Collision with Chronos

The physicist shrugged, then sighed. “Probably not. The end of time, maybe. I don’t know; I just can’t figure it out.”

“Something else bothers me,” Heshke continued after a pause. “The other civilisation is supposed to be only four centuries away from our own. But from the state of their remains, such as the Hathar Ruins, I would say they were definitely abandoned more than four centuries ago. It’s hard to date these things, but an age of eight hundred, maybe even a thousand years, would strike me as more reasonable. It’s an anomaly.”

Despite his discomfort, a weird smile came over Ascar’s features. “As a matter of fact that was one of the clues that turned my mind in the right direction. There are two ways that things can decay. They can decay with the progress of the Absolute Present – just normal entropy. But there’s another kind of decay: the decay that sets in beyond the margin of the travelling time-wave – decay in non-time. Where the constructive forces of the present moment leave off, decay sets in. And at first entropy acts much more rapidly than in the present. So as you travel into the future things are falling to pieces very quickly. That’s why living forms vanish altogether, for instance.”

They all pondered his words. “Of course,” Ascar added casually, “as the now-wave draws closer things magically reconstruct themselves, as it were.”

Heshke framed a further question, but before he could speak he was astonished to hear a whining sound from above. They all glanced up, and what they saw made them shout incoherently and cringe back in sudden fear, seeking the useless shelter of the time traveller.

Against the blue of the sky a metallic shape was falling rapidly toward them. They all fumbled for their weapons. Heshke was debating the futility of fleeing when the oncoming missile, with extraordinary agility, braked and came to a landing only a few hundred yards away.

“Looks like those damned aliens are back to get us,” Ascar said through gritted teeth.

The Titan laid a cautionary hand on Heshke’s arm. “They mustn’t take us alive,” he said evenly. “It’s our duty to die by our own hands.”

“Yes, of course,” Heshke muttered.

But they all delayed the fatal moment. Heshke fingered his gun, secretly fearing to put a bullet through his own brain. Ascar snarled and stepped out a pace or two in front of the others, facing the vessel defiantly and hefting his weapon.

He’s going to try to take one or two of them with us, Heshke thought, admiring the man’s irrational courage. Perhaps I should do the same.

It surprised him that the machine standing out in the desert bore no resemblance to any of the time travellers he had seen. Vaguely, it reminded him of a space shuttle. It had an ovoidal shape and stood on its tail, supported by piston-powered legs. Just like something a human engineer would design that landed from space, he thought.

His perplexity was increased when a hatch opened and down stepped human figures. Ascar let his gun sag in his hand, while Lieutenant Gann started forward, his sharp features creasing into a frown of scrutiny.

“I’ll be damned!” Ascar exploded.

Heshke started to laugh weakly. “And you said we wouldn’t be rescued.”

“Shut up!” snapped Ascar irritably.

And Heshke did stop. The men who came toward them were not wearing either Titan uniform or Titan insignia. Neither, for that matter, did they wear the familiar combat suits.

There were three of them (three of them, three of us, Heshke told himself with relief; they must be friendly) wearing what appeared to be light, one-piece garments without badges or symbols of any kind. On their heads were simple bowl-shaped helmets each sprouting a feathery antenna. And as they came closer they held up their hands palms outward, smiling and speaking in strange, singsong voices.

Heshke put up his gun; their friendly intent was obvious. Now he could discern their faces. … Their skin was sallow, virtually yellow; their cheekbones were unnaturally high, their noses some-what flat, and they were slant-eyed. …

Heshke felt a long moment of uncontrollable nausea.

Beside him Lieutenant Gann drew in a loud, shuddering breath.

“Devs!”

Ascar fell back to join them, his pistol wavering. “Who the hell are those animals? Where did they come from? What are they doing here?” He stared wildly, half out of his mind.

There could be no doubt about it. The newcomers were not of the race of True Man. True, their points of physical difference did not make them as grotesque as some of the races mankind had fought recently, but even so anyone with even a smattering of racial science could see that they were beyond the pale of true humanity as defined by Titan anthropometricians. In other words, they belonged to a deviant subspecies.

A loud report banged in Heshke’s ears. Lieutenant Gann was firing, his face hard and determined. One of the devs spun around and fell, holding his arm where he had been hit.