Ross sniffed86 a faint but persistent87 hint of corruption88, of an old malodor.
He left the vantage point by the stairs and paced between the control boards and their empty swinging seats. This was the main control room, of that he was certain. From this point all the vast bulk beneath him had been set in motion, sailed here and there. Had it been on the sea, or through the air? The globe shape suggested an air-borne craft. But a civilization so advanced as this would surely have left some remains89. Ross was willing to believe that he could be much farther back in time than 2000 b.c., but he was still sure that traces of those who could build a thing like this would have existed in the twentieth century a.d.
Maybe that was how the Reds had found this. Something they had turned up within their country—say, in Siberia, or some of the forgotten corners of Asia—had been a clue.
Having had little schooling90 other than the intensive cramming91 at the base and his own informal education, the idea of the race who had created this ship overawed Ross more than he would admit. If the project could find this, turn loose on it the guys who knew about such things.... But that was just what they were striving for, and he was the only project man to have found the prize. Somehow, someway, he had to get back—out of this half-buried ship and its icebound world—back to where he could find his own people. Perhaps the job was impossible, but he had to try. His survival was considered impossible by the men who had thrown him into the crevice36, but here he was. Thanks to the men who had built this ship, he was alive and well.
Ross sat down in one of the uncomfortable seats to think and thus avoided immediate92 disaster, for he was hidden from the stairs on which sounded the tap of boots. A climber, maybe two, were on their way up, and there was no other exit from the control cabin.
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1
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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4
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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7
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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8
forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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hacked
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| 生气 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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15
flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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mitten
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| n.连指手套，露指手套 | |
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trek
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| vi.作长途艰辛的旅行；n.长途艰苦的旅行 | |
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25
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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26
skidded
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| v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的过去式和过去分词 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
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eerily
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| adv.引起神秘感或害怕地 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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36
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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38
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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39
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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40
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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41
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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42
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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43
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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44
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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45
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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46
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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47
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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48
gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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49
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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50
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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51
impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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52
radii
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| n.半径；半径（距离）( radius的名词复数 )；用半径度量的圆形面积；半径范围；桡骨 | |
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53
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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fixtures
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| （房屋等的）固定装置( fixture的名词复数 )； 如（浴盆、抽水马桶）； 固定在某位置的人或物； （定期定点举行的）体育活动 | |
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cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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activated
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| adj. 激活的 动词activate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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torpedo
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| n.水雷，地雷；v.用鱼雷破坏 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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elastically
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| adv.有弹性地，伸缩自如地 | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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