Or--"
Ashe's blue eyes were very cold and bleak, as cold and bleak as the
countryside about them.
"Or--?" Ross dared to prompt him.
"Or we have made contact with the Reds in the wrong way!"
Ross's hand instinctively went to the dagger at his belt. Little help a
dagger would be in an unequal struggle like this! They were only two in
a thin web of men strung out through centuries of time with orders to
seek out that which did not fit properly into the pattern of the past:
to locate the enemy wherever in history or prehistory he had gone to
earth. Had the Reds been searching, too, and was this first disaster
their victory?
The time traders had their evidence when they at last ventured into what
had been the heart of Outpost Gog. Ross, inexperienced as he was in such
matters, could not mistake the signs of the explosion. There was a
crater on the crown of the hill, and Ashe stood apart from it, eying the
fragments about them--scorched wood, blackened stone.
"The Reds?"
"It must have been.
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