Two small, swift shapes darted into the air from that cliff-like wall. «Aircraft,» said Belgotai laconically. The wind ripped the word from his mouth.
They were ovoidal, without external controls or windows, apparently running on the gravitic forces which had long ago been tamed. One of them hovered overhead, covering the travelers, while the other dropped to the ground. As it landed, Saunders saw that it was old and worn and scarred. But there was a faded sunburst on its side. Some memory of the Empire must still be alive.
Two came out of the little vessel and approached the travelers with guns in their hands. One was human, a tall well-built young man with shoulder-length black hair blowing under a tarnished helmet, a patched purple coat streaming from his cuirassed shoulders, a faded leather kilt and buskins. The other…
He was a little shorter than the man, but immensely broad of chest and limb. Four muscled arms grew from the massive shoulders, and a tufted tail lashed against his clawed feet. His head was big, broad-skulled, with a round half animal face and cat-like whiskers about the fanged mouth and the split-pupiled yellow eyes. He wore no clothes except a leather harness but soft blue-gray fur covered the whole great body.
The psychophone clattered out the man’s haiclass="underline" «Who comes?»
«Friends,» said Saunders. «We wish only shelter and a little information.»
«Where are you from?» There was a harsh, peremptory note in the man’s voice. His face-straight, thin-boned, the countenance of a highly bred aristocrat—was gaunt with strain. «What do you want? What sort of spaceship is that you’ve got down there?»
«Easy, Vargor,» rumbled the alien’s bass. «That’s no spaceship, you can see that.»
«No,» said Saunders. «It’s a time projector.»
«Time travelers!» Vargor’s intense blue eyes widened. «I heard of such things once, but—time travelers!» Suddenly: «When are you from? Can you help us?»
«We’re from very long ago,» said Saunders pityingly. «And I’m afraid we’re alone and helpless.»
Vargor’s erect carriage sagged a little. He looked away. But the other being stepped forward with an eagerness in him. «How far back?» he asked. «Where are you going?»
«We’re going to hell, most likely. But can you get us inside? We’re freezing.»
«Of course. Come with us. You’ll not take it amiss if I send a squad to inspect your machine? We have to be careful, you know.»
The four squeezed into the aircraft and it lifted with a groan of ancient engines. Vargor gestured at the fortress ahead and his tone was a little wild. «Welcome to the hold of Brontothor! Welcome to the Galactic Empire!»
«The Empire?»
«Aye, this is the Empire, or what’s left of it. A haunted fortress on a frozen ghost world, last fragment of the old Imperium and still trying to pretend that the Galaxy is not dying—that it didn’t die millennia ago, that there is something left besides wild beasts howling among the ruins.» Vargor’s throat caught in a dry sob. «Welcome!»
The alien laid a huge hand on the man’s shoulder. «Don’t get hysterical, Vargor,» he reproved gently. «As long as brave beings hope, the Empire is still alive—whatever they say.»
He looked over his shoulder at the others.
«You really are welcome,» he said. «It’s a hard and dreary life we lead here. Taury and the Dreamer will both welcome you gladly.» He paused. Then, unsurely, «But best you don’t say too much about the ancient time, if you’ve really seen it. We can’t bear too sharp a reminder, you know.»
The machine slipped down beyond the wall, over a gigantic flagged courtyard to the monster bulk of the—the donjon, Saunders supposed one could call it. It rose up in several tiers, with pathetic little gardens on the terraces, toward a dome of clear plastic.
The walls, he saw, were immensely thick, with weapons mounted on them which he could see clearly through the drifting snow. Behind the donjon stood several long, barracks-like buildings, and a couple of spaceships which must have been held together by pure faith rested near what looked like an arsenal. There were guards on duty, helmeted men with energy rifles, their cloaks wrapped tightly against the wind, and other folk scurried around under the monstrous walls, men and women and children.
«There’s Taury,» said the alien, pointing to a small group clustered on one of the terraces. «We may as well land right there.» His wide mouth opened in an alarming smile. «And forgive me for not introducing myself before. I’m Hunda of Haamigur, general of the Imperial armies, and this is Vargor Alfri, prince of the Empire.»
«Yuh crazy?» blurted Belgotai. «What Empire?»
Hunda shrugged. «It’s a harmless game, isn’t it? At that, you know, we are the Empire—legally. Taury is a direct descendant of Maurco the Doomer, last Emperor to be anointed according to the proper forms. Of course, that was five thousand years ago, and Maurco had only three systems left then, but the law is clear. These hundred or more barbarian pretenders, human and otherwise, haven’t the shadow of a real claim to the title.»
The vessel grounded and they stepped out. The others waited for them to come up. There were half a dozen old men, their long beards blowing wildly in the gale, there was a being with the face of a long-beaked bird and one that had the shape of a centauroid.
«The Court of the Empress Taury,» said Bunda.
«Welcome.» The answer was low and gracious.
Saunders and Belgotai stared dumbly at her. She was tall, tall as a man, but under her tunic of silver links and her furred cloak she was such a woman as they had dreamed of without ever knowing in life. Her proudly lifted head had something of Vargor’s looks, the same clean-lined, high-cheeked face, but it was the countenance of a woman, from the broad clear brow to the wide, wondrously chiseled mouth and the strong chin. The cold had flushed the lovely pale planes of her cheeks. Her heavy bronze-red hair was braided about her helmet, with one rebellious lock tumbling softly toward the level, dark brows. Her eyes, huge and oblique and gray as northern seas, were serene on them.
Saunders found tongue. «Thank you, your majesty,» he said in a firm voice. «If it please you, I am Martin Saunders of America, some forty-eight thousand years in the past, and my companion is Belgotai, free companion from Syrtis about a thousand years later. We are at your service for what little we may be able to do.»
She inclined her stately head, and her sudden smile was warm and human. «It is a rare pleasure,» she said. «Come inside, please. And forget the formality. Tonight let us simply be alive.»
They sat in what had been a small council chamber. The great hall was too huge and empty, a cavern of darkness and rustling relics of greatness, hollow with too many memories. But the lesser room had been made livable, hung with tapestries and carpeted with skins. Fluorotubes cast a white light over it, and a fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth. Had it not been for the wind against the windows, they might have forgotten where they were.
«—and you can never go back?» Taury’s voice was sober. «You can never get home again?»
«I don’t think so,» said Saunders. «From our story, it doesn’t look that way, does it?»
«No,» said Hunda. «You’d better settle down in some time and make the best of matters.»
«Why not with us?» asked Vargor eagerly.
«We’d welcome you with all our hearts,» said Taury, «but I cannot honestly advise you to stay. These are evil times.»
It was a harsh language they spoke, a ringing metallic tongue brought in by the barbarians. But from her throat, Saunders thought, it was utter music.
«We’ll at least stay a few days,» he said impulsively. «It’s barely possible we can do something.»