The Oilman's Daughter

by Allison M. Dickson

  People would create entire new industries out of such a material. Meanwhile, crude oil, a once worthless commodity, was about to become more valuable than gold. Everybody would want to be first to cash in. If he’d been a younger and more idealistic man, Phinneas might even have thought about throwing his own hat into the ring, but he was no industrialist, and the thought of wearing a suit and schmoozing with a bunch of stiffs made his stomach turn. Flying free on his ship again and making his own rules was exactly where he wanted to be.

  On the third page of the newspaper, he spied a little snippet about the attack on the Orbital Circumferential Railroad. Apparently, the pirates responsible had not yet been apprehended. Phinneas snickered a bit. He found nothing about the destruction of the Albatross or the likely death of Nikola Tesla, but he supposed it might be a while before such news traveled down this far, if it did at all. The events at space stations on the far side of the moon didn’t hold much interest for Earth folk, particularly ones focused on their own survival.

  Phinneas set down the paper and gazed out into the fields. The morning had only grown hotter as the hours wore on, and there was a brownish tinge to the sky that spoke of dust whipped into the air by the strong winds that blew through the dry plains. The Clay family and their group of hired help worked away without much pause. He was about to go see what Jessie was up to when he spotted a large plume of dust just up the road. Someone was coming. He stepped down the porch and made his way to the lane so he could get a closer look. His eyes were sharp and they soon made out the unmistakable flutter of a lady’s hat. “Well I’ll be buggered and beaten bloody.”

  Orbital and Frenchie were headed back toward the farm, and they weren’t coming at a leisurely clip. If Phinneas could see them so clearly from a distance, he had no doubt that whoever was following them could see them too, he saw no evidence of pursuers on the horizon, so he just hoped he was wrong.

  The lad guided the wagon up the long driveway and drew the mule and cart to a stop before the house. The springs were still shaking when Orbital hopped down and assisted Cecilie, who was wearing a brand new dress. They must have had themselves a fine shopping spree in Kansas City. Phinneas repressed an urge to grumble as he walked over to them.

  “Well well, look who decided to come back. Couldn’t stand to be from away from me, eh?”

  Jonathan glared. “Hardly. If it wasn’t for Cecilie’s insistence to come back here and assist her kidnapper, we would be on our way to New York right now.”

  “That bothers ye a wee bit, does it?” Phinneas started laughing and then quit when he felt a sharp punch on his bicep. “Ow!” He rubbed his arm and looked down at Cecilie, who was standing there with her hands on her hips.

  “Don’t make me regret my decision to think better of you, barbare. Besides, we think there is a way we can help these people with my father’s process.”

  “Sure. These people, and not yourself, I’m sure,” Phinneas said. Cecilie didn’t say anything, but her glare was contemptuous enough. “I’m about a mile ahead of you anyway, dearie. I just spent half the bleedin’ night with Grant Clay learnin’ all about this plastic of his.”

  “Probably so you can steal it,” Jonathan muttered.

  Phinneas leaned in toward him and took some satisfaction at watching him step back. “If I had wanted to take what’s theirs, I wouldn’t be standin’ here jabberin’ with you two lubbers right now, would I?”

  Cecilie cut in. “Phinneas, I insisted we come back because I believe is wise for us to stick together, given the circumstances. I also know that you are not the scoundrel you pretend to be.”

  “Oh yes. A kidnapper with a heart of gold,” said Jonathan.

  Phinneas snorted. “Who saved yer bleedin’ arse a time or two if I ain’t mistaken.”

  “That’s quite enough from the both of you!” Cecilie cried. “I must speak with Monsieur Clay immediately. We can do this together, or I can leave you enfants here and escort myself back to Paris. Which do you prefer?”

  The lad stepped down from the wagon. “If you want, I can go get Pa.” He stuck out his hand to Phinneas. “Name’s Frank Clay, sir. I don’t think we got a chance to meet yet, but it’s good to see you up and around. Jessie said she wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

  Phinneas shook Frank’s hand. “Pleasure, laddie. Sounds like ye better go find yer old man.”

  “Yessir.”

  Phinneas watched the boy dart across the yard and around the side of the house. In the distance, he caught sight of some puffs of smoke, and his stomach soured. He turned to Orbital. “Tell me, lubbers. Were ye followed out of the city?”

  Jonathan’s face flushed red and cleared this throat. “Actually . . . we spotted some suspicious people watching us, but we made a clean getaway.”

  “Not clean enough, by the looks of it.” Phinneas pointed up the road.

  Cecilie gazed up the road and stuck her fists on her hips. “It appears the pirate is right, Jonathan. We’ve led them right here.”

  “Of course the pirate is right.” Phinneas stormed up the porch steps and into the house, where he ran into Jessie, who was coming out of the kitchen and wiping her hands on her apron.

  She frowned. “What’s wrong? Is that Mister Orbital and Frank?”

  “Yes, and it seems they’ve brought some trouble with them.”

  “Trouble? What sort of trouble, space man?”

  “Do you and your folk keep any guns?”

  “We’re country folk. ‘Course we got guns. What are you lookin’ to do?”

  Phinneas rubbed his face. Why was it people always had the most questions at the most inconvenient moments? “There ain’t time to explain. Ye’ll just have to trust me, Jessie. Have yer aunties gather up Louise and hide down cellar. And fetch me the bleedin’ guns if you got ‘em.”

  “Daddy’s got a shotgun or two in the barn, and there’s a pistol in his bureau drawer.”

  Phinneas knew that wasn’t going to be nearly enough if they found themselves facing well-equipped soldiers like they had up at the Sargasso, but it would have to do. “Grab everything you can, includin’ all the shells. He glanced at young Frank Clay, who looked frightened but also a little excited. It was a look Phinneas knew well. He’d seen it on dozens of greenhorns taking their first voyages out into the Big Black. “Lad, would ye rather join yer sister or stay and fight? Hiding isn’t anything to be ashamed of, and fighting is as dangerous as ye’ll ever see.”

  Frank seemed as if he’d aged several years in as many seconds, reminding Phinneas of young Sebastian Helm, who’d been impressed into piracy at the age most boys were still clinging to their mother’s skirts. And like Sebastian, Frank Clay had a hard set to his jaw that bespoke of great inner strength and more than a touch of pride. “I’ll fight. I ain’t afraid of nobody, and I ain’t gonna let nobody hurt my family.”

  Phinneas nodded. “Ye’re a brave lad, make no mistake about it. I’ll be proud to have ye at me side. Now, go help Jessie secure the weapons.” Frank scrambled after his sister. Phinneas raced back outside and grabbed Orbital and Cecilie by an arm. “Let’s go.” They protested, but they came easily enough, which was good, because though he was walking steady again, he hadn’t yet got back all of his strength. A glance back over his shoulder confirmed what he’d feared. Two steam-powered carriages, from what he could make out. They were still about a half-mile away by his guess, but they were moving fast. “Better be prepared to fight the trouble ye brought.”

  Jonathan wrenched his arm away. “You have a lot of nerve blaming us for all this.”

  “Shut yer yammerin’ trap and listen, ye bloody knob!” Phinneas roared. “They’ll be here in only a few minutes, and judgin’ by the size of their carriages, I’d guess we’ll be facin’ about a dozen men.”

  “Phinneas? What’s going on here?”

  He looked around to see Grant Clay standing with Frank and Jessie, his great silver brows knitted together with worry. Each of the men was holding a gun, an
d Jessie carried two. She stepped up and handed Phinneas one of the shotguns and gave Jonathan a pistol. Both looked like antiques, and Phinneas wondered whether they would even fire. “Here’s your guns. I don’t know what mess you done brought our way, but you best use ‘em well.”

  Cecilie spoke up. “Madame, I am afraid these bad men are coming for me. I have endangered your family after all of your generosity, and for that I am truly sorry.”

  Jessie’s face softened. “We’ll worry ‘bout the apologies when the smoke clears. We’ve faced our own troubles over the years. White men in sheets around here like to make their presence known now and again.”

  Jonathan checked the cylinder of his gun and pocketed the half box of shells that Jessie handed him. “We won’t let these people harm your family, Miss Clay.”

  “See to it you don’t,” she said and looked at Phinneas. “And see that you don’t get yourself killed neither, space man. I don’t want all our hard work on you goin’ to waste.” The corner of her mouth twitched in a slight grin, and Phinneas felt his heart skip a beat.

  Cecilie approached Grant. “Monsieur Clay, do you have any spare fertilizer in your barn?”

  Grant scratched his head. “I surely have a few pounds. Why ever for?”

  “Come with me,” she said. “We only have a few moments, but I think we can make something to scare these men away from your property. Jessie, you too. We’ll need some spare hands.”

  “I do like the sound of that!” Grant cried and the three jogged back to the barn, leaving Jonathan, Phinneas, and Frank in the dooryard.

  Phinneas could now hear the rumble of approaching engines. “Stay close to me, lad,” he said to Frank. “I’ll make sure ye get through this in one piece.” He looked at Jonathan. “I know ye can shoot well, so don’t bugger this up with bad nerves.”

  Jonathan cocked his pistol. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his face, but his hand didn’t waver. There was steel in him yet. “Trust me, I won’t.”

  They hurried back into the house to peek out the front windows in time to see the carriages drawing close. Phinneas counted at least ten heads in Stetsons, homburgs, and fedoras. All pasty white city folk, probably the kind of thugs who’d shake down a neighborhood shopkeeper for a cut of the take. “Draw the curtains tight. Don’t let ‘em see inside.”

  Frank slid the thin cotton curtains closed. They could still see the shadows of the carriages as they ground to a halt.

  Jonathan grabbed Phinneas’s arm. “They’re going to try to take Cecilie again. We cannot let that happen.”

  Phinneas raised the shotgun and lined the sight with the first of many heads he intended to fill with buckshot. That old hunger for battle filled his veins again, making the burden of gravity fall away. His thirst for the tang of gunpowder, that dry mouth, pulse-in-temples sensation, which had driven him through countless battles on the Ethershark, made him certain that each of these shells would find its rightful owner. “If we do our jobs right, lad, we won’t have anything to worry about.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The carriages drew to a halt outside of the farmhouse, a good fifty feet away. The first wasn’t much more than a wagon with a steam engine built onto it, but it boasted unmarked wood paneling on the van that hid whoever was inside it. Jonathan was less concerned with the first carriage. It was the second one that terrified him. It was all rivets and iron, with the name Loomis Armored painted on the side. That meant the damn thing was bulletproof. And if that wasn’t bad enough, a cupola was bolted onto the roof of the cargo hold, and Jonathan could see a man crouched behind the circle of iron plate with a six-barreled belt-fed machine gun on a pintle mount. “It’s a damned tank,” he whispered to Phinneas, trying to keep the vibration of panic out of his voice but finding it impossible, especially with his inevitable death close enough to breathe cold air onto his neck. “What the hell am I supposed to do against a tank with this thing?” He held up the six-shooter the Clays had given him.

  “Ain’t ye a Texas cowboy? Yer folks have been robbin’ trains since the first tracks were laid. Think like a criminal for once in yer useless life, rich man.”

  “We didn’t ever rob any trains. We built the goddamn things. You’re the robber around here.”

  “Hush. They’re comin’.”

  Frank raised his rifle with nervous hands, making the barrel shake so much that Jonathan thought he’d be lucky to hit the broad side of a barn with it, but he could sympathize with the kid. “You done much hunting out here, Frank?”

  “J-jest crows, mostly.”

  “Well, those men are going to take a lot more from you than just an ear of corn. You’re fighting to protect your family, your farm, and your livelihood. Don’t you forget that,” said Jonathan. “Be as brave as you can. We’ll be right here to cover you.”

  “Yessir.”

  Giving Frank a pep talk managed to help him calm down a little as well, and Jonathan breathed deep and let the cool cloak he’d discovered during his fight on the Albatross slip over his mind. The three men raised their weapons: one shotgun, a pistol, and a Spencer rifle that must have been a Civil War relic. At least, it was a bolt action. When he’d first seen it in Frank’s hands, he’d feared it was a muzzle loader, at which point it wouldn’t have made more than an excellent club.

  The carriage drivers stayed behind the wheels of their machines, and the cupola gunner remained at his post, but nine more men climbed out of the carriage vans, making Phinneas’ original estimate of a dozen accurate. In a city, they might have been wearing fancy suits with guns hidden in violin cases, but in the heat of the fields, they’d left their jackets behind and rolled up their sleeves. They sweated and slapped at the flies that surrounded them in clouds. Three of them carried Henry rifles, while the others either had pistols or shotguns in hand. At least their hats made them stand out a bit more against the dusty air and dry greenish gold of the fields.

  Jonathan had a sinking feeling that this would be last battle. He’d been luckier than God Himself through most of this, escaping a crumbling space station in the nick of time, and even managing to survive a fiery plummet to Earth, but staring down this army of men outnumbering them four to one, he was certain this was where his luck would end, leaving his father to put the pieces together in a world that was going to be changing very soon. It was a world Jonathan very much wanted to be a part of, but his path appeared to be leading him elsewhere. Nevertheless, he took aim at one of the fellows with a Henry and waited for Phinneas to give the go-ahead.

  “Jonathan,” whispered Phinneas. “Four of them blokes are heading for the barn. Give ‘em a reason not to.”

  Jonathan aimed through the window and squeezed the trigger, burying a .45 caliber bullet in the heart of the man with the Henry. His finger spasmed against the trigger as he fell, cutting down one of his companions. In the brief second of stunned distraction, Phinneas fired the shotgun, peppering another man in the face, but probably not with lethal results.

  Then the attackers got their wits about them and opened fire on the farmhouse. Jonathan threw himself to the floor as bullets crashed through the windows and walls. Glass, splinters, and plaster hailed down upon him in a choking cloud. He glanced back to see Phinneas and Frank crawling away from their window as lead stormed through it. Jonathan rolled across the floor, wondering why the fellow with the chain gun hadn’t opened up yet. There was still one window facing the front yard, and it had been broken in by the attackers as well, but they were still concentrating their fire where they’d probably seen the muzzle flash of Jonathan’s first shot.

  He crouched down beside the window, getting up his nerves, and then popped up to fire a quick shot, nailing another Henry man in the throat. The sight of blood spurting from the wound would be with Jonathan many a night if he made it out of this alive.

  One of the men outside shouted an order in his native tongue. The incoming fire dropped as the attackers backed away and sought cover behind the armored carriage. Jonathan relo
aded the two bullets he’d fired, his fingers trembling. At least his aim was steady. Frank jumped to his feet, aimed, and fired the Spencer from the center of the front room. The weapon’s roar nearly deafened Jonathan, but he saw one of the retreating men fall, howling and grabbing at the bullet wound in the back of his leg.

  Phinneas dragged the boy back to the floor once more. “Ye damn fool! Stay down unless ye want to get yerself killed!” He peeked over the edge of the window and ducked back down right away, motioning for Jonathan to approach him.

  The three men met in the center of the room. “I count four down, two permanently,” Jonathan said.

  “Aye, lad. Ye’re a bloody deadeye, make no mistake about it. We might save our bacon yet.”

  “I’m not worried about the bacon. I’m worried about Cecilie,” said Jonathan. “And about that damned chain gun. Why haven’t they used it yet?”

  The moment he spoke those words, he knew he shouldn’t have, for a new thundering chatter began as .50 caliber bullets tore through the farmhouse in a steady line. Neither walls nor furniture nor even the cast-iron stove could halt the massive slugs. Boards disintegrated before the leaden onslaught. Frank screamed and dropped the Spencer, trying to burrow his way through the very floor until his fingertips were bloody. Jonathan felt like joining the boy in desperation, but he’d brought this mess here. It was his job to help clean it up.

  Phinneas shouted something, but the roar of the gun drowned out his voice. The air transformed into a choking slurry of dust and splinters and cotton from the shredded furniture. At last, the pirate grabbed onto Jonathan’s arm and pointed toward the kitchen, and then Jonathan understood. The back door led to the garden and chicken coops. With that armored gun carriage, the house wouldn’t present any protection. None of the three men would be able to see whether or not the barn was under attack. Indeed, one of those chain gun bullets could drop low enough to carve a giant hole in any of them at any moment and they wouldn’t ever have a chance. Outside would be just as dangerous, but at least they’d be able to see. Jonathan grabbed hold of Frank and started dragging him toward the kitchen door.