TW09 The Lilliput Legion NEW (14 page)

His eyes blinked open.

He was tied to a straight-backed wooden chair. There was a blurred face close in front of him and several people standing in the background. He tried to focus in. It came slowly. The blurry images gradually resolved themselves into a sharp-featured, hatchet-like face surmounted by thick, elaborately styled black hair and a custom-tailored, dark silk suit filled well with muscle. The tie was incongruous. Bright canary yellow. Silk. The breath smelled of cigarette smoke.

Cigarettes.

Right. The cigarettes.

Behind the hatchet-faced, tough guy in the expensive, raw silk suit was another man cut from the same cloth, a smoothly styled sharpie in a mauve suit with a purple silk shirt and a purple tie the same shade as the shirt. And beside him stood the lovely, treacherous Krista, staring down at him as though he were some interesting new bug she hadn't seen before.

"Who are you?" asked the hatchet-faced man.

"George Palmer," Hunter mumbled, giving the name that he'd been using.

Whack!

"Wrong. Try again."

"My name is George Palmer. I don't—"

WHACK!

The force of the blow split his lip and he felt blood trickle down his chin.

"Look, my friend," hatchet-face said softly, bringing his face up close to Hunter's, "we know who you're
not,
okay? What we'd like to know is who you are. And where you got this pretty bracelet."

Hunter's gaze was riveted on the warp disc being dangled before him.

"I don't understand," said Hunter. "Why are you doing this? If you want money—"

WHACK!

"Okay, now listen to me, all right? That was the last time with the open hand. I'm getting impatient. Next one's a closed fist. And if losing a few teeth doesn't loosen you up . . ."

Snik.
The six-inch blade sprang out of the handle.

"That will do, Vincent. Take Krista and go make some coffee in the kitchen. I'll call you if I need you."

Hatchet-faced Vincent gave Hunter a long look and then left the room with Krista. Domenico Manelli came around from somewhere behind Hunter to stand in front of him, looking like an investment banker in his tailored pin stripes and rep tie. So far as Hunter could tell, there were only three of them in the room now—himself, Manelli, and the smoothie in the mauve suit.

Manelli loosened his tie and took out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and offered it to Hunter. "Cigarette? These aren't drugged, by the way."

While Hunter watched, he took one himself, lit up and inhaled deeply. "I have no need of playing tricks," he said. He shrugged. "Now that you're tied to that chair, I could shoot you up to my heart's content. A little Pentothal to make you talk, some uncut heroin to make you stop . . . or I could call Vincent back in for some of your more basic persuasion. I'd really rather not, though. You strike me as a reasonable man. I think we could discuss things like intelligent human beings."

He shook out another cigarette and offered it to Hunter. Hunter nodded and Manelli held the pack out so that Hunter could take the protruding cigarette between his lips. Manelli it for him with his gold lighter. The man in the mauve suit hadn't said a word. He hadn't even moved. He simply watched Hunter expressionlessly. Hunter decided that this man worried him even more than Vincent.

"The reason I sent the others out of the room is because they don't know what this is," said Manelli, holding up the warp disc, dangling the bracelet in front of him as Vincent had "However, I do. And so does the gentleman behind me. In fact, he has one just like yours. Now isn't that an interesting coincidence?"

Suddenly, it was a brand new ball game. Hunter stared hard at the man in the mauve suit, but his face gave nothing away.

"I see we have your full attention," said Manelli, with smile.

"All right, what do you want?" said Hunter.

"Let's start with your name."

"Hunter. Reese Hunter."

It was pointless to lie. If they did administer drugs, he'd tell them the truth anyway. The thing was to convince them that he was already telling them the truth and at the same time withhold some of it.

Manelli smiled. "There, you see? I knew we could discuss things in a reasonable manner. And how about your rank, Mr. Hunter?"

"Captain."

Manelli looked impressed. "A captain, no less. And your unit?"

Hunter hesitated, his mind racing. Should he risk a bluff? They could easily find out, but how much time would it buy him? Fortunately, Manelli misinterpreted his hesitation.

"Ah, I think I understand," he said. "You're a deserter, aren't you?"

Hunter chose not to reply, implying assent by his silence.

"Yes, I do believe you are," Manelli said, with a smile. "That would explain your rather interesting and somewhat reckless behavior. Actually, you've proven to be quite resourceful, Capt. Hunter. Your one mistake was that you moved too quickly. You got greedy."

"Am I under arrest?" said Hunter.

Manelli raised his eyebrows. "Why, Capt. Hunter, do I look like a policeman?"

Hunter frowned. "I don't understand. You're not . . ." And then it came to him. "You're the Underground?"

Manelli smiled. "No. Not exactly." He reached out and removed the cigarette butt from between Hunter's lips before he burned himself. "We'll be back soon, Capt. Hunter," he said. "Regrettably, we're going to have to leave you tied up for the moment. I'll instruct Krista and Vincent to see to your comfort as much as possible under the circumstances. If you've been completely honest with us, you have nothing to be concerned about. In fact, we might even have a proposition for you. But if you have not been completely honest with us, then it won't be your comfort that Vincent will be seeing to."

"He was a gentleman. A very large man, built like a bull," said Gulliver, "with black hair and the most disquieting eyes I'd ever seen. A bright, emerald green, they were. At times, they almost seemed to glow. He was quite a handsome figure of a man, except for the disfiguring scar upon his face, from here to here."

Gulliver ran his forefinger along his cheek, from beneath his left eye to the corner of his mouth. "A wound made with a sabre, I should think, or perhaps a knife."

"That's a perfect description of Drakov, all
right," said Lucas.

They sat at the table in
the house on Threadneedle Street, sharing a light meal of bread, smoked sausage and cheese along with a bottle of red wine. Finn poured himself another glass and shook his head.

"I can't understand it," he said. "Forrester shot Drakov. I was
there. I
saw
it."

"I saw Lucas get shot, too," said Andre.

"What are you saying?" said Steiger, sarcastically. "That Drakov had a twin in the parallel universe too, and that Dr Darkness switched the two of them, as well?"

"I wouldn't put it past him," Lucas said, "but maybe what we're facing here is a result of what Darkness did with me. If there was some sort of temporal disruption that came about from his changing my past, maybe it resulted in Drakov's past being changed, as well."

"I can't see how," said Finn. "As you said, Lucas, nothing was changed by Darkness altering your past. Nothing, that is except that you survived. I don't mean to downplay that obviously, but the circumstances were unique. Your being alive instead of dead hasn't altered any of the events that took place since your death."

"Excuse me . . ." said Gulliver. "Uh, Finn, would you mind—"

"Don't ask me to repeat it, Lem," said Delaney, wryly. "I'm not even sure I understand what I just said. The point is, either Darkness was right and the uniqueness of this situation hasn’t resulted in any disruption at all or you're the disruption yourself, Lucas. Or all of us are."

"I'm very confused," said Gulliver.

"Brother, you're not alone," said Lucas.

"Either way, we're not going to solve anything by sitting around here,"

Steiger said. "Lucas, you sure you don't want to—"

"No, I don't think so," Lucas said. "It would only cause one hell of a commotion if I went back with you now and I'd never get away from them. They'd want to debrief me, put me in for observation . . ." He shook his head. "No, I could do more good here."

"Right," said Delaney. They got up from the table. "We'll clock back and pick up a couple of floater paks. And while we're at it," he said to Lucas, "we'll report your miraculous survival. Or rather, your nondeath. Or rebirth or whatever Hell, we'll just report you as being alive and let them work out."

"Uh . . . on second thought, Finn, maybe you shouldn’t mention me just yet," said Lucas.

Delaney frowned. "Why not?"

"Partly because it would cause one hell of a commotion Lucas said, "and I still don't fully understand what's happened to me. Nor can I predict how Dr. Darkness will react when he finds out that the one working prototype of his greatest invention has walked out on him. And I can think of one more reason. With this Network situation that you've described to me, it couldn't hurt to have an ace up your sleeve that no one knows about."

"Good point," said Steiger, nodding. "All right, then, we'll leave you officially dead for the time being. But we should let the old man know."

"I agree," Delaney said.

"All right," said Lucas. "You can tell Forrester, but no one else. Oh, and one more thing. Don't mention anything to him about Nikolai Drakov. At least not until we know for sure."

"I'll go along with that," said Steiger. "We'll leave directly from base to check out Gulliver's coordinates. If there's an island out there, we'll come right back here and pick up the rest of you. Meanwhile, sit tight." He checked his disc.

"We'll be clocking back here in about two minutes, your time." He glanced at Gulliver. "That means don't move around the room much till we get back, Lem. I'd hate to materialize in the same spot where you were standing."

"Goodness. What would happen if you did?" asked Gulliver.

"Believe me, you wouldn't want to know," said Steiger.

The two men went over to the far side of the room, locked in the transition coordinates on their warp discs and clocked out. Gulliver stared at the spot where they had stood a second ago and shook his head with amazement.

"It truly is astonishing what one can become accustomed to," he said. "I've just seen two people vanish into thin air and here I sit, calm as you please, eating bread and cheese and drinking wine."

"You've certainly had your share of interesting experiences," Andre said.

"All things considered, you're bearing up extremely well."

"What else is one to do?" Gulliver replied. "A man can't go jumping out of his skin every time something—
Great
merciful Heavens!"

He leaped out of his chair, sending it crashing to the floor and spilling wine all over the table as Dr. Darkness suddenly appeared sitting in the chair next to him, one leg casually crossed over the other.

"The Japanese have an old saying," Darkness said, playing with his walking stick. "When one saves another's life, that person becomes responsible for the life he saved." He grunted "The Japanese can be a very irritating people." He glanced at Gulliver, standing back away from the table and staring at him open mouthed. "What are
you
goggling at?"

" I . . . that is, I . . I . . . ai-yi-yi," said Gulliver holding his head with both hands.

"Articulate chap, isn't he?" said Darkness.

"Now listen, Doc," Lucas began, but Darkness interrupted him.

"No,
you
listen," he said. "Did you think that I went to all that trouble simply so that you could come back here am continue playing soldier, perhaps get yourself killed again? I that what comes of all my efforts on your behalf?"

"Doc, I didn't
ask
you to make any efforts on my behalf! I never asked you to do anything!"

"Indeed? And where would you be right now if I hadn’t done anything?"

"Well, dead, presumably, but—"

"Presumably?"
said Darkness, arching his eyebrows. "Nothing presumable about it. You would have been stiff as a carp." He grunted. "I saved your blasted life for you and what do I get in return? You simply walk out on me, without so much as a by your leave. Would it have been too much trouble to leave a note, at least? 'Dear Dr. Darkness, thank you for saving my life. I am off to make an asshole of myself and perhaps get killed again. Yours in perpetual confusion, Lucas Priest.' It would have taken less than a minute to dash that off. You couldn't be bothered?"

"Doc, you're starting to sound like my mother," Lucas said.

"I
am
your mother, for God's sake! I am both your mother and your father. I gave you life! Life and an opportunity such as no man has ever had before—"

"Doc, I didn't
want
it!"

"Well, who
asked
you?"

"Nobody did, that's just the point!"

"Wait a minute," Andre said. She turned to Lucas. "What do you mean, you didn't want it? You'd rather be dead?"

"You stay out of this!"

"I'd listen to her if I were you," said Darkness.

"Well, you're
not
me!" Lucas shouted. "What am I supposed to do, spend the rest of my life like some kind of laboratory animal on that cockamamie desert planet of yours, waiting around for you to perfect your telempathic terminal or whatever the hell it is before you discorporate?"

"I should think that most people would have found it a small enough price to pay for being brought back from the dead," said Darkness.

"And what happens if you
don't
perfect it?"

"Don't be absurd. It's already been perfected. It simply requires some fine tuning, a certain amount of training and adaptation on the part of the subject. Granted, it isn't exactly user friendly, but—"

"User friendly?
Are you out of your tree? This damn thing is a time bomb ticking away inside me and I'm stuck with it for rest of my unnatural life, thanks to you! Did it ever occur to you that I might actually
resent
being your guinea pig?" He threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. "God, why am I even bothering trying to explain anything to you? You act as if I had to ask your permission to come back to Earth!"