Norton, Andre - Time Traders

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Time Traders

By Andre Norton

Fout! Onbekende schakeloptie-instructie.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any

resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

A Baen Books Original Omnibus

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-671-31952-3

Cover art by Stephen Hickman

First Baen printing, November 2000

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Typeset by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The Time Traders

Ross Murdock wouldn’t have seemed formidable to any one glancing casually at him as he sat

within the detention cell. He was a little above average height, but not enough to make him

noticeable. His brown hair was cropped conservatively and there was nothing remarkable about his

unlined boy’s face—unless one noted those light-gray eyes and caught the chilling, measuring

expression that showed now and then for an instant in their depths.

He was neatly and inconspicuously dressed. In this first quarter of the twenty-first century his like

was to be found on any street of the city ten floors below—to all outward appearances. But under the

protective coloration Ross so assiduously cultivated was another person who could touch heights of

encased and controlled fury which Ross himself did not understand. He was only just learning to use

it as a weapon against a world he had always found hostile.

Ross was aware, though he gave no sign of it, that a guard was watching him. The cop on duty was

an old hand—he probably expected some reaction other than passive acceptance from the prisoner,

but he was not going to get it.

The law had Ross sewed up tight this time. Why didn’t they get about the business of shipping him

off? Why had he had that afternoon session with the psychologist? Ross had been on the defensive

then, and he hadn’t liked it. He had given to the other’s questions all the attention his shrewd mind

could muster, but a faint, very faint, apprehension still clung to the memory of that meeting.

The door of the detention room opened. Ross did not turn his head, but the guard cleared his throat

as if their hour of mutual silence had dried his vocal cords. “On your feet, Murdock! The judge wants

to see you.”

Ross rose smoothly, with every muscle under fluid control. It never paid to talk back, to allow any

sign of defiance to show. He would go through the motions as if he were a bad little boy who had

realized his errors. The meek-and-mild act had paid off fine in Ross’s checkered past. So he faced the

man seated behind the desk in the other room with an uncertain, diffident smile, standing with boyish

awkwardness, respectfully waiting for the other to speak first. Judge Ord Rawle. It was his rotten luck

to pull old Eagle Beak on his case. Well, he would simply have to take it when the old boy dished it

out. Not that he had to remain stuck with it later . . .

“You have a bad record, young man.”

Ross allowed his smile to fade; his shoulders slumped. But under concealing lids his eyes showed

an instant of cold defiance.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed in a voice carefully cultivated to shake convincingly about the edges. Then

suddenly all Ross’s pleasure in the skill of his act was wiped away. Judge Rawle was not alone; that

blasted skull thumper was sitting there, watching the prisoner with the same keenness he had shown

the other day.

“A very bad record for the few years you have had to make it.” Eagle Beak was staring at him, too,

but without the same look of penetration, luckily for Ross. “By rights, you should be turned over to

the new Rehabilitation Service . . .”

Ross froze inside. That was the “treatment,” icy rumors of which had spread throughout his

particular world. For the second time since he had entered the room his self-confidence was jarred.

Then he clung with a degree of hope to the phrasing of that last sentence.

“Instead, I have been directed to offer you a choice, Murdock. One which I shall state—and on

record—I do not in the least approve.”

Ross’s twinge of fear faded. If the judge didn’t like it, there must be something in it to the

advantage of Ross Murdock. He’d grab it for sure!

“There is a government project in need of volunteers. It seems that you have tested out as possible

material for this assignment. If you sign for it, the law will consider the time spent on it as part of

your sentence. Thus you may aid the country which you have heretofore disgraced—”

“And if I refuse, I go to this rehabilitation. Is that right, sir?”

“I certainly consider you a fit candidate for rehabilitation. Your record—” He shuffled through the

papers on his desk.

“I choose to volunteer for the project, sir.”

The judge snorted and pushed all the papers into a folder. He spoke to a third man who’d been

waiting in the shadows. “Here then is your volunteer, Major.”

Ross bottled in his relief. He was over the first hump. And since his luck had held so far, he might

be about to win all the way . . .

The man Judge Rawle called “Major” moved into the light. At first glance Ross, to his hidden

annoyance, found himself uneasy. To face up to Eagle Beak was all part of the game. But somehow

he sensed one did not play such games with this man.

“Thank you, your honor. We will be on our way at once, before the weather socks us in

completely.”

Before he realized what was happening, Ross found himself walking meekly to the door. He

considered trying to give the major the slip when they left the building, losing himself in a storm-

darkened city, but they did not take the elevator downstairs. Instead, they climbed two or three flights

up the emergency stairs. And to his humiliation Ross found himself panting and slowing, while the

other man, who must have been a good dozen years his senior, showed no signs of discomfort.

They came out into the wind and snow on the roof, and the major flashed a torch toward a dark

shadow waiting for them with rotating blades. A helicopter! For the first time Ross began to doubt the

wisdom of his choice.

“Keep away from the tail rotors, Murdock!” The voice was impersonal enough, but that very

impersonality got under one’s skin.

Bundled into the machine between the silent major and an equally quiet pilot in uniform, Ross was

lifted over the city, whose ways he knew as well as he knew the lines on his own palm, into the

unknown he was already beginning to regard dubiously. The lighted streets and buildings, their

outlines softened by the soft wet snow, fell out of sight. Now they could mark the outer highways.

Ross refused to ask any questions. He could take this silent treatment, he had taken a lot of tougher

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摘要：

TimeTradersByAndreNortonFout!Onbekendeschakeloptie-instructie.Thisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental.Thisomnibusedition©2000AndreNorton;TheTimeTraderscopyright©1958byTheWorldPublishingCompany;Galactic...

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