The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman- Freedonia

by Balogun Ojetade

Harriet shrugged her shoulders. “Sounds pretty monstrous to me. How is this going to help Mary?”

  “The Carver Mushroom stays in constant molecular communication with its environment,” Dr. Carver replied. “And then devises diverse enzymatic and chemical responses to overcome any challenges. I grafted the Carver Mushroom with the preserved cells of Freedonian soldiers who had recently fallen in battle and with the cells of the Namaqua chameleon of Central Africa and, after a few trials, MAHO was born.”

  “And you want to see if it works by putting Mary’s spirit into one of them?” Harriet asked.

  “Oh, it works,” Dr, Carver said. “I have returned fifteen soldiers mortally wounded in battle to their families. The procedure will be simple…MAHO will absorb Mary’s consciousness – or spirit, as you call it. Then, it will duplicate her human form.”

  “Will she lose the power that the Lawd done brushed her with?” Harriet asked.

  “No,” Dr. Carver replied. “The powers of the Gifted are simply an expression of the consciousness made manifest in the physical world through the physical form. Mary’s Gifts will remain.”

  “Let’s get to it, then,” Mary said.

  “She ready,” Harriet said.

  Dr. Carver smiled. “Excellent! Mary, enter the tub. You can lie or stand.”

  Mary stepped into the sludge, her legs straddling the sides of the humanoid form.

  “Is she there?” Dr. Carver asked.

  Harriet nodded.

  “Good,” Dr. Carver said. “You will soon feel as if you are being slowly pulled into the form in the tub. Don’t fight it. It is simply you becoming one with MAHO. The process will take half a day to complete, so we will leave you now, but will return in the early morning.”

  “Bye, Mary,” Harriet said.

  “Bye,” Mary replied. Her voice sounded as if five Marys answered at once.

  Harriet turned to Dr. Carver. “Where we goin’?”

  “To meet President Douglass,” Dr. Carver answered as he retraced his steps toward the door.

  “He wear that windblown hairdo over here, too?” Harriet asked.

  Dr. Carver swallowed hard. “Umm…”

  Harriet giggled. “Aw, come on, Baas. You know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

  “Excuse me, Ms. Tubman,” Dr. Carver said. “You called me Baas. You must really miss him.”

  “I know what I called you,” Harriet said. “I done spent my life huntin’ the unnatural; the outlandish; the strange. None of ‘em want to get caught and some is pretty good at hidin’. But you ain’t, Baas. Not from me. I guarantee Mary know, too; she just ain’t sayin’ nothin’. And when she get that nose of hers back, she gon’ know fo’ sho’.”

  “Yes, you are correct,” Dr. Carver replied. “I am this reality’s Baas Bello.”

  “What happened to the real George Washington Carver, then?” Harriet asked.

  “There never was one,” Dr. Carver said. “That is why no George Washington Carver exists in your world. When your world’s Baas and I discovered that the death of a person coincides with – and even brings about – the death of their alternate, I decided to permanently conceal my identity, as I was not blessed to have the protection of other, more physically powerful, Gifted as your Baas.”

  Harriet nodded. “And you put your spirit in one of them MAHO things.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Carver said. The first one. Long before Freedonia existed. Long before I discovered how to graft human cells to the cells of other organisms. While the process was successful, my voice is a bit…unique and I cannot reproduce, as the Carver Mushroom – actually called that because it cleaves the molecules of its host and attaches itself in the space in-between – has no concept of reproduction as humans do it.”

  “So, you had to add human cells to the mix to make it right,” Harriet said.

  “Yes,” Dr. Carver said. Excellent, Harriet! Your understanding of genetic science is uncanny.”

  “I understand crazy pretty good,” Harriet replied.

  ‘”That you do,” Dr. Carver said. “Such brilliance and power needs to be preserved. When the sun sets on your life, I would hope you find me again so that I may transfer your consciousness to a MAHO.”

  “Thanks, for the offer,” Harriet replied. “But I the Lawd made me tougher than most. So when I’m ‘bout to die, ain’t no doubt in my mind that it’s my time.”

  “Well, the offer will forever stand,” Dr. Carver said. “Let us make haste to the roof. I will call Major Clark so that he can give us a lift.”

  CHAPTER fifteen

  The National House was an immense octagonal, white granite mansion, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies. It was located on Peachtree Road, the most select street in Atlanta. The mansion loomed three stories above a well-manicured lawn that surrounded all sides of it. On the outer perimeter of the lawn was an iron fence decorated with the same Adinkra symbols Harriet admired back at Tuskegee Institute.

  A wide walkway led from the house to the front gate. Standing on either side of the walkway was a Freedonian soldier dressed in an indigo uniform trimmed in red and blue kente cloth. Each soldier was armed with what looked like a shotgun-sized version of a Gatling Gun. The weapon was attached, by a metal tube, to a small pack the soldiers wore upon their backs. On the right breast of each soldier was his name; on the left breast, various medals and ribbons. The one medal they all sported was the Freedonian Seal – a circular medal of gold engraved with a 7-pointed star inside of a circle, with a circle, vertical bar and stylized ‘x’ inside of it. Engraved around the star were the words Freedonia and Honor & Grace.

  The Freedonian seal matched a flag that flew a few yards away from the mansion. The Flag bore the colors red, blue, gold and white – the national colors of Freedonia.

  Standing at the gate was a tall woman. She looked as if she had run a mile, a tinge of pink under her tawny beige skin. She wore a fitted skirt of black-and-white pin stripes; a white shirt with ruffled sleeves and front, covered by a black, velvet tailcoat; and black, leather ankle-high boots.

  “Good morning, Vice President Tubman; Dr. Carver,” she said.

  “Good morning, Victoria,” Dr. Carver replied.

  “Mornin’,” Harriet said, following Dr. Carver’s lead.

  “I thought you left for Africa already, Madam Vice President,” Victoria said.

  “Naw, not yet,” Harriet said. “I ain’t get a chance to pick up a much needed dossier from the President, but I’ll be up in the air and out of your hair in no time.”

  Harriet followed Dr. Carver up the stone front steps onto the National House’s porch, where two more soldiers greeted them.

  The soldiers simultaneously slid one hand up, to the wrist, into slots on both sides of the double doors. There was a low click. The soldiers removed their hands and then both doors crept open. Harriet and Dr. Carver stepped inside.

  A vast foyer, with polished granite floors and pristine, white walls welcomed them. The foyer sat at the foot of a curving, iron staircase that seemed to ascend into the heavens.

  Dr. Carver walked down a long highway off of the foyer. Harriet strode behind him.

  Strangely, outside of Harriet’s and Dr. Carver’s footsteps, there was no sound in the house, not even the sounds that houses make – no distant roar of a furnace, or creak of a stairwell; nothing but silence.

  “It’s quiet as the grave in here,” Harriet whispered.

  “That’s due to the sound proofing properties I had built into this house,” Dr. Carver said. “It involved building a system of double walls where virtually nothing within one wall was allowed to touch anything in the other – a sort of room within a room. Insert sound deadening insulation between those walls and…voila!”

  They reached a set of double doors. A Freedonian soldier stood at the sides of each of them. One of the soldiers spoke into a brass funnel that protruded about a hand’s length from the wall beside one of the double door. “Mr. President…Vice President
Tubman and Dr. George Washington Carver are here to see you, sir.”

  “Send them in,” a baritone voice replied through the same funnel the soldier spoke into.

  “Yes, Mr. President,” the soldier said.

  The soldiers pulled the doors open.

  “Go on in, Madam Vice President; Dr. Carver, sir,” the soldier said.

  Harriet and Dr. Carver entered the office.

  Frederick Douglass rose from his chair and stepped from behind his desk. He approached Harriet slowly, his eyes scanning her.

  “Fascinating!” He said.

  “That’s what everybody keep tellin’ me,” Harriet replied.

  President Douglass shot a glance at Dr. Carver. “She sounds like our Harriet; looks like her, of course. But can she…?”

  Dr. Carver nodded. “I believe she can, sir.”

  Harriet raised an eyebrow. “Can I what?”

  President Douglass skipped forward, letting fly a barrage of hard punches.

  Harriet weaved and parried the blows.

  She crouched low as she countered with a palm strike to Douglass’ chest.

  The President flew backward. His buttocks skipped across his desk like a stone thrown across the surface of a pond.

  He landed in his chair, eyes wide and jaw slack.

  Harriet placed a fist on her hip and then tilted her head. “Lawd, Douglass! Have you lost yo’ mind?”

  “Apologies, Harriet,” Douglass replied. “Our Harriet Tubman is a great soldier and an even better spy. She fights well, but she is no match for your skill and certainly not your speed and strength.”

  “You just like the Douglass from my world,” Harriet said. “He thinks he a pugilist, too.”

  President Douglass laughed. “I’ll have you know that, in this reality, I was once Heavyweight Champion of the World.”

  “Oh, you definitely different from my Frederick Douglass, then!” Harriet said. “He a great speaker, though. If he could fight like he can speak, I reckon our Douglass would be a champion, too.”

  “I rather enjoy fisticuffs and wrestling,” Douglass said. I enjoy the struggle of it – the struggle of man overcoming another man; the struggle of man overcoming himself. If there is no struggle, there is no progress”

  “We negroes should be the most progressive folks in the world, then,” Harriet said.

  “Indeed,” Douglass said with a nod. He pointed toward two chairs that sat on the other side of his desk. “Please, sit.”

  Harriet and Dr. Carver sat.

  “Dr. Carver told you why I am here, I reckon,” Harriet said.

  President Douglass leaned forward in his chair. “He told me something about a zombie invasion? The Houngan of New Haiti employ zombies as weapons in their arsenal, dropping those terrible creatures upon their enemies from balloons.”

  President Douglass shivered.

  “What’s comin’ is ghuls, not zombies,” Harriet said. “I done killed a few zombies in my day and a few ghuls, too. Ghuls is much worse. About the worse thing I done ever killed and I done killed a lot.”

  “How many are on their way?” President Douglass asked.

  “I don’t know,” Harriet answered. “But I do know they leader. He a man named Caleb; Brushed by the hand of the Lawd – or maybe that other one; yeah, probably him. Anyhow, he done fashioned himself as the King of Ghuls, seein’ as he the first of they kind and all, and he got a powerful itch to make more like him. By now, he probably comin’ with an army.”

  “But, you’re not absolutely sure?” Douglass said.

  “Have you not been hearing me?” Harriet said. “You’d best take this serious. Caleb is powerful, hate negroes and crazier than an outhouse rat.”

  “And you crossed realities to help us?” Douglass asked.

  “Naw,” Harriet replied. “I came to warn an old friend, but he ain’t in Freedonia.”

  “Why did you reach out to Dr. Carver, then?” President Douglass inquired.

  “My friend, Baas Bello, built a machine that allows him to travel between my world and this one,” Harriet replied. “He admired Dr. Carver’s work and always spoke highly of him. When I found out that his enemy, Caleb had used his machine, I figured he was on Baas’ tail, so I used the machine, too and got in contact with Dr. Carver here, ‘cause I was familiar with his name.”

  President Douglass scooted in his chair, turning his torso toward Dr. Carver. “Do you know this Baas Bello gentleman?”

  “No, I do not, Mr. President,” Dr. Carver lied. “When Ms. Tubman sent word to me, I was shocked, but I ran a series of tests on her at Tuskegee and, as you can see, her claims are true, so I also believe her warnings about the ghuls should be heeded.”

  “Well then, will you help us repel these invaders, Ms. Tubman?”

  “Repel? Naw. Kill? Yeah. I reckon if I don’t, there won’t be no Freedonia left.”

  “I think you underestimate us, General Tubman,” President Douglass said.

  Harriet shook her head. “Naw, I just know what you up against. Caleb and his army of ghuls wiped out an entire town within a few hours.”

  Douglass’ skin paled. “But you defeated him?”

  “Naw, an army did,” Harriet replied. “Well, almost. But I will.”

  “How?” Douglass asked.

  “Caleb powerful,” Harriet said. “But I’m more experienced and got more sense. Caleb got his Ghul Army, but I got the Lawd…oh and I also got Black Mary.”

  “Black Mary?” President Douglass said, scratching his head.

  “‘Black Mary’ Fields,” Harriet replied. “Some call her ‘Stagecoach’. She ‘bout a army all by herself. You’ll be makin’ her acquaintance in a bit.”

  President Douglass laid his large, brown hands over Harriet’s. “Harriet, the military might of Freedonia is at your disposal.”

  Harriet smiled. “Then the good Lawd might just bless us to send Caleb on back to Hell once and for all.”

  CHAPTER sixteen

  September 23, 1870

  Morning sun flooded the fungi-filled womb that was the tub in which the MAHO gestated.

  A figure stirred beneath the surface of the gray-brown muck. The muck parted as Stagecoach Mary sat bolt upright.

  Harriet stood beside the tub, smiling. “Mornin’, sleepy head.”

  Mary blinked rapidly, staring at Harriet with a disoriented gaze. She looked, to Harriet, like some new-born creature, opening its eyes in a world that it had never known.

  “H-Harriet?” She said.

  “That’s me,” Harriet replied.

  “I’m back?”

  Harriet nodded.

  “I’m back!” Mary said, perusing her own body; pinching her flesh. “I’m me again!”

  She covered her bare breasts with her arms. “Where are my duds? It’s chilly in here! ‘Sides, I can’t have Carver walkin’ in here and losin’ his mind over all this womanhood.”

  “Carver is waitin’ for us in his office,” Harriet said. “There’s a table behind those vats over there. Your clothes are on it.”

  “Alright,” Mary said. “You can go on; I’ll find you.”

  “Got your senses back, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Alright, then,” Harriet said, walking away. She paused, looking over her shoulder. “Good to have you back.”

  “Thank you, kindly,” Mary replied. “Good to have me back, too!”

  Harriet walked out of the lab and down a hallway painted light blue. There was a single, iron door at the end of the hall. She knocked on it. Dr. Carver opened it.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Dr. Carver asked.

  “Who? Mary?” Harriet said.

  “Yes,” Dr. Carver said. “The Carver Mushroom’s consumption of Mary’s consciousness and replication of her body and her essence was perfect.”

  “She got her nose back and I reckon her other senses,” Harriet said. “What about her strength and her toughness?”

  “We will have to put those attributes to the
test,” Dr. Carver said. “When she is ready, of course.”

  “How ‘bout now, then?”

  Mary stood in the doorway, dressed in dark brown leather salopettes – bib-and-brace overalls – tucked into calf-high, brown leather boots. Under her salopettes, she wore a black dress shirt, over which she sported a mocha frock coat.

  “You look strong,” Dr. Carver said patting Mary’s thick biceps. “We, however, need to test your limits.”

  “Let’s get a wiggle on, then,” Mary said.

  Dr. Carver faced the wall at the rear of his office. He placed both palms on the wall. Something inside it whirred and clicked. A second later, the wall slid downward, revealing a vast field of manicured grass. A stone path ran the length of the field and several large metal panels dotted the grass.

  “This is where I test our weapons and transportation systems,” Dr. Carver said.

  “Which one is Mary?” Harriet giggled.

  Mary shot a glance at Harriet. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t no mule, so, I guess that kinda narrows it down a bit, now don’t it?”

  Dr. Carver cleared his throat. “If you would be so kind, please follow me to the middle of the field.”

  Dr. Carver walked briskly across the grass. Harriet and Mary followed him. Dr. Carver stopped before one of the panels. He placed his palm on the panel and it slid open.

  Dr. Carver bowed deeply, stretching his hands before them and waving them about as if he was conducting some invisible, silent orchestra.

  “Harriet; Mary, it is my pleasure to present to you…Stepton!”

  It rose from the ground, held aloft on an iron lift, powered by a steam engine several feet below. It was a creature composed entirely of iron. It had the shape of a heavily muscled man who stood eight feet tall. Its fists were two large iron balls. Its feet were great iron blocks a foot thick. Stepton’s face reminded Harriet of the visage of a silverback gorilla. Its eyes were two constantly flickering red lights.

  “It doesn’t look so tough,” Mary said. “Why is its moniker ‘Stepton’? Because it weighs a ton?”

  “He actually weighs twelve tons,” Dr. Carver replied. We call him Stepton because, if you get in his way, you will get stepped on.”