TW12 The Six-Gun Solution NEW (27 page)

"Don't you think you've had enough, Ike?" asked the barman.

Clanton fixed him with a baleful glare. "You gonna give me another drink or not?"

The barman poured another whiskey. Ike drank it down, fortifying himself with liquid courage. Alone, he would have dreaded going up against the Earps and Holliday. Even if he had Frank, Tom and Billy along with him. But with Curly Bill and all the boys backing him up, he had nothing to worry about. The Earps and that bastard, Holliday, wouldn't stand a chance.

Colonel Brian Cooper and two of his Temporal Ranger officers took a quick look around at Delaney's room in the Aztec. The rooming house was located at the northwest end of town, on the corner of Third and Fremont. It was a very small room, with only one window looking out over Fremont Street from the second floor.

There was a bed, a chair, a bureau, a washstand and basin, a small table and a mirror. That was about it as far as furnishings went. There was a small closet and a door leading out into the hallway. With four of them standing in the room, it felt cramped. Cooper's two officers, Lieutenant Georgeson and Captain Tilley, did not look very pleased with the arrangements.

"This the best you could do?" asked Tilley, dubiously. He was tall and dark, with a trim, athletic build, he moved with the erect posture and controlled tension of the professional soldier, a man who seemed relaxed, yet prepared to react quickly to any threat on an instant's notice.

"I'm afraid so," Delaney replied.

Georgeson shook his head. He was a stark contrast to the swarthy Tilley, blond and fair complected, slightly shorter and slimmer, with a contemplative, vaguely studious air about him. He gave the impression of being careful and deliberate. "Keeping this place secure isn't going to be easy," he said. "And we're looking at possible hostilities from Drakov. the Network
and
the S.0.G.?"

"What we've got is what we've got," said Cooper, curtly. "We're going to have to make the best of it." Colonel Cooper, commander of the elite Ranger Pathfinder division based in Galveston, was tall and trimly muscular, with sharp, angular features and curly, light brown hair. His high-cheekboned face was covered with coarse stubble and his eyes had an unsettlingly direct and intense gaze. He spoke in sharp, clipped tones and had the air of a man who assessed situations quickly and took firm charge.

All three men were dressed in period costumes. Tilley wore jeans and boots, a denim shirt, a bandana, a gray Stetson and a long trail duster. His dark hair hung down to his shoulders and he had a full beard. He would have looked perfectly at home on horseback, driving a herd of cattle or perhaps robbing a bank. Georgeson had on a pearl gray bowler hat, a black frock coat, dark trousers, jodhpur boots, a white shirt and a gray silk vest. He was clean shaven, his blond hair slightly shaggy, and he looked like the sort of man who might be a professional gambler or a big city dandy. Cooper wore black trousers, high-heeled boots, a black frock coat and a white shirt with a black vest. His curly hair fell loosely to his shoulders from beneath his black Stetson, yet for all his western accoutrements, he looked more like the leader of a motorcycle gang than a cowboy. None of the three looked "regular Army." In any other time but the 27th century, when the service had special need of men with their distinct talents, they would probably have been mercenaries or contract assassins.

Beneath his duster, Tilley had a short plasma rifle slung from his shoulder, barrel pointed downward, so that he could quickly grab it, swing it up and bring it into play. He also wore a laser pistol in a cordura holster at his hip.

Georgeson had two laser pistols in tanker-style shoulder holsters underneath his coat and Cooper was armed with a disruptor in a special snap holster on one hip and a curious weapon that was regarded by most of his contemporaries as being out of date, though the Ranger leader seldom went anywhere without it. It was an antique, late 20th century, Israeli Desert Eagle semiautomatic finished in matte black and originally chambered in .44 Magnum. It was a massive piece, almost as large as the disruptor that he carried, weighing almost four pounds, with a ten-inch barrel. It had been specially adapted to fire rocket-powered, explosive 10 mm. rounds, with enough power to flatten an elephant, and it was equipped with a specially made silencer and flash suppressor that extended its barrel another four inches. In addition to the sidearms, all three men carried fighting knives and wire garrotes, several throwing knives concealed about their persons and a number of small fragmentation grenades hidden in their pockets. They had also brought equipment bags containing additional assault gear.

"I wish I could tell you what you can expect," Delaney told them, "but given the temporal instability we've got here, it's liable to be anything. The one thing you've got to do is maintain a secure transition point for bringing in your troops in case it hits the fan."

"This room won't make it." Cooper said. "It's too damn small. Can we use the roof?"

"I don't see why not," Delaney replied. "That's a good idea. I should have thought of that."

"Sounds like you've got enough to worry about," said Cooper. "Tilley, get up to the roof and lock in the transition coordinates, then set up an observation post. If a horse farts out there on the street. I want to know about it. Geordy, I want you to check out the building. I can watch the front from here, but if there's a back entrance. I want it covered."

"Got it."

"What about your other baseops, at the Grand Hotel?" asked Cooper.

"Which one?" Delaney asked, with a sour grimace. "The way the timelines are rippling. I'm not even
sure which universe we're in right now. Probably ours, but I wouldn't want to bet the hacienda on it. We don't want to risk covering two different places. Things are uncertain enough as they are. Our chief concern is the stability of this transition point. For all we know, your people could wind up clocking straight into the dead zone."

"Great," said Cooper, dryly. "You got any other good news for me?"

"Just this. If you don't hear from us by sunup, it means we blew it and you're in charge.”

"Yeah, but what's my mission?" Cooper asked. "I'm no adjustment specialist, Delaney. I'm a strike force commander. I need a target."

“Drakov the Network, the S.0.G., anyone who doesn't belong in this time sector." said Delaney. "I know that's not very specific, but it's about the best I can do."

Cooper snorted with disgust. “So how the hell am I supposed to find these people? You gave me a description of Ben Stone and that O'Fallon guy who's calling himself Johnny Ringo, and I can spot Drakov if I see him, but how the fuck am I supposed to identify the others?"

“You'll have to fly this one by the seat of your pants," said Delaney. “With any luck, you won't have to. If we survive the raid on Drakov's base of operations, whether we're able to capture him or not we'll coordinate the rest of the operation with you. If we don't make it, well, whatever you do, it probably won't make much difference. But give it your best shot. Maybe you can do something to minimize the effects of the disruption.”

“It's really that bad, huh? Look, maybe we should just start bringing in the troops right now. That way, at least I can give you some cover when you go up against Drakov."

"No way," Delaney said. "Lucas doesn't want to take that chance. This time sector’s too unstable. The least little thing is liable to trigger off a timewave or maybe even a timestream split. The only one who knows for sure what's liable to happen is Darkness and he flat out refused to tell us. All we know is that something that's supposed to happen here is going to bring about a terrible temporal disaster in the future unless we can change history and we've only got one shot to make it work. But we don't know when that opportunity is going to come or what it's going to be."

“Shit. I don't envy you," said Cooper. “I don't envy me, either. What you're telling me is that if you don't make it, no matter what I do. I'll be pissing in the wind."

"Probably," Delaney replied. "But look on the bright side. If we don't make it, at least you won't be caught up in whatever's going to happen in the future."

"No, just he caught in whatever's going to happen here and now. I'm not sure which would be worse. Fuck it. It isn't over till it's over. Till then, we just drive on. Good luck, Finn."

"You too, Brian."

Delaney headed for the door, but just then, Tilley called Cooper on his communicator.

“Tilley here. We've got trouble, Colonel.” he said.

Delaney paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"What is it?" Cooper asked.

"I've got two men on the root across the street,” said Tilley."Armed and wearing black commando gear."

"Damn it." said Delaney. "It's gotta be the S.O.G.”

"They spot you, Tilley?"

“I don't think so," came the reply. "I picked them up on my starlight scope They're watching the street below and covering the front entrance.”

"Geordy, you get that?" Cooper asked.

“I got it," Georgeson said. "I'm downstairs, by the back stairway, covering the back entrance. You want me to check outside?"

"Negative." said Cooper. "Stay put. Tilley—"

“Hold it," Tilley said, “I've got activity. Two men heading this way from the southeast. One of them answers Stone's description, the other one's dressed like a cowboy. Hold on. I'll see if I can . . . there's movement in the alley, heading toward the back! Heads up, Geordy!"

"Shit!" Delaney swore, throwing open the door and drawing his revolver.

"Cover the front!" Cooper shouted to him. Then he spoke quickly into his communicator. “Tilley, watch your back, they may clock up to the roof!"

Cooper drew his disruptor and moved to the window as Delaney ran out into the hall and down the stairs.

"Finn should have been back by now," said Lucas, tensely.

“You think maybe something happened?" Andre asked.

Lucas exhaled heavily. "We're not going to find out waiting around here." He got up, tossed down the whiskey he'd been drinking, picked up his laser rig and strapped it on underneath his coat.

"Be interesting if Wyatt Earp catches you wearing that in town." said Andre.

Lucas grimaced. “I’ll tell him it's a fancy Buntline Special,” he said. "And then I'll hit him over the head with it."

Andre got up and started heading toward the door. "You're right, we'd better go check on him."

"Aren't you bringing anything?" asked Lucas.

"Hey, you know me. I always pack." she said, lifting her long skirt. Beneath it, she wore high-button shoes and black lycra tights There was a laser pistol in a holster strapped to her right thigh and a commando bowie in a sheath strapped around her left leg.

"Interesting outfit," Lucas said, with a grin. "What else you got hidden under there?"

"You'll find out on our wedding night," she replied.

"Cute."

“Come on, greenhorn. Let's go find that crazy Irishman."

They went down the stairs and out the front door.

"Here they come,” said one of the snipers on the roof of Hafford's Saloon, across the street. He rested his rifle and chambered a round.

“About damn time," one of the others replied. "Let's finish this.”

"The girl, too?"

"Yeah, the girl, too. That's what Ringo said, ain't it?"

"I don't like shootin’ a woman."

"You want to take it up with Ringo?"

"Hell, no."

"Then let 'em have it!"

As they stepped down off the sidewalk, Andre stumbled.

"Damn heels!" she swore. A shot cracked out and a bullet struck the wood post behind her. More shots followed in rapid succession.

"
Shit
!" cried Lucas. "It's an ambush! Come on!"

They started running.

Up on the roof, the riflemen suddenly stopped shooting.

"What in the hell . . ." one of them said, staring down at the street.

"Where'd they go?"

"Shoot, God damn it!"

"At what?"

"Son of a bitch! Where in hell did they go?"

"I don't know! One minute there they were, and then they were Just . . . gone!"

"Check the street, for God's sake! They gotta be down there somewhere!"

"Where? We can see the whole blamed street from here! They plumb vanished!"

“I'm gettin' outta here."

"Wait . . . “

"You wait! I ain't stickin' around for the Earps to come and see what all the shootin' was about."

"Heck, me neither!"

"I just can't understand it. We had ‘em right in our sights! Where the hell did they go?"

Lucas and Andre suddenly stopped short.

"Holy shit," said Lucas.

One moment, they'd been running down a dark street in the middle of the night, with bullets whistling past them. Suddenly, the shooting had stopped and it was broad daylight, around two or three in the afternoon.

“We've crossed over!” Andre said, looking all around her. They were about half a block away from the Grand Hotel. Nothing looked different, except that in a matter of a few steps, they had moved from night into day, from one timeline into another.

"We've got to go back," said Andre.

"And get our asses shot off?" Lucas said. "Besides, how do we know if we can go back?"

"You're hit!" Andre exclaimed, seeing the blood on his shoulder.

Lucas shook his head. "It's just a flesh wound. I'm all right."

"Damn," said Andre. "What happens now?"

"Shit," said Lucas, looking down the street. “I’m afraid I know."

She followed his gaze. Wyatt, Virgil and Morgan Earp, together with Doc Holliday, had just stepped off the sidewalk on Hafford's Corner. Virgil Earp was carrying a cane in his right hand. Doc Holliday held a shotgun in one hand and his nickel-plated Colt in the other. Morgan Earp held a six-gun at his side. They started walking north on Fourth Street, heading across it diagonally toward Fremont Street. And with them was the Montana Kid.

Jenny ran down Fourth Street, past Hafford's Corner and Spangenberg's Gun Shop, heading toward Fremont. The Aztec Rooming House, where Finn Delaney lived, was on the corner of Fremont and Third. She held her skirts up as she ran, past the Post Office and around ,The corner of the Capitol Saloon. Turning left on Fremont. She ran past the Papago Cash Store and Bauer's Meat Market, with the alley between it that led to the back entrance of the O.K. Corral, which fronted on Allen Street. She passed the Assay Office and Fly's Boarding House, past the vacant lot between Fly's Boarding House and Photo Studio and the Harwood house, and she was almost to the corner of Third and Fremont when she heard the shots.