Larissa knelt down next to the professor. “That’s the real reason you won’t work for the military, isn’t it? Weapons cost you your wife...your daughter.”
Maravilla sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “The problem is that I’m powerless to fight, but I do the memory of my family no honor by running. Perhaps it’s time to settle down and start my life again. I have been building toys—the clockwork lobo, the ornithopters, and even the mining machine have all been distractions to keep me from facing the past.”
“Look at what you’ve learned though,” said Larissa. “The lobo not only taught you about wolves, but you learned how to make a practical automaton. You used that to create your ornithopters, which have given people the power of flight and taught us about owls. Now you’re putting that knowledge to use in an industrial application. Maybe you didn’t know your place in the world, but you’ve hardly been idle.”
The professor smiled. “Your optimism reminds me of my daughter.”
Larissa folded her arms. “I’m happy to learn from you, but I don’t want to replace the child you lost.”
“I would never ask you to be her.” He looked up into her eyes and held her gaze for a time. “You are smart and brave like her, but you are your own woman, haunted by your own demons, I suspect.”
Larissa stood abruptly and turned around, shutting her eyes. In her mind, she saw the face of her cousin Alethea smiling up at her, proud of the doll named Lyssa Crimson. She saw the laughing face of James Ellway, her first bounty, now dead with an orphaned son. “I appreciate the trust you showed by telling me about your past, but I don’t feel the need to say more about my own.”
“Very well,” said the professor. “You don’t owe me an explanation, but you do owe one to yourself.”
“Why exactly is that?”
The professor stood up and walked a few steps past Larissa, looking out over the scrub-covered wash. “I want to return to the Grand Canyon and finish the new ornithopters, but the reason I’m working on the mining machine is that I need to make a sustainable life. This is something I could return to. I think I could build a home here.”
Larissa opened her eyes. She had no desire to return to the home she left behind and had no vision of a future home. “I’m not sure if I would recognize home if I saw it.”
“I understand.” Maravilla’s smile was wistful. “You’ll know you’re home when you find a place you can make peace with yourself.”
<<>>
Ramon put his time in Tucson to good use. He went to the small library and composed letters to law schools he found interesting. Fatemeh spent time pouring over newspapers, following the Russian force’s advance through Oregon.
The train was supposed to arrive four days after Fatemeh, but track problems outside Wilcox delayed it. No longer content to read the paper, she inventoried the contents of the carpet bag several times over to assure herself that none of the bottles containing herbs and other healing supplies had broken.
Ramon suggested she make a soothing tea. She scowled at him, but did as he suggested. That evening, she snuggled against him as they sat on a couch in the hotel’s sitting room. He started running his fingers through her lustrous hair.
“Stop that, Ramon,” she purred.
“Why?”
“Because I want to take you up to my room, undress you and…” She stopped and shook her head.
“Would that be so wrong?” Ramon held her hair back and kissed her neck. “It’s not like we haven’t gone further before.”
Fatemeh sighed and closed her eyes. “And it goes against everything I’ve been taught, both in my Mohammedan upbringing and my Bahá’í faith. I want you so much… but I want to wait… to savor our wedding night and all the nights thereafter.”
“Do you regret the night we spent together?”
“Not at all,” said Fatemeh. “It just tells me what I have to look forward to.”
Ramon nodded and kissed her on the forehead. “Then we shall wait, corazón.”
She smiled, closed her eyes and fell asleep, leaning against him.
The next day, she followed Ramon to the library and studied maps of California, Oregon, and Washington. “How many troops do you suppose an airship holds?” she asked.
Ramon shrugged. “I was unconscious most of the time I was aboard one. You probably saw more of it than I did.”
Fatemeh tapped her fingers beside the map. “Fifty, maybe seventy-five?” She snorted. “How are they taking so much territory? The papers say there’s a naval blockade along the coast. Either the Russians have some new means of getting troops in or Legion is still recruiting people.”
Ramon scratched the back of his head. “Maybe both.”
Fatemeh shuddered. The next day, she reread all the articles she’d already studied and asked the librarian if there were any newspapers she had missed.
A week after Fatemeh arrived in town, Ramon took her hand and walked down the library steps, discussing plans for supper when the westbound Southern Pacific’s whistle sounded. They looked at each other, realizing their belongings were still spread around their respective rooms at the San Xavier.
“We’ve got to hurry, we need to get to the train station,” said Fatemeh.
Ramon pushed his glasses up his nose, then nodded. Fatemeh gathered her black skirt as they sprinted to the hotel. Entering the lobby, they hurried past a baffled desk clerk, up the stairs, and into their respective rooms. Ramon grabbed his satchel and tossed it on the bed, then gathered his belongings and shoved them in. As he locked the door, Fatemeh appeared with her carpetbag.
The train whistle sounded again.
Without another word, Fatemeh turned and went down the stairs with Ramon at her heels. She stopped briefly at the hotel’s front desk and turned in her key. Ramon tossed his key on the counter, counted out some coins to settle their bills and followed her across the street to the unfinished train station.
“All aboard!” shouted the conductor as they arrived.
Fatemeh dropped the carpetbag causing the bottles of herbs to jangle together. Opening it, she retrieved two tickets and handed them to the conductor. He punched the tickets then stood aside for Ramon and Fatemeh to board the train. Once they were aboard, he grabbed the metal step and pulled himself into the coach.
The train lurched forward as Ramon and Fatemeh moved up the aisle. She passed several pairs of empty seats and continued forward into the next car. Midway up the car, two men sat together. One wore the broad-brimmed hat of a cowhand while the other wore a bowler. Fatemeh slid into a seat across the aisle from them. She had mentioned writing to Billy, so Ramon wasn’t surprised to see him on the train.
Ramon’s gaze fell on the reporter. “So, what brings you on this little expedition?”
He tipped his hat. “Fact of the matter is I sensed a good story.”
“Something for the newspapers?” asked Ramon.
“Bigger than that,” said Duncan. “This could easily become a book. What’s more, I believe I’ll find the answer to something that’s been nagging me a good long time. Billy here tells me that whatever possessed me the first night we met may be the very same force behind the invasion.”
Ramon blinked and looked from Duncan to Fatemeh. “Is that really true?”
“It seems likely,” admitted Fatemeh. “After all, I learned about the creature called Legion from the leader of the Russian invasion, General Gorloff.”
“And I interviewed General Gorloff just a few days after I met you,” interjected Duncan. “He passed through Mesilla on his way to solve a dispute with Russian settlers at Fort Ross in California.”
“Interesting,” said Fatemeh. “Maybe we should pay a visit there.”
“So, where exactly is this Fort Ross?” asked Ramon.
“It’s a little ways out of San Francisco,” said Duncan. “Just outside of a town called Windsor.”
“That seems as good a place as any to start.” Fatemeh grinned.
“Ev
en better, it’s not in the war zone...yet,” said Billy as he looked out the train’s window at the accelerating scenery. He turned back to Ramon. “Did you learn anything from Professor Maravilla?”
Ramon shrugged. “He wasn’t very forthcoming. He didn’t come out and say he spoke with Legion, but I sensed that he must be. He said something interesting—something about Legion being like a swarm of bees that has been separated by a great distance. I think the part he’s talking to isn’t necessarily talking to the part in the northwestern territories. It’s like Legion has become at least two separate swarms.”
“Do these swarms have the same agenda, or different ones?” asked Duncan.
“That’s what we need to find out,” said Ramon. “If we know its motive, we might be able to reason with it.”
“We reasoned with it once—” Billy’s voice held an optimistic note. “—when it used General Gorloff to speak to us.”
Fatemeh considered that for a moment. “Let’s hope all the parts of Legion are equally reasonable. After all, Legion can control men. It sounds like Legion could even take over and become a man.”
A shiver went up Ramon’s spine. He reached around and scratched the back of his head, then reached down and sought the comforting familiarity of Fatemeh’s soft hand.
Chapter Eight
The Javelina
Larissa followed Professor Maravilla as he walked around the outside of the Javelina. In silhouette, from a distance, the mining machine did look a bit like a peccary with its big, bulky body and front end sloped down toward the primary cutting rollers. In the rising sun’s full light, it resembled no machine she had ever seen. It was sturdy as a locomotive and as big as the switchers used to transfer rail cars from one train to another, but it lacked the smooth lines of a machine designed to hurtle itself along the rails.
The machine’s cab and cutting rollers could be turned and even lifted to adjust the angle at which they attacked the rock. All of that added to the impression that it was the head of a great beast. At rest, the cab settled on bulky, metal wheels like a mining cart’s. Three wheels on each side of the machine’s “body” drove continuous metal-plate treads. The professor got the idea from Russian steam tractors that used the system and claimed it would add durability and traction to the machine. The machine’s smoke stack jutted out from the rear, then turned up at a ninety-degree angle, looking like a tail, held aloft. Of course, it was designed so it wouldn’t be sheared off when the machine burrowed its way through the rock.
Ed and Al Shieffelin manned the controls. Ed shoveled coal into the burner and Al watched the gauges. As pressure in the boiler built, the Javelina gurgled and snorted. Now, it not only looked like an animal, it actually seemed imbued with life. Once satisfied, Al released the lever which started the rock cutters at the front spinning. He then released the brake and engaged the throttle. A great puff of smoke billowed from the rear stack. The Javelina lurched forward. Al activated a pair of forward-facing arc lamps. It looked as though a demon opened its eyes.
The cave only extended into the rock a few yards. A great squeal sounded as the cutting rollers hit the rock and smoke billowed up. Ed released a jet of water, cooling the cutting tool, but it still screamed, sounding like parts might sheer off.
“Gear it down!” called Larissa, despite the fact that no one could have heard her over all the noise.
Even so, Al apparently had the same thought, he backed the machine up and reduced the cutter’s gear ratio. He took the machine forward again. This time, the squeal reduced to a steady whine. There was a clattering and banging as rock tumbled back through chutes into the sorting mechanism. Al adjusted the angle of attack and pushed the machine forward.
Half an hour after they started, Al backed the Javelina out of the cave. He drove it to the edge of the shallow gully and activated another lever. This one dumped limestone over the side. He rolled forward a short distance, then applied the brake and let the machine idle while he and his brother climbed out of the control cabin.
“How did we do?” shouted Al, much louder than necessary.
Professor Maravilla lit a lantern and walked forward into the cave with Larissa and the Sheiffelin brothers on his heels. He held up the lantern and illuminated the hole dug by the machine. “Impressive, the machine has already cut five yards into the rock.”
“We’ll still need to shore it up before we go much further,” came a voice from the cave entrance.
Maravilla and Larissa turned. Richard Gird leaned against the rock, arms folded.
“We could have blasted that out in nearly the same time,” continued Gird.
“What did he say?” asked Ed. Al shrugged in response.
“He said you could have blasted out the rock in the same time as you dug it out,” shouted Larissa. She turned to the professor. “I think the operators will need to put cotton in their ears from now on.”
The professor nodded, then looked back to Richard Gird. “What you say is true, but the machine’s advantage is in the processing. Shall we go see how we did?”
Maravilla extinguished the lantern as they left the cave. He climbed onto a step built into the machine’s side and opened a hatch revealing several compartments. The professor handed out a bin labeled “silver”. Larissa dropped the box to ground and sorted through the black and red rocks. Her shoulders slumped with disappointment.
Richard Gird seemed more interested than she would have expected. He reached in and grabbed a black rock, feeling the weight. He then carried the rock over to a leather case filled with chemical vials. He set the rock on the ground and carefully poured a drop of liquid on the rock. Nothing much happened, but Richard Gird smiled. “It’s not real pretty when it comes out of the ground, but it’s definitely silver.”
“How can you tell?” asked Larissa.
Gird held up the small bottle. “Nitric and muriatic acid. It’ll eat through just about anything except for silver.” He put a drop of the acid on a nearby limestone rock and it began sizzling a moment later.
Larissa nodded understanding, then stood upright. As she did, she caught movement in her peripheral vision. She looked over and saw two men on horseback. “Who are they?”
Gird frowned as Professor Maravilla walked over to his satchel and retrieved the spyglass. He took a look and then handed it to Gird. The attorney nodded to himself. “I’m guessing those are a couple of the Clanton boys. That’s part of the reason we set up the skeleton. They’re just superstitious enough to keep away.” He handed the telescope to Larissa.
The men on horseback turned and rode away. “So who are these ‘Clanton boys’?” she asked.
“They claim to be ranchers,” said Ed, whose hearing seemed better. “But really they’re rustlers. They go down to Mexico and steal cattle and bring it up to sell here in the territory.”
“Will they give us trouble?” asked Larissa.
“If they think they have something to gain,” said Gird.
<<>>
Masuda Hoshi followed a trail of deep hoof prints through a seemingly endless expanse of flat terrain. The land was so flat and barren compared to his native Japan that he felt just a little homesick. He missed the forests near Kyoto and the cool breeze that blew through the trees. He wore the takuhatsugasa made of rice straw he brought from Japan to protect his head from the sun’s onslaught. Sweat evaporated from his brow soon after it formed.
Hoshi trailed the man called Curly Bill Bresnahan. The man clearly weighed his horse down. Sometimes, the tracks lightened and a human’s tracks appeared beside the horse. Presumably, those were places where Bresnahan dismounted to give the horse a little break. The outlaw may be desperate and a killer, but he wasn’t outright cruel to the animal under his care.
There were places where Curly Bill’s horse had grazed on the sparse grass. Hoshi dismounted and allowed his horse to refresh itself with the scrub grass as well. As he studied the terrain, he noticed strange divots in the ground. He stepped up to one and examined
it. The sand was smooth and fused together, almost like glass. Hoshi frowned.
“Did you find something?” Corporal Xander Middleton asked. Although he was an army man, he wore a plaid work shirt, leather vest, and blue denim pants.
Hoshi pointed to the fused sand. “It would appear that Bresnahan is learning how to use the lightning gun he has stolen.”
In the distance, the sparsely vegetated land rose somewhat. Hoshi climbed back into the saddle and rode on, followed by Middleton. The trail ran through a gap between a pair of rocky hills until it came to a thin trickle of a stream—runoff from mountains to the south.
After a time, they found a campfire ring filled with ash. The ground had been flattened where someone lay down for a rest.
“He stopped here. This looks like a good place for us to take a break, too,” said Middleton.
“Agreed,” said Hoshi. “Though I believe it should be a short one, if we wish to catch up with Bresnahan.” Hoshi dismounted, then took a few sparing sips from the stream. Feeling better, he lowered his suitou—a bottle of sorts made from bamboo—into the water and refilled it. Corporal Middleton crouched down by a mesquite brush and studied the campsite. If he found any useful clues, he didn’t say. The samurai began to think that he should have refused Sergeant Lorenzo’s request to help track Bresnahan into Mexico.
Lorenzo had arrived in Las Cruces soon after sunup just a few days ago, looking for Billy McCarty. He was disappointed to learn that McCarty had left on the train just the night before. Lorenzo turned to leave, but Hoshi pressed for more information. That’s when he learned Curly Bill Bresnahan had escaped and fled into Mexico.
Hoshi insisted that he help find Bresnahan. “I do not wish to see this man escape justice after I helped capture him.”
Lightning Wolves Page 12