“That was business, Jesse!” He forced himself to speak in an even tone. “That was just the way we all been workin’ since long before you or me picked up a slingshot fer the first time!”
Jesse nodded, lowering his hands a bit and turning away slightly. “That’s true, Billy. That’s true. We ain’t always been straight, an’ that’s business.”
Billy relaxed slightly, a smile starting to cross his lips.
Jesse’s right arm swung up faster than a rattler striking from the shadows. Power moved through rubber conduits, clockwork gears ran their teeth smoothly through each other and pistons pulled and released with tiny puffs of smoke. The armored back of Jesse’s mechanical hand caught Billy squarely on the cheekbone with all the power of the steel and rubber machinery backed up by the hulking human muscles of his shoulder and back, and the younger man, stepping forward when the blow struck, was hurled back up against the wall with a muffled snap.
A pained gasp escaped Billy’s torn lips before he hit the uneven wall with a grunt. He bounced away from the ancient carvings and fell forward as his legs collapsed beneath him. He slumped down to the dirty floor where he rolled half over, his shoulder resting against the wall and his face, twisted in pain and torn from the blow, rocked back and forth in the dust.
“You – you —- you killed him!” One of the engineers screeched, staring down at Billy in horror.
Another man pointed at Jesse. “Now who’s gonna pay us!”
Jesse watched Billy for a second then shook his head. “He ain’t dead. He’s bleedin’. If yer bleedin’, yer breathin’.” He smiled slightly as he looked at the second engineer. “An’ in case you missed it, flannel mouth, there ain’t nothin’ here. You was gonna get a cut o’ what we all dug up.” He pointed to the empty plinth. “Yer welcome to one hunnerd percent o’ what you dug up.”
“But, what about us?” The third man whined, following Jesse as the older outlaw stalked back towards the hole.
Jesse shook his head. “Ain’t my problem, boys. Head on back to the Canyon, would be my best advice. Ain’t nothin’ out here for ya, or fer anyone, when you get right down to it.”
“But they won’t let us back to town! Not after we came out with you! You killed the metal marshal! The place is gonna be a mad house now, and everyone will blame us, because we rode out with you!” The second engineer was near tears.
Jesse turned at the hole and gave the three men a grin. In the vague red light and the swirling fetor he looked like a demon peering out of hell. “Sounds to me like you boys’ve made some bad choices, then, don’t it?”
As Jesse eased backwards through the hole he looked back at the three men standing lost and alone in the foul-smelling semi-dark. “Good luck, boys. I got an old man to catch.”
Even after the outlaw chief had gone, the three men from Diablo Canyon stood uncertain, their eyes flickering from the still form of Billy the Kid, to one blasted hole, to the other, to the empty plinth, and back to Billy.
After a moment the first engineer muttered, “You reckon the driller’d be any good at fishin’?”
Chapter 17
Jesse rushed across the desert on the half-wrecked Blackjack. He had almost taken an Iron Horse from the canyon, but they were all too low on fuel. None of them would be good for a long chase. The new vehicle was running rough, but with the salvaged batteries he knew he would be okay. He grumbled in annoyance as he ran back to the Blackjack. Trust Billy to let his boys lounge about while their transports sat around dry.
Frank never would have let Jesse’s boys do that. The thought was true enough, but it hurt as soon as it occurred to him. Knowing the Union had Frank was eating at his mind even when he forced himself to focus on his immediate concerns. There was no telling what the blue-bellied bastards were doing to his brother while he was dancing around in the desert. Despite Billy’s bravado, there was no way a band of shabby outlaws was going to assault an armed Union camp without help.
Jesse was convinced that the only prayer he had of helping his brother was at the head of an army, and the only army he could hope to win over to his cause was languishing in the swamps far to the south. He would need to have something special to convince the Confederate Rebellion to join him. Something big enough, for instance, to bring Carpathian out of his brick castle and into the desert wastes.
The Blackjack bounced and leaped over the rough terrain as Jesse nursed more speed out of the tortured engine. He had been chasing a fading plume of dust and grit for over an hour, and was finally able to make out a dot at the bottom of the plume: a large vehicle, racing away to the south. Out here in the middle of nowhere, there was no one else it could be but Carpathian. The doctor was rushing back to Payson, prize in hand.
Jesse hunched low over the control console of the vehicle, muscles straining as he willed the machine to go faster. With each violent bump over dry ridges or clumps of desert grass, he would leap into the air before slamming back down into the saddle. Aside from an occasional grimace of discomfort, he continued on without pause.
Jesse’s crimson goggles were caked with dust and grime, but he could not take the time to clean them. The dark shadow ahead grew moment by moment, and with his quarry in sight, his fear, anger, and instincts all argued against any further delay. In that vehicle was the object that would bring the Rebellion back from the dead. In that vehicle was a man he had not viewed as an enemy in many years, but who had betrayed him in his moment of greatest need. In that vehicle was an old man that needed to be reminded of his place in the western territories.
The shadow ahead resolved itself into a boxy shape that could only be some kind of RJ-1027-powered wagon. There was a door high up on the rear panel and a ladder of sorts sweeping down towards the ground. The whole thing looked more decorative than utilitarian, just Carpathian’s style. Atop the tall machine was a low wall or parapet, and he hoped whoever might be up there was not keeping a close lookout.
The thought had barely formed in Jesse’s mind before a ragged shape, locks of thin hair waving in the wind, rose up over the parapet. The Blackjack was too far away to make out much detail. The rough, unfinished look about the face, with hollow, shadowed sockets and a flashing rictus-wide grin, however, were enough to show him it was an animation. The thing brought an arm up and pointed it at him. Its hand had been replaced with a jury-rigged blaster rifle: a red-lined muzzle-flash lashed out, the recoil pushing the thing’s shoulder backward and away.
Jesse ducked as low as he could and gunned the engine. The howling of the vehicle rose another octave, but it was running with a dirty cough now. He knew he would not be able to nurse much more speed out of the tortured machine.
The animation on the wagon fired again and again. The blasts were disconcerting, but none of the shots landed anywhere nearby. Jesse thanked his stars, figuring that a stinking corpse firing from a rattling platform high atop a moving vehicle backwards at a moving target… the chances of a hit were probably slim enough he could afford to ignore the—
A bolt struck the forward fairing of the Blackjack with a hollow ring. The blast deflected off into the desert, but it drove Jesse even further back into his saddle. A grim snarl twisted his features below the red goggles. He wrenched the hand controls of the vehicle and dragged them backwards. The four blaster muzzles in the sloping armor ratcheted up into the sky.
Jesse stabbed his thumbs down on the firing mechanisms and grunted in satisfaction as the guns began to blaze away, the red-tinged fire lipping off their muzzles and back along the Blackjack’s flanks. He marched the blaster impacts up the wagon’s rear armor, unsurprised that the shots were ricocheting off into the distance without visible effect, but as he brought the stream into line with the animation up top, the blasts had a most satisfactory effect. Several bolts slapped the ungainly shape upright as they impacted across its chest.
Rotted fabric and dried, dead flesh blasted away in tatters that fluttered into the wind as the bolts battered their way through the body and
flew out the other side and into the sky. The energy stood the animation up and knocked it over. The creature disappeared as it flew off the front of the wagon, then reappeared a moment later from beneath. The ruins of the corpse tumbled out from under the wide, thick-treaded rear wheels.
Jesse’s grin was short-lived, however, as two strange shapes swept off to either side from in front of the wagon. Strange, ungainly vehicles, they seemed almost like mechanical pillars, each seated upon a small, furiously spinning wheel. Atop each was the desiccated body of an animation, permanently fixed to their strange, top-heavy mounts with bolts and straps. Heads lashed from side to side looking for their prey and the outlaw boss was shocked to see that they were completely encased in iron helmets and masks. What looked like weapon barrels thrust out from beneath the swaying bodies, and Jesse knew he could not let them get behind him.
He took out the left-hand abomination with a sharp burst of his lowered blasters. Mechanical parts scattered across the desert, sand thrown up into the air as the single wheel spun away as if eager to escape. He brought the Blackjack in line with the other vehicle, and his shots struck the pilot in the back and head, spraying rotting flesh and the twisted wreckage of its helmet into the sand. The machine, now without guidance, bounced over the uneven terrain and went down, cartwheeling in a furious explosion of sand and grit.
Jesse grinned before two more of the things swept into view. He looked back at the wagon to see that it was pulling ahead again. The primary weaponry on the Blackjack made short work of these new threats, but they forced him to follow an irregular course as he had to aim with the body of the vehicle, allowing the wagon to pull away. He shook his head and drew one of his hyper-velocity pistols, knowing that it would be less than ideal against an armored target at this range.
The Blackjack surged ahead again, pulling to within an easy stone’s throw of the sloped ladder.
As Jesse tried to maneuver up behind the wagon, two more animations rose to take the place of the original shooter on the roof. Soon he was weaving back and forth in the wake of the wagon, doing his best to close the gap while avoiding the stuttering shots from above. Another bolt spanged off his front armor and the tone of his engine changed again. Something inside the body of the Blackjack must have been damaged from the hit. As the vehicle started to shake madly, Jesse knew his mount was living on borrowed time.
The Blackjack leapt forward in response to Jesse’s desperate urgings. He sent streams of crimson bolts up at the animations above to keep their heads down, and then to one side and the other, aiming at the drivers of the top-heavy vehicles rather than the armored transports themselves. One stream of shots stitched across the torso of the creature on the left and the tall vehicle canted over, caught a high clump of red rock, and rolled away into the desert shedding mechanical parts and tatters of ragged meat as it went. Jesse’s other shots, however, glanced off armored components, leaving the remaining outrider unharmed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two more sweeping out from the left.
Jesse cursed, looking at the ladder as it bounced along ahead of him, then at the riders closing in. A sudden thought struck him and he holstered the pistol and made a desperate grab for the small shape pressing against his back. Carpathian’s ion pistol felt strange against his feedback pads, but if there was ever a time to test a weapon that might shut down RJ-1027 technology, it seemed like now.
The pistol gave off a strange vibration as he fired it at the closest rider, and a snapping reddish flash zapped out and wrapped around the outlandish vehicle. Instantly, all the telltales winked out, the ruby glow of the vents and power sources faded. The entire thing slowed down, toppled over, and rolled to a gentle stop in the sand.
Jesse grinned as he watched over his shoulder as its journey ended. He turned back to point his mechanical arm rigidly at the next animation. Again the flash and buzz, and another animation tumbled into an awkward heap. But when he tried to shoot the last target as it flashed past, the small pistol made a plaintive beep and died.
Shaking the pistol had no effect, and Jesse growled as he shoved it into a side pocket. He pulled his own pistol again and fired backwards under his steering arm. A sleet of shots slapped into the animation’s armored vehicle as two simultaneous bolts from above struck the Blackjack, knocking more of the vehicle’s internal parts out of line.
Jesse’s wild, desperate shots managed to hit something vital within the creature blasting away behind him. The tall thing began to sway back and forth as it fell away. He continued shooting, striking the body of the animation several times. When it detonated in a furious ball of red-tinged fire he spent no time celebrating. He spun around as fast as possible, eyes fixed on the ladder swaying back and forth nearby, and holstered his pistol. He took the extra moment necessary to snap the strap securely over the butt. He reached across his stomach to secure the other pistol and then rose up out of his saddle. His eyes never wavered from the iron ladder.
His eyes flicked from the heavy ladder to the wide front tires of the Blackjack, to the ornate cowcatcher between his two wheels. Each time he tried to imagined the leap across, he could see that the bulk of the Blackjack would keep him from closing the distance enough to give a jump even the slimmest chance of success.
He brought his mount over and craned his neck over, trying to get a glimpse along the side of the wagon. Two enormous wheels churned away, but between them he could just make out an access ladder leading up to an armored side door. With one more glance up at the firing animations and over at the wide rear ladder, Jesse shrugged and crouched down again, urging the Blackjack into one last burst of speed.
The two gargantuan wheels ground along beside him as he inched up on the wagon, dust and smoke and strings of dry, crushed desert grass swirling all around him. Between his own front tires and the wide wheels of the wagon, he could not get as close as he would have liked to the access ladder. However, he thought he could make a jump with a little luck. His eyes moved from the ladder to the heavy rear wheel that would crush the life from him, leaving his flattened and torn body crushed into the desert for the buzzards. He was due for a little luck.
Jesse swallowed and looked up for the annoying animations that had been clumsily from above. They seemed to have lost him for the moment. Silently, he promised them their time would come. He crouched low in the saddle, making ready for the leap.
Jesse’s legs uncoiled beneath him as he launched himself into the gritty air. The enormous wheels roared up on either side as he sailed between them, hitting the armored flank of the wagon with more force than he had intended. He scrambled desperately, his metal arms clanging loudly on the armored wall. He clawed for the rungs of the access ladder as he stared at the blurring pattern of metal treads spinning past less than a foot away. He felt the feedback pads press against a textured iron crossbar and gripped with all the strength of his unnatural arms. He swung back and forth for an alarming moment until he could bring his legs up out of the torrent of dust and onto the ladder beneath him.
The Blackjack, direction, began to drift away to the left. As he climbed, it fell farther and farther behind. It hit a rocky lip that abruptly ended its journey, however, sending it flipping high into the air, trailed by a plume of dust and sand. It tumbled across the desert behind him, exploding as the jury-rigged power cells finally ruptured, scattering the remains in a wide, burning circle in the sand.
Jesse climbed up the ladder to the access door, hugging the metal for what little cover he could find from the animations still searching for him from above. He was hardly surprised when the hatch was locked, but a quick glance showed him that there were plenty of handholds above leading up to the firing platform on the roof. He began to make his way past the hatch, eyes fixed on the parapet, waiting for the animations above to realize his location.
Just as the outlaw boss came up to the low wall, the dull, empty face of an animation rose before him. The thing brought up its blaster arm with a clumsy jerk. Jesse held onto a bolted car
go ring and reached up, grabbing hold of the rifle with one mechanical hand. His metal fingers closed over the barrel and pulled with all his strength. A human would have released the rifle and lived to fight on. The animation, however, did not have that option. It followed the weapon up and over the edge, tumbling down into the swirling sand of the wagon’s wake.
Jesse surged up onto the roof before the other animation could take its partner’s place. He snaked a leg over the railing and swung onto the platform, not allowing himself to hesitate as he saw that there were two rotting corpse-shapes awaiting him instead of one. He brought one heel up and planted it on the closer animation’s chest, pushing with a quick thrust that sent the unsteady creature up and over the far side of the parapet. It disappeared down between the two growling wheels on that side.
Before his foot even came down on the metal grating, his hands flashed down to his holsters. His metal fists came up with both pistols, clapping them together for their conjoined heat blast. He was angry, he was tired and sore, and he had had enough of these stinking abominations. He flicked the switches with his thumbs, pulled the triggers, and grinned wildly as the animation was blasted into splinters and shreds that flew off into the wind, nothing left larger than a whiskey bottle.
Jesse holstered one pistol and stripped off his begrimed goggles. He reached down for the locking wheel in the middle of the hatch at the center of the firing platform. Beneath him the wagon churned along, and the outlaw felt a moment’s flush of triumph as he realized he was only steps away from confronting Carpathian. Soon, he would seize the ancient artifact that would unlock his future.
Before Jesse could pull open the hatch, it came open on its own, pushed by the bulging muscles of a misshapen animation much larger than the others he had already taken care of. With a disgusted grunt, Jesse dropped his pistol and clapped his hands to either side of the malformed head. Within their armored casings his arms’ mechanisms whirred, driving his hands together, crushing the slack-jawed visage. There was a moment’s hesitation as the reinforced skull resisted, and then with a wet crunching sound the face deformed and his hands met in the middle of the thing’s gelid brain. A quick snap and spark marked the shorting of the RJ-1027 battery cylinder. The light faded from the thing’s empty eyes.
The Jessie James Archives Page 34