The Time Trap by Henry Kuttner Page A

out, stilling the robots with fantastic swiftness. They stood silent, unmoving. But from the passage came the thunder of racing feet.
    Murdach bit his lips. “I was afraid of this,” he whispered. “Greddar Klon foresaw that we might follow him. Before he left, he ordered his robots to kill us. I doubt if we’ll have time now.”
    “Time?” It was the Sumerian, battle-lust in his eyes. He stooped, snatched up a huge sledge-hammer. “Give Alasa your weapon, Murdach. You and Ma-zhon finish your task. We’ll hold off those demons!”
    Alasa snatched the ray-projector, raced toward the tunnel-mouth, Erech at her heels. Murdach smiled grimly.
    “Let us hurry. We may have a chance, after all.”
    Mason was frowning, looking around for a weapon. The other gripped his arm.
    “You can best help by aiding me. We can’t battle all the robots. Only if we get the time-ship completed can we escape.”
    A metal man lunged into view, silent and menacing. The ray-projector in Alasa’s hand stilled him. But there were others—hundreds of them, pressing eagerly forward. Some the girl halted. Others fell victim to Erech.
    The Sumerian roared red battle-curses. The sledge rose and fell in sweeping, crashing blows, grinding the metal heads of the robots beneath its drive. But slowly the two were pressed back—slowly, inexorably.
    Murdach’s fingers flew, adjusting, testing. Mason stole a glance at the battling pair, and straightened, his breath hissing between his teeth as he saw Erech go down beneath a flailing tentacle. The archeologist leaped forward. The girl might hold back the robots for a moment—no longer.
    Leaping over the Sumerian’s body, Mason snatched up the sledge. He saw the featureless, blank head of a robot looming before him. A tentacle slashed down, vicious and deadly. Mason swung the hammer in a great arc.
    Metal sang under the blow. The robot fell away and was gone. But behind him came others. Erech sprang up, spitting blood.
    “The hammer, Ma-zhon! Let me—”
    Behind them came Murdach’s urgent cry. “Come! It’s finished!”
    Mason gripped Alasa’s hand, ran toward Murdach, half dragging the girl. Behind him Erech shouted triumphantly, and then followed. The robots came in pursuit with a dull thudding of swift feet.
    Murdach was waiting at the port of the ship. He sprang back into the interior as Mason thrust the girl aboard, tumbled after her, Erech behind him. The door clanged shut just as the robots reached the ovoid. With insensate, brainless fury they attacked the metallic walls.
    White-faced, Murdach turned to the control board, sent the ship driving up. He lowered it gently on the platform at the summit of the twin monoliths.
    “That lever,” he said, pointing. “You moved that one?”
    Mason nodded. “Shall I—”
    “Yes.”
    The archeologist opened the port, slipped out. He glanced over the platform’s edge to see the robots milling about aimlessly beneath. Then he moved the lever and raced back to the ship.
    Breathlessly the four waited. Presently white flame fingered out from the monoliths. Silently it spread, lacing and interweaving, till the walls were a sea of pale flame.
    And it died.
    For a moment no one spoke.
    “Think it’ll work?” Mason asked shakily.
    “It must!” But Murdach’s voice was none too steady. Nevertheless he turned to the controls, fingering them tentatively. Though Mason had expected it, nevertheless he felt a shock when darkness blanketed them.
    It lifted. The ship hung above a green oasis, with high palms growing about a pool. In the cloudless blue sky the sun blazed brilliantly. For miles around the oasis was a desolate wilderness of sand and rock.
    Alasa whispered, “Our legends say Al Bekr was like this once, long and long ago.”
    “There was no oasis in my day,” Mason said. “We’ve gone back into the past.”
    “Then we’ll go forward again,” Murdach smiled, his eyes no longer grim and cold. “All time lies before us.”
    “Gods!”