“All right, all right.” Curly Bill pulled the bottle’s cork with his teeth and took a swig, then replaced the cork and tossed it to Gird. “Now I’m ready for anything!” He took the shovel from his partner. As he did, a tingling sensation rippled along the back of his skull. For a moment, he thought he heard quiet voices whispering to one another. He looked around to see if there was anyone else. Not seeing anyone, he shrugged, but he realized they’d need to stop somewhere defensible on the way back.
“When we head back, let’s turn before the San Pedro and follow the ridge of the Whetstone Mountains,” said Curly Bill.
“Why?” Gird blinked. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting real thirsty and this rotgut only cuts thirst so much. Besides, there’s better hunting down by the river.”
“Don’t worry,” said Curly Bill. “We’ll find something. We just need to make sure we can hold onto this money long enough to spend it.”
The lawyer looked doubtful, but nodded anyway. He fell back into the cab’s other chair while Curly Bill put on more steam and the Javelina rumbled out of Tucson, on its way eastward, back toward the Clantons’ ranch.
<<>>
The sun rose as Ramon and Billy reached the Golden Gate’s northern bank. Ramon’s arms were tired from the rowing, even though he knew it hadn’t been far. If not for the light fog that shrouded the water, he suspected he could still see San Francisco. Billy hopped into the knee-high water and pushed the boat onto the beach.
He looked up at Ramon. “She’s a healer. She did what she had to do.”
Ramon shook his head as he climbed out of the boat. “I know. I just feel like I should have stayed with her. I’m worried about her...and I’m worried about Luther.”
“So am I,” said Billy, “but our job is to find out if there really are mysterious creatures from beyond the stars controlling the Russians, and if so, see if we can reason with them.” Billy sloshed over to Ramon and patted him on the back. “After all, what’s the worst that could happen to her back there?”
“She could be executed for treason.”
Billy’s smile was far too cheerful for Ramon’s mood. “Well, on this side, she could be executed as a spy—and given the mood the Russians are in, that seems far more likely.”
Ramon brightened a little. “You’re probably right.” He took a moment to evaluate the coastline, then took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses with his shirttail. “So, how did you get so wise?”
“Working on a farm and learning about the Code of Bushido.”
Ramon put on his glasses, then shook his head. “I’ve been around a lot of farms, my friend, but I’ve never heard of this Code of Bushido.” He tucked his shirttail back in his trousers.
“That’s ’cause you’ve never hung around the right farmers,” said Billy.
“I just wish you’d had more sense when we met those soldiers in San Jose.”
“Did you know who was tromping up the hall? Coulda been Russians!”
“I doubt pointing a gun at them would have made them happier than Americans.”
Billy laughed. “Hey, at least it got us a free ride to San Francisco.”
The two took a moment to study the countryside. “The way I see it, we have three choices,” said Ramon. He pointed to the hills rising before them. “We can skirt these hills to the left and that should bring us right into Sausalito. We could take the boat around. We could climb and find a vantage point above the town, get an idea of how the Russians are camped.”
“Option one sounds like we’ll get our asses shot as spies. Option two don’t sound much better, and my arms are tired.” He smiled. “I like the third option.”
“I do, too,” said Ramon. They set out up the hill. Option three had its own disadvantages. The hillside was fairly steep and there wasn’t much ground cover to hide them. With the sun in the east, they were illuminated to anyone below. With that in mind, they did their best to stay as close to any bushes and trees as they could. An hour later, they came to a place where they had a good view of the town.
Sausalito appeared to be a quiet seaside port filled with white and gray clapboard houses and buildings. Ramon thought it resembled the Presidio, just with more trees and lacking the tents that housed an army waiting to defend against invaders from the north. Ramon shivered and wished for a coat as a chill sea breeze blew.
Billy shook his head. “Not many boats out in the water. Not much movement. Just looks like a nice quiet day.”
A train whistle pierced the morning air. Ramon shrugged. “Maybe the invasion force is on the train.” Inexplicably, Ramon had a sudden giddy feeling of familiarity, like seeing a family member or an old friend long gone.
A twig snapped behind them. Billy and Ramon whirled around, drawing their revolvers. They faced two men with thick black mustaches, wearing long, dark coats, broad belts, and red kepis—similar to the ones American soldiers wore, except for the color. Ramon and Billy dropped their guns.
“I think we’ve found the Russians,” said Billy.
Chapter Twelve
Defending the Homeland
Curly Bill and Gird passed the cactus wine back and forth as the Javelina rumbled past the northern flank of the Whetstone Mountains. Although they could see the San Pedro River in the valley ahead, Gird did as they had discussed and turned the machine southward, hugging the mountains.
The lawyer drove the machine at a slow, but steady pace. Curly Bill guessed a horse could outrun them, especially for a short distance, but a horse would have to stop eventually. Still, he opened the door to make sure no one pursued them. He suspected he killed the person most likely to mount an immediate chase. Unless a deputy was experienced, it would take him a while to calm people down and then form a posse.
As they rolled over the undulating terrain, the ground creaked and popped. “Do you hear something?” asked Curly Bill.
Gird pursed his lips and listened. “It’s nothing mechanical,” he said at last.
Just then, the earth rumbled and the Javelina’s body dropped backward in a cloud of dust and gravel. Gird and Curly Bill tumbled from their seats and went sprawling onto the pipes and levers at the back of the control cabin. Curly Bill cursed as he slammed into a hot pipe. He bolted backward, then worked to untangle himself from another pipe. When he finally extracted himself, he realized the floor canted upward at something close to a forty-five degree angle. “What the hell happened?”
“Damn!” Gird shook his head and tried to perch among the pipes to get a look at the gauges. He pointed to Curly Bill. “Open up those two valves by your right hand. The stack in the rear is blocked somehow. Let’s release some pressure till the fire dies down and figure out what we’ll need to do to get out of here.” He then reached up and set the brake.
“Where the hell are we?” Curly Bill asked the question as he reached out to turn the valves.
“No, no, no! The other way!” called Gird.
Curly Bill narrowed his gaze, but did as the lawyer told him.
“The Whetstone Mountains must have limestone formations in the base,” said Gird as the needles began to show less pressure in the boilers. “Water must have hollowed it out and formed a cave. The limestone wasn’t strong enough for a machine as big as the Javelina and we fell through.” He made his way to the door and pushed it open.
Curly Bill followed him out. The Javelina sat at an angle, facing a rock wall, its treads perched on a rubble incline where the ground had collapsed. The tail-like smokestack was bent, but it looked repairable with a hammer and a little time.
He picked his way down the rocks further into the cave. It was almost noon and he could see the cave extended some distance into the mountainside. He looked over to Gird. “What would happen if you released the brake and let the Javelina roll backwards, down here into the cave?”
Gird blinked at him, then shook his head. “We want to get out, not further into this mess.”
“Don’t you see?” said Curly Bill. “If we back down in here,
then you can make a better run at that slope of rock and use the cutting tools at the front to get past the wall.”
Gird blinked again, but this time his expression turned thoughtful. “I think you’ve got something there.” He looked around at the ground. “As long as the ground below us is solid, it might work.”
“It’d give us a hideout.” Curly Bill shrugged.
“All right, let’s give it a try.” Gird and Curly Bill picked their way back up through the rocks and climbed into the cab.
Gird reached up and grabbed the hand brake. He released it, then shifted the Javelina’s transmission into reverse. There was just enough steam pressure left to allow the Javelina to roll backwards onto more level terrain.
“Now we just need to figure out the best way to get back up the slope,” said Gird.
Curly Bill looked around the cab. He untangled the lightning gun’s wand and tubing from the pipes, then found what he sought. He held up a Henry rifle. “You do that, Mr. Gird.”
“What are you doing?”
“Going hunting.” Curly Bill retrieved a box of cartridges. “Seems like the best way to inaugurate our new home is with a good meal.”
<<>>
Larissa straddled the safety bicycle’s seat in the shadows of her workshop. From there, she could see the parade grounds of Fort Bliss. Mounted behind the bicycle’s seat was the electrical generator for one of the lightning guns. Its wand was mounted to the handlebars. She watched as Sergeant Harris brought Colonel Johnson around the corner. When they were in position, the sergeant waved. Larissa swallowed hard, then brought her goggles down over her eyes. She activated a lever that brought fuel rods together, then leaned over the bicycle’s handlebars. It took just a moment for the engine to build up pressure, then she engaged the clutch and shot from the workshop, careening toward a target at the far end of the parade ground. Her coachman’s hat flew off behind her.
She turned and made a wide circle, then eased her hand from the handlebar and brought it to the lightning gun’s trigger. When she faced the target, she did her best to aim the weapon. She squeezed the trigger and cursed when the shot when wide and blew a chunk from the adobe wall behind the target. She tried again and this time vaporized the target. She let out a whoop, then made a sharp turn to avoid the wall.
A moment later, she tumbled over onto the grass, while the bicycle’s rear wheel continued to spin. Johnson and Harris ran over to her, concerned looks on their faces. As soon as Larissa caught her breath, she began to laugh. “It works!” She reached down and disengaged the fuel rods.
The sergeant and colonel helped Larissa free herself from the fallen bicycle. She rose unsteadily to her feet, but grabbed the colonel’s arm to avoid toppling over. “Are you all right?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“I’m great.” Larissa lifted the goggles from her eyes, then spit out some dirt and grass. “What do you think?”
“It looks like the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen,” said Harris.
“More dangerous than the ornithopters?” asked the one-time bounty hunter.
The sergeant shook his head slowly. “No, I suppose not more dangerous than that.”
The colonel eyed the fallen bicycle. “It’ll take some training so soldiers can stay upright on those things, but they’re fast.”
“And they’ll hold a lightning gun.” She picked the bicycle up from the ground, then gestured to the wall. “And you can shoot at targets on the ground, like mounted horsemen. I call it a lightning wolf.”
“I like it,” said the colonel. “Can we make more?”
Larissa walked the lightning wolf back toward the workshop. The colonel and Harris followed. “I have two more bicycles and I telegraphed Fort Sam Houston for five more. They should be here on tomorrow’s train from San Antonio. We have parts to build ten ornithopters. I can take the engine components from them.”
“Very good,” said the colonel. “Get those two you have parts for rigged up right away, then I need you to train the first two volunteers how to ride them.”
“Volunteers?” asked Sergeant Harris.
The colonel nodded. “Yes, you and Sergeant Lorenzo.”
“But sir, I didn’t...”
The colonel looked at Larissa. “Good work, Miss Crimson. Is there anything else you need from me?”
They reached the door to the workshop where Larissa spotted the coachman’s hat on the floor. “I think I could use a new hat that doesn’t fly off so easily.”
The colonel smiled. “We’ll be sure to find one.”
<<>>
Fatemeh found herself a prisoner in the same comfortable room where she’d been held before. Although she knew that Billy and Ramon had simply lifted the door out of its hinges, the door had been replaced and the hinges were on the outside. There seemed little she could do to escape.
The previous night, she held her hands on Luther Duncan’s shoulder, doing everything she could to staunch the flow of blood as she watched Ramon and Billy row away into fog illuminated by the setting moon. Soldiers rushed to her side and aimed at the boat. Two of them fired until an officer shouted at them to cease. It would do no good to waste ammunition firing on an invisible boat.
She screamed when two more soldiers pulled her from Luther’s body. “He’s been shot! He needs help!” To their credit, the soldiers called for a medic, but they continued to pull her away. Now it was afternoon the following day and she still had no idea how Luther was or how Ramon and Billy were doing. She lay on the soft bed and looked up at the ceiling, alternately saying prayers of healing for Luther and protection for Ramon and Billy.
Exhausted, Fatemeh fell into a light slumber and dreamed of Ramon. He was a handsome man and strong, most assuredly, but what she really loved was how that strength was tempered by a desire for peace. That desire seemed almost as strong as that of Bahá’u’lláh—the messenger from God she followed. She had never met the great teacher, the manifestation of God himself, but she had known those who had, and even more who had corresponded with him. She hoped she could return to Persia and meet him, perhaps introduce him to Ramon.
She dreamed of being in Ramon’s arms and then suffered the guilty pricking of conscience that stemmed from her Mohammedan upbringing and Bahá’í beliefs. The thought brought her back to the present. She wasn’t always good at following rules. That’s why she left Islam. It’s how she encouraged Professor Maravilla to build a flock of mechanical owls. It’s how she found herself in San Francisco, a prisoner for trying to cross into Russian-held territory to find out what was going on for herself and try to fix the situation.
A knock at the door roused her into consciousness. She turned and dropped her feet to the floor as the door opened. A female guard entered followed by two male soldiers. “Excuse us, ma’am, but the Commanding Officer wants to see you.”
“I don’t suppose I have any choice, do I?”
“No, ma’am. You don’t.”
Fatemeh frowned, but put on her shoes. One soldier led the way out of the room while the other soldier and the female guard followed behind. They led her downstairs and across the compound to another building. Inside, they climbed a staircase then walked down the hall to stand before a door. The lead soldier knocked and a moment later, a gruff voice from within called for them to enter.
She followed the soldier into the office and found herself facing a man she had only seen once before. He had a long, drooping mustache and a small tuft of hair under his lower lip. His characteristic short, round hat hung on a coat rack by the door. “General Sheridan, thank you for seeing me.”
“Miss Karimi, you realize you are a pain in the ass,” said the general with no apology.
“I’ve been told that before.”
The general didn’t laugh. Instead, he sat back and folded his arms. “What in the hell are you doing here at the Presidio trying to take a boat across to Russian territory?”
Fatemeh swallowed. “I hoped I could stop the Russian invasion.”
“Like you stopped the airships in Denver.”
Fatemeh blinked. “We succeeded.”
The general lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, but then you had Professor Maravilla’s ornithopters and an assault force of pirates and outlaws. What do you have now? A reporter? Maybe a couple other people?”
“How is Mr. Duncan? Will he pull through?” Fatemeh took a step forward.
The female guard put her hand on Fatemeh’s shoulder but she shrugged it off. The general held up his hand. “Never mind that. I’m convinced your interference in Denver saved lives, but I’m just as convinced you got damned lucky. Whatever you’ve got in mind, this is soldier’s work.” He leaned forward. “If you have an idea that can help us do our job, then please tell me.”
“Your job is killing people, General Sheridan. I can tell you nothing to help with that.”
The general ground his teeth and sat back. He looked at the guards. “Very well, lock her up.”
“General, could I please see Luther Duncan? You must have questioned him since you know he’s a reporter.”
Sheridan sighed. “Just for a few minutes.” He dismissed the group with a nod.
The soldiers led Fatemeh to another building. Inside, rows of beds filled a big white-walled room on both sides from end to end. She soon spotted Luther Duncan’s bowler hat sitting on a nightstand. She darted away from the guards and sat down at a chair by his side. His eyes fluttered open.
“How are you doing?” she asked, attempting to sound cheerful.
Luther’s smile was sad. “If all goes well, I’ll have a useless left arm. If an infection sets in, they’ll have to cut it off.”
“At least you’ll still have one arm to write with.”
Luther snorted. “I’m left handed.”
“You can learn.” Fatemeh bent over and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m just glad to know you’re alive.”
The reporter’s smile brightened a little. “I’ve heard there are ways to record the sound of my voice. Maybe Professor Maravilla can build me something like that. Then, I wouldn’t need to write at all.”
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