The marshals snapped back to life and began to gather the equipment. Wyatt noticed the robots standing hesitant for a moment longer than usual before following the orders, but he just shrugged it off.
The men working to take down the far speaker all stopped and the deputy holding the small box called out. “Sir, it’s the general again! He’s askin’ you to confirm the orders!”
Wyatt smiled and called over his shoulder. “Just take it down, son. He got the message.”
Chapter 12
Through the monocular, the town of Diablo Canyon looked much like any other town in the western territories. It had not changed much, in fact, since the last time he had visited, almost ten years ago. Sure, it was in better repair, many of the buildings were sporting big, new RJ-1027 generators, and there was even some new construction towards the center of town, but it still looked fairly normal.
The gang had parked near a set of railroad tracks that looked frail in comparison to the modern Heavy Rail tracks the Union was dropping down all over the place, but Jesse remembered when they marked the cutting edge of transportation technology. The tracks ran down a gentle slope towards the town, right through the middle, and then, of course, stopped abruptly at the dark scar of the canyon on the other side. Jesse did not know what the plans had been, all those years ago, to complete the rail line. He knew there was supposed to be a bridge, of course, and over time a great deal of equipment had been brought in to assist with constructing, but for some reason it never had completed. From his vantage up on the hill Jesse could see the shrouded forms of construction equipment parked up against the cliff, tarps billowing in the warm winds coming out of the canyon.
Somewhere in that maze of giant machines would be tools to dig, he knew. The plans to sink the massive iron suspension pylons deep into the canyon floor would have required more than just dynamite or whatever RJ-1027 equivalent construction crews were using these days. They would have digging gear for sure. And more importantly, due to the strange nature of the town, they would have folks who could operate it.
Many engineers and skilled workers had followed the high tech equipment out to the construction site. For years, they had been kept on retainer in the small camp that had grown up around the equipment and the rough barracks. Home had sprung up while they waited, and then a tavern, and then stores. Other people came to the area to provide food, entertainment, and willing company. Soon a thriving town had formed around the camp. When finally the retainer checks had petered out, many had felt right at home, and stayed. Most of them had developed other businesses or skills over the years in an effort to stave off boredom.
Because it had developed organically, with no plan or engineering, civil or social, there had not been any law, either. The place had become an outlaw’s paradise, where the only rule was the commandment of strength. The place had been a playground for Jesse and folks like him. He had lived here for several years, in fact, during the little burg’s heyday.
And so there it was: Diablo Canyon, where a man looking for the best excavating machinery from ten years ago could find it in abundance, along with the men and women to run it. It now only remained to liberate some of the machines and persuade some of the workers to accompany him.
Jesse’s lips frowned in the shadow of the raised monocular as he remembered that this was not, in fact, all that remained. He had heard the rumors about the UR-30 unit that had been sent to Diablo Canyon. He had heard the story of Johnny Ringo and the Injun runaway that usually rode with Billy, The Apache Kid. They had apparently come rolling into town to break some heads and collect some coin, like in the good old days. The stories of what happened next differed, some said they had only been riding with a few friends, others said they rode in with twenty men beside them. All the versions agreed on one thing though: Ringo and the Apache Kid had been the only ones to make it out alive. Apparently it had been a slaughter, and every dead outlaw had been credited to the metal marshal.
There was no sign of the robot lawman now, however. As Jesse and Cole Younger looked through Union monoculars at the sleepy town, Frank sweeping the place with his rifle Sophie’s high-tech scope, it looked as if folks were going about their business like folks did in most towns. The place looked like an idyllic little community, and something about that aggravated Jesse more than he could say. The damned Union, once again swooping in and taking his home away from him. Never mind that he had left years ago. What sat before him now was nothing less than the rape of his memories, again, before his very eyes.
Jesse spat into the dirt at his feet. “An’ no sign of damned Billy, neither.”
Jesse lowered the blocky monocular, his face set as a grim mask. “Well, it looks all peaceful-like, but you’ve all heard what Ringo and the Apache Kid had to say about their last visit here. There’s a metal marshal down there that’s really acquired a taste for the blood of us folks who like to live on the fringes.” His mouth twisted with contempt as he spat out the words. “Way I heard it, Ringo and his boys rode in free and clear and only saw the thing when it pounced on ‘em.”
“Sounds like we need some bait, Jesse.” Cole smiled brightly as he said the words, spitting juice into the dust. “We gots plenty of new blood needs testin’, eh?”
Most of the younger men shared nervous glances, and some giggled in a high-pitched nervous reaction, hoping the outlaw was joking. The giggling stopped abruptly as Jesse spoke.
“Yeah. Can’t be wastin’ proven hands on somethin’ like this.” He looked back over his shoulder at the men standing around him. He pointed to two. “Gage, Randall, you two got enough RJ-1027 to get into the center of town down yonder?”
The two young men swallowed hard, glancing down at the indicator panels on their Iron Horses. Gage spoke in a voice he was obviously struggling to keep steady.
“Just enough, Jesse.”
The other new man, Randall, nodded. It appeared his mouth was too dry to speak. He kept working it but no sound came out.
Jesse nodded and gave both of the men a brief smile. “Nice. Don’t worry, boys, we’ll be right behind you. You’ll have the best shot in the west watchin’ yer back, as Frank’ll be takin’ Sophie fer high ground.” He looked around to where his brother was bringing his storied rifle out of its holster. “Frank, ‘bout time the ole girl saw some action, you reckon?”
Frank nodded to his brother, then to the pale young men. He patted his massive rifle affectionately. “You bet. Boys, don’t you worry none. Once I got that thing in my sights, it won’t be but a moment before I clean its plow but good.”
The young men nodded, but they did not seem overly comforted.
“Alright, here’s the real deal,” Jesse gestured with his whirring arms to gather his men closer to him. “Gage and Randall will drive down to the center of town. Just havin’ the guns on their ‘Horses should be enough, illegal weaponry ‘r some such. But just in case, I want you guys to go in, smoke wagons in hand, and launch some shots up at the sky like you was celebratin’ at some wild shindig. That ought to get the metal man to come runnin’.”
He then addressed the rest of the men, pointing with one hand at several negligently holding rifles over their shoulders. “Before you go in, though, the rest of us’ll get into position. I want you rifle boys with Frank. He’ll put you in the best positions to take advantage of the terrain. The rest of us’ll approach on foot from the front and sides, weapons hidden from view and actin’ like civilized folks.” He gave a sly wink, and added, “Cole, you an’ yer brothers’ll have to just watch the rest of us an’ follow along best you can.”
Cole snorted with indifferent amusement, although his younger brothers all looked mildly annoyed.
Randall finally found his voice, speaking in a hoarse croak. “Why ya’ll gonna need to be backin’ us up if Frank’s all we need?”
The chatter among the men died away as they all looked at Randall and then quickly looked away. Jesse gave them a short glare and moved to the young man, resting one meta
l arm across his shoulders. “Randall, you’ll be glad we’re there. Ain’t nothin’ to worry about, right? Soon as the metal marshal shows his eye, Frank’s gonna put it out for him, and that’ll be it. But what if other folks start gettin’ ideas? Or what if the thing goes haywire when Frank takes its head off?”
Jesse raised his voice to speak to the whole group again. “Don’t forget, boys, this thing ain’t no man. It might have the right number o’ arms an’ legs an’ such, but it’s metal, not flesh ‘n bone, and it prob’ly ain’t built like a man inside. We gotta be ready for anythin’ when we go down there.”
The men nodded at the words, and Jesse could sense they were as ready as they would ever be. “Alright, then boys. Frank, take your long-shooters off first. The rest of us’ll filter down in a few minutes.” He turned to Gage and Randall, both mounting back up onto their ‘Horses. “You boys wait ‘till I give you the signal, then you come down directly, right?”
“We twig, Jesse.” Gage had his chin higher lifted higher than normal, but the outlaw chief just nodded and patted him on the back, then did the same to Randall.
“You boys’ll be right as rain, don’t you worry none.” He put all of the confidence and assurance he could into his smile. He immediately felt a twinge of guilt as he saw how well it worked on the two greenhorns.
It took a bit more than fifteen minutes for Frank to infiltrate the riflemen through the edges of town, walking casually with their rifles flat against one leg beneath their dusters. Once Jesse, following their movements through the monocular, saw them in place, he nodded to Cole who returned the gesture and started down the tracks towards town. Jim Younger had another group that moved out to the right, and their brother John, often rumored to be the toughest of the four, led a small group out to the left. Jesse waited for the groups to get about halfway to town before he turned back to the two young men who had been chosen, tipped one metal finger to the brim of his hat with another confident grin, and then turned to make his own slow, casual approach.
Jesse watched the last of his men disappear behind the outermost buildings of Diablo Canyon and was glad he had not yet heard any disturbances. There was no telling where the metal marshal was in the town, and he had been half-sure that one of his flankers would roust the thing from its hiding place long before Gage or Randall ever had time to leave their starting positions. He had figured, even if that happened, that Frank and his riflemen would be able to nail the thing anyway, so the plan had seemed pretty sound coming and going. That did not make his slow, lazy walk any more bearable.
Everything was peaceful, and so he turned slightly, raised one arm straight up to heaven, gave two quick shakes, and then dropped it again. He heard the sudden roar of the ‘Horse engines as his two young greenhorns gunned them to life. Jesse casually moved to the side of the trail as the sound got louder behind him.
Jesse made sure he was even with the first buildings on the main street when Gage and Randall burst past. He grinned with honest affection as he heard their rebel yells over the howling of the engines. It was nice to see they had some fire in their bellies, even after hearing the stories.
Gage and Randall tore down the street, a ragged wake of dust and grit flaring out behind them. They were each brandishing an RJ-1027 pistol in the air as if they were posing for the cover of a penny dreadful novel, launching bursts of ruby fire up into the clear sky. The few folks who had been out and about in the heat of mid-day jerked crazily at the sound of the shots, covered their heads, and ran, crab-fashion, for the cover of the surrounding buildings. Jesse could swear he heard Gage shout out as he entered the center of town, “We’re here fer yer whisky an’ yer women!”
The outlaw boss smiled under the shadow of his hat brim, shaking his head. Had he ever been that young?
The smile faded quickly as a shape walked calmly from the darkness of an alley across the center of town. Despite the vest and riding leathers, Jess knew from the angular lines and the unnatural shape of the head beneath the straight-brimmed hat that he was looking at one of the UR-20 Enforcers. The same one, he knew, that had almost killed two of the most formidable men in the territories, and had managed to kill all their companions. It looked like a man as it sauntered out of the darkness, but Jesse knew it was nothing of the sort.
Gage saw the thing first, and deliberately put a bolt into the building behind it, just above its head. “C’mon over here, you tin can! Let’s see what kinda beans they loaded you up with!” He fired again.
A strange, buzzing, inhuman voice echoed through the street. “Discharge of contraband military hardware and weaponry excessive to personal protection. Summary provisional sentencing.”
Time slowed to a crawl. Jesse knew he had men sown all through the town by now, but for a moment he felt completely and utterly alone as that alien voice droned through the streets.
The robot’s arm blurred and rose with a massive hand cannon clenched in its metal fist. “Relinquish your weapons and dismount. Prepare for summary provisional sen—“
A vicious crack exploded from above, like thunder from a clear summer sky, and the robot was sent reeling backwards, arms flailing for balance, weapon flying wide. It had happened so quickly, that Jesse could not be sure of the shot. The thing’s hat was certainly shredded, fluttering into the street like a rag. The structure of the hat was gone, and for a moment, Jesse was sure his brother had leveled the thing with a single shot. He raised his arm in triumph, ready to give a resounding rebel yell, when the machine steadied itself, stopped the wild milling of its arms, and stood tall once more.
There was a huge dent in the UR-30’s temple, and several of the elements of its face were clearly misaligned, knocked out of place by the shot. The skull itself was intact, however, and the eye still glowed a menacing red. A second pistol lashed upwards in its left hand.
The robot did not move like a man, there was no apparent processing or thought connecting one motion to the next. It flowed through a series of positions, the gun rising, blasting as it came in line with one of the mounted boys, continuing to float upward with the movement of the entire body, and then fired again when it was aligned with something high and away on Jesse’s right. The outlaw chief was not paying attention to that second shot, however, as he stared in horrified fascination at the results of that first shot.
The gunshot was like nothing Jesse had ever heard before, a sharp, humming sound that lasted only a moment, but seemed to echo eerily in the air for a spell after the shot had been fired. The muzzle blast was a hellish eruption of crimson fury, rich with traces of RJ-1027 swirling within it. The shot took Randall in the chest, blasting most of his innards out across the street behind him. A grisly framework of glistening bone and gristle remained to connect the poor kid’s arms and head to the rest of his body. Not enough to support him, however, and the whole disgusting mess collapsed back into the saddle. As he fell forward, the boy twisted, his face just becoming visible to Jesse’s horrified eyes. The mouth was working frantically as if screaming for help or vengeance or death, but all that emerged was a faint red mist. The kid’s pistol dropped from his jerking fingers and clanked off the footpad of his vehicle, floating slowly forward with no one at the controls.
And then Jesse realized where the second blast from that demonic hell cannon must have been aimed. “Frank!”
Jesse jerked out both hyper-velocity pistols, his arms swinging seamlessly through the motions. His face was twisted into a mask of fear and rage as he began to fire un-aimed shots at the thing standing before him. Part of his brain knew there was no way he was going to score a hit at this range, not while running. But he could not bring himself to care.
The UR-30 was swinging back into line with Gage, the poor kid staring gape-mouthed at the gory remains of his friend. The giant weapon was sliding into firing position and Jesse knew there was no way he would be able to stop it in time.
From another roof farther to the right, another thunder crack echoed off the buildings. This time
the robot was thrown off its feet and into the dust, its head deformed from a blast that had hit it directly above its single eye. Even then, on its back in the dirt, the thing was not finished. It began to rise, once again bringing its pistol to bear up and to the right. Another shot rang out from overhead, and then another. Each struck the robot in the center of its metal face, driving it back time and time again into the dirt. The limbs began to jerk spasmodically as the twisted iron ruin took impact after impact.
Eventually, the gunshots from above stopped. The thing was still in the dirt, its head completely blasted away, a collar of springs, tubes, and wires erupting from its savaged neck.
The entire event had taken only moments, and Jesse slowed to a stunned walk, and then stopped completely, looking at the still-twitching metal man in the dust. He looked off to the right and saw Frank rising up from his firing position, nodding in satisfaction and propping Sophie on his hip. Frank jerked his chin towards his younger brother and then tilted his head towards the smoking hole in a sign that had once said “Dry Goods” one building over.
“Garland couldn’t hold his water, shot before I tol’ ‘him to.” The voice was harsh, but Jesse knew his brother was troubled by the Garland’s death. He nodded back at Frank, smiling despite his heaving breath, and then started to walk again towards the downed robot.
“Damn, d’you see what it did to Randall?” One of the outlaws emerging from the surrounding alleys muttered to another.
“I’ll venture a guess Garland ain’t much better, up there on that rooftop yonder.” Another pointed up at the smoking sign.
Their reactions were familiar to Jesse. He had felt them countless times himself. There was a savage thrill at being alive when others had failed to survive. There was a guilty twinge knowing those that fell had been friends and comrades. There was also an unspoken feeling of relief that the violence was over. He smiled and shook his head. No matter how many times he faced violence, it was always the same.
The Jessie James Archives Page 26