Holding Their Own: The Toymaker

by Joe Nobody

  “We actually came here to offer you similar goods and services, and much, much, more,” Terri began. “We are not your enemy.”

  “Who is ‘we?’ Are you from the Alliance or the U.S. government?”

  “Both,” Terri answered honestly. “But I can only make an agreement in the Alliance’s name. The president in Washington must approve any negotiations for the U.S. side. I wouldn’t worry about that too much, however. My husband and he are on excellent terms.”

  Hack shook his head, her words seeming so strange and out of place. “You’ll pardon me, but I’m having a little trouble taking you seriously. The two of you look like common vagabonds to me, not a diplomatic envoy.”

  Kevin, listening from his perch at the front window, called back to the kitchen, “Believe her, sir. That’s Miss Terri. She’s the real deal.”

  With a slight blush, Terri grinned at the lad’s statement, and then proceeded to answer in her own words, “We were in disguise for several reasons, not the least of which was we couldn’t figure out any other way to approach you or your people. It seemed the previous two attempts had resulted in violence and death. We thought this was a better alternative.”

  Hack looked around at a house full of armed, diligent men holding him at gunpoint. “So taking me hostage was the preferred method?”

  Terri snorted, peering over her cup with a sly grin. “This wasn’t our intent. Actually, my husband is an engineer, and we hoped to be offered employment on your irrigation project. That, as the plan went, would allow us to meet whoever was running the show, and then we would approach peacefully.”

  “So you were going to resort to espionage and subterfuge, instead of an outright assault?”

  “No, we were going to approach from a position of trust. We weren’t spying on you. There’s no need. We’re well aware of exactly what you’re doing.”

  Hack used a sip of coffee as an excuse to gather his thoughts. After savoring the hot liquid, he responded, “Okay, I’ll stop being contentious. Please continue.”

  “I’ll be blunt and to the point, so we have a chance to make significant progress before your friends outside get stupid and try to storm the house. The Alliance will not allow its water supply to be cut off. We are willing to share, trade, barter, and enter into a formal treaty if necessary, but we won’t allow our primary agricultural regions to be denied water.”

  As Terri expected, Hack’s spine stiffened at the stark threat she had tabled. “I don’t see they have much choice,” he stated with an edge. “I’m sure, if you are who you claim to be, that you’re aware of our recent acquisition of nuclear materials. We have a delivery mechanism and the will to use it if attacked.”

  “So you won’t rethink your new irrigation system?”

  “Why should we?” Hack said firmly. “Look, these people… the tribes, have been shit on and abused for over 400 years. Now, the tide is about to turn. With our agriculture output and rule of law, we can start all over again and eventually return the Indian Nations back to the prominence they deserve. Go find your own water – or attack if need be. But let me warn you, we will lay waste to vast stretches of Texas and the Mid-west. We have the materials and know-how to do so.”

  “Oh, no one is going to attack you. That option was taken off our table long ago, and Washington could care less what you do with the water. No, we pose no military threat whatsoever.”

  Again, Hack was confused by Terri’s seemingly contradictory positions. “I don’t get it. You make bold statements about ‘won’t allow,’ yet you claim to be nonviolent.”

  “Simple,” Terri grinned. “Even as we speak, Alliance engineers are in Colorado, just north of your territory.” She then turned toward the living room and raised her voice, “Bishop? Do you still have that map?”

  “Yup,” he replied, joining them in the kitchen after changing into regular clothes.

  The Texan unfolded a map and pointed with his finger. “This area is the San Luis Valley in southern Colorado. After approximately three months of earth moving with our heavy equipment, we can reroute the Rio Grande through northern Oklahoma and into the Texas Panhandle. According to the studies I’ve seen, this project would actually increase our agricultural output by over 40%.”

  Hack snatched the map, pulling it closer to study. After a bit, he glared at Terri with fire in his eyes. “You can’t do that. You would starve out what little food we manage to grow now. This entire region depends on that river.”

  “Why not?” Terri shrugged innocently. “You didn’t seem to care if we starved. Good for the goose, good for the gander I always say.”

  The expression on Hack’s face was cold and angry, but Terri sensed he was beginning to see the light. “What do you want?” he finally asked.

  “We’re willing to share the water, much like the pre-collapse arrangements that existed between the states. We also want to be your trading partner. Like that coffee in your cup, we have a lot to offer.”

  “Such as?”

  Terri rolled her eyes, “Such as? It’s Texas, for Pete’s sake. We have fields of pipe and valves and all sorts of fluid handling equipment lying around. Our experts believe you can build a much more efficient irrigation system with plumbing as opposed to flooding. We refine gas and diesel. We have seafood, and are starting to produce medicines. The list could go on and on.”

  Glancing down at the map and then at Bishop’s rifle, Hack said, “It doesn’t seem like you’re giving me much choice.”

  Terri shook her head, “No, we’re giving you every choice. Believe me when I say that our ruling council had significant dissenting voices that opposed even opening a dialog with you. Many of them wanted to simply initiate the Colorado project, and let you wither in the sun.

  “And why didn’t you?”

  “Because life is difficult enough these days. That’s not what the Alliance is about. We all need each other more than ever before. So when the choice comes down to either establishing a strong trading partner or starving tens of thousands of people, our value system guides us to the high road. Hasn’t there already been enough suffering and death?”

  Hack looked sad, mumbled, “I see.”

  “What do you have to lose?” Bishop asked, not understanding the man’s reaction. “Our estimates say that you were going to have enough irrigated land to grow ten times the amount of crops necessary to feed the local population. If we work together, you can still have an excess for export and trade, plus a strong ally to boot. I don’t see the downside to this solution.”

  “Prominence,” Hack replied. “Prestige, respect, security… a future for those people out there. They are good people. They deserve a land of plenty and the independence that excess capacity would provide them for generations. Now it appears that they are going to be denied yet again.”

  The discussion continued, Hack asking questions, Terri providing answers. The entire back and forth repartee annoyed Bishop, Hack seeming to want to know every possible detail of the Alliance’s offer.

  Terri had just uttered “We can work out those details later,” for the nth time when Bishop decided it was time to stretch his legs, and get out of the kitchen before he said something to undermine his wife’s efforts.

  “Mister Bishop,” came Kevin’s voice from the window. “Do you have a minute?”

  Bishop left the kitchen, moving quickly to join Kevin. Peering around the window’s edge, the Texan couldn’t see why the kid had sounded the alarm.

  “What’s up, Kevin? Looks nice and quiet to me.”

  “Sir, I know it’s not my place, but that’s the problem. My dad once told me if things are going well, I’m probably walking into an ambush. I haven’t seen anyone move out there for 45 minutes.”

  Scratching his stubble-coated chin, Bishop had to admit the kid had a point.

  “Keep frosty,” Bishop finally replied. “I’m going to go check around back.”

  Sergeant Grissom reported the same unnerving lack of movement. “I thought
they were all out front,” he said. “This can’t be good.”

  It then dawned on the Texan that Hack was stalling.

  Strolling back to the in-process meeting, Bishop remembered the stolen nuclear materials. “He’s stalling. They’re up to something,” he growled.

  He grabbed Hack’s chair, spinning the shocked man around and coming nose to nose. “Where are your Indian friends, sir? I know you’re stalling… what are they up to?”

  Whether from fear or pride, Hack didn’t respond, and it pissed Bishop off. He could see the loathing in the man’s eyes, almost a celebration of having deceived them for so long.

  Without hesitation, the Texan turned to his flabbergasted wife and barked, “Hand me your pistol.”

  “What?” Terri started, “What are you doing, Bishop?”

  “Hand me the fucking gun,” he snapped, reaching for her belt and the holstered weapon.

  Terri knew from the look in her husband’s eyes that something was terribly wrong. Before she could even reach for her sidearm, he had yanked it from the leather.

  Bishop flicked off the safety and pointed the barrel at Hack’s foot. “You better start talking, right now, or I’ll use 9mm lead to chew off parts of your body until you’re singing like a bird. Now, out with it… what are your friends up to?”

  Hack’s mouth twisted into an evil grin, “You’re too late, asshole. It’s already done.”

  “What’s already done?”

  Hack hesitated, his mouth firmly sealed, the twinkle of skullduggery glinting behind his eyes.

  Bishop fired.

  In the enclosed space, the roar of the handgun made everyone jump. The deafening report was immediately followed by a howl of pain coming from deep inside the toymaker’s chest.

  “What’s already done?” Bishop screamed, moving the pistol to the other foot.

  Hack was trying to cry, breathe, moan, and protest all at once. “Fuck you!” he yelled between gasps of breath. “It’s over! I warned them! I told them to stay away!”

  Bishop fired again, watching as Hack’s body seized, bouncing up and down in the chair, the man’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. No one noticed that the Texan had intentionally missed the inventor’s other foot by more than an inch.

  “This gun holds 17 rounds,” Bishop screamed, fury and rage thick in his throat. “I’ve got 15 left. Now start talking before I move on to more painful parts of your worthless carcass.”

  When the pistol moved between Hack’s legs, the man found words. “They’re launching the balloons, you fool. There’s no stopping them. They’re automatic.”

  Bishop paused, trying to figure out what Hack was saying. His mind went back to a cautionary phrase he’d heard his father use long ago, “… when they send up the balloons.”

  It was slang from a period when the old Soviet Union and the United States threatened each other with thousands of intercontinental ballistic missiles. “Sending up the balloon,” meant launching those weapons - and the end of the world.

  Turning to Terri, he said, “He’s been stalling you while his friends are doing something with that stolen radioactive shit.”

  Back to Hack, “What are they doing? Where are they?”

  Nearly hysterical with pain, Hack was sobbing so badly he could hardly speak.

  Bishop didn’t know the capability of the stolen materials. He had no clue as to their capability, range, or potential. What he did know was the fear he’d seen in Nick’s eyes and the grim expression on General Owens’ face when the topic had been broached.

  His mind filled with visions of more bodies, more graves, and droves of sick and dying people. He pictured vast swaths of unusable land, dying crops, and suffering livestock.

  Those grave thoughts were soon replaced with the Colonel’s face, twisted in anger over the Alliance’s meddling in the affair. Tanks, gunships, and artillery would soon follow, the United States provoked to the point of war. More dying. More suffering. More bodies.

  And all because of one man. All because of the individual sitting right there, defiant and proud of the horrors he’d just unleashed on mankind.

  Bishop grabbed a handful of white hair and with strength born of pure adrenalin and wrath lifted Hack from his perch.

  He didn’t hear Terri’s protests, couldn’t register Hack’s screams of pain and torment.

  Hack still managed to kick both of his feet despite one suffering a bullet wound. He howled in misery as the Texan dragged him into the front room and toward the wood burning stove.

  With his free hand, Bishop opened the iron door and gazed for a moment into the licking flames and glowing embers.

  He released Hack’s hair, allowing the injured man to fall with a thump to the floor. And then Bishop had the man’s arm in an iron grip, pulling it toward the stove’s inferno.

  Somehow the Texan’s intent registered in Hack’s mind. Whether it was the heat on his skin, or the look of pure hatred in Bishop’s eyes, the toymaker realized what was about to happen.

  “Wait! Wait! No!” Hack pleaded in a shrill voice. “Oh, God! No!”

  Bishop didn’t heed the request, his eyes reflecting the red and yellow blaze inside the iron belly. “This is a preview of hell,” he grumbled as Hack’s now-closed fist was poised at the threshold. “I’m going to burn both of your arms down to stubs.”

  “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!” came the screamed surrender as the heat from the coals flooded Hack’s brain.

  Bishop paused, holding tight, Hack’s struggles to withdraw his limb worthless against the vice-like grip that held it.

  “They’re at the mine. They’re launching weather balloons with the Cobalt attached to detonators,” tumbled the rushed confession.

  “Where is the mine?”

  “Just northwest of here. On the ridge. Less than a mile. There are seven balloons, seven cases of Cobalt.”

  “How do I disable them?” Bishop asked.

  “You can’t. They’re on automatic altimeters. When they reach 80,000 feet, the radiation will be released.”

  Bishop released his grip on Hack’s arm, motioning for Grissom to tend the toymaker’s wound. Turning to his shocked wife, the Texan shook his head. “I think we’re fucked.”

  “Can we get in touch with Bliss? Have them send airplanes to shoot them down?”

  Bishop looked out the window, noting the dusk. “I don’t know…. Even if we could call them, can the plane’s radar see the balloons? It’s going to be dark in just a few minutes. No way they’ll be able to see them at night.”

  “They can’t be shot down?” Terri asked, getting desperate.

  “Hell, I don’t know. Who has ever shot at weather balloons?”

  “What about this, Mr. Bishop?” Kevin said, holding up his sniper rifle.

  The Texan paused, trying to run the numbers in his head. “Maybe I can stop some of them.”

  “Every one you bring down means fewer people that will suffer,” Terri added.

  Nodding, Bishop rushed to fill his pack with magazines. Grissom looked up from Hack’s bleeding foot and said, “My night vision and equipment is in the back room. I saw it there. That will help us.”

  “You have to stay here, Sergeant. You’re hurt and besides, somebody has to protect my wife and son and keep an eye on this madman,” Bishop said, glancing at Hack.

  “I can help, sir,” Kevin announced, reaching across for one of the guard’s discarded carbines. “I can’t walk, but I can still shoot.”

  Terri was holding her pistol, “Don’t go alone, Bishop. Take Grissom with you. Kevin and I can hold down the fort until you get back.”

  Nodding, Bishop motioned for Grissom to get his shit together. “If you slow me down, I’ll leave you behind. Let’s roll.”

  As the PJ was scrambling around, Hack continued to moan and whimper. A thought occurred to Grissom. Reopening his medical kit, he produced an item resembling a cigar tube. “This will make him easier to manage, and reduce his whining,” he an
nounced.

  “What is it?” Terri asked.

  “Morphine,” came the response. “He’ll be in happy land in less than five minutes.”

  Everyone watched as Grissom flipped off the end cap with his thumb and then plunged the device into Hack’s thigh. The reaction was nearly instantaneous.

  The Texan saw the PJ stuffing something in a pouch on his vest. “What’s that?” he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

  “It’s my Sat-phone,” came the reply. “Will that help?”

  “Can you call Fort Bliss?” Bishop asked.

  “I can’t call anyone unless they have a telephone system up and running. I only used it to file our status reports. I don’t even know who I was talking to or where they’re located.”

  “Could they radio Bliss?” Terri continued to push.

  “I’m not sure. We can try.”

  The PJ switched the unit on, punching a series of buttons while studying the screen. He held the unit like a phone and waited.

  “CONUS CIC, state your business,” came the warbled answer.

  “This is Rat-pack 3. Repeat, this is Rat-pack 3, I need to speak with the OD (Officer on Duty).”

  “Wait one.”

  The sergeant’s eyes darted between Bishop and Terri, knowing they were very short on time. Finally, after what seemed like forever, a voice came on the line. “Go Rat-pack 3.”

  “I need a communication sent to Fort Bliss. Is that possible?”

  “Umm… I’m not sure. Describe the situation, please.”

  Rolling his eyes at the desk-jockey’s fear of messing up, the PJ stated the main reason. “There are 90 pounds of highly radioactive material that may have just been launched toward Texas. I need help in stopping the attack. I need to get a message through to Bliss – right now.”

  There was a pause at the other end, Grissom sure he could hear voices talking it over. “What’s the message, Rat-pack 3? We’ll do our best.”

  It dawned on the PJ that he didn’t know what to say. Frustrated and knowing time was running out, he said, “Details to follow,” and handed Bishop the phone.