Tales of the Wold Newton Universe (35 page)

The feeling passed quickly, and did not distract from the task at hand. Gribardsun’s hands danced expertly across the panel, pushing buttons and flipping switches as he watched the readouts and studied the controls’ responses. “Everything seems to be functioning normally,” he finally reported. “Let’s take a look outside..”

With that Gribardsun twisted the dial that activated the ship’s viewscreen and exterior cameras. His crewmates gathered around his chair as the picture shimmered into view.

That view was spectacular—a pristine, virgin woodland which reminded Rachel of the way she’d pictured the Garden of Eden when she was a child. Even the seemingly unflappable Gribardsun appeared visibly moved by the sight, but he and his crewmates barely had time to enjoy it. Rachel was the first to notice the tiny figure dash out of a clearing about halfway up the right side of the screen. “Look there,” she said, pointing. “Is that a man?”

Gribardsun looked where Rachel had pointed, then pressed a button to increase the camera’s magnification. Sure enough, it seemed to be a Magdalenian—followed by three more, all running in more or less the same direction. The primitives ran at an angle away from the general direction of the timeship. One turned and looked behind him, a look of fear etched into his features as he stumbled and almost fell. He managed to right himself, though the effort nearly caused him to careen into one of the other runners.

These men were running for their very lives.

“What are they afraid of?” Drummond asked. “Us?”

Gribardsun shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I don’t believe they are even aware of our presence. Something is chasing them. But what?”

As if in answer, there was a rippling in the air behind the runners, as if some sort of invisible projectile had been fired in their direction. An explosion like the bursting of a small artillery shell rocked the ground at the heels of the runner who had nearly stumbled before, sending him sprawling face-first into the ground as his companions continued to flee. The one who had fallen managed to roll over and sit upright, but that was as far as he got; his eyes grew wide, his face frozen in an expression of utter horror that none besides Gribardsun had ever seen before.

There was another rippling of the air, and this time whatever projectile had been fired struck the poor fellow full in the center of the chest. It hit with such force that the time travelers thought it should have ripped a hole in his midsection; instead the victim’s body began to spasm violently, as if gripped by an epileptic seizure. The seizure lasted roughly three seconds; on the fourth second the seizure ceased, and the man’s body suddenly turned white and slightly crystalline in appearance. As Gribardsun watched he was reminded of the old story about Lot’s wife turning into a pillar of salt...

That thought had scarcely entered Gribardsun’s head when the fallen man’s body suddenly popped out of existence. Not an explosion, but more like the bursting of a soap bubble—with only a small trace of a white, powder-like substance drifting to the ground to mark that the man had ever existed.

“My God!” von Billman exclaimed. Rachel gasped and buried her face in Gribardsun’s shoulder, who had jumped up out of his seat like a jungle cat ready to spring into action. Unconsciously, perhaps, he slipped a protective arm around Rachel; Drummond saw this and grimaced, but said nothing.

The four of them watched as the remaining runners suddenly stopped short, then turned in an effort to go back. They stopped again, their heads moving back and forth in either direction as the three of them seemed to press into one another for protection. Von Billman was just about to ask again what they might be running from when the viewscreen provided the answer: a pair of huge four-legged creatures, one emerging from either side of the clearing. The behemoths looked like some kind of cross between a wolf and a bear; both were saddled like a horse and ridden by humanoids wearing what appeared to be battle armor. The riders were quite a bit larger than the average man—Gribardsun guessed them to be somewhere between eight and nine feet tall, though it was difficult to be certain—and each carried a hand-held firearm, the likes of which none of the crew had ever seen before.

One of the riders dismounted and walked toward the three who had been running, now huddled together on the ground like frightened children. One of them mustered up enough courage to pull away from the others and swipe his arm toward the rider in a gesture of defiance; the gesture was rewarded by his meeting the same grisly fate as the earlier victim, thanks to a short burst from the rider’s gun. The two remaining runners fell forward with their arms outstretched in surrender; the rider stepped forward and yanked them up to their feet, his weapon held ready to fire again as he and the other rider herded them to a place outside the camera’s field of vision.

“Who are they?” von Billman demanded. “What are they doing to those poor people?”

“I don’t know,” Gribardsun responded, gently pushing Rachel toward her husband as he spoke. He moved toward the exit hatch and added, “But I intend to find out.”

“John?” Rachel called after him, barely masking the concern in her voice. “What are you going to do?”

This time Gribardsun did not answer. He paused long enough to unlock the expedition’s weapons box and remove an automatic pistol, as well as a leather belt and scabbard holding the old hunting knife he had insisted upon bringing along. Securing the belt and scabbard around the waist of his single-piece tunic, Gribardsun opened the portal and waited as the timeship’s stairway platform slid down into place. Once the platform was secure, he stepped through the hatch and started down the steps.

The others hesitated for a moment before following him, Drummond stopping long enough to grab a .30-caliber automatic rifle from the weapons locker. They reached the foot of the stairs and stood behind Gribardsun, where they were met by a sight none could have anticipated during the many months of planning and preparation for this voyage.

An entire platoon of riders like those they had seen on the viewscreen—twenty in all—stood in formation approximately two hundred yards from the timeship, lined up in four rows of five and facing Gribardsun and the others. Between the second and third row stood a group of about forty or fifty men, women and children who appeared to be from the same tribe as the two just captured. They were also lined up in rows, and bound together by large chains attached to clasps secured around their necks and the ankles of their right legs. One was a young female child whose neck was similarly chained but rode on the shoulder of a man Gribardsun assumed was her father. The two new additions were shepherded toward the group by their capturers, and barely struggled now as they were chained into place.

“Slavers,” Rachel gasped. Gribardsun nodded grimly.

“But who are they?” von Billman asked again. He turned to Gribardsun and added, “And where do they come from? Look at the size of them—it’s like a race of giants.”

“What about those guns they carry?” Drummond queried. “They seem to turn the very air around them into some kind of missile. Technology like that doesn’t exist in our time; how can it exist in 12,000
B.C
.?”

Gribardsun held up a hand to silence them. “Perhaps some of our questions are about to be answered,” he half whispered.

The others followed his gaze and watched as the front row of slavers nudged their steeds forward toward them. Four of the riders carried large banners, bearing an insignia resembling a starburst. The rider in the middle was obviously the leader; he rode about half a length in front of the others and held himself with an air of superiority. When the quintet reached a point about midway between their fellows and the Gribardsun party, the leader held up a hand and they came to a halt.

The leader reached up with both hands and removed his armored helmet, revealing a face both human and leonine in appearance. The skin had a reddish-brown tint, and the head was topped by a shock of bright white hair like an unkempt Mohawk. He sat there quietly for a moment, his eyes gazing upon each of the time travelers one at a time. His eyes lingered upon Rachel a bit longer than the others, a fact that did not escape her notice—nor that of her husband. She took a half-step backward as both Drummond and Gribardsun assumed protective stances on either side of her, an act which brought a trace of a smile to the leader’s face.

Finally he spoke. “Which among you is in command?”

Rachel and Drummond’s eyes grew wide, and von Billman—the linguist of the group—for a moment appeared as though he was about to faint. “English!” he exclaimed. “He speaks
English!
But how?”

Gribardsun alone appeared unfazed by this discovery. Gently pushing Rachel closer to her husband, he took several steps forward and gazed up at the leader. “I am John Gribardsun,” he said simply.

“I don’t care,” was the leader’s response.

For one of only a very few times in his life, Gribardsun did not know how to react. He had never really considered himself an egotist, but over the years had learned to put his natural sense of self-confidence to good use and had become accustomed—unwittingly, perhaps—to a certain type of reaction when he did. Those rare occasions when he failed to elicit such a reaction tended to stay with him—necessary reminders that, no matter how much he might wish to deny it, he was only human after all.

But now was not the time to dwell upon that. Changing the subject, he said simply, “You speak our tongue.”

“Do I?” the leader retorted. “Or would it be more precise to instead say that you speak ours?” He paused for a moment as if letting that suggestion sink in before continuing. “But that is a mystery to be considered later. For the moment the only thing you are required to know is that you and your companions are now the property of Seris Dourn.”

Although he dared not show it, Gribardsun couldn’t help but be amused by the haughtiness in the other’s tone of voice; it reminded him of so many of his fellow dukes in the days before England had abolished titles. Gribardsun asked, “I assume you are Seris Dourn?”

“Your assumption is flattering but inaccurate. I am Teran Lynd, the emperor’s representative and humble servant.”

“I see. Then allow me to ask the emperor’s representative and humble servant a question..” Gribardsun took another step toward Lynd’s steed. “By what right do you enslave these people, or claim ownership over my companions and myself?”

A great, booming laugh erupted from Lynd. “By what right?” he repeated. “The right of superior power, of course. We can conquer, therefore we conquer. What other right does one need?” He raised one hand and gestured; the two riders Gribardsun’s party first saw on the viewscreen rode up to join him. “Take them,” Lynd commanded. “The men will join the ranks of our slaves. The woman...” His voice trailed off as his gaze moved back in Rachel’s direction, then he added, “The woman I have other plans for.”

The riders nudged their steeds in unison, but the great beasts had barely taken a step when Drummond brought up his rifle and fired. The shot bounced harmlessly off Lynd’s armor; the entire front line of his command responded by raising their own weapons and firing in Drummond’s direction.

“No!” The scream came from von Billman. He grabbed Rachel by the arm and managed to pull her down to the ground out of the line of fire. As he rolled atop Rachel to protect her, von Billman caught a quick glimpse of the expression on her husband’s face as one of the blasts hit him full in the chest. He couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone look so surprised...

Drummond Silverstein died not knowing that there would be no voyage home for his companions. One of the marauders’ shots had struck the time traveler; the others impacted against his ship. The
H. G. Wells I
shuddered violently as though located at the epicenter of an earthquake, then seemed to fold into itself before imploding like a planet caught in the throes of a black hole. Rachel screamed, and von Billman struck the ground with an angry fist.

All this happened within the course of only a few seconds. Gribardsun took advantage of the confusion to launch himself up and forward, striking Teran Lynd with his shoulder and knocking him off his mount onto the ground. Both men jumped quickly to their feet, and a roar erupted from the back of Lynd’s throat like the jungle cat he resembled. Gribardsun brought up his pistol, only to have it knocked out of his hand by a swing of Lynd’s massive right hand. Lynd charged forward, striking Gribardsun full force and sending him sprawling backward into the grass.

They struggled there, rolling around on the ground as each battled to gain the upper hand. At one point Gribardsun was able to maneuver himself up on top of his adversary, locking his well-muscled legs around the bigger man’s arms. Holding his left forearm against Lynd’s throat, he reached down with his right hand in an attempt to draw his hunting knife. But Lynd managed to free one of his arms and thrust it upward, ramming Gribardsun hard in the jaw. Gribardsun tumbled in one direction and his knife in the other, as Lynd jumped back to his feet. Momentarily dazed, Gribardsun raised himself up onto his hands and knees, shook his head and managed to stand up as well.

“John! Look out behind you!”

At Rachel’s cry, Gribardsun whirled around in time to see one of the other riders advancing on him, his rifle drawn. Before he could fire, Gribardsun jumped at him and grabbed the barrel of the weapon with both hands; he yanked the gun out of the rider’s hands, sending him up over the head of his mount and onto the ground. The mount was unable to stop in time and ran directly over the rider, killing him instantly.

Gribardsun swung the rifle up like a club and brought it crashing down onto a large nearby rock, splintering it into dozens of pieces. He turned again, just in time to see Lynd pull back his fist in preparation to strike. Gribardsun avoided the fist and lunged at Lynd again, and as the two continued to trade blows, one of Lynd’s standard bearers rode forward and brought his pole down across the back of Gribardsun’s head.

The last sound Gribardsun heard before sliding into unconsciousness was Rachel screaming again...