Fugitive of Time

by E.C. Tubb

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

Starships are grounded, interrupting vital inter-stellar commerce, all the highly-developed industries have stopped, man turns to the primitive sources of animal fat and wood for light and heat. With civilization waning, the young scientist Kleon, sentenced to death for using precious conserves of power in an attempt to generate vast energy from dead matter, makes a spectacular bid for the freedom of the whole universe.

Release date: April 30, 2014

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 320

Sample

They soared like the delicate spires of some ancient dream; slender pillars of glistening metal thrusting their sharp noses towards the distant stars. The dim light of a dying sun shone dully from the plastic ports and weapon-loaded gun turrets, throwing little shimmers of radiance from the long subtle curves of the sleek hulls.

They rested on the flame-scorched dirt of the landing field, rearing from the dirt and desolation, and seeming to strain towards the hidden glory of alien suns. Perfect machines, the end product of a thousand years of tireless research and embodying in their smooth perfection the hopes and dreams of a once mighty race.

The space fleet of Earth—grounded for lack of fuel!

They had waited for ten years. They had waited while men had driven themselves blind straining over pulsing machines and peering into the heart of exploding atoms. They had waited while the Empire of Man had crumbled and slowly disintegrated, broken by internal strife and the nearing threat of alien invaders. They waited until a new power source could be found, until once again their mighty engines could hum to the throb of power.

They were still waiting!

A man hung from the tiny barred window of a cell. A big man, with the long smooth muscles of hidden strength, tall and with the narrow hips and broad shoulders of the born adventurer. He gripped the bars of the window until his knuckles shone white beneath the smooth tan of his skin, his entire weight supported by his shoulder and arm muscles, and stared across the desolate plain towards the distant fleet.

He pressed his face tight against the bars, staring with hungry eyes as the setting sun limmed the distant ships with gold, painting the smooth metal with warm and luminescent light. He stared until the light had died away, until the gathering shadows dulled then hid the glittering points.

Wearily he dropped from the window, falling lightly to the harsh stone floor.

A short fat man sitting on the edge of one of two bunks looked at him and laughed.

“Again, Kleon? What are you looking for, rescue?”

“No.” The tall man stared at his companion and strode impatiently about the narrow cell. “Why don’t they come! Why don’t they get it over with?” Cat-like he sprang upwards to the window, stared a moment, then jumped back again. “This waiting is driving me insane!”

“Easy,” warned the short fat man. “That’s just what they want to happen.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you be like me, I don’t mind it here, especially when I remember what the penalties for misuse of power are.”

“Misuse of power!” Kleon stared at the fat man and grunted his contempt. “You know better than that, Jarl. I tried an experiment, if it had worked we would have been famous by now and those ships out there would be heading towards the stars and the work that has to be done. As it was …” He shrugged, and sat down on the other bunk.

“We failed.” Jarl relaxed on the hard cot and stared at the dimming shape of the window. “Five millions ergs of power wasted, a ship wrecked, and we wait in jail to face the music.”

“I wait in jail,” reminded Kleon. “I was the captain, you were only the engineer, the responsibility is mine.”

“No.” Jarl raised himself on one elbow and stared at the shadowy figure pf the young man. “You were on the right track, Kleon, I’m sure of it. Let me take full responsibility. They can’t do much to me, I’m too old, but you can try again.”

“Thank you.” The tall young man smiled, his harsh features softening as he glanced at the fat engineer. “It would be useless, they know that I’ve tried to get official permission for the experiment, tried and failed. They’d never believe you, and I don’t want them to.” Impatiently he strode up and down the cell.

“Why are they so blind, Jarl? What do a few million ergs more or less matter now? Unless we can find a new power source the galaxy will sink into decadence and barbarism, and the work of a thousand years will be wasted. Can’t they realise that?”

“Yes, Kleon, they do, but remember that the World Council is made up of old men, and old men are conservative. They are afraid of losing what little they have, and in a way you can’t blame them.”

“Blame them! I …” He broke off as footsteps rang along the outer corridor.

Silently they waited as the heavy feet thudded to a halt outside the cell. Metal clanged and the door swung open. Guards, sombre in the black and scarlet uniform of Security, stood tensely waiting their hands resting on the butts of holstered weapons. An officer, the insignia of his rank gleaming dully on his shoulders, jerked his head at the two men.

“You. Outside!”

Silently the tall young man and the fat old one left the cell, the stern faced guards ringing them as the officer closed the door. It thudded home, metal clanging from the self-locking latch, and tersely the officer snapped commands.

“Prisoners and guard, forward!”

He led the way, and the sound of their footsteps echoed hollowly along the dimly lit corridor.

It seemed a long way.

From ground level, through the cell block and past the guard quarters, where men lounged in careless attitudes on off-duty watch. Up a ramp and past the soaring windows now dark and limmed only with the soft light from the distant stars. Still higher, level after level, along passage-ways once humming with busy life and now dead and deserted. Up ramps, then more ramps, and then even more. Upwards and upwards climbing steadily until their breath caught in their throats and the fat engineer wheezed with the exertion. Still they climbed.

They climbed through the great building for more than a thousand feet. They climbed until Kleon thought that they would never stop, until Jarl sobbed and fought for breath and whimpered at the pain of his sore muscles. They climbed until it seemed that they must have reached the very stars.

And then they stopped.

The officer of the guard gestured for them to halt and strode forward alone to a closed door. He knocked, and a grill opened and a man’s face peered at them.

“The prisoners from the lower cell.”

“Good.” The man vanished and the great doors swung open. “Enter.”

Impatiently Kleon strode forward, marching past the pale-faced guard, past the lintel of the great doors, marching up to within a few feet of the polished surface of a wide table.

There he stopped and felt rather than saw the fat engineer being thrust to his side. The guards fell away, the doors swung shut with a hollow thud, and they were alone.

Alone that is but for the rulers of Earth.

They sat behind the table, three of them, all old, all thin, all withered and sere. They sat like shrivelled mummies, their skins drawn tight over bone and sinew, and their hot eyes gleaming like angry coals against the yellow parchment of their skin. Three of them. Three old men warming their hands at the dying embers of a once mighty civilisation.

Kleon stared at them his head thrown proudly back and his cold grey eyes filled with unspoken contempt. He stood waiting, the harsh lines of his young features limmed by the flickering light of smoking torches, and as he stood the old men began to stir and mumble in envious anger.

“Kleon, once captain of half of our remaining space fleet, now criminal. What have you to say?”

“Say?” Kleon laughed curtly as he stared at the speaker. “What would you have me say, Landris? Would you have me beg your mercy, that I will never do.”

The old man frowned, his thin mouth tightening into a gash across the lower part of his yellow features.

“Perhaps we could teach you civility,” he said thinly. “Do you even now realise the enormity of your crime? Didn’t the journey from the lower level show you just what your wanton waste of power means to our civilisation?” He gestured towards the smoking torches.

“Even we, the rules of Earth, save precious energy. We use the light of burning wood to conduct the affairs of a world, our people climb were once they rose on powered elevator-platforms, is it possible that you do not know the true state of affairs?”

“I know that power is in short supply, but not that short.” Kleon stared contemptuously at the guttering torches. “There is no need for this mummery, we still have electrical power, water still falls and the hydro-electric power stations are still working. There are still atom piles on Earth, and there will always be solar energy. I know that we need a new energy source, but we need it for those,” he gestured towards the landing field, “not for domestic use.”

“What little you know,” sneered a man at the end of the table. “Tell me, do you seek to justify your crime?”

“Crime?” The tall man shrugged. “It was no crime, an experiment yes, but my intentions were good.”

“What is that to us?” The third man, a wizened monkey-like man, slammed a weak fist down onto the table. “Five million ergs of power wasted, a ship wrecked, a ship that was half of the remaining strength of Earth!” He glared at the two men. “Death is too easy a penalty!”

“Death?” Kleon stared at them, then at the silent man at his side. “One moment before you decide. I must accept the sole responsibility for what happened, my engineer was innocent of wrong. Release him.”

“No!” The monkey-like man glared at the fat engineer. “He should have stopped you, prevented your mad experiment, but instead of doing his duty he helped you. He is equally to blame.”

Landris stirred impatiently on his soft chair. “Enough! This is a court of justice, the evidence must be weighed.” He stared at the fat man. “Did you know what Kleon intended when he ordered you to connect the power . . .