“What do you mean?” Robin asked.
Verne sighed and sank back on his bed, closing his eyes. Suddenly he looked tired, frail. When he spoke again it was with the voice of an old man.
“When I awakened on the River and found myself young,” he said, “it seemed almost as though God had created this world for me alone...”
Now (Verne said) I could do those things of which I had only dreamed throughout my life. All my research, all my books and writings, they had led me inexorably toward this moment.
I vowed to create a perfect society. This new civilization would be modeled on mankind's old one, but with all its various flaws and imperfections cured. Mankind had been given a fresh chance here, I felt, and it would be up to us to make the best of it.
I was fortunate enough to be resurrected among a group consisting primarily of Frenchmen from late nineteenth century. Also among us were Russians from some twenty or thirty years in our future, Chinese from yet another age (I could not pinpoint their place in history; alas, my schooling in matters Oriental was somewhat lacking), and a few others from what seemed random periods in our world's history.
The Chinese immediately banded together and left, seeking whatever it is Chinamen seek; to my regret, we never circumvented the language barrier. The Russians, on the other hand, stayed with us. One among them, a fiery youth with an unpronounceable name who had us call him Lenin, began preaching socialism to the masses, but his voice fell on deaf ears. Most people were content to live natural lives, eating food from the metal Providers, sunning themselves on the Riverbanks, eating the dreamsticks, and fornicating in a hedonistic frenzy.
Lenin was murdered his second week there. But what he'd said interested me. The idea of all men being equal is, of course, ridiculous; but the organizational system he outlined seemed workable, even practical in our current circumstances.
I combined his thoughts with my own. As I talked to my fellows, I found among my them a number of engineers who were sympathetic to my new ideas. Their names would be meaningless to you, for they were in no way famous, but they were sturdy men, well schooled in their fields and not afraid of hard work.
First we moved away from the general population, to a more remote Provider in the hills. Here we began a systematic analysis of the land and its raw potential. There were deposits of iron, tin, and copper within easy reach. Trees could provide wood for fires and tools. And, I must admit, we made use of whatever human corpses came our way—bones were our first tools.
Over the next few months, we set about creating a community based on scientific planning. As we discussed matters, we reached a general consensus that our resurrection was a test of some kind, and that to prove our species worthy we must strive to create a more perfect society from the materials available.
Needless to say, it was difficult. But as more people joined us, we found strength in numbers. Houses were erected; a stockade was built to protect us from both our neighbors and whatever marauding animals this world might harbor. Soon we were smelting bronze, then iron. Sand, with some refinement, proved suitable for the crude glass you see in the Belle Dame's windows. In three months we had a prosperous town, with every man and woman working ten hours a day toward the common good. My dream was coming true, shaping itself before my very eyes.
Of course our society was a technocracy. Our Technocrat Council of Engineers ruled, with me at its head. When it occurred to us that we should try to bring all the best elements of this new world together in one place, we sent out emissaries. Our scientific ambassadors ranged for a thousand miles up and down the River, persuading whatever engineers and scientists they found to join our cause.
Again, the plan worked. People from all ages flocked to our incipient city. The vast laboratories we set up were something to see! We had mills, running water, and even a number of working clocks and watches within a year. Every success fueled our drive forward. A railway was begun to link the Providers. Hot air balloons scouted the air. Cartographers began to chart our new world. And, finally, we began to build this riverboat.
No, don't interrupt—let me finish my tale. I am near the end now.
Perhaps we were too giddy with our successes. We allowed anyone to join us who wanted to—anyone. That was the mistake. We woke up one morning to find our little society drowning in an unskilled “proletariat,” to borrow Lenin's word.
Among those who had joined us was a man called Capone. He came with a group of followers. He was small, quiet, a smooth talker. He offered to set up a bureaucracy to deal with our population as a whole. Indeed, we had already seen the need for administration and police ... but none on the Council truly wanted to oversee such mundane matters. We were all scientists, visionaries, men looking toward to the future. Each of us had pet projects to oversee. Letting Capone handle such matters seemed the ideal solution, as it would allow us to concentrate on our work.
Capone gave us all bodyguards. At the time it seemed like a good idea, since there were grumblings from the masses, but I understand his plan now. He wanted to isolate us from the population so he could control us. I'd heard of many 20th century inventions by this point—men walking on the moon, satellites, computers, television—and I wanted all these scientific miracles and more. Perhaps that's what blinded me. I wanted to leap centuries in months, to claw my way to the highest point of mankind's technological achievement in the span of a few years.
Perhaps it truly was punishment for my hubris. Perhaps it was blind stupidity. I awakened one morning to find myself a prisoner. My bodyguards had become prison guards. I—and the other technocrats—were no longer in control. In the space of a single night, our government fell in a bloodless coup. Al Capone had taken over.
He was a clever man, I admit. When we met with him in the Technocrat Council's chambers—us on the floor, him on a low throne—he made it clear who was in charge. When Leonardo da Vinci dared speak against him, Capone bludgeoned him to death with a wooden club. The blood, the blood! It was horrible ... the most horrible moment of my life.
I longed to see Capone dead, but there was nothing any of us could do but agree to whatever he demanded. Perhaps we should have spoken against him, should have joined Leonardo in death. That would have been the proper thing to do. Even though I knew I would be resurrected somewhere else along the River, I could not stand up against him. I'm ashamed to say I was afraid of death, and of the pain it would bring.
Capone kept us on tight leashes after that. We never appeared alone in public, never spoke to anyone except on scientific projects, and then always under the close scrutiny of our guards. Capone wanted my pet project, the riverboat, completed as quickly as possible; I assume that's why I had what little freedom I did. Most of the other technocrats were locked in their rooms, forced to work on blueprints for machines which others would fully execute in their absence.
The greater body of engineers and working scientists, I found out later, had deduced most of what had happened. Capone was a greedy pig. He renamed our little city New Chicago and began taxing everyone of their tobacco, marijuana, and dreamsticks. Anyone who didn't have a useful skill suddenly found himself drafted into a labor gang and sent into the hills to mine metal or cut lumber to fuel New Chicago's technological machinery.
The next year was, indeed, a grim one. But the riverboat was nearing completion, and though Capone had decided to turn it into a floating brothel and casino, its presence offered hope to many of our scientists.
On the night before the Belle Dame's test voyage, they staged a revolt. Using crossbows they had made in their spare time, they shot the guards on the building where I and the other technocrats were quartered and set us free.
It took seconds for them to explain their mad plan. We would seize the riverboat and set off to start a new technocratic state. This time we would not repeat the mistakes that had brought Capone to power. This time we really would create a perfect world.
To make things short, Capone somehow found out about the rescue
attempt. He sent the bulk of his men to stop us—to kill us, rather, since the riverboat was finished. If none of the scientists could be trusted, our usefulness to him was ended.
It came down to hand-to-hand fighting. I had written about it, had studied fisticuffs, but still found myself little prepared for true mortal combat. One of Capone's lieutenants slashed my belly open with a sword. I fell, unconscious.
I awakened here, aboard the Belle Dame. A handful of men had rallied around my fallen body, fought their way free to the riverboat, and launched. We were searching the river for another suitable site for our technocracy when you contacted us.
Robin sat in thought when Jules Verne finished his tale. Every word of it rang true; he had no doubts about its veracity.
“What you are looking for,” Robin said at last, “is a place like the last one, with abundant metals and wood, with easy access to the River, and a Provider—what we call a grail.”
“That is correct.” Verne leaned forward again, wincing a bit from pain. “Do you know of such a place?”
“We've travelled thousands of miles along the River, always heading upstream,” Robin said. “I've kept an eye out for metal along the way, and I know of places where lead and copper have been found. But iron ore? No, there's none.”
Verne sank back, face ashen. “Then perhaps we truly are lost,” he said. “Providence led us to that spot, and in our pride we failed to see the dangers we courted.”
“Providence may have brought us together for a reason. Don't you wonder at the convenience of it all?”
“What do you mean?”
Robin stood and began to pace. “You have been driven from your town by a thug and his men. After that you meet me, a man with a band of loyal followers who are looking to fix the wrongs of the world. Can you think of a more appropriate partnership?”
“Are you thinking what I am, sir?”
“If you're thinking we might be able to wrest control of New Chicago from Capone—then yes.”
“I must think on it,” Verne said. “Violence has never been the answer to the world's problems.”
“But sometimes it is the only solution,” Robin said.
Verne closed his eyes. “Find Claude,” he said. “I will have him bring your men aboard. We will talk again later.”
That afternoon Will Scarlet, who'd had spent a year training as a medic before dropping out of the program, went to see Jules Verne. Robin hoped he'd be able to help the technocrat. Will was the closest thing to a doctor on board.
While they waiting for the prognosis, Robin met with Little John in the salon. It was a beautifully decorated room; the tables all had floral designs inlaid with ivory taken from the bones of the giant fish that lived at the bottom of the River. Robin had only seen such fish twice ... once when a twenty foot long corpse had washed ashore; another time when a fisherman had been devoured whole while Robin and his men were passing through his town. Robin wondered how Verne had gotten so many of their bones that he could afford to waste them on decorations. Perhaps the riverfish were more numerous around New Chicago.
Robin and Little John drew up chairs and sat facing each other. The two always conferred on major decisions; the former President was a wise man, brilliant in many ways, and his advice carried a great deal of weight with Robin.
“I'm not sure I like the sound of this Capone fellow,” Little John said.
“We'll handle him easily enough.”
“Edmond—listen to what you're saying.”
“I heard myself.”
“You're an actor, not a hero. I admit it's been fun to play this game with you, to romp through the hills as Robin Hood and his men would have done. It's been grand, a chance to live out my childhood daydreams. But perhaps the time has come to end this charade. We aren't bandits from the greenwood, we're civilized men. And Capone will not be easy to scare off.”
“I don't want to scare him. I want him locked up—or, lacking that, dead and resurrected a million miles away.”
“I doubt we are capable of doing it.”
“Have you forgotten all we've accomplished?”
Lincoln's bushy brows knit together. “We've scared a few peasants into giving up grail-slavery. We've broken up a few drunken brawls. We've explored a thousand miles of this damned endless River. That's all. We aren't an avenging army, and we're not the fist of God. This man Capone is a dangerous criminal. He has surrounded himself with a private army, if what Verne told you is true. Twenty against two hundred is suicide.”
“So you're saying we should leave him there, building the biggest criminal empire in the history of mankind?”
“I'm not saying that, either. I'm saying we can't recapture a city by treating it like a romp. It will take planning, strategy, and a lot of patience.”
“What about luck?”
“You're impossible!”
“Little John—”
“Call me Abraham!”
“Little Abraham, then. I've always felt I should have a calling. My life was more or less forced on me—first by my parents, then by my acting troupe, then by a string of agents. I've always known I was meant for something greater. Since our resurrection, that feeling has come over me stronger than ever. My assuming the role of Robin Hood, our finding Verne and this riverboat, everything—it's all been leading up to this moment. It's destiny. The dice are rolling, and I can hear them.”
Lincoln stood. “It's time to put away your childish dreams,” he said. “If we are going to take New Chicago from Capone, we will need a man to lead us, not a character from storybooks.”
“Are you sure?”
“That I am.” Abraham Lincoln stalked from the room.
Robin Hood, né Edmond Bryor, sat alone for a long time, deep in thought.
Will Scarlet's prognosis was promising: he had cleaned and dressed Jules Verne's wound, then sewed it up properly, and now felt certain his patient would recover completely in time. “His problem was loss of blood and a bad infection,” he reported. “Luckily no vital organs were damaged.”
It was welcome news to Robin. “Is there anything else you can do?” he asked.
“Let him sleep. It's the best thing for him right now.”
“Good,” Robin said, nodding. “Stay with him. Let me know if you need anything.”
Two days later Jules Verne sent word that he wished to see Robin again. Verne looked vastly improved, Robin thought when he entered the cabin. The color had returned to his cheeks, and his voice was stronger and more authoritative.
“I have decided to agree to your plan,” Verne said with no preamble. “We will return and try to win back New Chicago. I will leave the details to you—I am a man of science, not violence, as recent events have shown. Whatever you need, I will arrange it. Now, what are your plans?”
“I have none as yet,” Robin said. “Little John and I must study the town, count our resources, and estimate the enemy's strength before committing to anything.”
“Very wise.” Verne nodded slowly. “I have instructed Claude de Ves to give you any help you need. Our diverse talents stand at your disposal, sir.”
“Thank you,” Robin said. “Your trust in me is not misplaced. You won't be disappointed.”
Robin held no false illusions about himself or the task at hand: he knew it would be difficult, that the fighting would probably be bloody and violent, that some of his men—perhaps even he himself—would die as a result. But he also knew Capone needed to be removed from power, and that he was the one man capable of carrying it off successfully.
The next day, Claude de Ves gave Robin and his men a tour of the riverboat. They saw the steam engines driving the paddlewheels and the huge bins where they kept wood for fuel; they saw the pilot house and the luxurious salons; they saw the cabins and the empty cargo holds.
The riverboat had tremendous potential, Robin decided, but they wouldn't be able to use it in their attack. It was too large and too obvious—Capone would have too much time to prepare
for a fight if he saw it coming. Besides, Verne and his men would be easily overwhelmed by a Capone's superior forces. No, Robin decided, given the odds against them, they would have to rely on their wits to gain the upper hand.
The riverboat paddled upRiver for three weeks, crossing hundreds of miles, passing thousands of different cultures. Aztecs, Minoans, modern Japanese, 17th century Indians ... the sheer volume of people was staggering.
During that time Robin drilled his men and Verne's mercilessly in the art of the longbow. They made straw targets in the shape of men and shot them again and again behind the pilot house. The pilot house's back wall became filled with chips and holes from being hit by countless arrowheads. Slowly, though, their accuracy improved.
In the evenings Robin and his men worked on making more bows and arrows, aided by Verne's crew. Eventually every man and woman on board had two longbows and two dozen arrows. Robin felt certain—and Little John tended to agree—that they would need everyone aboard to retake New Chicago.
When they were a week's walk from New Chicago, the Belle Dame slowed and once again put in to shore. This time Robin was the only one to leave. The riverboat would return in three weeks’ time to pick him up; in the meantime it would wait far downRiver, where Little John and Will Scarlet and the others would continue to drill Verne's men in archery.
Robin's mission was simple: he would scout the land, see New Chicago, get an estimate of Capone's strength, and return.
The trip to New Chicago proved disappointingly uneventful. The native populations along the River were sparse—most, Robin learned, had migrated to New Chicago during its early days. Since Al Capone's rise to power, the remaining people had migrated downRiver ... rumors of slave camps, spread by a few escapees, did the trick.
As he walked, every possible plan for taking Chicago ran through Robin's head. Storming the walls ... poisoning Capone's food ... leading a slave revolt ... all seemed equally mad, and equally improbable.
One day out from the New Chicago, he blundered into a patrol of Capone's thugs: six men, all armed with swords and shields. They ringed Robin at once, weapons drawn.
The Merry Men of the Riverworld Page 2