Lloyd Biggle Jr.: The Chronocide Mission

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 few 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.

Brock was still trying to see what had happened to the two police officers when a ruckus sounded at the back of the house. The college students filed in with Mr. Kernley proudly in the lead. No scout who had successfully led a wartime expedition through enemy territory could have looked prouder.

“Are we glad to see you!” Alida said. “We were beginning to feel downright lonely.”

“It was a near thing,” Mr. Kernley said. “They closed in right behind us, but everyone made it through.”

“Professor!” Alida called. “Reinforcements!”

“Great,” Brock said sourly. “Maybe you can frighten these characters away with college yells.”

“We come armed,” Bob said proudly. “We are the chemical warfare unit.”

He showed Brock what the students were carrying. Brock raised his eyebrows. “This is downright original of you. Congratulations. Unfortunately, your chemicals won’t last forever or even very long. If we don’t find a way to resolve this, a lot of people are going to get killed. Have you seen the fires? Traffic has been halted on East Avenue and probably every street in the neighborhood. You just barely made it in here, and now we are completely sealed off.”

In sneaking through the grounds from the next estate, the students had missed all of the action. They dashed upstairs for a look; a moment later they shouted that two houses on East Avenue were burning. Flames also could be seen off to the south, probably on Harvard Street. In the distance, fire engines were wailing.

Brock hurried downstairs to see Jeff. “It will be our turn next,” he said. “We had better get ready. If we can keep them out of the house, we will be all right. Remember, it is the plans and lenses they want. They can burn us out whenever they like, but they won’t dare—I hope—because that would destroy what they are trying to save.”

“Right. A fire extinguisher at every door and downstairs window should do the trick. The basement windows, too. Unless they find ladders somewhere, the second floor is secure.”

“We need a special guard for DuRosche’s workroom,” Brock said. “If they succeed in breaking in, the plans must be destroyed at once.”

Brock hurried back upstairs. Suddenly the front door opened and Arne stepped in quietly. He said something—either in his own language or in grossly mispronounced English—and at that moment the night sky fractured. The house was bathed in splashes of light as the encircling ranks of black-cloaked men began to advance slowly. Some of them were carrying tubes that spat lightning as they moved forward.

For one terrifying moment Brock thought they were doomed, but these tubes, though they turned the darkness into bright daylight, were totally unlike Arne’s weapon. They seemed to do no damage at all.

“If that energy could be harnessed,” Brock remarked conversationally, “the world’s electric companies would go bankrupt.”

“But what is it?” Alida asked.

“Time,” Brock said.

“Is time an energy?”

“Of course. It is the universe’s one irresistible force. All the puny works of man combined can’t stop it for a single second. Fortunately for us, this particular adaptation seems harmless.”

Shirley and Charley were peeking out of the rear door when Bob handed them their fire extinguishers. “Clear the decks for action,” he said. “They’ll be charging the house any minute.”

“I hope you realize this means war,” Shirley said.

In the basement, Connie and Ed were contemplating one of the high windows. It was out of reach even when Ed stood on a chair.

“Maybe I can find a box to stand on,” Ed said.

“What for?” Connie demanded. “So you can stick your head up? Those beams of light may be some kind of death ray.” She handed him a fire extinguisher. “Here. We will stand back until they break the window. Then when one of them looks in, you can jump up and squirt him good.”