The Time Trap by Henry Kuttner

wondered what they would do without the Master’s will to direct them.
    Soon he was to find out, in a manner that would not be pleasant. No premonition of this came to him now as he paused with Erech before a metal door, followed the other over the threshold. In the bare room two people were standing, Alasa, and a slim, hawk-faced patrician figure who was, Mason knew, Murdach. The man from the future wore the remnants of a tattered leather uniform. His forehead, while high and broad, did not have the bulging malformation of Greddar Klon’s. Red hair stood up stiffly, but of eyebrows and lashes he had no trace.
    Murdach said, his voice smooth and velvety, “You’ve brought him. Good.” Enigmatic black eyes regarded Mason intently.
    “Greddar Klon’s gone,” the archeologist said, frowning. “You know that?”
    “Yes. And that is well. He is out of the way, while we make our plans to follow him.”
    At the audacity of the scheme Mason’s eyes widened. Murdach went on:
    “You do not know Greddar Klon’s plan. He intends to become the ruler of the greatest civilization ever erected. A cosmic pirate, traveling through all ages, picking the best brains and the mightiest scientific powers from ancient times to the furthermost future. He told me of this, and asked my aid. Mason—that is your name, eh?—he plans to build his civilization in a time-sector which can offer little resistance. He has chosen your decade.”
    Mason caught his breath. “He can’t—”
    “He has the power, with the time-ship to aid him. When he has looted time, he’ll halt in 1929, wipe out mankind, subjugating a few races into slavery, and rear his civilization there. My plan is to follow him, building another time-ship—and kill him if I can. Will you aid me?”
    Mason nodded. “That goes without saying!” A nightmare vision rose up in the archeologist’s mind; a vision of a world in which time had lost its meaning, a world cowering beneath the tremendous powers of Greddar Klon. He drew a deep breath. “Can you build the ship?”
    “With your aid. That was why I told you to watch the Master as you helped him. In collaboration we can fit together the pieces of the puzzle.”
    Alasa put a slim hand on Mason’s arm. “I’m going with you, of course.”
    “You can’t,” Mason told her. “There’ll be danger, and lots of it.”
    She lifted an imperious head. “What of that? Greddar Klon put me to shame—enslaved me and slew my subjects. Also, you have saved me, and I pay my debts. I go with you!”
    “And I, too,” the Sumerian broke in. “I’ve a wish to try my scimitar on the Master’s neck, when his magic isn’t guarding him.”
    “No more argument,” Murdach said. “They will accompany us, if they wish. They hate Greddar Klon—and hatred is sometimes a powerful weapon.” He turned to the door, and the others followed. Mason slipped the girl’s arm within his own, squeezing it reassuringly. Her golden eyes laughed up at him gaily. They might be going into deadly peril—but Alasa was not lacking in courage.
    In the room of the green monoliths all was still. Quickly Murdach moved about, his keen black eyes taking in all that was to be seen. He indicated a twenty-foot ovoid nearby.
    “We can use that for our time-ship, he said. “But it’s necessary first to build up the atomic force Greddar Klon used. Do you remember how he used this ray-device?”
    Mason explained as well as he was able. “Murdach nodded with satisfaction and made hasty adjustments. Slowly, gradually, the brain of the man from the future duplicated the Master’s experiments. Mason began to feel hope mounting within him.
    He was beneath one of the monoliths, explaining a control board to Murdach, when the girl cried warning. Mason swung about. From a tunnel-mouth raced two robots, faceted eyes alight, arm-tentacles swinging. They made for the group under the time towers.
    Swiftly Murdach brought up his egg-shaped weapon. From it the ray sprang