Table of Contents
Lightning Wolves
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue:
About the Author
Lightning Wolves
A Wild West Steampunk Novel
David Lee Summers
©2014 David Lee Summers
All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Published by Sky Warrior Book Publishing, LLC.
PO Box 99
Clinton, MT 59825
www.skywarriorbooks.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
Cover Art by Laura Givens
Editor: Phyllis Irene Radford
Publisher: M. H. Bonham
Printed in the United States of America
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Acknowledgements
Although much of the experience of writing a novel is sitting alone behind a computer, it also provides exciting opportunities for engagement with people as I’ve worked through different parts of the writing process.
This novel had its start in thinking about stories of early Arizona settlement. Two people who really engaged me on the subject were Les Reese and Gary Every. Sadly, Les passed away a few years ago, but he first told me about Presidio Santa Cruz de Terrenate, an abandoned Spanish outpost near Tombstone, which I thought would make a fantastic setting for a story and appears in this novel. Gary Every, to whom this work is dedicated, is not only a good friend, but a talented author. His collection of travel essays, Shadow of the OhshaD, was invaluable in my early research. Rebecca Petithory-Hayes and Gary Hayes also gave me great insights and pointed me to numerous books and resources about the Clantons and the Shieffelins.
Whether they be in the hands of swashbuckling pirates, samurai warriors, or medieval knights, swords have long fascinated me. Thanks to Doug Williams for a fascinating afternoon’s lesson in swordsmanship.
Thanks to the Tucson Steampunk Society and the Arizona Steampunk Society for providing opportunities to dress up and actually be a gunslinger or a mad scientist for an afternoon. Such events are both a well needed diversion and an important source of inspiration.
Thanks to Verity Summers for coming up with the name Lyssa Crimson and for a pleasant walk along the Rio Grande imagining the chile farms of days gone by.
Susan Voss, Stephen Ormsby, Kumie Wise, and Myranda Summers all read early drafts of this manuscript and provided useful critiques and suggestions. Laura Givens began working on the cover long before the book was complete. Her early renderings helped me visualize some of the characters and machines better and endow them with more life on the page.
Finally, thanks to Phyllis Irene Radford for her patience working with me to polish this manuscript. I have learned new things from each editor I’ve worked with, but I particularly value the time and care Phyllis took working with me on this volume.
Dedication
To Gary Every
A valued companion on many literary adventures who encouraged me to explore the wilds of Cochise County and discover little known gems of Arizona history.
Chapter One
Peer Review
Larissa Crimson dreamed a memory of flight.
She sat aboard a mechanical owl in a chair of lightweight wooden slats. She gripped levers and adjusted pedals while her heart beat a fierce accompaniment. Green hills fell away. Ahead, two impossibly large, silver-gray, cigar-shaped objects floated over Denver, Colorado. Like menacing thunderheads, these ships of the air hung against a backdrop of cloud-streaked blue sky. White, blue and red horizontal bars—the Russian Empire’s distinctive markings—decorated the airship tails. Below her, Americans marched through the streets on their way to dislodge the Russian forces. Something small and black dropped from the closest vessel’s belly. A moment later a sickening thud sounded and a cloud of black and gray soot rose from the street. Hovering out of artillery range, the dirigibles dropped more bombs on the troops below.
Looking around, she saw eleven other owl-like craft. The occupants knew they were the only people who could put an end to the invasion. Professor M.K. Maravilla, an inventor from Mexico, had built the owls he called ornithopters. Fatemeh Karimi, a healer from Persia, led the small group. She swept her hand forward and Larissa eased the largest lever toward the front panel. The tiny chemical-reaction steam engine under the seat chugged harder, the wings flapped faster, and the mechanical owl shot toward its target, slamming Larissa back into the seat.
Cold, mountain air whipped by and threatened to carry away her coachman’s hat, even though she had carefully pinned it to her hair. Despite the chill, sweat beaded around the edges of her goggles and made her face twitch.
As the ornithopters closed the distance, Larissa saw a smoke poof erupt from the nearest airship’s flank. A moment later, a whining projectile whizzed underneath her. She caught her breath and fought to steady her hand. Seeing a second, third, and fourth puff, she pushed one of the pedals and moved the control rod to the side, sending the ornithopter into a wide, upward arc. Seconds later, an owl below her burst apart. She slammed her eyes shut. The rider was dead, whether smashed by cannonball or splattered against the earth.
Opening her eyes a moment later, she glanced through the haze of unshed tears. Onofre Cisneros, the dashing pirate captain, waved at her. It was time to begin their assault on the far airship. She completed a circle, faced the target, and opened up the throttle again. With a new burst of speed, she followed Cisneros. As they got closer, ports opened in the sides of the airships’ envelopes and men leaned out, firing at them. Bullets whistled through the air. She gritted her teeth, knowing she needed to focus. She pulled back the control lever, lifting the ornithopter higher. The seat’s slats cut into her back and legs. A moment later, she was over the airship. Again, she sent the owl into a wide arc, so she approached from the bow. Slightly ahead of her and below, Cisneros's owl canted over. One of its metallic claws gripped the airship’s skin and the other missed. The ornithopter spun and Larissa’s heart skipped a beat as she thought it would topple off with the captain.
Cisneros leapt from his seat and grabbed the airship’s cloth skin. His owl came to a stop right in her path. She slowed her craft as much as she could and banked to the side. She extended the owl’s talons, but they only grabbed empty air. She leapt from the seat, toward Cisneros and began to slide past him. She jerked to a stop and nearly choked as the captain caught her collar. Her owl skidded along the spine until it smashed into the tail. The airship lurched and listed to one side. As bile rose in her throat, Larissa became aware of the buildings, streets, and people below, looking small, like some child’s elaborate plaything. Her eyes shut and she fell.
Breathing rapidly, she flailed
about until her eyes flew open again, revealing a new scene entirely. Firm ground pressed against her back through a thin bedroll. A dagger of light came in through the cave entrance and shone across her face. She rolled over and snuggled further down into her blankets.
Larissa gulped deeply several times and reminded herself she had not fallen. She had survived the Battle of Denver. Onofre Cisneros had pulled her up until she could grab on to the airship’s skin. Then he cut a hole into the envelope and climbed down through the girders, past the internal gasbags. Inside didn’t feel a lot safer than outside, but at least Larissa couldn’t see the ground. They found the unconscious crew in the gondola, tumbling about the floor as the vessel bucked like an unbroken horse. She knelt beside one of the crewmen and checked his pulse, surprised to discover he still lived. Cisneros gained control of the airship and brought it to the ground. They escaped just moments before an artillery shell flew into the vessel and ignited its load of hydrogen. Larissa shuddered.
The enticing aroma of coffee finally lured her from the blankets’ warmth. Her muscles ached, protesting the fact that she’d slept on the rocky ground every night for the last two months. She would give good money for a nice soft bed. After checking her boots for varmints, she pulled them on, then did a quick check to make sure she was buttoned up and reasonably covered before stumbling over to the cook stove Professor Maravilla had set up at the back of the cave. A long pipe ran from the stove to the cave’s mouth to carry the smoke away. The back part of the cave trapped the stove’s heat and made it comfortable—except, of course, for the lack of a mattress.
The professor was nowhere in sight. Larissa knew that most people who encountered a young woman alone with a middle-aged man would make assumptions of a most unsavory nature. However, Professor Maravilla wasn’t like that at all. His only concern was science. That suited Larissa just fine. She poured a cup of coffee, took a sip, and walked toward the cave’s entrance.
Sunlight gleamed from a bird-shaped framework of saber-thin steel. A spruce seat faced dials and gauges set in a panel. This was the first of a new generation of ornithopters—craft that flapped their wings to fly. The professor hoped to build more. None of the originals had survived the Battle of Denver.
Strips of metal, boxes of gauges, and spools of metal cable littered the cave entrance. Plans held down by rocks carpeted the cave floor. Blue lines scribbled over the papers indicated improvements. Larissa knelt down and traced lines that showed the lift as air flowed both under and over the wings. She sipped the coffee and considered how much she had learned about mathematics, physics, and engineering. Looking up, she sighed. Despite all the clutter, they were missing gears, fabric, and chemicals needed to finish and fly the owl. The few coins jingling in her pants pockets, wouldn’t begin to buy the parts needed.
Before joining up with the professor, Larissa had been a bounty hunter. She actually had wanted to be a sheriff or a marshal, but as a woman, her prospects of finding a job in law enforcement were minimal. Being a bounty hunter allowed her to control her destiny. The more she learned about science, though, the more she realized the potential to understand and possibly control the world itself.
Larissa stepped from the cave onto a rock ledge just outside the entrance. Groggy and unsettled by the dream as she was, the sight still took her breath away. Sunlight washed over the Grand Canyon’s walls, bringing out vivid shades of rust, ochre and green. As the sun rose in the sky, shadows withdrew from the rocks. Birds called and soared overhead. Despite the frightening memories of battle, she would do anything to join the birds again.
Professor Maravilla crouched on the ledge, apparently absorbed by the view. He looked immaculate despite camping out in this remote cave for two months. He wore pressed trousers and a red silk vest. His boots were polished to a bright shine. Even his mustache was trimmed to a fine line. He cradled a mug of coffee and whispered to himself. Unlike most people who had the habit, the professor would say something, then wait a few minutes as though listening for an answer. Larissa only heard one side of a conversation. She found it more than a little spooky at times.
She cleared her throat.
The professor jumped, splashing a little coffee from his mug onto the ground. “Good morning, Miss Crimson, I didn’t hear you come out.”
“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
The professor held up his hand and stood. “No worries. I was just absorbed in… thought.”
Larissa nodded. “I’ve been thinking, too.” She took a sip of coffee. “I’m thinking I might ride into Flagstaff today, go check at the sheriff’s office; see if there are any bounties I could collect.”
Maravilla sighed. “It’s a dangerous way to raise money for this project and there are no guarantees of success.”
Larissa pursed her lips. “Do you have any better suggestions?”
“There are industrialists who would pay to develop such a project. Perhaps they would give us better facilities and tools… more permanent accommodations.” The professor’s gaze drifted off over the canyon. “Perhaps I might write to the Lowells in Massachusetts.”
“They’re textile manufacturers, aren’t they? What interest would they have in mechanical owls?”
“The owls are covered in fabric, perhaps they could see this as a market they could develop. I’ve heard their son Percival has an interest in mathematics and engineering. The family might see it as a project to garner his interest.”
Larissa narrowed her gaze. “It sounds like wishful thinking.” She took another sip of coffee. “It seems like the military would have the most interest in funding your owl research.”
The professor shook his head sadly. “They already have my plans. I have no desire to continue their development as weapons. The ornithopters were meant as a way to understand the behavior of wildlife.”
“They could be so much more,” said Larissa. “We’re at war with the Russians.”
The professor nodded. “Tell you what, why don’t we both ride in to Flagstaff? I can write some letters and send them out. You can see what bounties there are. Between the two of us, we should be able to find a way to continue building the owl. Besides, we could use some more food and supplies.”
Larissa smiled. “I think we might just have enough money left for a few nights at a hotel.”
Maravilla frowned. “Don’t you think it would be better to save our money?”
“What? Try to ride all the way to Flagstaff and back in a day? No thanks!”
The professor shrugged. “Very well, we could use a holiday, but if we’re going to leave for a few days, we should make sure the cave is secure.”
With that, Larissa and the professor made a hasty breakfast of hot cakes and preserves. Afterward, they doused the cook stove’s fire and packed what they needed for a few days in town. Finally they moved the mechanical owl to the back of the cave where it wouldn’t be visible to any curiosity seekers who visited the canyon.
Once that job was complete, Larissa wiped out their tracks and did her best to obscure the path to the cave with branches, rocks, and bits and pieces of scrub brush. Such masking wouldn’t fool a professional tracker or a bounty hunter, but a casual eye was unlikely to see the trail as anything out of the ordinary.
Satisfied they had secured everything to the best of their ability, Larissa and Maravilla readied their horses, packed up their saddlebags and began the ride south to Flagstaff.
<<>>
Ramon Morales awoke in a small room of his mother’s homestead just outside of Estancia, a little farming town almost dead center in the New Mexico Territory. He and his fiancée Fatemeh Karimi had been there for just over two weeks. After driving the Russian army out of Denver with the help of Professor Maravilla and his clockwork owls, Ramon and Fatemeh wanted a place to rest and they wanted to ask Ramon’s mother for permission to marry.
In the two weeks since they’d arrived at the homestead, Ramon had been hesitant to raise the subject. Fatemeh was Persian and be
longed to a religion called Bahá’í. Instead of discussing marriage, Ramon and Fatemeh helped out where they could. Ramon tended the animals and Fatemeh looked after the small grove of fruit trees. He found he enjoyed the routine. Better yet, he enjoyed the fact that Randolph Dalton, a mine owner in Socorro, New Mexico, no longer sent bounty hunters like Larissa Crimson after him.
After Ramon and Fatemeh thwarted the Russian airships, they found they had powerful friends in the United States Army. General Phillip Sheridan himself assured Ramon’s safety.
Ramon climbed out of bed, dressed, then put on his little round glasses and went out to the kitchen. His mother sat at the table, doing cross-stitch. She wore her salt-and-pepper hair in a bun and blue veins stood out in her thin hands. Setting her work aside, she went to the stove and ladled atole—a thin porridge of cornmeal spiced with cinnamon—from a pot into an earthenware bowl, then poured coffee into a mug for him.
“Good morning, Búho.” She used the Spanish word for owl, given to him because of his glasses.
“Where’s Fatemeh?” he asked.
“She woke up early,” said Sofia Morales, returning to her place at the table. “She went out for a walk.”
Ramon took a deep breath and savored the fragrance of the cinnamon-spiced atole. “I’ve missed your cooking.”
“Fatemeh made breakfast this morning.”
Ramon looked up and smiled. “So, what do you think of her?”
“I like her.” Sofia examined the cross-stitch.
Ramon took a sip of coffee and then took a few bites of the atole. Emboldened by his mother’s declaration, he spit out a question before he could stop himself. “Does it bother you that Fatemeh isn’t Catholic?”
Sofia pushed the needle through the cloth. “Not terribly,” she said after a moment.
“I thought you would want me to marry a Catholic girl.”
Sofia pulled the needle and thread, then pushed it into the cloth again. “Ramon, I’ve known Christians who care less about Jesus and God than she does. She prays. She helps others. She’s a good woman. I don’t really care whether she calls herself Bahá’í or Catholic as long as she believes in God, and it’s clear to me she actually believes more than some people I see at Mass every week.”
Lightning Wolves Page 1