Time Traders Read Free Page B

again. Ross found himself standing at the juncture of two corridors—he was absurdly pleased to have deduced that correctly—and the crawler—?
    A man—at least the figure was a two-legged, two-armed manlike form—was lying several yards away. But the body was so wrapped in bandages and the head so totally muffled, that it lacked all identity.
    One of the mittened hands stirred, raising the body slightly so it could squirm forward an inch or so. Before Ross could move, a man ran into the corridor from the far end. It was Major Kelgarries. Ross licked his lips as the major went down on his knees beside the creature on the floor.
    "Hardy! Hardy!" That voice, which carried the snap of command whenever it addressed Ross, was now warmly human. "Hardy, man!" The major's hands were on the bandaged body, lifting it, easing the head and shoulders back against his arm. "It's all right, Hardy. You're back—safe. This is the base, Hardy." He spoke slowly, soothingly, as if comforting a frightened child.
    Those mittened paws which had beat feebly in the air fell onto the bandage-wreathed chest. "Back—safe—" The voice croaked rustily behind the face mask.
    "Back, safe," the major assured him.
    "Dark—dark all around again—" protested the croak.
    "Just a power failure, man. Everything's all right now. We'll get you into bed."
    The mitten pawed again until it touched Kelgarries' arm. It flexed a little as if the hand under it was trying to grip.
    "Safe—?"
    "You bet you are!" The major's tone carried reassurance. Kelgarries looked up at Ross as if he knew the other had been there all the time.
    "Murdock, get down to the end room. Call Dr. Farrell!"
    "Yes, sir!" The "sir" came so automatically that Ross had already reached the end room before he realized he had used it.
    Nobody explained matters to Ross Murdock. The bandaged Hardy was carried away by the doctor and two attendants. The major walked beside the stretcher, still holding one of the mittened hands in his. Ross hesitated, sure he wasn't supposed to follow, but not prepared to explore farther or return to his own room. The sight of Hardy, whoever he might be, had radically changed Ross's perception of the project he had too speedily volunteered to join.
    That what they did here was important, Ross had never doubted. That it was dangerous, he had already suspected. But his awareness had been abstract until Hardy came crawling through the dark. From the first, Ross had nursed vague plans for escape; now he knew he must get out of this place lest he end up a twin for Hardy.
    "Murdock?"
    Startled by the soundless approach, Ross whirled around, ready to use his fists if need be. But he did not face the major or any of the other taciturn officers that he recognized.
    The newcomer's sun-browned skin and dark hair stood out sharply against the pale wall and contrasted with the vivid blue of his eyes.
    Expressionless, the dark stranger stood quietly, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. He studied Ross, as if the younger man was some problem he had been assigned to solve. When he spoke, his voice was a flat monotone devoid of feeling.
    "I am Ashe." He introduced himself baldly; he might have been saying "This is a table and that is a chair."
    Ross's quick temper took spark from the other's indifference. "All right—so you're Ashe!" He strove to make a challenge of it. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
    But the other did not rise to the bait. He shrugged. "For the time being we have been partnered—"
    "Partnered for what?" demanded Ross, controlling his temper.
    "We work in pairs here. The machine sorts us . . ." he answered and consulted his wrist watch. "Mess call soon."
    Ashe had already turned away, and Ross could not stand the other's lack of interest. Although Murdock refused to ask questions of the major or any others on that side of the fence, surely he could get some information from a fellow "volunteer."
    "What is this place, anyway?" he asked.
    The other glanced