“Ah yes,” said Hoshi with a look of understanding. “The story you’ve told to the newspaper. That explains Fatemeh, but what about the telegram?”
Duncan took up the story. “She wants Billy to go to Washington Territory with her, so she can figure out why the Russians haven’t left.”
Hoshi reached out and took the katana from Billy. He inspected the blade, wiped it on his sleeve to clean off the dirt, and then sheathed the weapon. Frowning, he looked up. “It is a compelling question. Another compelling question is why did the Russians invade in the first place?”
Billy remembered back to the Battle of Denver. “The Russians were possessed,” he said in hushed tones.
Duncan blinked and shook his head, not certain if he heard right. “What do you mean, ‘possessed’?”
Billy gave a coy shrug. “At the end of the battle, I was aboard one of the airships with Fatemeh and Professor Maravilla. All the Russians were stock-still, like corpses. We came across one in a fancy uniform, like a general or something.”
“That must have been General Gorloff,” remarked Duncan, “the leader of the Russian invasion.”
“I suppose so,” said Billy. “His mouth fell open and words just sorta tumbled out. He called Fatemeh a ‘subject of interest.’ She said, ‘that’s what Luther Duncan called me when we first met.’” Billy’s brow creased as he remembered the exchange. “The general’s next words were strange. He said, ‘that wasn’t Luther Duncan, it was us.’” Billy shrugged. “I guess whatever possessed the general during the battle possessed you first.”
Duncan took a step backwards, as though Billy had dealt him a physical blow. After a moment Duncan nodded and said, “I first met Fatemeh and Ramon last fall, months before the battle of Denver. I had a… seizure, for lack of a better word. I heard voices. A lot of people thought I was possessed. Hell, I thought I was possessed. It was like a thousand voices speaking in my head all at once, yanking answers from my mind. I never experienced anything like it before. Fatemeh mixed up a draught for me that quieted the voices and they haven’t been back since.” He looked from Billy to Hoshi. “I interviewed General Gorloff just a couple of days after Fatemeh cured me.”
“Perhaps you were possessed by demons.” Hoshi’s tone was somber as he studied Duncan. “These demons then passed from you to General Gorloff. They must still influence the Russians.”
Billy shook his head. “The demon—or whatever it was—said it had made a mistake. After that, we destroyed the airships and won the battle.”
“I wish you’d told me this part of the story before. For months, I’ve been afraid I would have another seizure.” Duncan looked as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, then he shivered. “I’m not sure whether I prefer being afraid of a seizure or knowing that something really possessed me.”
Hoshi put his hands on his hips. “If demons possess the Russians, it seems unlikely the American military can win this conflict by conventional means. This Fatemeh is correct that you must find out as much as you can.”
“Couldn’t we just tell someone what we suspect?” asked Billy.
Duncan snorted. “Who’d believe us? Last fall, I told my editor I pretended to be possessed so I could learn more about Ramon Morales for a story I was writing. If I told him I really had been possessed, he’d have me committed!”
Billy pointed to Hoshi. “He believes there could be demons!”
“I have seen many strange things in my years as a warrior,” said Hoshi, “enough to make me consider the idea of a demon. I think you should investigate.”
“Won’t you need my help with the crops?” asked Billy.
“I should be able to find help with the harvest, but even if I don’t, hot peppers are a luxury for prosperous times. They do no good if the land is overrun.” Hoshi sighed. “You need to go. Otherwise, it would be the same as seeing the men attacking the wagon and doing nothing to protect it.”
“The code of Bushido?” asked Billy.
Hoshi smiled. “I think you’re finally beginning to learn.”
Duncan nodded. “Sounds like I better wire Fatemeh, then look into a pair of train tickets.”
Billy grinned. “What? You’re comin’ with me?”
“Try to stop me,” said Duncan. “This sounds like an even bigger story than airships over Denver.”
<<>>
A week later, Ramon Morales stepped off the stagecoach in Tucson, Arizona. He hoped the professor was still in the area. He didn’t want to travel all this distance and end up empty handed. He looked around at the buildings near the station. He knew the populations of Tucson and Albuquerque were similar, but something about the way people bustled through the streets reminded him more of San Francisco than New Mexico towns.
The driver climbed to the coach’s roof and threw Ramon’s satchel down. He caught it, then set it beside the station door. Going inside, he caught the telegraph operator’s eye and asked him whether there were any telegrams for him. The man looked through a stack of papers and shook his head. Apparently, the professor had not returned to Flagstaff yet. Either that, or Sergeant Harris had been delayed in his travels. Ramon tipped his hat, then consulted the stagecoach schedule. It looked like the next coach back to New Mexico would be in two days.
Stepping back out to the hot, dusty street, he saw the San Xavier Hotel a few doors down. He wound his way through people bustling along the boardwalk and passed a saloon advertising a free lunch. His stomach growled, but he decided to secure a room first and divest himself of the baggage. He continued into the lobby and stepped up to the desk clerk. After learning the prices, he paid for two nights at the hotel. “I’m looking for a couple friends of mine. One of them is kind of a dandy with a thin mustache and a bowler hat, goes by the name ‘Maravilla’. He may be traveling with a young woman.”
“Yeah, they were here about two weeks ago,” said the desk clerk. “They brought in a big crate. The next morning they were raising some kind of ruckus up in the professor’s room. The other patrons complained, but they checked out and I haven’t seen them since.”
Ramon pursed his lips, wondering what they had been working on. “Can you give me directions to the other hotels and boarding houses in town?”
“You’re not thinking of looking for a better deal are you? I’m afraid you won’t find one… not unless you go to the outskirts of town.”
“No, nothing like that,” said Ramon. “Just wanted to see if they’re still around since they haven’t gone back home to Flagstaff.”
“Now that I think about it, I heard them say something about going out east toward the Mule Mountains.” The clerk shook his head slowly. “That’s bad country out there… Apaches.”
Ramon felt as though the floor dropped out beneath him. Although he had seen the professor in wild and remote areas, he wasn’t certain how well acquainted he was with Indians. Shaking his head he imagined Maravilla running afoul of some custom or another. Did Larissa know enough to keep him safe? Ramon looked up. The clerk wrote down some names and addresses of hotels and rooming houses, then passed the list to Ramon. After thanking the clerk by tossing a coin on the counter, Ramon took his bag up to the room. He opened the window for some fresh air, then went in search of lunch.
Half an hour later, Ramon leaned back his chair at the saloon. The good meal and glass of beer settled his stagecoach-jostled nerves. He pulled out the paper the desk clerk had given him, then signaled to the barmaid. She gave him directions to the places on the list. Ramon grabbed his hat and left a generous tip.
The first two places on the list had signs in front that said, “Whites only.” He was taken aback since Tucson was so close to the Mexican border. Those hotels must be losing business, but Arizona had been a Confederate Territory just over a decade before. Sometimes prejudice took a long time to die and Ramon didn’t even bother with those places.
Ramon crossed off the next hotel and rooming house because of how posh they looked. He knew they would be e
xpensive. Much as he liked to dress well, the professor had little money to spend on lodgings.
As the sun sank low, Ramon came to a squat, dirty wooden building near the edge of town. Two miners sat talking on the porch. Ramon stepped inside and found a man in a dirty, striped shirt, with the top two buttons undone. He chewed a cigar and eyed Ramon warily through the smoke.
“They’re here,” said the clerk, “along with one other fella.” He pointed down the hall with his thumb. “The dude is in room thirteen.”
Ramon tipped his hat, understanding that the clerk referred to the professor. He walked down the hall and knocked on the door. When no one answered, he tried knocking louder. The door across the way opened, and a young lady in black work pants, shirt and a vest leaned on the doorframe and tipped her coachman’s hat back on her head to get a better look.
“Well, well, well, this is the first time I’ve ever been glad to see one of my bounties trying to track me down.” Larissa put her fist on her hip.
Ramon took off his hat. “Glad I finally caught up with you. Is the professor in?”
She nodded. “Yeah, he’s next door, sharing a room with Al Shieffelin. We’re using thirteen for storage.”
“Storage?”
Larissa brushed past Ramon and opened the door. Inside was an assortment of gears, rods, boilerplate, and bolts. He saw parts from steam tractors, cotton gins, windmills and other machines he couldn’t name.
“I thought you were going to build more ornithopters.”
“That was the plan, but we got sidetracked.”
Ramon shook his head and laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
A moment later, Professor Maravilla peered out of the adjoining room. “Why, bless me! It’s Ramon Morales.” He stepped out and grabbed Ramon’s hand in both of his, then he looked up and down the hallway. “Is the charming Miss Karimi with you?”
Ramon scowled. “No, I’m here on a mission for the army.”
Maravilla took a step back and straightened his robin-red waistcoat. “Perhaps you’d better come in and tell us about it.”
Larissa closed both her door and room thirteen’s. They stepped into the adjoining room, where another man read a newspaper by the light of a gas lamp. Larissa introduced Al Shieffelin.
Maravilla and Ramon sat down in the room’s two other chairs. Larissa leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms. The professor stood, offering his chair, but Larissa waved at him to remain seated.
Ramon folded his hands and began. “Have you heard about the Russians? They still occupy Washington and Alaska Territories.”
Shieffelin nodded. “I’ve just been reading about it. There was a big battle a few days ago near Salem, Oregon. A lot of lives were lost.”
As Shieffelin spoke, the professor’s eyes went wide and his lips moved. A moment later he sat forward worry creasing his brow. Ramon remembered what Fatemeh had told him about the being from the stars called Legion.
Ramon pushed his glasses up on his nose and came to the point. “The army has built some of your owls, professor, but they’re not helping the war effort. They could use your help to find something that would be more effective.”
The professor sat silent for a time, his brow furrowed. Finally, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. Last time I helped the army, they demanded I hand over my plans with minimal compensation. If they had given me more money, perhaps I would have developed improvements by now.” He looked over at Shieffelin. “I now have a contract that will provide lucrative pay and interests me a great deal. I will not help the army.”
Ramon sat back and rubbed his chin and looked from Larissa Crimson to Al Shieffelin. He wasn’t certain what, if anything, the professor had told them about the creature called Legion. Moreover, Ramon wasn’t really sure he trusted the bounty hunter. “Professor, can I speak to you alone for a minute?”
The professor looked around, rubbed beads of sweat from his forehead, then nodded. The two left the room and moved to the hotel’s porch. The sun had set and the miners who occupied the chairs earlier had moved on. Ramon sat down and indicated the professor should take the other chair. “Fatemeh told me about the being called Legion. Is it still on Earth? Can you talk to it?”
The professor looked down at his hands and was silent for a long time. “Legion is not an entity like you or me. It is thousands of individuals acting in concert like a swarm of bees.” He looked up into Ramon’s eyes. “It acts with one mind, even over great distances.”
“Can you speak to Legion? Can you find out if it’s helping the Russians in the northwest?” Ramon leaned forward.
The professor turned away and his voice grew distant. “When separated by great distance, a swarm of bees will become two swarms, even three.”
Ramon shook his head. “But you just said that Legion can communicate over great distance.”
“Imagine looking through a thousand eyes. It would be hard enough to do that if all of them were in roughly the same place. Imagine if those eyes have been separated for months across thousands of miles. Just because one can communicate over great distance, doesn’t mean one does.” The professor reached out and touched Ramon’s forearm. For just a moment, Ramon felt as though something tickled the back of his skull. “I am sorry, Mr. Morales. I am under no obligation to help you. I’m not a citizen of the United States and I want to stay here and help the Shieffelins develop a machine for their mine.”
Ramon gritted his teeth, but something in the back of his mind told him there were no arguments he could make to persuade the professor to come along of his own free will. The only way he could succeed would be to break his promise to Fatemeh. “Is there anyone else who could help me?”
“Miss Crimson has much natural talent and she is becoming quite adept, but I don’t think she can help the army, yet.”
Ramon stood and tipped his hat. “I’ll be in town through tomorrow. I’m staying at the San Xavier Hotel. If you change your mind about helping, please let me know.”
<<>>
Colonel Johnson watched as Sergeant Jesús Lorenzo led four other men onto the gunnery range at Fort Bliss. They all wore riveted, steel boxes on their backs containing dials and gauges. Rubberized tubing ran from the boxes to handheld units that consisted of copper tubes on top and black handgrips below. The men took up positions facing a set of targets.
“Aim!” called Lorenzo. Each man aimed his weapon at a target. “Ready!” The men lowered welding goggles over their eyes, giving them a distinctly insect-like appearance. “Fire!” Each man squeezed the trigger on their handgrips. Lightning flew from four of the units, vaporizing their associated targets.
“Sir,” called the fifth man. “My unit misfired.”
Lorenzo pushed the goggles to the top of his head and stepped around to check the unit’s gauges. “It’s building up an overload! Drop it!” He waved at the others. “Run!” Lorenzo helped the private out of the backpack then together they ran toward the officers and hit the dirt. Colonel Johnson crouched low, covered his ears and closed his eyes just as an explosion knocked him backwards.
His ears were still ringing and his vision blurry a few moments later when he rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. He looked at the jagged black crater in the ground, then over to the destroyed targets. The new lightning weapons were damned deadly—and still very unstable. It was a good thing those bandits hadn’t gotten their hands on them. Then again, maybe they would have blown themselves up and saved everyone a lot of trouble.
Johnson did his best to brush off his uniform, then stepped over and helped Sergeant Lorenzo to his feet. “Shut down the units and get some rest. I think we’ve tested them enough for today.”
The sergeant nodded and staggered away, followed by the other men.
A corporal shot from the fort’s telegraph office, carrying two sheets of paper. Distracted by the crater and the missing targets, he nearly ran into the colonel. Realizing where he was, he stood straight and saluted. “Sir, we’ve r
eceived news from Oregon and a telegram from Mr. Morales.”
Johnson snatched the telegrams from the corporal and read them. The first one made his knees go weak. Conscious of the soldiers, he took a deep breath and nodded. He would find the words to inform the men soon enough. The Russians had taken Oregon’s capital, Salem. He hoped Morales had good news.
Turning to the second telegram, he gritted his teeth. Maravilla wasn’t interested in helping the army. The colonel looked back at the carnage on the firing range. They needed new weapons and expert help desperately. The lightning weapons were devastating, but they were too big and dangerous to the operators to be practical. Not even the army’s flying machines could lift them. The professor could help solve that problem—perhaps create a new machine that could carry the weapons. He turned back to the corporal. “Send a telegram to General Sheridan in San Francisco and request permission for me to increase my offer to Professor Maravilla.”
Chapter Seven
Breaking Out
Curly Bill Brenahan riveted his attention on the jail door’s hinges when a thunderous blast rocked the stockade at Fort Bliss. He leaned forward as streamers of dust broke loose from the ceiling.
He had already noticed the flood damage around the lower hinge and observed how the door pulled out of the wall just a little bit each time the guard brought them meals. Now small cracks appeared in the adobe near the upper hinges. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough.
“What the hell was that?” asked Bob Martin, looking out the window, as a mushroom-shaped cloud billowed up behind another row of buildings.
The marshal in Mesilla had turned Martin and Bresnahan over to the military after reporting their capture. That way he got credit, but could more easily rid the territory of two troublemakers than at a civil trial where the primary witnesses were the likes of Billy McCarty and the “Chinaman” farmer called Hoshi.
“Bob, give me a hand with something.” Bresnahan stood up and walked over to the cell door where he pushed on the side next to the hinges. The bottom hinge gave way and moved out about six inches.
Lightning Wolves Page 10