The Second Time Travel Megapack: 23 Modern and Classic Stories Read online

  “After visiting in your country, M. Clive, I believe I can understand how you feel,” said Athos. “But my dear friend, please don’t make the mistake of saying such a thing in the hearing of the king or His Eminence,” he cautioned.

  “Thanks for the tip,” he answered, “but I’ll be satisfied if I never see either one of them again.” At that moment d’Artagnan, Porthos, and Aramis joined them, and after exchanging congratulations, Clive addressed the four musketeers:

  “My friends, you have seen what terrible destruction I have been instrumental in bringing to your countrymen, in spite of the fact that I wanted to bring only the good things from my time and country. I have created such powerful weapons that the man that controls these weapons controls the world. That is too much power for a single mortal, and I want to remove the temptation before any more damage is done. I want you, therefore, to give me your solemn word as gentlemen that you will help me destroy these monsters of my creation, and that nothing will deter you.”

  An expression of relief passed over the features of the four men, and they readily agreed. They had even a greater respect for the might of the machines than did Clive, a respect that was almost superstition, and they also knew that they had only given His Eminence a temporary set-back, in spite of his professions of good faith. As long as the machines existed he would not rest until they were his, and these men were determined that this temptation would not be placed in his way.

  “We must dispose of this equipment without a trace remaining,” Clive continued, “and the best way to do that is to put it back on the ship that brought it, and scuttle the ship. Then I must have the factories that built it completely destroyed, along with the plans and records, and the men that built it must be sworn to secrecy.”

  “Good,” said d’Artagnan. “When do we start?”

  “Don’t be impatient, my dear d’Artagnan,” Athos remonstrated. “Our success here today has not entirely smothered the rebellion—it is still smoldering in many cities, and may break out at any time. We must not give up our weapons when our job is only half finished.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Clive, “and while you are mopping up with the tanks, d’Artagnan and I will fly back to Bohemia, and liquidate our business there.”

  They had been flying about two hours when Clive attempted to contact his base in Bohemia by short wave. When his call was finally answered, the voice that came through the head phones sounded strained and excited, and was partially drowned out by the sound of gunfire at close range.

  “What in the world is going on?” Clive almost shouted in his microphone.

  “It is the cardinal’s men,” came the voice. “They came this morning and tried to buy us out. When we wouldn’t deal with them they attempted to take over by force. They have us surrounded, and have killed all but five of us—we can’t hold out much longer.”

  “If they had you surrounded they must be barricaded in the steel mill. All of the mills and factories are mined, and can be blown up by closing a master switch there in the office. If you will slide the panel back above my desk you will find that switch. Before you do that, though, collect all the plans and records and books together and burn them, then close the master switch, set fire to the office, and get yourselves out of danger. And on your way to refueling base number one see that the mines are closed, and the oil well destroyed. Do you understand what I have said?”

  “Yes, Monsieur, but it seems a shame to destroy everything after—”

  “Yes,” Clive interrupted, “but it would be more of a shame if that ever fell into the hands of the cardinal.”

  “Yes, Monsieur,” and the voice trailed off, but the sound of gunfire could still be heard. After a short time the voice again came through the ear phones:

  “Monsieur Clive.”

  “Yes,” answered the American.

  “The books and records are now burning, and I am ready to close the switch*”

  “Good. Before you pull that switch, you all had better get down flat on the floor to protect yourselves from pieces of flying steel—you can tie a piece of cord to the switch, and pull it from the floor. Don’t try to leave the office until the pieces that go up have had time to come back down.”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “Good luck to you.”

  In a moment a tremendous explosion was heard, and then the station cut off. Clive tried aimlessly to pick them up again, knowing, however, that the transmitter had been damaged by the explosion.

  “All we can do now is get out there as soon as we can, and give them what help they need,” he said.

  Several hours later d’Artagnan called Clive’s attention to a column of dense black smoke arising in the distance ahead of them.

  “Look, Monsieur Clive,” he said, “I have never seen such black smoke, that is not ordinary fire. I wonder what it could be.”

  “That is a good sign, my dear d’Artagnan, that means that our friends survived the explosion and have proceeded at least as far as our oil well, which you see burning.”

  A short time later they flew over refueling base number one, and Clive circled the field to make a landing. As he came in for a landing, however, he suddenly changed his mind, and giving the motors a full throttle he soon regained flying speed. Once more he circled the field.

  “That’s strange,” he remarked. “Someone should be out there to meet us—they always are.”

  At that moment d’Artagnan sighted something. “Look!” he shouted. “In among those trees down there.” Clive looked in the direction in which the musketeer was pointing.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “There are men down there, hiding in the trees, and I’m sure I saw the barrel of a rifle showing through that clump of foliage.”

  “Are you sure?” Almost in answer to this question, several puffs of smoke mushroomed out from the clump that d’Artagnan had indicated, and the sound of rifle fire could be faintly heard above the roar of the motors. This was answer enough for Clive, he maneuvered the ship away from there at once. The column of smoke could still be seen pouring into the air, and Clive pointed the nose of the plane in that direction.

  “That well is burning too strong to have been burning very long,” he said. “If it were our men that started the fire, they haven’t had time to reach the refueling base, and we may be able to intercept them along the way, I hate to think what will happen to them if they do reach the refueling base.”

  They flew low over the roadway that led in the direction of the fire, and both kept their eyes glued to the ground for some sign of the loyal mechanics, hoping to find them alive, but fearing that they would find only their corpses along the road. Their search was soon rewarded, for suddenly three men burst from the foliage that bordered the roadway, and stood waving their arms wildly, trying to attract the attention of the flyers. About a mile further down the road Clive could see a band of horsemen moving toward the three men. Sizing up the situation he knew that whatever he did he would have to do quickly, if he were to save the lives of his friends. He looked about for a place to land, but could see nothing suitable except the road, and here the foliage that has been mentioned, offered an obstacle. He examined this closely and decided that he would take a, chance on it being low enough to pass under the wings of the plane. He cut the motors and landed, his wing-tips just brushing over the top-most green tips of the bordering bushes.

  As soon as the wheels touched the ground, d’Artagnan had the door open, and the three men, who had run along behind until the plane stopped, tumbled inside. The horsemen were now in sight, and were bearing down upon them at full speed. Clive gunned the motors, and the plane moved directly toward them. As soon as the plane had flying speed Clive nosed it off the ground, but kept the landing gear just a few feet above the roadway. Seeing this ominous machine coming at them with the speed of
a demon, the horsemen disbanded and fled into the fields. Clive’s passengers laughed like children at this awkward retreat.

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” said Clive in English. “If I had any bombs I’d really give you something to remember.” Then turning to the newcomers he asked, “What has become of your two companions?”

  “They turned out to be cardinalists,” said the one who had been the radio operator, “and when we started to blow up the place they attempted to stop us, and we had to do away with them.”

  “Were you able to carry out all my instructions?” asked Clive,

  “His Eminence’s men were so many in number that we had to stay together for protection, and we had to choose between the mines and the oil well, since we were on foot in order to keep under cover while escaping. We felt that the oil well was of most importance, because they could easily re-tunnel the mines, and besides, they haven’t the equipment to handle the ore,” continued the radio technician.

  “That was a wise choice,” said Clive, “and you men are to be congratulated upon what you have done for France, even though the king and Richelieu may not look upon it that way.”

  By this time they were winging toward Paris. As they passed over refueling base number one they could see a number of men on the field below, making no pretense at concealment. Again they could see wisps of smoke puff out from the rifles the men were pointing in their direction, but the plane was flying at such an altitude that there was no danger of being hit.

  “Have you any idea how the cardinal got so many men out here?” Clive asked.

  “Yes, Monsieur, they came by boat.”

  “Good,” said Clive. “That means that they have not had time to reach our other refueling bases.”

  This proved to be correct, and everything was in perfect order at the other bases. Clive and d’Artagnan discharged their passengers at the first base they sighted, and left instruction to dispose of the gasoline, and anything of value to the enemy, and to make their way back to France without attracting any attention. They left the same instructions at the third base and then winged on to Paris.

  * * * *

  Arriving in Paris, Clive and d’Artagnan learned that their three friends were leading tank divisions in mopping up operations in the provinces. They had been in constant radio communication with Paris, and expected to return within a week. The king had left a message with Monsieur de Treville, requesting Clive to visit him in the Louvre at his earliest convenience.

  “Be careful,” warned the captain of the musketeer. “Richelieu has made amends with the king, and they have been closeted for the past two days.

  So do not be surprised at any new devilment His Eminence may have hatched.”

  “Thanks,” said Clive. “I can just about imagine what he wants now, and I have a little business here in Paris that will keep me occupied for a few days before I will want to tangle with him. Be ready to bail me out of the Bastille, if you can do that in this country.”

  “I do not know what that is, Monsieur Clive,” said de Treville, “but the best plan is not to let them put you in the Bastille in the first place.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said.

  It was a week before Clive had attended to the “little business” he had alluded to. This week was spent in destroying as much as possible the civilization he had brought to France. When he had finished this he accepted the invitation of the king, and astride his motorcycle he made his way to the Louvre. When he arrived at the main gate he was immediately recognized by the guards who were still manning machine guns about the palace, and was allowed to enter without question. Although he had no official military position, Clive was looked upon as the deliverer of France by the musketeers, and he received as much of their respect as the king himself.

  He turned his motorcycle over to the group stationed at the gate, and told them to have it ready for him in case he should want to leave in a hurry. He then made his way to the antechamber of Louis XIII, where he was met by La Chesnaye, the king’s valet de chambre, who told him the king was anxious to see him, and he could pass in to his Majesty’s private chambers immediately.

  Louis greeted him with open arms. “My dear Monsieur Clive it is good to see you once more,” he dripped. “You have neglected me of late, and I have been suffering fits with my gout, but I guess I should not complain, when you have done it for the good of my kingdom.”

  “You may rest assured, your Majesty, that I did not desert you by choice. There was a little matter of saving my own skin, and of undoing the damage I had inadvertently done to France. Otherwise I would still be here dispensing pills, and looking after your comforts.” Clive wondered why the king had avoided mentioning the queen’s disappearance, and he decided that his Majesty was about to ask a favor.

  “You will, of course, reoccupy your quarters here in the Louvre now that you have returned, will you not?” continued the king.

  “Your hospitality is most gracious,” replied Clive, “but I fear that I shall not be able to accept it, for as soon as I finish up a few loose ends here I shall return to my country.”

  “Tout Monsieur, you can’t leave us now when we need you so much—we have some marvelous plans for you.” The king’s voice expressed a note of alarm.

  “And to whom do you refer as ‘we’?” asked Clive, impatiently.

  “Ah, yes,” said the king, as though it had just slipped his mind momentarily, “M. de Richelieu is truly humbled by his part in the recent unpleasantness, and with me he has been making plans that will make complete reparations for the damage done by the revolution, as well as to make France the truly great and wealthy empire she deserves to be.”

  “I knew I could smell smoke,” thought Clive. “These plans couldn’t include my tanks, and other equipment of war, could they by any chance?” he asked.

  “Ah, such foresight, Monsieur, I see our minds run in similar channels,” said the king. “It is agreed then that we are to have this equipment for our conquest of England and Prussia?” As though these last words were a signal, the cardinal stepped through the curtains that separated a small closet from the king’s chambers. He reminded Clive of a weasel about to invade a rookery.

  “I thought you would show up for the killing,” Clive said to His Eminence. And then turning back to the king he said: “As for your question, your Majesty, I will say this, my refusal of this very request once nearly cost me my life, and it did take the lives of untold hundreds of your subjects. Now that I am in control of this monster that has wreaked such havoc, I have no intention of turning it once more on the innocent people of Europe. That is my final answer, take it or leave it.” The king appeared thunder-stricken, while Richelieu stiffened, the feline smirk leaving his feature in the cruel, cold mask of the professional executioner.

  “Monsieur,” said the latter, “I have here two documents. One is an order making you governor of England, under His Majesty, King Louis XIII of France, the other is an order for your arrest and execution upon the charge of abducting Her Highness, the Queen. You have your choice, and may I say that this time I have my guards just outside the door;”

  “You already have my answer, Monsieur,” said Clive, defiantly, “but if you wish to see Her Highness, the Queen, again you had better defer my execution until I can return her to France.” Richelieu looked at the king. this was a matter for Louis to decide, but the latter looked at his minister as though trying to read an answer in his face.

  “You can tell who’s bossing this league,” thought Clive.

  “You must bear in mind, Your Majesty, that the queen deserted you when you were facing your darkest hour,” said the cardinal.

  “Perhaps it would be well for you to tell the part you played in the queen’s so-called ‘desertion’,” Clive interrupted. “Tell His Majesty about the open threats you made upon her life,
tell him—”

  “Enough!” shouted Richelieu. “Guards, arrest this man!”

  Doors flew open on both sides of the room, and the cardinal’s guards poured into the room. Clive jumped backward toward the door he had entered, which still remained closed, arid seizing a small object from his pocket he dashed it to the floor. There was a tinkle of breaking glass, accompanied by a mild detonation, and the room was immediately filled with a suffocating, blinding vapor. The guards stopped in their tracks, and Clive turned his attention toward the closed door—it had been locked from without. Two well-placed shots from his revolver destroyed the lock, and in a moment he was bounding down the stairs three at a time, toward the courtyard where his motorcycle awaited him. He arrived in time to see his musketeer friends standing off a group of His Eminence’s guards. He immediately lent his assistance, and plunged into the melee with his revolver blazing in one hand, and his saber flashing in the other. The attackers were soon overpowered, and Clive motored away from the Louvre, throttle wide open.

  “Well, this is it,” he said to himself, as he made his way to the northern gates of Paris. The moment he came in sight of this gate, however, he could see that the way was blocked, the cardinal was determined this time that the American should not escape. Now he was alone, without the assistance of the faithful lackeys that had taken him through the barricade before. He swung his motorcycle around, there was still one chance, the plane, and he raced toward the place where he had it secreted. He had left the plane guarded by a machine-gun crew, and as he neared the clearing where it rested he heard the staccato of machine-gun fire.

  “Good,” he said to himself, “at least the cardinal hasn’t cut off that means of escape as yet.” He burst into the clearing and raced toward the plane under the protective fire of the gun crew. He found d’Artagnan in charge of the crew, and they were standing off a handful of the cardinalist guards who were sniping from behind a low wall at the edge of the clearing.