The Chronocide Mission

by Lloyd Biggle, Jr.

  “We’ll leave the wardrobe open,” he said. “You stand guard, Jeff. Shout if anything peculiar starts to happen. Now I must make a phone call. Then maybe I will know what to do next.”

  “I’ll call off the search,” Alida said. “Are you going to tell the detective?”

  “No,” Brock said. “We know how DuRosche fits into this, and we know what Hy’s connection is, but we still have no explanation for the murders that would be acceptable to a police officer.”

  He and Alida climbed the stairs—she to look for the students, and he to make his telephone call—but the phone in Egarn’s retreat rang unanswered. Brock tried again. And again. When he gave up, he was frowning worriedly.

  As he turned away, the telephone rang. Brock snatched at it. It was Fred Ulling, the detective. “Any new developments there?”

  “Yes,” Brock said. “We found DuRosche’s secret workroom. He was an amateur inventor. He had an invention he was almost ready to patent when he had his stroke. Hy found it and planned to steal it and patent it in his own name. That is as much as I’m able to explain.”

  “It’s no explanation at all. What does all that have to do with the murders?”

  “Murders are your department. Secret workrooms and inventions are mine.”

  “Whatever it is you’re sitting on, it is hot and about to go boom. Six people from that neighborhood have telephoned complaints about loiterers and prowlers. What are they after? DuRosche’s invention?”

  “That’s as good an answer as any.”

  “Then I’d better get some men in there quickly.”

  Brock said slowly, “If you come charging in here with an army of police, you may set off a war.”

  “A war? Who are those people?”

  “You might call them foreign agents trying to grab DuRosche’s invention.”

  The detective was silent for a moment. Brock had finally said something that made sense to him. “I’ll move some officers in there quietly,” he said. “The focus of activity seems to be Cobbs Hill Park, which is a few blocks south of you. They must have been hiding out in the park. Now they are crossing Interstate 490 on Culver and then spreading out through the residence streets south of East Avenue. It’s odd they aren’t using cars.”

  “They aren’t hiding out in the park,” Brock said. “They are landing there.”

  “ Landing?Are you sober?”

  “Too much so, I’m afraid. When they have this neighborhood completely under control, they will start landing here.”

  “To do what?” the detective demanded.

  “That I don’t know. But this house may be under siege very shortly—if it isn’t already. I am going to look around now and see what can be done.”

  “Help is on the way,” the detective said. “Just hang on and don’t do anything rash.”

  Alida had been listening. “Now that’s cheerful advice,” Brock told her, hanging up. “Don’t do anything rash. How many students are still here?”

  “Seven,” Alida said. “They’re having coffee and rolls in the dining room. They will be glad to stay as long as the rolls last. If seven aren’t enough, we easily can get more.”

  “No. Seven are too many. This isn’t a parlor game. This suddenly has become very, very dangerous business.”

  “It has been very, very dangerous all along,” Alida said soberly. “Four people have died.”

  “Which is an excellent reason for not involving more people than we have to.”

  Brock went down the hallway to the front door and stepped outside. He was surprised to find it so dark—he hadn’t been aware of how late it was. No outside lights were on. The few lighted windows on the ground floor gave out only shallow rectangles of illumination. The street light on DuRosche Court was very distant and faint. The night seemed peaceful, but a shadow suddenly scudded across the drive and vanished into the shrubbery. Brock hurried down the steps to the cover of a bush and squinted into the gathering night.

  He called softly, “Arne?”

  Arne slipped from the nearby shadows, making no sound at all.

  Brock wanted to know if the house was surrounded. He pointed down the drive. Then he pointed to one side and the other and made a circular motion. On the third third try, Arne suddenly understood.

  His limited English vocabulary included yes and no. He pointed down the drive—yes. To the side that adjoined the street, no. To the other side, no. To the rear, no.

  So they weren’t surrounded—yet.

  Brock was worried about the students and about the servants, too. The maids and the nurse were getting ready to leave. They had stayed later than usual—the uproar caused by the search had upset their routine. Now he was wondering how the invaders would react. They might suspect the students or servants of trying to smuggle out the plans.

  Should the plans be destroyed? That seemed to be Egarn’s intention, but Brock hesitated to take such a drastic step without consulting him. Had the invaders found him despite Colonel Lobert’s precautions?

  If the invaders tried to storm the house, Arne’s weapon could focus the ultimate power of the universe on them. It also could devastate the neighborhood and kill a lot of innocent people. The invaders, since they came from the same place Arne did, probably had the same weapon. If Arne used his, what would prevent them from blasting the house to splinters?

  Alida called to him from the door. “Telephone,” she said. “It’s a Colonel Lobert.”

  He took all of the front steps in one leap.

  The colonel said, “We spotted some suspicious-looking characters nosing around the motel we were using. They were masquerading as Zoro, or the Three Musketeers, or something. We didn’t like their looks, so we smuggled Egarn out the back way and left the room’s lights on and the TV going. The characters haven’t missed us yet—they are still hanging around there. I just checked with the proprietor. So we may have got away cleanly, but I’m not taking any bets yet. I can’t figure out how they got onto us. They must be clairvoyant.”

  “That’s as good a way to describe it as any,” Brock said.

  “We are at a different motel, now—one a long, long way from the other. Better write down this number.” He dictated it, and the professor wrote. “Egarn isn’t feeling well—I’ve sent for a doctor. He doesn’t look well, either. He must be rather be rather old.”

  “Several hundred years,” the professor said.

  The colonel chuckled. “No doubt. I’m sure these events have aged him. He wants to talk with you.”

  Egarn’s voice came faintly. “Have you found it?”

  “We’ve got the whole works,” Brock said. “DuRosche was the inventor. He had a secret workroom. There are plans there for the lens and also some samples. You and Arne were right— DuRosche must have had his mind damaged while he was working on the lens. No one else knew about his workroom, but eventually Hy found it. I told you Hy’s name was Johnson. I think he was going to patent the lens under his own name, H. H. Johnson. For Hyacinth Hyatt Johnson. That would have made it the Johnson Lens.”

  “Yes,” Egarn said weakly. “Yes. That explains everything. What did you do with the plans?”

  “I put a bookcase on top of them and bags of cement on top of the bookcase to keep them from being snatched. I wanted to talk with you before I did anything else. While we were waiting to hear from you, an army of characters in what look like black capes has been forming outside. The police say it has the whole neighborhood surrounded.”

  “The plans must be destroyed,” Egarn said excitedly. “The plans and the lens. Completely. Utterly. But if you do that, the Lantiff may destroy the house and everyone in it. They are ruthless. Their minds are damaged the way DuRosche’s was— less severely but enough to burn away all of their humane impulses.”

  “If they have weapons like Arne’s, they can cut this house to pieces any time they feel like it and us with it,” Brock said.

  “No. They won’t dare. If they did that, they might destroy the plans. As l
ong as you have the plans and lens intact, you are safe. But once they get their hands on them—”

  “I understand. They don’t really want them. They just want them preserved so future history won’t be altered. If someone else took them and patented them, it wouldn’t be a Honsun Len, it might be a Smith Len or a Miller Len, but that wouldn’t significantly alter the future. But wait—if we destroy the plans and the lenses, then no one can patent the lens, and future history will be fractured. They will no longer exist—or will they?”

  “I don’t know,” Egarn said soberly. “You see—even if you destroy the future, they are already in the present. Changing the future may not have any effect at all on the ones already here. How many are there?”

  “I haven’t any idea. They are mostly concealed in the shrubbery at the edge of the estate. From what the police told me, there could be several hundred about.”

  “The Peer of Lant can send an army if she wants to,” Egarn gasped. “If you destroy the plans, the Lantiff will run wild. They could devastate the entire city—maybe even the entire state.”

  “I understand. I saw Arne demonstrate the weapon. So what do you suggest?”

  “I don’t know,” Egarn said. “It is a terrible decision to force on you. The len has killed millions and billions already—will kill them. I feel tired and sick, and I am having trouble thinking. I just can’t—”

  The voice faded away. A moment later, Colonel Lobert spoke. “I’m afraid the old fellow’s dying. He looks extremely bad. His breathing is fast and shallow, and his heart is racing. He wanted to talk with Arne, but I don’t think he is able to. If the doctor doesn’t get here quickly—did you get what you wanted?”

  “No,” Brock said, “but I’m afraid I got all I am going to get.”

  “If he improves, I’ll call you again.”

  Brock hung up and found Alida at his elbow. She said brightly, “Don’t worry. There are twenty or thirty students on the way. If those thugs try to rush the house, they will get a surprise.”

  “You are much too late,” Brock protested. “We will soon be cut off if we aren’t already. The students won’t be able to get through to us.”

  “Yes, they will—if they come quickly, they will. There is a back way through the adjoining property. Mr. Kernley has gone to meet them.”

  “But this is terrible!” Brock exclaimed. “Here I am trying to find a way to get people out of here safely, and you are bringing in twenty or thirty more! I suppose it is too late to tell them to stay away.”

  “Much too late,” Alida said. “They are already on their way. Don’t worry about getting us out of here. All of us are staying. So are the maids and the nurse.”

  Mrs. Kernley, who was standing at the front door, called, “Professor—there is someone coming!”

  Brock went to the door. A shadowy figure was strolling nonchalantly up the drive. Every few strides, the gusting breeze tugged at his black cape. He looked formidable. He looked like the Prince of Darkness calmly arriving to take over his property.

  But when he stepped into the light that touched the area around the front door, he resolved into a thin, pasty-faced youth.

  He said, “Marcus Brock, please.”

  Brock was astonished. Then he remembered that Roszt and Kaynor had spoken English well enough to get by. This youth was an emissary from the future’s darker side.

  “I am Marcus Brock,” he said. “Who are you?”

  “I am Gevis.”

  “You are trespassing, Gevis. This is private property, and you are here without permission. Do you have an errand?”

  “You give plans,” Gevis said. “We go away. No one hurt.”

  “If you don’t go away, we will burn the plans. Do you understand?”

  “Bad for you,” Gevis said. “We burn house, people dead.”

  “Bad for you,” Brock said. “The place you came from, and everyone who is there, will go ‘poof!’ and be gone forever. Can you understand that?”

  Gevis seemed to be struggling for words.

  Suddenly a voice rang out. “Gevis!”

  Gevis winced and turned quickly. Even in the dim light, he suddenly looked frightened.

  Arne strode up to him and spoke. Gevis raised his hands as though warding off blows, but the only violence done to him was with words, spoken softly but with unmistakable venom. Finally Gevis turned and staggered back down the drive like a man fleeing from a beating. He vanished into the shrubbery. Arne turned indifferently and faded back into the shadows. Brock had no doubt that a brief but bitter drama had been enacted, but he couldn’t begin to guess what it signified.

  The end of the drive was faintly touched by the DuRosche Court streetlight, and as Brock stared in that direction, a black-cloaked figure appeared out of nowhere. It stepped aside, and another followed it. And another. And another. Negotiations had failed, and the Peer of Lant was sending her army.

  24. ARNE AND DELINE

  Bob slammed down the telephone receiver and leaped to the door of his apartment. Outside, he faced the building and sounded three piercing whistles. Heads appeared in windows.

  “Jeff and Alida need help!” he shouted. “They’re being threatened by thugs from outer space. It’s dangerous. Who’s with me?”

  Shouts came back. “I am!”

  “Right on!”

  “Wait for me!”

  Students, male and female, began to pour from the building.

  Within minutes the convoy was underway. Connie, riding with Bob, asked as they made a screeching turn onto Mt. Hope Avenue, “What sort of danger?”

  “No idea,” Bob said.

  “Just what did you mean—’thugs from outer space?’”

  “No idea about that, either. It seemed to fit what Alida told me.”

  “What are we supposed to do—scratch them to death? I wouldn’t have trimmed my fingernails last night if I’d known.”

  “Good point. I’ve been thinking about that myself. There is no quick way to get our hands on some guns, but anything at all would be better than nothing at all. I’ve been trying to remember where I saw that sign.”

  They rocketed along for two more blocks before he remembered. He took a corner on two wheels with the convoy following. He backtracked several blocks, turned again, and eventually swerved into the parking lot beside a long block of stores. As he came to a stop, the second carload of students pulled in beside him. The others arrived and took vacant spaces.

  The block of stores was only one store, a hardware and building supply business that had grown to occupy the available space. A sign in the front window advertised a fire extinguisher sale. “Better than nothing at all,” Bob said cheerfully.

  “I suppose,” Connie said. “But it will take more than a dribble to subdue a thug from outer space. We will need big extinguishers, and they are expensive. Our combined wealth probably runs to about seventeen bucks.”

  “Trust me,” Bob said confidently. “Coming in? Your good looks will add a touch of class to this otherwise vulgar-appearing mob.”

  The proprietor’s face took on an expression of perplexity as a procession of students marched up to his counter. He said politely, “Good evening.”

  “Evening,” Bob said. “I would like to rent about three dozen fire extinguishers.”

  “You would like to rent —”

  “Just for tonight,” Bob added hastily. “We are having a rally. Old building, you know, and the fire marshall thinks we ought to have more fire extinguishers.”

  “But we don’t rent—”

  “Bring ‘em back tomorrow,” Bob said assuringly. “Probably we won’t have to take ‘em out of their boxes. Chance for a quick profit for you, no risk. We store them for you overnight and return them in the morning. How about fifty bucks? We’ll leave as many university ID cards as you want for security.”

  They closed the deal for seventy-five. Steve, a chemistry major, had a brief discussion with the proprietor about the types of extinguishers available. A f
ew moments later, students began to emerge from the store with their arms full of boxes.

  * * * * At the DuRosche Mansion, a worried Professor Brock continued to watch shadowy forms emerge out of nowhere and immediately fade into the shrubbery. Egarn had called them the Lantiff. Brock had no notion of what the word meant, but somehow it seemed appropriate. They continued to arrive.

  Sergeant Ulling telephoned again to see how things were going, and Brock reported this latest development.

  “Where are they coming from?” the sergeant demanded. “We’ve sealed off all the main routes. They can’t be materializing out of thin air.”

  “It is reassuring to know that. Have your men seen several carloads of college students headed in this direction?”

  “No one has mentioned it.”

  “Probably they aren’t using a main route. Would you put out an order to have them stopped? I’ve got enough problems without filling the house with unarmed civilians.”

  “I understand. Sure, I’ll have them stopped.”

  “And tell your men this isn’t one of those damned westerns where the cavalry charges to the rescue. They are to hold back zon the heroics until all of us figure out what is going on.”

  “Will do.”

  He didn’t call again, but at least the college students failed to arrive. The outlook seemed dismal in every other respect. The Lantiff were forming ranks several men deep and gradually extending them to surround the house.

  Suddenly a patrol car turned off East Avenue. Its flashing light came on; so did its siren. It screamed its way toward DuRosche Court.

  “There is always one idiot who doesn’t get the word,” Brock muttered resignedly.

  Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, and with an audible “whoosh,” flames enveloped the car. The two officers escaped, but one was cut down in the street by another flash of lightning. A few minutes later Mrs. Calding, who had been watching from an upstairs window, reported flames on East Avenue. The battle had been joined.