The Crossroads of Time - Andre Norton, ebook, Temp
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Scanned by Highroller.Proofed more or less by Highroller.Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet.Crossroads of Time byAndre NortonPROLOGUEThe office was bare of all furniture except for a seat pulled drawerfashion out of the softly glowing wall. The report shining in fiery script upat the Inspector was on a desk. Or perhaps those letters only appearedfiery because of the possible conflagration to come, masked in the officialidiom of his particular security section. As long ago as his third month inthe Service, a time now he found difficult to recall, he had ceased abruptlyto believe that any operation could run smoothly. In past experience themost placid landscapes hid the nastiest traps.Now he leaned back in the seat which accommodatingly changed shapeto fit his middle-aged bulk at the new angle. Though his expression hadnot changed, he ran a finger tip nervously back and forth along the edge ofthe reader plate on which the message still stood. He had already wastedtoo much time on this, but?CLASSIFIED REPORT:Division 1 Plus InformationPROJECT:4678NATURE OF OFFENSE:Attempt to influence other level history.AGENTS:Section Leader:Com Varlt, MW 69321Crew:Horman Tilis MW 69345Fal Korf AW 70958Pague Lo Sig AWPROGRESS TO DATE:Traced subject?Kmoat Vo Pranj?to Levels 415-426 inclusive.Established prime base on likeliest world (E641?marked, on survey of Kol30, 51446 E. C. as "culturally retarded, critical, forbidden, except tosociological investigators, rank 1-2"). But subject may be on another worldof this grouping or engaged in hopping.COVER:Have assumed credentials and background of members of native lawenforcement body, national in scope (Federal Bureau of Investigation).TYPE OF CULTURE:Dawn atomic?inhabitants on this level appear to possess no psipowers?highly unstable civilization ?just the type to attract Pranj.REMARKS:There was the meat of it, entered under "remarks." The Inspector's eyeslifted to the restful, unbroken glow of the opposite wall. They were gettingall too many of such "remarks" at Headquarters lately. Why, when he hadbeen in the field force?He shook his head and then had the grace to laughat his own dawning pomposity. The important point was?the man in thefield knew. He read the final sentence on which his decision must bemade.REMARKS:Must term operation "solution dubious"?critical plus?require extremepowers under 202 classification.Com Varlt, MW in charge.Com Varlt. The Inspector triggered a button with one of those nervousfinger tips. The report flashed off and in its place was a series of codesymbols. Hmm, that agent had a rather impressive record all the wayalong. The Inspector's hesitation was gone. He pressed a second buttonand smiled almost grimly. Varlt had asked for it ?now he had his wish.Only "solution dubious" had better turn out "Solution Satisfactory"! A newreport clicked on the reader and the Inspector turned to consider anothercase.CHAPTER ONEThe window was a square of gray light at the narrow end of the smallhotel room. Blake Walker regarded this evidence of another day with anodd detachment. He moved?to snub out a cigarette in the tray beside thebed. Then he collected his watch from the table. A minute past six. Andwhat he had been waiting for the past hour must be very close now?He pulled his six feet of lean muscle and fine bones out of the bed andpadded into the bathroom to plug in his razor. From the mirror his owneyes, tired and dark, stared back at him without curiosity or interest. Inthe artificial light his thick cap of hair appeared as black as his brows andlashes?but in the sun light it would be red, so dark a red as might rightlybe termed mahogany. Only his skin was not fair, but a smooth and evenbrown, as if before birth he had acquired a permanent sun tan.Shaving was a perfunctory business, conducted mostly from force ofhabit, since his area of beard was small and grew slowly. His black browstwisted together now in a familiar frown as he wondered, for perhaps thethousandth time, if he did have Asiatic blood. Only, who had ever heard ofa red-haired Chinese or Hindu? Not that he could trace his parentage.Detective Sergeant Dan Walker had brought the resources of an entire citypolice force to bear on that problem some twenty years ago, after he hadstumbled on the "alley baby." Patrolman Harvey Blake and Sergeant DanWalker had found him and later Dan had claimed him for a son. But hewould always wonder about the two years of his life before that.Blake's well-cut mouth became a grim line under the pressure ofmemory. Sergeant?now Inspector?Dan going into the First National tobuy traveler's checks for that long-awaited trip?running into a holdup inprogress. Dan Walker had been shot down and it had not lessened Molly'sheartache to know that he had taken his killer with him. After that therehad been the two of them, Molly Walker and Blake. Then Molly went tobed one night and did not awake in the morning.So now he was alone again, cut off from the only security he had known.Blake put down the razor carefully as if that motion was a part of someintricate and necessary action. His eyes were still on the mirror, but theysaw no reflection there, certainly not the lines of tension suddenly aginghis face. It was coming?it was very close now!The last time that feeling had driven him into Molly's bedroom and hispainful discovery there. Now it was urgently pushing him toward the hall.He listened, knowing of old that there was really nothing to hear?this hecould only feel. Then, with quiet cat's feet, he went to the hall door withoutsnapping on the room light.With infinite caution he turned the key and eased the door open. Hehad no idea of what waited on the other side?he only knew that someaction was being so forceably demanded of him that he could not disobeyeven if he wished.For one moment he. stared. Two men stood, their backs toward him,one behind the other. A tall man wearing a loose coat, his dark hair stillglistening with the sheen of sleet, was fitting a key into the door on theopposite, side of the corridor. His companion held a gun jammed againsthis back.Blake, his bare feet making no sound on the carpet, moved. His fingerslocked about the gunman's throat and he jerked the fellow's head back.Instantly the other man whirled. Almost, Blake thought, as if he hadknown what was about to happen. His fist swung up and connected withjust the right point on the threshing captive's jaw; then Blake wassupporting the full weight of an unconscious man. But the other took hold,waving Blake back into his room, following him quickly, the prize in tow.Once inside he dropped his burden to the floor without ceremony andlocked the door.With a doubt or two, Blake sat down on the edge of the bed. Why solittle fuss on the part of the suddenly released prisoner? And why come inhere with the captive?"Police????" His hand went to the phone on the bedside table.The tall man turned. He brought out a wallet and flipped it open forBlake to read the card inside. Then the younger man nodded."No police?"The other shook his head. "Not yet. Sorry to barge in on you,Mr.?Mr.?""Walker.""Mr. Walker. You helped me out of a tight hole there. But I'll have toask you to let me handle this my own way. We won't bother you for long.""I'll finish dressing," Blake got up.The Federal Agent was squatting on his heels by the slumberinggunman. And Blake was knotting his tie when a scene, reflected in themirror, drew him back to the bedroom. The self-introduced Kittson wassearching his unconscious prisoner and the oddness of that searchintrigued Blake.Slowly the Federal man ran his fingers through the oily hair of theother, apparently in quest of something on the skull beneath. Then with apencil flash he examined both ears and nostrils. Last of all he explored thegunman's half open mouth, withdrawing a dental plate. He made nosound but Blake sensed his triumph as he freed from underside of theplastic denture a small disc which he wrapped in his handkerchief andstowed away in an inner pocket."Care to wash now?" Blake asked casually.Kittson stiffened. He looked up, straight into Blake's eyes. And his owneyes were strange ones?almost yellow, unblinking, like those of somehunting feline, he low, unblinking, like those of some hunting feline. Theycontinued to bore into Blake?or to try to?but he met stare with stare.The agent got to his feet."I would, for a fact," his voice was mild, deceptively so, Blake believed.He was certain that in some way he had surprised the man, had failed torespond as the other had expected him to.When Kittson was wiping his hands there came a knock at the door."My men," the agent appeared as certain of that as if he could seethrough the wall. Blake unlocked and opened the door.Two men stood outside. Under any other circumstances Blake mightnot have given them a second glance, but now he watched them withdouble intentness.One was almost as tall as Kittson and his wide boned, freckled face wassurmounted by a thatch of bright red hair only partially concealed by hishat. The other, in contrast, was not only short but small, delicately boned,almost fail. They gave Blake flickering glances as they passed him, and hefelt as though he had been measured, catalogued and filed for all time."Okay, chief?" asked the red haired one.Kittson stepped asid...
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