Read The Dancer from Atlantis for Free Online

into his machine, we may all be finished.
    The pilot made fumbling adjustments to the devices. He put one on his head. The shining metal curve turned his sunken-eyed,blood-crusted, dirt-smudged countenance doubly ghastly. He leaned back on Oleg’s breast and signed Reid to don the second
     helmet. The American obeyed. The pilot had barely strength to reach and press a stud on his. It was the most prominent, directly
     over his brow. The hand fell into his lap; but fingers fluttered at Reid.
    The architect rallied what guts he had left. Be ready for anything, he told himself, and tough it out, son, tough it out.
     He pushed the control.
    A humming grew. The noise must be inside his skull, for none of the others heard; and somehow it didn’t feel physical, not
     like anything carried along the nerves. He grew dizzy and sat down. But that might be only from tension, on top of these past
     dreadful hours.
    The pilot was in worse case. He twitched, whimpered, closed his eyes and sagged bonelessly. It was as if his machine were
     a vampire draining his last life. Erissa ventured to kneel by him, though not to interrupt.
    After what Reid’s watch said was about five minutes, the humming faded out. The depressed studs popped up. The giddiness passed
     away. Presumably the helmets had finished their job. The pilot lay half conscious. When Reid took off his headpiece, Erissa
     removed that of her patient and laid him flat. She stayed beside him, listened to the struggling breath and watched the uncertain
     pulse in his throat.
    Finally he opened his eyes. He whispered. Erissa brought her ear close, frowned, and waved at Reid. He didn’t know what he
     could do, but joined her anyway. The pilot’s dim glance fell upon him and remained there.
    ‘Who … are you?’ rattled from the parched mouth. ‘Where, when… are you from?’
    American English!
    ‘Quick,’ pleaded the voice. ‘Haven’t… got long. For your sake too. You know…
mentatór?
This device?’
    ‘No,’ Reid answered in awe. ‘Language teacher?’
    ‘Right. Scan speech center. In the brain. Brain’s a data bank. The scanner … retrieves language information … feeds it into
     the receiver brain. Harmless, except it’s … kind of stressful … being the receiver… seeing as how then the data patterns aren’t
     just scanned, they’re imposed.’
    ‘You should have let me learn yours, then.’
    ‘No. Too confusing. You wouldn’t know how to use … toomany of the concepts. Teach that scar-faced savage over there words like … like “steam engine” … and you still couldn’t talk
     to him for days, weeks, till he’d digested the idea. About steam engines, I mean. But you two could … get together at once
     … on horses.’ The pilot paused for breath. ‘I haven’t got that kind of time to spare.’
    In the background Oleg was crossing himself, right to left, and muttering Russian prayers. Uldin had scrambled to a distance,
     where he made gestures that must be against black magic. Erissa held firm by Reid, though she touched her amulet to her lips.
     He saw, surprised at noticing, that it had the form of a double-bitted ax.
    ‘You’re from the future, aren’t you?’ Reid asked.
    A wraith of a smile passed over the pilot’s mouth. ‘We all are. I’m Sahir. Of the … I don’t remember what the base date of
     your calendar was. Is. Will be. I started from … yes, Hawaii … in the …
anakro
– call it a space-time vehicle. Pass over Earth’s surface, or waters, while traveling through time. We were bound for … prehistoric
     Africa. Protoman. We’re … we were … anthropologists, I guess, comes closest. Could I have some more to drink?’
    ‘Sure.’ Reid and Erissa helped him.
    ‘Ahh!’ Sahir lay back. ‘I feel a little stronger. It won’t last. I’d better talk while I can. Figured you’re postindustrial,
     you. Makes a difference. Identify yourself?’
    ‘Duncan Reid, American, from 1970 – latter twentieth century