by D L Frizzell
Niko examined the mule. It had jagged, irregular scales, meaning it wasn't domesticated. The reins over its trunks were similar to the design on the saddlebags. They fit badly, as they were designed for an animal with only one nose, not a bug mule with two trunks. Stamped into the leather on the saddlebags was the logo of an independent livestock owner who managed a scattered patch of Mokri trees near the Crumbles.
“Kate, we need to talk.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Redland rode Jaeger next to Benac, who sat upon the horse the marshal brought for him. "You need to get rid of that armor," Redland told him. He looked at the blisters around the fat man's neck. They had burst after rubbing against his scorched metal collar. Yellow pus oozed down the breastplate until it caked into crystals within the ornamental detail. The same thing happened to the blisters on his wrists. His blackened skin had already started to slough, revealing pink burns underneath, and Redland had a hard time not staring.
"I will not lose this armor," Benac fumed. "It was a gift from The Guile himself. It protected me against the plainsman's tricks."
"So it did," Redland admitted. He wondered how a suit of metal had prevented Benac’s death, when he thought the opposite would have happened. As it was, only the exposed parts of his skin were burned. He wondered if Benac's belly was similarly blackened where there was a gap between the clasps but decided not to ask.
"Why are we riding so slowly?” Benac spat. "Daigre took my scroll! We need to catch him and make him pay for his betrayal!"
"We'll find him," Redland assured him. "I've figured out a way to catch up."
"I am not interested in the details," Benac interrupted. "Just get me there. That is what I am paying you for."
"Alrighty."
They rode in silence for a few minutes before Benac spoke again. "Did you bring the information you promised, lawman?"
Redland did not like Benac's tone, especially the way he said lawman. He nodded.
"Tell me."
"Give me the money," Redland stared back. "And it's all yours."
"Pffft," Benac sneered. "I doubt you would give it to me."
"I might not," Redland agreed. "I could take your money and kill you instead."
"Your life would be worth nothing if you did," Benac shot back. "The Guile would send his agents after you and make you suffer a long and agonizing death in the bowels of the Nakajima."
"Everyone thinks you're already dead," Redland reminded him.
That made Benac pause. "Yes, and it is fortunate that I still live, because only I know where your reward is hidden."
"That’s why that handsome head of yours is still attached at the shoulders," Redland grinned. "We'd better pick up the pace, Benac. You are paying me for this, remember." He spurred Jaeger to a gallop and watched with satisfaction as Benac did the same. The fat man could not help but wince every time his horse jostled him in the saddle.
Ten minutes later, Redland found himself circling back to get Benac, who had fallen quite a distance behind. When he reached him, Benac was peeling the armor off. His face was puffy, red, and greasy with sweat. The white linen shirt he wore beneath the armor was spotted with a variety of stains, but mostly perspiration. As he peeled his flabby arms out of the sleeves, the armor pieces fell to the ground beside his horse. Redland noticed that there were burn marks around his waist, confirming his earlier suspicions. Benac sucked air through the missing tooth behind his torn lip, unable to hide his discomfort.
"Get my armor, will you?" Benac asked.
"Get it yourself."
Benac glared at him and grunted. He shakily dismounted his horse, almost falling when he had difficulty pulling his foot from the stirrup. He took a step towards Redland to steady himself against Jaeger. Redland backed his horse up to stay out of reach, and Benac this time Benac did fall over.
"Here," Redland tossed a medkit to the Jovian. "Use the balm in there to coat your injuries. Otherwise, infection will set in and you'll be no use to me."
"I am no man's commodity," Benac growled.
"Of course, you are," Redland laughed. "And I am yours. That's why we make such a great team, you and me."
Benac took off his boots, then unbuckled his leg and waist armor. He wrangled out of them and stood defiantly. His linen leggings matched the shirt, albeit with different types of stains. He unhooked his sword from the armor and re-attached it to a sash around his waist. "Give me pants."
"Nope."
"Give me pants and I will tell you how you can double your reward," Benac said.
"Because you've proven yourself such a reliable source of income so far?" Redland asked, already tiring of the conversation. He thought about it, then concluded he didn’t want to ride across the territory beside a man in dirty underwear. He pulled a spare pair of pants from his saddlebag and tossed them on the ground at Benac's feet. "You've pissed yourself recently, so you can keep 'em."
"I need a prisoner to take with me to The Guile," Benac said. "The Guile wants a T'Neth for questioning." He sat on the ground and began pulling the pants on. "You will get one for me."
Redland cocked his head to one side. "That's absurd."
"It is what The Guile desires," Benac said, meeting Redland's gaze with stony calm. “I was told you are a competent fighter, but perhaps that information was exaggerated.”
Redland considered the offer. He’d already killed one T'Neth. That was mostly luck, though. The T'Neth's partner hadn't been in the area, otherwise the encounter would have ended differently. "The only way to do that is to catch one alone," he replied. "And that almost never happens."
"But it does happen," Benac gave a crooked, impish smile. "I happen to know of one who wanders the plains alone. We may yet cross paths on this journey." He tied off his new pants, which fit tightly around his midsection and extended well past his heels. He put the armor boots back on and tucked the pant legs into them. "This T'Neth is untrained," he said, "an outcast, if you must know. Escort this savage to The Guile for me and you will have much to celebrate from his generosity." Benac smiled again, not caring that saliva dripped off his chin to moisten the previous stains on his shirt.
"I'm sure you're as good as your word on that," Redland said.
"I am," Benac nodded, not catching the sarcasm in Redland's voice.
As Redland and Benac resumed their journey, they were unaware of the two men watching them from the shadow of a nearby crag. They were tall, thin, and muscular. Dressed in burlap robes with blue body suits underneath, they could have been brothers. Both had the same angular features, gazing at them with blue-green speckled eyes. They looked silently at each other for a moment, then sprinted noiselessly across the grass in a new direction.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Throughout the train ride, Alex wondered how the train would stop when it reached the end of the canyon. He figured this would involve the same method it used to accelerate, but Genedi had been unwilling to explain any of that. Alex hoped the old man had warmed up enough over the previous two days to tell him the secret. Or at least, Alex thought, give it away if the question were asked innocently enough.
"Rocks, nets, ropes," Genedi said. "We drag them."
Alex was underwhelmed.
Genedi pulled out a spyglass and handed it to Alex. "You see station?" he asked as Alex looked down the canyon in the distance.
"I see it," Alex replied. "I also see a pair of big pulleys holding a rope across the canyon."
"They are capstans," Genedi told him. "The rope is not tight. It hangs low so the train, it passes over. But," he added, "I pull a lever, and a hook come down from back of train to catch rope."
"Like magic," Alex said wryly.
"No," Genedi smiled. "Science." He fitted his necker up over his nose and opened a small door on the deck. He grabbed a wrench and began turning a large sprocket that rested inside. "This is how to lower hook."
The first net was small, filled with only a few hundred kilos of rock. It took the slack o
ut of the ropes joining the train cars. The next rock-net was much heavier. The train jolted when its weight was added to the first rock-net, and the maglev train began to slow noticeably. Alex watched off the side of the train at the ropes being dragged in the opposite direction. They were kicking up huge plumes of dust which filled the canyon and the surrounding air. Lengths of coiled rope unraveled on each side of the canyon and went taut. The last rock-nets were the largest, and Alex barely had time to steady himself before the shock hit the train. Genedi only laughed when he heard obscene complaints shouted from the back of the train.
The train came to a halt less than a hundred meters from the station boardwalk. The cloud of dust enveloped the train and drifted towards the station as Genedi cranked the hook back into the train's underbelly. By the time the dust had cleared from the station, a crew with long, hooked poles had assembled by the train to ease it toward its final position at the boardwalk.
Once it reached the end of the line, the train was tied off to the moorings and gangplanks were lowered onto the train cars. As soon as they were locked in place, the soldiers wasted no time getting their gear unloaded.
After all the trucks and equipment was off the train, Alex loaded up his horse. The convoy was ready to go, with the cavalry lined up behind them. Seneca was in the lead, with the platoons following him in rank file. Alex caught up with the colonel and sidled next to him as the convoy began moving.
“Well, Deputy,” Seneca greeted Alex, “Sergeant Brady says you did pretty well for someone who never used a blade before.”
“It seemed simple enough," Alex replied.
"Using a blade, or a gun for that matter, is simple," Seneca told him. "Using it in battle is where you are really tested."
"I don’t see a difference" Alex said.
“Some don’t, that’s true,” Seneca replied. “I’m not convinced you’re that kind of person yet.”
"Better skill makes you a better fighter,” Alex said, not getting the point. “I’m good at one, so I should be good at the other.”
Seneca sighed. "The only reason we fight is to prevent something worse from happening," Seneca explained. "But if you don't understand why you're fighting, and what you're fighting for, something worse will happen.”
“Okay…”
Seneca kept talking, but movement in the rocks caught Alex’s eye. He scanned the area, seeing nothing.
“…The Guile’s motives are what we’re really dealing with…” Seneca droned on.
As he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, Alex ignored Seneca. Instead, he watched as the breeze push the tall grass in waves across the plain. There were several calm spots in the grass, each of which appeared to be caused by rocks or felled tree trunks. This isn’t so bad, he thought. I could get used to this kind of life.
Once the convoy had moved beyond the horizon, a lone figure rose from the grass and made his way into a dry riverbed nearby. With the banks obscuring visibility from the Plainsmen ahead, he broke into a run to get ahead of them.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alex found himself trailing the convoy on the road to Edgewood. He'd never spent time around so many people before, and small talk felt awkward. He decided it was easier to just follow them from a distance. An hour into the trip, he noticed Sergeants Brady and Traore on one of their security passes around the caravan. They were having a lively conversation until they noticed him lagging behind the rest. They spurred their horses to him and came alongside. Alex smiled and waved to them. They waved back as they continued talking.
"We've never been able to build a reliable electronic weapon," Traore said, continuing their discussion.
"That's irrelevant," Brady argued. "We'll be faced with war if those Jugs make it back to the Crumbles and report what they saw.”
“But it wasn’t an electronic weapon,” Traore said.
"Doesn't matter," Brady said. "Hello, Alex." He tossed a canteen to the deputy.
Alex caught the canteen. "Hi," he said, and took a drink.
"Tell Halfway how you fried the Jovian," Traore insisted. "Was it a weapon or not?"
“I needed to save Cale," Alex explained, "so I channeled the static buildup from the Celeste through some copper wiring.”
“You made a weapon," Brady pointed out. "It doesn’t matter how it worked. It worked."
"I suppose," Alex said.
"Right," Brady said, and realized he might have broached the wrong subject with Alex. "Sorry."
"Why?"
"That might be a touchy subject for you still," Brady said. "I was just speaking my mind without thinking first."
"It's okay," Alex said. "Everyone else is avoiding the topic, but it's just about the only thing I think about."
"That means you're still coming to grips with death," Traore said. "It's that way for everyone."
"You've killed people?" Alex asked.
"Sure, a few," Traore said.
"Yeah," Brady added. "Don't let folks tell you that you'll get used to it, though. Killing is always a grim thing to do, so you just focus on the good that comes from it and maybe you can still sleep at night."
"Right," Alex said, thinking about Cale and Keeva enjoying each other's company in the hospital. "Okay, I get it."
"That's it?" Traore asked. "You get it?"
"Yeah. It makes sense."
"Damn," Traore said. "It took me weeks to get my head right after my first kill."
"It's ‘cause you're slow," Brady chided him.
"I must be," Traore shook his head, and then smiled. "But I know better jokes."
"You know dirtier jokes," Brady laughed. "That doesn't mean they're better. Okay, Alex, listen up - A preacher, a hypnotist, and a carnie walk into a bar..."
Twenty hours later, the convoy pulled into Edgewood. The truck engines rattled loudly, with black smoke belching out of their exhausts. They moved slowly down the street and stopped at the town way station. Seneca took one of the truck drivers, a private named Strapp, to the metal shop.
"You the metal-smith?" Seneca asked a man behind the counter inside.
"Yes, sir," the man answered. "Name's Franklin."
“Franklin, we’ve got blown circuits in four of these trucks, and probably some magnetizing in the pistons” Strapp told him, “Do you have a forge and some wiring that we can use to repair them?"
“Sure," Franklin replied. "I don’t have enough low-gauge to fix all the circuits. Maybe enough for two or three depending on how bad they are.”
“Can you get more?” Seneca asked.
“If you can wait for the next caravan," Franklin said, looking at a calendar on the wall. "That’ll be in about three weeks. I can send a rider out to the next town and see if they have some to spare."
“If you could check the trucks and come up with a list of things you need, we'll have you send the rider,” Seneca answered. “We've got some important business in the area, and the sooner we can get them repaired, the better. Just add up the gold or barter equivalent you need and send the bill to the governor's office.”
“Will do.” The metal-smith headed for the trucks to look at the damage. “The wells aren’t working today,” he mentioned as he walked away, pointing to an oversized mason jar sitting on the handrail by his shop, “on account of the magnetic activity. The water towers are full, though, so help yourself to whatever you need.”
“Thanks,” Seneca replied.
Seneca walked over to look in the mason jar. Someone had filled the bottom with iron filings and stretched dried fish paper over the top. Inside, the iron dust moved as if it were alive. Powdery black needles rose up from the bottom of the jar and swayed in unison, pointing one way, then another. More than once as Seneca watched, the spires would disappear as the magnetic field calmed, then shoot up to the fish paper and stay there for seconds before falling back down to start the cycle over again. It wasn’t a bad magnetometer, Seneca thought, and was probably as effective as a flag would be in telling someone the current wind conditi
ons. He made a mental note to ask the smith if he could find some more of these mason jars and mount them in the trucks.
“You like my little compass?” Seneca turned to see who was speaking and saw a man crossing the street toward him. He saw the star on his vest and went to shake his hand.
“Never seen one before,” Seneca replied.
“It’s more of an indicator than a compass, really,” Zand explained. “It’s just something I put together and that’s what we decided to call it. It gives us a hint when a mag quake is brewing, so we have time to lash down the water pumps before the magnets get torn off.”
“I bet you could make a few coins selling those,” Seneca told him. “I’m Colonel Seneca, by the way.”
“Ranger Zand. Niko if you like.” He knew colonels didn’t leave their garrisons without a good reason, so he got straight to business. “Let’s go to my office and talk.”
As they turned to leave, Alex ran up to meet them. Seneca had hoped for a private conversation with the ranger, but made introductions, nonetheless.
“Vonn?” Niko asked.
“Yes,” Seneca replied. “Richard Vonn’s boy.”
“That's me,” Alex said, shaking the ranger's hand. “I’m marshal Redland’s deputy.”
“Well, Deputy Vonn,” Niko smiled, “I’m pleased to meet you.”
When they reached the ranger station, Zand showed them into his office. The door to the jailroom was open to keep the breeze moving through. Kate’s arms extended through the bars of the only cell Zand had. She leaned her hooded head against the bars and picked at tangles in her hair with dirty fingernails. Niko glanced once at her to make sure she wasn’t getting into mischief, then closed the office door. He waved his two visitors to some chairs surrounding a wooden table. As they seated themselves, he grabbed a bottle and three shot glasses from a cupboard and sat with them.
Zand uncorked the bottle and poured some golden liquid into the glasses. Seneca grabbed one of the glasses without waiting to be asked and took a small sip. Satisfied, he took a long, slow drink and leaned back. Niko swilled his own glass briefly before tasting it.