Lloyd Biggle Jr. - The Chronocide Mission

“None of us were thinking,” Egarn said. “It happened so quickly, and we never dreamed a traitor would show the Lantiff how to use the machines. This is the end of everything. We have failed utterly—unless I go back myself and try to finish what Roszt and Kaynor started.” He broke into sobs. “But I am so tired—and what chance would I have against an army of Lantiff?”

“Send me,” Arne said. “I have fought armies of Lantiff before.”

“No. You would be helpless.”

“No more than the Lantiff. You can send me what I need.”

“No.” Egarn shook his head. “The Lantiff’s task would be different from yours. All they would have to do is keep you from carrying out your mission. They could arrive in the night, cut your throat, and then hide—as we saw. They don’t need training for that. You would have to resume the search for the right Johnson and keep him from inventing his len. Look how difficult it was for Roszt and Kaynor despite their sikes of study. The Lantiff would kill you before you learned to find your way around the city.”

“We can’t simply quit,” Arne said stubbornly. “Even if I don’t know enough to do it, I still have to try.”

Egarn straightened up and squared his shoulders. “You are right. The task has become impossible, but we can’t quit. We will go together. We will arrive in Rochester—in one of the parks or the cemetery—as soon as it is dark. Unlike the Lantiff, I will be able to talk to people. I can show you how to behave, and after watching Roszt and Kaynor for so long, I know the city well. So we will have some important advantages. We can find a motel room to work from, and I know exactly what we must do next.”

A police car screamed past on Mount Hope Avenue. And then another. Bob, wearing a sweat suit and jogging shoes, miraculously survived a reckless dash through Mount Hope Avenue traffic and arrived panting at the row apartments. His shouts were inarticulate, but his arm waving was eloquent. Students began pouring out of the apartments.

Bob gasped, “The murderers are dead.”

“How do you know?” Ruth demanded.

“They broke into the old chapel.” He paused for breath. “A jogger noticed the door smashed open.” Another pause. “He looked inside, and there they were.”

“What killed them?”

“Don’t know.”

“Let’s go!” Charlie said.

They poured across Mount Hope Avenue, almost stopping traffic, and rushed through the cemetery gate. At the old chapel and crematorium, police were already holding back a crowd. Alida and Jeff were among the latecomers, but they edged their way to the front.

“What has happened?” Jeff asked a police officer.

“It’s those two characters we chased into the river yesterday. They holed up here last night, and someone robbed them and cut their throats.”

Detective Fred Ulling emerged from the building and walked over to them. “This is more ironic than yesterday,” he said. “We can call off dragging the river for these guys, but now we have to start looking for their murderers. If you don’t mind an unpleasant sight, Miss Brylon, it would be helpful to know if you have seen these characters before. We are wondering how long they’ve been hanging around.”

“I’ll be glad to help,” Alida said.

Alida and Jeff followed him into the chapel. The detective leaned over and pulled the blanket away from one body and then from the other. Alida gripped Jeff’s arm firmly.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I have seen these men maybe three or four times, but I never connected them with anything. Janie and I saw them crossing the campus one day. Janie joked about them.”

“Were they following Janie?”

“No. They were just crossing the campus. They walked past us headed in the opposite direction. I saw them do that at least two other times, and once I saw them over by the Johnson Center.”

“Are you sure Janie didn’t know them?”

“I’m certain she had never seen them before. What sad faces.” Alida went on meditatively, “They looked on all the misery of the universe, and then they died. I thought I would hate them, but I don’t.”

“They looked on a lot of misery of their own making, and they died because thieves cut their throats,” the detective said.

“What did they have to steal?’” Jeff asked.

“They were wearing money belts—well-filled belts according to the marks left on their skin. The thieves took them and also emptied their pockets.

“Seen enough?” Jeff asked Alida.

She nodded. “It doesn’t solve anything. It just raises more questions.”

“It certainly does that,” the detective said. “Who were they, where did they come from, and what did they want?”

In the new workroom, the day was spent committing acts of theft. The large len was shifted to Buffalo and focused on the men’s clothing section of a department store. When there seemed to be no one watching, Inskel snatched packaged shirts, underwear, pajamas. Egarn and Arne tried them on; then Inskel snatched again, from adjoining displays, until they were properly fitted. Trousers, sportcoats, and raincoats were a problem—their hangers were difficult to pull from the rack—but after a few tries he managed it. Shoes and slippers, with both members of a pair fastened together, were easy to steal, but it was difficult to find correct sizes.

When they were completely outfitted and supplied with all the spares they needed, he stole a suitcase for them to put the extra clothing in. Then, with Egarn directing him, he ranged through the store sucking up anything Egarn thought they might need: An electric razor, wallets for both of them, wrist watches, handkerchiefs, socks, neckties and tie pins, ball point pens and pocket-sized memo pads, a traveler’s alarm clock— anything a traveler might carry with him. They saw no money belts, so they snatched some cloth and sewing supplies, and Garzot made two of them by hand.

Money posed a special problem. Roszt and Kaynor had needed a huge sum that would support them indefinitely and allow for expensive purchases like automobiles. Egarn and Arne could do with considerably less, but they couldn’t risk running short. Egarn decided to take the money from banks located as far from the scene of their activity as possible just in case there were records of the serial numbers on bills they stole.

They switched to the West Coast, found a large city Egarn didn’t bother to identify, and created mysterious shortages in several of its banks.

Finally they had every necessity Egarn could think of, they were packed, they were ready to go. Egarn used the new razor; Arne refused to. He had seen an occasional beard in 20th century society, and he was determined to keep his. While Inskel tried to focus on the time and place chosen for their landing, and Egarn rested, Arne had a last minute errand of his own to perform. With instructions from Inskel, he used the small len to scan the remnants of the war in the east.

His direst predictions had not been fulfilled—yet. Inskor had spread destruction across Lant, burning Lant Court, destroying mills, wrecking roads and bridges, laying waste to the countryside, even raiding the peer’s prized stables and seizing her horses. Her people, especially her one-namers, would be suffering greatly, but the only damage the peer suffered would be to her pride. And now Inskor was in trouble, slipping out of one trap after another.

As for the trek south, it was far behind schedule. Inskor had enlarged the military escort after hearing Arne’s warning, and the column was still intact. Arne recognized Bernal, so the scout had reached it safely with the train of supplies and the reinforcements. No doubt both had been desperately needed. Now food was in short supply again, Arne’s caches were too far apart for the group’s slow progress, and it certainly could not reach the south before winter. As a harbinger of things to come, the Peer of Easlon was dead—perhaps killed leading the column, which would have been like her. Arne knew this because the former prince now received a peer’s obeisance. Her leadership was certain to be as bold and resourceful as her mother’s—but the march was doomed.