TW09 The Lilliput Legion NEW (15 page)

"You certainly should have," Darkness said. "You're a fool, Priest. An astonishingly lucky fool, but a fool nevertheless. It's one thing to lose your concentration and accidentally translocate to Earth during an idle lapse or while you're dreaming, because in that event, the chronocircuitry computes the coordinates from your subconscious and its own inherent database, but to
consciously
attempt to program a translocation of such magnitude when you're not even certain of the distance was foolhardy in the extreme! Suppose you had mentally tried to program specific transit coordinates and overridden the telempathic database function?"

"Well, actually I thought of that, but you said that the telempathic chronocircuitry had a built-in, automatic trip computer or whatever and—"

"My
God!"
said Darkness. "And so you blithely flung yourself across two million light years when the furthest you'd ever consciously translocated before was
across the room?"

Lucas merely gaped at him.

“Two
million
light years?" Andre said, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"What . . . what, pray tell, is a light year?" Gulliver asked, hesitantly.

"A unit of distance, determined by the velocity of the speed of light in a vacuum, which is approximately 186,000 miles per second, measured in miles per hour and multiplied by the number of hours in a year, which yields the distance that light travels in one year, which is approximately six trillion miles," Darkness said, impatiently. "I thought everyone knew that."

Gulliver tried—and failed—to comprehend the explanation he'd been given. He gave up and took a small flask from his pocket, unstoppered it and slugged down some whiskey in the hope that it would settle his nerves, so that the stranger who had just appeared would stop fading in and out like some ghostly apparition.

Only instead of Darkness becoming more substantial, Lucas disappeared.

"Lucas!" Andre cried.

"Oh, hell," said Darkness, irritably. "His bloody concentration slipped again."

"Where did he go?" said Andre, alarmed.

"I haven't the foggiest," said Darkness. "Who knows
what
he was thinking?"

He sighed. "Now I'll have to track him through the symbiotracer. With any luck, I'll find him before he panics and thinks himself into a jam. Science would be ever so much more rewarding if one didn't have to deal with people!"

And he vanished.

Gulliver tossed the flask over his shoulder and put his head down on the table. "I give up," he said. "Wake me when this dream is over."

As the uniformed courier stepped out of the lift tube and approached the security station, the two armed guards posted at the lift tube entrance fell in on either side of him. He glanced at them briefly, but didn't pause. He was carrying a briefcase that was fastened to his wrist by a chain. He set the case down on the desk in front of the sergeant of the guard and reached into his inside jacket pocket for his I.D.

"Lt. Stroud, Council of Nations attaché," he said. "I have priority classified dispatches for General Forrester."

The sergeant of the guard carefully examined the credentials. "I have nothing on my log concerning dispatches from the Council of Nations, sir."

"They're priority dispatches, Sergeant," said Lt. Stroud. "This isn't a regular delivery. It wouldn't appear on your log."

The sergeant of the guard maintained direct eye contact with the courier. "I see. Would you open the case, please, sir?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Sergeant. Orders."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have my orders, as well. And I do possess an A-6 level clearance."

"That doesn't help me, Sergeant. I have specific instructions to open this case only in General Forrester's presence."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist, sir," said the sergeant of the guard. "That case isn't going anywhere until I've seen what's inside it."

Stroud's eyes widened. "Are you serious? Do you realize what you're doing, Sergeant?"

"I'm following orders, sir," the sergeant said, resting his hand on the butt of his weapon. "Open the case, please."

Stroud shook his head with resignation and reached into his Docket. The sergeant of the guard's gun leaped out if its holster. The men on either side of the courier instantly grabbed us arms.

"Easy, easy!" said Stroud. "Jesus, what
is
it with you people? I was only getting the key for this bracelet."

The sergeant of the guard nodded and the men released him. He kept the courier covered with his gun. "Just bring it out slowly, sir, if you don't mind," he said, his voice even and polite.

Moving carefully and deliberately, Lt. Stroud removed the key from his pocket and showed it to the sergeant of the guard.

"Take the bracelet off him," the sergeant of the guard said. one of the men took the key away from him and unlocked the courier's bracelet, removing it from his wrist.

"I've heard of tight security, but you guys are really something," said Stroud. "What the hell do you think I've got in here, a bomb?"

"We'll find out as soon as we scan it, sir," said the sergeant of the guard, reaching down and bringing out a portable scanner gun with a built-in screen. It hummed faintly when he turned it on. "All right, let's see what's in here. If these are nothing but dispatches, sir, you'll have my sincere apologies and—what the
hell?"

The lid of the briefcase suddenly sprang open and a filament-thin beam of bright, coherent light lanced up out of the case. The sergeant of the guard screamed and recoiled, clapping his hand to his right eye, which the tiny laser had melted right out of its socket.

Stroud elbowed the guard on his right in the solar plexus, then back fisted the other one in the face, breaking his nose. He brought his right hand down in a sharp, chopping motion and the blow broke the neck of the first guard, then he hit the second guard again with a strike to the throat, collapsing his trachea.

The sergeant of the guard hit the alarm button on the console as more laser fire hit him and he sagged down to the floor. As the alarm klaxon sounded, tiny, black-garbed commandos started rising rapidly up out of the case, carried aloft on miniature floater paks.

"Go!
Go!"
shouted Stroud, running around the counter and stabbing at the console, trying to find the switch to cut off the alarm.

In his office suite, across the hall from his private quarters, Forrester heard the alarm and glanced at the security monitor mounted in the corner, just below the ceiling. What he saw was a platoon of armed Lilliput commandos wearing floater paks, hurtling down the corridor. A bright ball of blue-white fire from a miniature autopulser flew at the lens. The image on the monitor broke up and the screen went blank.

"Jesus Christ!"
said Forrester, yanking open his desk drawer and pulling out an antique, ivory-stocked, Colt Python .357 Magnum with a six-inch, vent-ribbed barrel. As he bolted toward the door, he heard screams and autopulser fire coming from the front office.

He stuck his head out the door and almost ran right into a wire-thin laser beam. He brought up his gun and the Colt Python roared and bucked, sending a copper-jacketed, hollow-point .357 magnum round slamming into the oncoming Lilliput commando, obliterating his entire upper torso and penetrating the miniature floater pak, which exploded in a tiny fireball.

Another laser beam singed Forrester's earlobe and one autopulser blast narrowly missed his head as he fired twice more, two handed, then hit the floor and rolled as two little exploding fireballs passed over his head. He came up on one knee and fired again, then cried out with pain as he took a direct hit on his kneecap. The Lilliput commandos had disposed of the security detail and were now swooping down on him like angry hornets. He fired his last two rounds, missing with one and taking out another miniature assassin with the last, then he threw the gun as one of the Lilliput commandos came diving down at him, firing his laser. He felt the heat as the beam grazed his cheek and then the Lilliputian went pin wheeling out of control as the thrown gun struck him a glancing blow. He struck the wall and the tiny floater pak exploded. Forrester dove through the doorway into his private quarters and slammed the door shut, locking it behind him.

Steiger and Delaney were in the lift tube, on their way up, when the alarm klaxon sounded. A second before the tube delivered them to the penthouse floor, the klaxon was silenced. Both men had their guns out. As they came diving out of the lift tube, they heard the unmistakable sound of Forrester touching off one of his antique firearms and it was the sound of the big magnum cutting loose that saved their lives. Stroud involuntarily glanced in the direction of the sound at the moment that the lift tube doors opened and the quick, diving exit of the two temporal agents caught him by surprise. Instinctively, he fired through the open lift tube doors, but Steiger and Delaney weren't there anymore and Stroud screamed as he was engulfed by two plasma bursts.

It took the Lilliput commandos scant seconds to blast their way through Forrester's door, but by that time he had already reached his den, where he kept martial mementoes of the past, souvenirs brought back—or rather, brought
ahead—by
the men and women of the First Division. When the Lilliputians broke through the door and came flying through into Forrester's private quarters, they found him standing at the entrance to his den, armed with an M-16. As they came flying in and started to fan out, Forrester fired several quick bursts of the .223 high velocity rounds, knocking several tiny invaders out of the air by pure chance, but it was impossible to achieve any kind of accuracy with a fully automatic weapon against such tiny targets moving with such speed.

Steiger and Delaney were racing down the corridor when they heard the M-16 light off. Several quick, sharp bursts were fired, and then the weapon suddenly fell silent. Fearing the worst, they came rushing through the entrance to Forrester' quarters, heedless of their own safety, and Steiger recoiled with a cry of
"Shit!"
as a Lilliputian strapped into a tiny floater pak went screaming past him backwards in a line drive, trailing spray of blood, to strike hard against the wall and explode with a sharp
whuumpf
as his fuel tanks went up.

Forrester stood in the center of the room, holding the M-16 like a baseball bat and swatting at the Lilliputians as the buzzed around him like wasps around a nest, the crisscrossing beams of their tiny lasers creating a fine latticework of coherent light around him, making it appear as if he were trapped inside some glowing spider's web.

"Moses, get down!"
Delaney shouted.

Instantly, Forrester dropped to the floor and Delaney fire his gun. The full-intensity plasma charge streaked across the room, incinerating the Lilliputians in its path, slamming into the floor to ceiling window on the far side of the room and melting right through it. Steiger made a running dive and landed right on top of Forrester, covering him with his body, but the remaining Lilliputians were in full retreat, swooping out the ruined window with their jets on full power and dispersing the night like fireflies. Delaney ran over to the gaping hole, but he held his fire. There were people down there and he didn’t want to risk hitting any innocent bystanders.

As he turned around, a squad of soldiers came running in, armed with laser rifles and autopulsers, all of which we suddenly pointed in his direction.

"Freeze!
Drop the gun! Drop it
right now!"

Delaney rolled his eyes, dropped the pistol and raised his hands over his head. "Don't shoot, I'm one of the good guys,” he said.

"On the floor! Flat on the floor
right now!"

“Well, now, that isn't very smart," Delaney said. "I just dropped my gun down there. If I got down beside it, I could pick it up and shoot you, you damn fool."

"I said get down—"

"Harris, you idiot, put down those guns!"
Steiger shouted as he got up off Forrester. "It's over!"

"Colonel! I didn't realize—"

"No, of course not!" Steiger said, furiously. "Congratulations, Harris. You've just disarmed and captured Capt. Finn Delaney."

Harris paled. "Capt. Delaney! Sir, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize—"

Forrester groaned and rolled over onto his back.

"Oh, sweet Jesus Christ," said Steiger.

Delaney was at his side in an instant. "Oh, God. Don't move, Moses," Finn said. "Don't just stand there, somebody get a goddamn medic!"

Forrester looked like he'd taken a nap on a barbecue grill. His face and skull were crisscrossed with blackened laser tracks, not bleeding because the heat had cauterized the wounds. There was a hole in his right cheek where a beam had gone in at an angle, exiting through the neck just below his jawbone. Part of an ear had been neatly sliced off. His fatigues looked like they'd been shredded in places and there were numerous pinholes in his shoulders and arms. Miraculously, none of the vital organs appeared to have been hit. He groaned again and tried to sit up.

"Don't move, Moses, help's on the way," said Delaney.

"Screw that," grunted Forrester. "Help me up."

They gently pulled him up to a sitting position on the floor. "Anyone left alive?" he said.

"I don't know," said Steiger.

"Well,
check,
God damn it!"

"Harris!" Steiger snapped.

"Yes, sir!" Harris rapidly detailed several men. "You, you, and you, come with me, on the double!"

"Somebody give me a cigarette," said Forrester, leaning against Delaney for support.

Steiger got him one and put it between his lips, lighting it for him. Forrester inhaled deeply and then slowly blew the smoke out. The smoke coming out through the hole in his cheek was disconcerting.

Harris came back into the room. His face was ashen. "They're dead, sir."

Forrester looked stricken. "All of them?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"Where the hell were
you?"
said Steiger, his voice barely under control.