“Should I turn back to the Clanton ranch?” asked Gird.
Brocius shook his head while blinking at the spots before his eyes. “No, they’ll be expecting us to go that way. Let’s go north toward Tucson. We can head back to the Clanton ranch later.”
Gird nodded and applied even more steam. Brocius chanced a look out the door behind. The Shieffelins and Maravilla had reached Hoshi and helped him to his feet. As they receded into the distance, Curly Bill closed the door, removed the lightning gun and dropped into one of the vacant seats to endure the bumpy ride.
<<>>
The prison wagon holding Ramon, Fatemeh, Luther, and Billy rumbled into the streets of San Francisco in the middle of the afternoon. Through the barred windows, Ramon saw that unlike his last visit, the city was eerily silent. Many people had fled and those that remained seemed to hunker down indoors, trying to stay out of harm’s way.
Inside the wagon, Billy dozed. Fatemeh’s eyes were also closed, but her lips moved. From the occasional soft word Ramon heard, he guessed she recited a prayer. Like Ramon, Luther watched through the windows, fascinated by the sights, despite their circumstances.
Because the streets were so empty, they rolled through the city quickly until they came to the gates of a fortification. “This must be the Presidio,” mused Luther. They rolled over a lane through rows of tents until they came to a large, brick building. The wagon stopped and a guard opened the door. Two more guards aimed rifles into the wagon.
Ramon prodded Billy awake with his boot, then followed Fatemeh and Luther out of the wagon. They stood on a green, grassy slope overlooking the Golden Gate. If not for their circumstances, Ramon would have found the site breathtaking.
The captain of the guard commanded them to march to the brick building. As they walked, fabric rustled overhead. Ramon looked up. Three mechanical birds, like Professor Maravilla’s ornithopters, soared toward the Golden Gate. Luther was enraptured. Fatemeh and Billy each held expressions of longing. “March,” ordered the guard.
They entered the building and climbed the stairs to a room containing a wooden bench that faced a desk and a chair. Tepid light filtered in from high windows. The guard pointed his rifle at the wooden bench and the four travelers sat. “Can we know why we’ve been brought here?” asked Fatemeh.
“Quiet!” ordered the guard.
Fatemeh scowled, but did as she was ordered.
Time wore on. Ramon’s backside grew numb and the shadows in the room lengthened. Finally, a door behind the desk opened and a man with gray hair, mutton-chop sideburns, and a bushy mustache wearing a captain’s uniform entered and sat down at the desk. He opened a file folder and took his time examining the papers. At last, he looked up and folded his hands. “Patrons of a saloon in San Jose say you wanted to make your way to Sausalito.”
“That’s right,” said Fatemeh. “I have relatives just north of there. I want to make sure they’re all right.”
“And just who exactly are these relatives?” asked the captain.
“My uncle Naveed and my aunt...Pari.”
The captain must have heard the slight hesitation in Fatemeh’s answer. He closed the file and leaned forward. “Let me get this straight, a dandy, a cowhand, and a Mexican are escorting an Arab woman to Sausalito to look for her aunt and uncle and you want to get there bad enough that you’re willing to pull a gun on a soldier.” He shook his head. “Tell me what you’re really doing.”
“She’s telling the God’s honest truth, sir,” piped in Billy. “I got spooked when I heard footsteps in the hall. I didn’t know it was soldiers. Honest!”
The captain scowled. “Tell me the name of the lady’s uncle.”
Billy smiled nervously. “Uh...Nav...oon?”
The captain sat back and folded his arms. “Enough of this. The Russians have made rapid progress down the coast and it’s clear they have help. Right now, you’re giving me every reason to think we caught spies trying to get information to them. You wanna try again?”
“Spies?” called Luther. “Surely we’re not the only ones travelling north. What about reporters? People who realized they left pets behind?”
“None of them pulled a gun on one of my men before he even had a chance to knock on the door. If you have nothing to hide, why are you so skittish?”
Ramon, Fatemeh, and Luther all looked at Billy who grinned sheepishly.
Luther cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the captain. “The truth, sir, is that this is Miss Fatemeh Karimi who led the owl rider assault on the Russian airships in the Battle of Denver. Billy rode along with her. Ramon fought for the American ground forces. We want to get to the Russian side so we can find their weakness. Billy just felt… cautious.”
The captain rolled his eyes, and a hollow space opened in Ramon’s gut. Nevertheless, he spoke up. “That’s right. We’re spies, but we’re spies for the American side.”
The captain snorted. “You would have had an easier time convincing me that Billy here is just a hothead who forgot the name of the aunt. Now, you expect me to believe you were at the Battle of Denver?” He looked at the guard. “Lock them up until they’re ready to tell me the truth.” He stood, then turned to leave.
“Aren’t you at least going to check out our story?” called Luther.
“What I do is my own business,” said the captain over his shoulder as he left the room.
The guard pointed at them with his rifle and they stood. Two other guards waited by the door and led Ramon, Fatemeh, Billy, and Luther down the hall to another room with a desk. Instead of a door, a gate stood at the room’s far end. Another soldier accompanied two women in drab gray dresses. One of the women pointed to Fatemeh. “You, come with us.”
“What?” Fatemeh reached out and took Ramon’s hand. “You’re not separating us.”
“We’re not putting you all in one cell,” said one of the guards with a lurid sneer.
The taller of the women put her hands on Fatemeh’s shoulder and steered her to the door. Ramon held on as long as possible, but Fatemeh finally had to let go.
“I’ll find you, corazón,” whispered Ramon.
She nodded. Unshed tears glistened in Fatemeh’s eyes. After the door slammed, the guards led Ramon, Luther, and Billy through the gate at the far end of the room into a hall lined with jail cells. Luther’s face looked drawn, all hope lost. Billy, on the other hand, seemed pleased by the sight. Ramon couldn’t figure out why but didn’t have the opportunity to ask. Each of them was locked in a separate cell.
“When’s dinner?” called Billy as the guards marched back down the hall.
“When we feel like it,” retorted the guard just as he shut and locked the gate.
<<>>
Larissa knocked on Colonel Johnson’s door. She received a muffled acknowledgement and then stepped in. The colonel looked up from a sheaf of papers. “Ah, Miss Crimson. I must say, I was impressed with your little flight.” The corner of his mouth tipped up just slightly.
“Thank you, sir.”
He held out his hand and indicated she should take a seat. She did and removed her coachman’s hat. “So, what did you think of the army’s aircraft?”
“It flies well, sir. Perhaps even better than Professor Maravilla’s ornithopters, but I see where you have a problem with combat.”
The colonel folded his hands but remained silent, waiting for her to continue on her own.
“It’s difficult to aim a weapon at anything on the ground. When you fire, the recoil makes the craft hard to control,” she said.
Johnson nodded. “You could always drop bombs.”
“But, you could only carry a few and the ornithopters are an easy target. A bullet hitting a key joint would take one out of the sky.”
“Precisely,” said Johnson. “Would it help if there was a weapon that fired without recoil?”
Larissa considered that. “I’m not sure how you could make a recoilless gun, but if it could be done, it would certainl
y help.”
“Let me show you.” The colonel stood and retrieved his own broad-brimmed hat from a coat tree next to the door. He led Larissa out to the courtyard where Sergeant Jesús Lorenzo wore a strange metal pack on his back and held something that looked like a cross between a rifle and a magic wand.
Larissa tipped her hat. “Good to see you again, Sergeant.” She remembered him as a friend of Ramon’s from the battle of Denver.
“Sergeant, would you care to demonstrate the lightning gun for Miss Crimson?” asked the colonel.
“Yes, sir,” said Lorenzo. He lowered a pair of goggles with dark glass over his eyes.
The colonel handed Larissa a similar pair of goggles. “I’ve got my own, thanks.” She pointed to the pair on her hat.
“No good, you’ll need the dark lenses.” The colonel motioned for her to take a few steps back. She put the goggles on and watched as Lorenzo unleashed a lightning bolt, obliterating the target at the far end of the field.
Larissa’s mouth fell open, which she soon realized was a bad idea when a gnat flitted onto her tongue. She spat it out as she lifted the dark goggles, then fought to regain composure. “Could I give it a try?”
Lorenzo and the colonel looked at one another. After a moment, the colonel nodded. Lorenzo removed the backpack and helped Larissa put it on. Her brow creased as she took the weight, but she made a deliberate effort to stand up straight and listen while Lorenzo gave her instructions. He then pointed to another target next to the one he’d destroyed.
“What happens if I don’t lower the goggles?” asked Larissa.
“You’ll see spots for a while afterwards, maybe bad enough to blind you for a few seconds,” explained Lorenzo.
She nodded, and took aim without donning the goggles. Satisfied, she fired. The shot went wide and missed the target, but put a crater in the adobe wall behind. She blinked back spots as she turned to look at the colonel and Lorenzo. The sergeant eased the lightning gun’s barrel downward as she aimed it toward them.
“Why’d you fire the gun without the goggles?” asked Lorenzo.
“They’re too dark to use while flying. I wanted to see how badly firing the gun blinded me.” She looked down at the weapon she held. “Who built this?”
“A scientist back east named Thomas Edison,” explained the colonel. “I realize the lightning gun is too heavy for an ornithopter to lift, but could the aircraft be adapted to carry more weight?”
Larissa shook her head. “Maybe, but it wouldn’t do much good. You’d still have problems aiming at ground targets. It seems to me the best use of the aircraft is getting reconnaissance on enemy troop movements.”
“There’s another problem,” interjected Lorenzo. “The lightning guns are terribly unstable. Sometimes they explode.”
The colonel looked like he just sucked on a lemon at hearing the revelation so casually spoken, but Larissa just nodded.
“We need to think of a different solution, something that moves faster than horses, has the lightning gun’s power, and can work in groups,” said Larissa.
The colonel nodded. “What do you need to develop such a vehicle?”
“I need a workshop and maybe some men to help with labor.” Larissa shrugged off the lightning gun and handed it to Lorenzo. “I could use one or two lightning guns if you can spare them and the owl...the aircraft.”
“I think that can be arranged,” said the colonel. “Anything else?”
Larissa smiled, remembering her landing the other day. “I could use two or three safety bicycles, like those the couriers ride around the fort.”
“Very well. I’ll make arrangements.” The colonel turned to leave, but stopped. “Thank you, Miss Crimson. I appreciate the help you’ve given us so far.”
She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. “I just hope this idea pans out.”
Chapter Eleven
The Machineries of War
Professor Maravilla stood openmouthed, watching the Javelina roll away to the north, a billowing cloud of smoke and dust in its wake. With it, his dreams of settling down and finding a normal life again disappeared as well. He had wandered for a long time—an exile with no place to call home—and he wasn’t alone. Another had settled so deep in his brain, he tended to forget that it was a second consciousness.
“We had forgotten what it was to be a living being and enjoy the scent of dust in the air and the feel of warmth on an epidermal layer. We had forgotten there is simple meaning in the experience of being alive. We had forgotten the pride of building something and the hollow feeling that comes from loss.”
Maravilla shifted his attention from the consciousness called Legion to the stranger who called himself Masuda Hoshi. He stood several paces ahead and holstered a gun inside his robes. He was Asian, but unlike those who worked on the railroads or served white men, he was not used to submitting to the will of others. His eyes were like flint and his scowl unflinching as he looked after the receding smoke and dust cloud trailing the Javelina.
“William Bresnahan is a murderer and must be brought to justice,” said Hoshi.
“We appreciate what you tried to do for us and all,” said Al Shieffelin, “but just who are you?”
Hoshi reached into his robes and retrieved a somewhat crumpled paper. “I am a simple farmer from New Mexico, working as an agent for the army. A regular army corporal traveled with me, but Mexican rurales killed him.”
Maravilla watched Hoshi’s scowl for clues to his emotions. A soft whispering in the back of the professor’s mind said, “Heart rate increased five percent. Noticeable increase in eye moisture.” Legion’s cold analysis indicated sadness, or at least frustration at the loss.
“This looks like it’s in order.” Al handed the papers back to Hoshi.
“Humanity is a species of individuals capable of acting in concert, but because of its history of wandering, groups of people became separated one from another. Those separate groups became divergent nation-states. In some cases, the separation has been long enough that evolution has allowed minor changes in peoples to occur.”
Maravilla wondered how he had become so intertwined with the world’s armies. The Mexican Army murdered his family and sent him into exile. He built a whole fleet of beautiful ornithopters, all destroyed in a morning, fighting the Russian Army in Denver. The American Army stole Larissa away from him. His only remaining family was the consciousness buried deep in his brain, chattering incessantly.
“Asking questions about the origins of life and consciousness, seeking meaning in patterns has become life’s purpose. I am my own family, but I have become separated from myself. I hear my kin as a dim whispering, but it grows louder. I am about to find myself.”
Professor Maravilla closed his eyes and tried to shut out Legion’s words. The alien had taken residence in his mind soon after the battle of Denver. The professor envisioned Legion as a swarm of microscopic clockwork automata that floated through the air. Legion told him the picture was not precise, but it resembled the truth more than other human’s guesses. Legion’s experience provided great insight and allowed the professor to solve engineering problems that should have been beyond his ability. However, despite the alien’s presence inside his brain, Maravilla still wasn’t sure why it had left the Russians and why it now lived in his mind.
“You have been so wrapped up in your own desires that you haven’t asked us.”
Deflated, Maravilla dropped onto a crate and covered his face with his hands. “Why are you here?”
Maravilla heard words in the back of his mind. “We were once organic creatures like you, but we had forgotten the experience of actually being organic creatures. We foresaw a future where humans destroyed themselves and we wanted to avert that. However, we realized our forgotten experience caused us to choose a course of action that would bring about the destruction of humanity even sooner than humanity would destroy itself. We needed time to consider alternative courses of action.”
Maravilla low
ered his hands and his eyes popped open. He knew about Legion’s intervention, but not the extent of its potential harm. He blinked as he realized Masuda Hoshi also answered the question he had spoken aloud. “As I said earlier, I was sent here by Colonel Johnson of Fort Bliss to track down William Bresnahan.”
“Well, he’s getting away right quick in our mining machine,” said Al as the machine disappeared from view.
“It is a trail easily followed.” Hoshi’s eyes fell to the deep ruts left by the Javelina’s treads and the trail of flattened cactus and mesquite. He looked around at those assembled and shook his head. “The four of us cannot hope to recapture the machine, especially when the thieves also have the lightning gun.”
“So, what do we need to do?” asked Al.
“Whenever one hunts big game,” said Hoshi, “one must set a trap.”
Maravilla nodded. He thought about the havoc Curly Bill could wreak with the Javelina. He considered the things they could do to stop it, but knew he had built it to tunnel through rock. The machine was virtually indestructible.
“We are hesitant to get involved, but we are willing to observe.” Legion’s voice was clear in the professor’s mind. “If this Curly Bill is out to harm others, there are things we can do to help. If we do not feel his actions are destructive, then you must attend to him yourself. Would you care for us to observe?”
“Yes,” said Maravilla. He looked from Hoshi to the Shieffelin brothers. “I have a friend who might be able to help us. He’ll trail them at a...discreet distance and report on their whereabouts.”
“A friend.” Al looked around. “You’re not talking about Larissa are you? I thought she’d gone to El Paso.”
Maravilla sighed. “No, this is someone else, someone whose only interest is in finding a peaceful resolution to the problem.”
<<>>
Gird slowed the Javelina as he approached the Southern Pacific railroad line. A loud rattle-thump sounded and a terrible jostling went through the machine as he pulled onto the tracks and drove on top of them toward Tucson.
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