If Monroe and Helen got through, their badlyneeded chattels might have made them prominent. "Igor," he said, "Helen Fisher."
The leader was attentive at once, her face alive. "Elen Feesher?" she repeated.
"Yes, yes Helen Fisher."
She stood quiet, thinking. It was plain that the words meant something to her. She clapped her hands together and spoke, commandingly. Two men stepped forward. She addressed them rapidly for several moments.
The two men stepped up to Frost, each taking an armThey started to lead him away. Frost held back for a moment and said over his shoulder, "Helen Fisher?"
" 'Elen Feesher'!" the leader assured him. He had to be content with that.
Two hours passed, more or less. He had not been mistreated and the room in which they had placed him was comfortable but it was a cell at least the door was fastened. Perhaps he had said the wrong thing, perhaps those syllables meant something quite different here from a simple proper name.
The room in which he found himself was bare and lighted only by a dim glow from the walls, as had all of this underground world which he had seen so far. He was growing tired of the place and was wondering whether or not it would do any good to set up a commotion when he heard someone at the door.
The door slid back; he saw the leader, a smile on her rather grim, middle-aged features. She spoke in her own tongue, then added, "Igor... Ellenfeesher."
He followed her.
Glowing passageways, busy squares where he was subjected to curious stares, an elevator which startled him by dropping suddenly when he was not aware that it was an elevator, and finally a capsule-like vehicle in which they were sealed airtight and which went somewhere very fast indeed to judge by the sudden surge of weight when it started and again when it stopped through them all he followed his guide, not understanding and lacking means of inquiring. He tried to relax and enjoy the passing moment, as his companion seemed to bear him no ill-will, though her manner was brusque that of a person accustomed to giving orders and not in the habit of encouraging casual intimacy.
They arrived at a door which she opened and strode in. Frost followed and was almost knocked off his feet by a figure which charged into him and grasped him with both arms. "Doctor! Doctor Frost!"
It was Helen Fisher, dresser in the costume worn by both sexes here. Behind her. stood Robert or Igor, his gnome-like face widened with a grin.
He detached Helen's arms gently. "My dear." he said inanely, "imagine finding you here."
"Imagine finding you here," she retorted. "Why, professor you're crying!"
"Oh, no, not at all," he said hastily, and turned to Monroe. "It's good to see you, too, Robert."
"That goes double for me. Doc," Monroe agreed.
The leader said something to Monroe. He answered her rapidly in their tongue and turned to Frost. "Doctor, this is my elder sister, Margri, Actoon Margri Major Margri, you might translate it roughly,"
"She has been very kind to me," said Frost, and bowed to her, acknowledging the introduction. Margri clapped her hands smartly together at the waist and ducked her head, features impassive.
"She gave the salute of equals," explained RobertIgor. "I translated the title doctor as best I could which causes her to assume that your rank is the same as hers."
"What should I do?"
"Return it."
Frost did so. but awkwardly.
Doctor Frost brought his erstwhile students up to "date" using a term which does not apply, since they were on a different time axis. His predicament with the civil authorities brought a cry of dismay from Helen. "Why, you poor thingi How awful of them!"
"Oh, I wouldn't say so," protested Frost. "It was reasonable so far as they knew. But I'm afraid I can't go back."
"You don't need to," Igor assured him. "You're more than welcome here."
"Perhaps I can help out in your war."
"Perhaps but you've already done more than anyone here by what you've enabled me to do. We are working on it now." He swung his arm in a gesture which took in the whole room.
Igor had been detached from combat duty and assigned to staff work, in order to make available earth techniques. Helen was helping. "Nobody believes my story but my sister," he admitted, "But I've been able to show them enough for them to realize that what I've got is important, so they've given me a free hand and are practically hanging over my shoulder, waiting to see what we can produce. I've already got them started on a jet fighter and attack rockets to arm it."
Frost expressed surprise. How could so much be done so fast? Were the time rates different? Had Helen and Igor crossed over many weeks before, figured along this axis?
No, he was told, but Igor's countrymen, though lacking many earth techniques, were far ahead of earth in manufacturing skill. They used a single general type of machine to manufacture almost anything. They fed into it a plan which Igor called for want of a better term the blueprints it was in fact, a careful scale model of the device to be manufactured; the machine retooled itself and produced the artifact. One of them was, at that moment, moulding the bodies of fighting planes out of plastic, all in one piece and in one operation.
"We are going to arm these jobs with both the stasis ray and rockets," said Igor. "Freeze 'em and then shoot the damn things down while they are out of control."
They talked a few minutes, but Frost could see that Igor was getting fidgety. He guessed the reason. and asked to be excused. Igor seized on the suggestion. "We will see you a little later," he said with relief. "I'll have some one dig up quarters for you. We are pretty rushed. War work I know you'll understand."
Frost fell asleep that night planning how he could help his two young friends, and their friends, in their struggle.
But it did not work out that way. His education had been academic rather than practical; he discovered that the reference books which Igor and Helen had brought along were so much Greek to him worse, for he understood Greek. He was accorded all honor and a comfortable living because of Igor's affirmation that he had been the indispensable agent whereby this planet had received the invaluable new weapons, but he soon realized that for the job at hand he was useless, not even fit to act as an interpreter.
He was a harmless nuisance, a pensioner and he knew it.
And underground life got on his nerves. The everpresent light bothered him. He had an unreasoned fear of radioactivity, born of ignorance, and Igor's reassurances did not stifle the fear. The war depressed him. He was not temperamentally cut out to stand up under the nervous tension of war. His helplessness to aid in the war effort, his lack of companionship, and his idleness all worked to increase the malaise.
He wandered into Igor and Helen's workroom one day, hoping for a moment's chat, if they were not too busy. They were not. Igor was pacing up and down, Helen followed them with worried eyes.
He cleared his throat"Uh I say, something the matter?"
Igor nodded, answered, "Quite a lot," and dropped back into his preoccupation.
"It's like this," said Helen. "In spite of the new weapons, things are still going against us. Igor is trying to figure out what to try next."
"Oh, I see. Sorry." He started to leave.
"Don't go. Sit down." He did so, and started mulling the matter over in his mind. It was annoying, very annoying!
"I'm afraid I'm not much use to you." he said at last to Helen. "Too bad Howard Jenkins isn't here."
"I don't suppose it matters," she answered, "We have the cream of modern earth engineering in these books."
"I don't mean that. I mean Howard himself, as he is where he's gone. They had a little gadget there in the future called a blaster. I gathered that it was a very powerful weapon indeed."