Bats of the Republic

by Zachary Thomas Dodson

  ‘I don’t believe any of his stories about his bloodline.’

  ‘It seems your father is quite taken with them.’

  Elswyth sat silently. A chill shook her. Aunt Anne fetched another one of her ancient shawls to put round Elswyth’s shoulders and, picking at the comers, sat beside her.

  ‘All my Sisters were your age once, and your mother was the only one to find a man suitable for marriage. She was lost in the fancy of writing books till Mr. Gray captured her imagination. And her heart.’ She gave a little pat on Elswyth’s arm to encourage her to drink more tea. ‘The rest of us had to find another way. That’s how the order was formed. We became Auspices.’

  Elswyth had been to the Auspicium many times as a little girl, and it always gave her an ominous dreadful feeling. It was like a convent but with a pall cast over it. Her mother would take her and Louisa to see all their aunts, but Elswyth knew, even as a child, that she did not care to visit those dark halls for very long.

  ‘Leave these endless tracasseries with your father behind. You are no longer a child, and should think on the future of your own blood. Devote yourself to your soul, that it will remain ever pure, and the profanities of this mortal coil will be as dust to you.’

  Elswyth clenched her toes in her day slippers. Talk of eternity churned her insides in a most unsettling way.

  ‘We are preparing an elixir at the Auspicium, a holy water that changes the soul and preserves for the end of days. The end prophecies cannot touch those whose blood flows with the waters of the true way. For them there is no end, only change. We have guarded the Auspicium for those like you…’

  Elswyth had heard the conversion speech for nearly the entirety of her life. She hastily threw off the shawl and took up again her indignant mantle.

  ‘Shall I allow everyone to tell me what to do? If only I were in need of a master rather than a suitor, a saved soul I would be.’

  ‘You ought to braid that anger into your hair. The task would remedy your idle hands as well.’

  ‘I won’t idle in this place much longer.’ Elswyth spat out her words bitterly and left them hanging in the cottage. She skittered back up the stone path to her father’s great house, a jay noisily mocking her as she went.

  Alone in her room she felt sorry for her rudeness to her aunt, who had only been trying to show her a kindness. But she would not read her mother’s book again. It held no answers. Aunt Anne’s words set fire to a fear within Elswyth. She had waited too long.

  Most marriages seemed uncomfortable arrangements for the convenience or benefit of others. That she should be an exception to the general rule seemed exceedingly improbable as her count of years increased. She loved Mr. Thomas, but he satisfied none of the other conditions for marriage.

  There were few people with the ability to feel love, and fewer still who did indeed feel it, and fewer than that who found their great love returned in equal measure. Could it be that all this had

  ∧∧ Zeke paced inside the unit. Every few minutes he found himself back at the closet, checking to see if the shirt with the false pocket was still there. A circular, looping migration. His grandfather lived for eighty-four years without opening the letter. Zeke had only had it a few days. Perhaps he didn’t have the strength of his ancestors. He wanted laudanum. The Major had taken his last dram. All day he had thought of calling Eliza at work. He pictured her at her desk outside the long hall with giant sliding doors that led to row after row of metal filing cabinets. Transcripts of conversations arriving constantly from the Recorders in the watchposts. Namestamped and put away by tired Filers. The history of the city-state. Artifacts from the Collapse. The smell of ink and paper. The sounds of clacking typowriters. ∧∧ Eliza did well there. She was a diligent, clever Threader. Leeya was still only a Filer. Finally, he heard the soft latch of the front door. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Eliza found Zeke in the bedroom and kissed his mustache hello. ∧∧ “I have a date with Leeya at the square. I’ve got to rush so we can get home before nightfall.” ∧∧ She turned a freckled shoulder to him, to slip off her workclothes. ∧∧ “Don’t leave me.” He dropped to his knees in mock protest. ∧∧ Eliza stroked his hair. Her fingertips were rough, scabbed over from where they pricked her each day. A blood ID was required to enter the Vault. Zeke hated how it marred her otherwise perfect hands. ∧∧ “Leeya needs me.” ∧∧ “Leeya needs another boyfriend.” ∧∧ “Be nice. Raisin hurt her.” ∧∧ He watched her put on a white linen frock and brown boots. Her movements were delicate, precise. She picked out a fan to match her fashionclothes. It would be dusty at the square. ∧∧ “I’ve got to call her.” ∧∧ ∧∧ In the livingroom she uncapped the speaking end of the phonotube and stopped. “What’s this?” She handed Zeke the tube. A damp paper note was rolled inside. It had been steam-blasted through the tube. The note was typowritten. An original, not a carbon.

  He rolled the note back up and Eliza took it from him. “What is this, Zeke?” ∧∧ “Paper. We’ve got to destroy it. I wish fire wasn’t banned here.” Eliza cautiously picked up his hand. “I’ll soak it instead. The waterroom.” He started in that direction, but Eliza didn’t let go of his hand. ∧∧ “What is this about, Zeke?” ∧∧ He sighed. “A letter. Uncarbon’d.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “What’s in it?” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “I don’t know. It was part of my grandfather’s bundle.” Zeke looked out the window. The phosphor lamp at the top of his sabotaged watchpost flickered green. It hadn’t been repaired. ∧∧ ∧∧ “When are you going to accept the Khrysalis?” ∧∧ “I have to decide what to do about the letter first. My grandfather may have been trying to tell me something about the Senate. Or it could be a test.” ∧∧ “There’s already an open thread on the power lines you cut. And now you’ve got an uncarbon’d document? Zeke, I’ll lose my job. You’ll lose any chance of carrying on your bloodline.” She was upset, sputtering. “I’ll help you. We’ll take it to the Vault. You didn’t know it was uncarbon’d, right?” ∧∧ “I want to keep it.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ At this Eliza stopped her questions. Zeke sucked in a breath. He felt surprised at the strength of his own statement. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “The murders make everything dangerous, Zeke. You don’t know how Major Daxon operates. If he can’t find someone to arrest soon, he’ll just go through the open threads and pick someone as a scapegoat. I’ve heard stories about him. He’ll lose his job if he doesn’t produce a culprit. The victims have all been young girls, newly arrived to the city-state.” ∧∧ “How do you know that?” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “I…I asked to be assigned to the murder thread.” ∧∧ “What! Why?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Whoever is really doing this needs to be caught.” ∧∧ “And you’re telling me to keep a low profile?” Eliza sat down and folded up her fan. Zeke could see her thinking. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “Why don’t you turn in something else?” Eliza said. “I can steal some paper and a pen from the Vault. An envelope.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “They might already know what’s in it. The Major was looking for it. He issued me a deadline.” ∧∧ “Daxon was here? In our unit?” There was a violent knock at the door. Zeke and Eliza looked at each other in panic. ∧∧ ∧∧ Eliza moved slowly to open the door. Zeke shoved the note deep into his pocket. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ It was Bic. He wore full Republic regalia and a pouting sneer. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Congratulations, cousin.” Bic’s tone was snide. He wouldn’t look Zeke in the eye. “Ready for the ceremony?” ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke looked blankly from Bic to Eliza and back. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “They’re unveiling the statue tonight,” Bic said. ∧∧ Eliza turned to Zeke. “Now I have to cancel with Leeya?” ∧∧ ∧∧

  Zeke’s shoulders dropped. ∧∧ “I completely forgot. I’ll be ready in ten.” He flashed Eliza a hand signal to follow him, but she ignored it. He walked into the waterroom to splash some water on his face. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Don’t you ever read the broadsheets?” Bic called after him. “You would think a Khrysalis would pay attention.” ∧∧ From
the waterroom Zeke could hear Eliza trying to make polite conversation with Bic. Her voice was edged with anxiety. “Bic, have you been courting anyone sweet lately?” ∧∧ “I meet a lot of girls. They’re all eager to be paired when they meet me. Attractive girls. But I have to think about more than just that, you know? I have to be certain that my pair has good blood in her veins.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke hurried so Eliza wouldn’t have to listen to the blustering. Bic’s talk would hurt her feelings. In the bedroom, he opened his closet. The letter was still safely sewn in its pocket. ∧∧ ∧∧ He pulled out his Republic fineries. When he was younger he was made to attend functions of the city-state with his grandparents. His disdain for the events extended to the stiff brown uniform with its overwrought piping and silver detailing. He attached the armband signifying the rank of Khrysalis to his sleeve. ∧∧ ∧∧ He reemerged in the livingroom in the wrinkled uniform, smelling of mothballs. He removed his grandfather’s sabre from the mantel and slid it into its scabbard. ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’m sorry,” he said, touching the hilt absentmindedly. ∧∧ “You look kitted to slay the beast of the Republic,” Bic jeered. Zeke and Eliza didn’t laugh. ∧∧ “The murders are being committed by a man,” Eliza said. ∧∧ “How would you know?” Bic scoffed. “Man or beast, the second they get their hands on the murderer they’ll throw him over the barrier. There’s no room in jail. I for one can’t wait to watch the brute run from the city-state and get cooked alive by the steammoat.” ∧∧ “I guess I’ve got to change again.” Eliza stood. She walked past Zeke into the bedroom without meeting his eye. ∧∧ “I want to wear the sabre for today’s ceremony.” Bic pointed. “You always get to wear it.” ∧∧ “It’s mine.” ∧∧ “The birthright belongs to both of us, Zeke. You already got Khrysalis.” ∧∧ “Not officially. And the sabre belongs to me.” ∧∧ “Just let me wear it.” Bic’s tone sharpened. “Just this once.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke didn’t want to have this argument with his cousin. ∧∧ “Blood/Air/Water for it?” It was a simple game to decide on things. They had used it often as boys. Zeke wouldn’t have suggested it without knowing he would win. Blood was always Bic’s first shot. They tapped their palms three times, and then flashed the hand signals. The results were just as Zeke thought. He would wear the sabre. ∧∧ ∧∧ Eliza emerged in her fineries. She pulled all the windows closed, and they left the unit. Bic stayed a few steps behind, glowering.

  ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Senator Zacharyh Thomas was having a statue dedicated in his honor after his death. ∧∧ ∧∧ The ceremony was in the industrial quadrant next to the steam-distributor building. It was a dusty, uninhabited part of town. The only people who ventured into the southwest quadrant were those assigned to the steamworks, the clocklike machines that kept the phosphor lights glowing and provided power to the city-state. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The Thomas statue was being erected in the city-state of Texas because it housed Zeke’s grandfather’s pet project, the Vault of Records. Zeke suspected Major Daxon decided the statue would be erected in the industrial quadrant. Not exactly the location of highest honor. Zeke would have preferred it in front of the Vault, but that was Daxon’s seat of power. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Three times the height of a man, the statue was covered in an expanse of white cloth, which twisted impatiently in the wind. It looked like a giant ghost trying to flee even though its feet were melted to the floor. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The participants slowly filed in, filling the rows of chairs that had been set up for the ceremony. There weren’t many folks there. The city-state had been on edge and night was about to fall. Normally Zeke would stand at the front left of such ceremonies, with the other Khrysalises. But tonight he stood on the right, for family. Presently Bic filed down the line as well, blatantly eyeing the ladies. One snapped up her fan to shield her face. Bic stopped in a spot next to Zeke. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Some fine specimens here tonight.” Bic smoothed down the front of his uniform. Sunset light sliced off of the silver medals on his chest. ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke glanced at Eliza. She was standing with the other women in the row behind them, beautiful in fine dress. Formal events made her uncertainty about her social status more acute. She had been silent on the way over. He couldn’t catch her eye. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The light seemed anxious to disappear. Dust snaked through the air, coating everything. ∧∧ Zeke squinted, both from the glare of the low sun and to keep the dust from stinging his eyes. ∧∧ ∧∧ The master of ceremonies hobbled up to the podium on the hastily constructed stage. He began droning through a loudspeaker in front of the statue. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The remaining six Senators shuffled onstage. Then one by one, like stars appearing in the night sky, the Auspices began to gather around the statue’s feet. They took their places so subtly that Zeke hadn’t seen any single one arrive. Their long black robes and shrouded faces were ominous. The Sisters shunned the stage and Zeke felt their strange energy ripple through the crowd. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Bic leaned over and whispered hotly in Zeke’s ear, “Just promise me one thing. If you take the seat, get rid of those creepy witches.” Zeke shifted uncomfortably in his uniform. His Republic-issued boots still weren’t broken in. “Now that Gramp is gone, you should refuse Khrysalis. If you gave it up, you wouldn’t have to do this stuff.” Zeke just watched the stage. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “We both know you don’t even want it,” Bic said. Finally Major Daxon took the stage. He had cleaned himself up for the event. He gave curt nods to each of the Senators as he passed them. He did not acknowledge the Auspices. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “You receive any…strange notes lately? Through your phonotube?” Zeke asked Bic. ∧∧ “You mean on paper?” Bic snorted. ∧∧ “Yeah.” ∧∧ “That’s illegal.” ∧∧ “I know, just—” ∧∧ The note was strange. Eliza could look up the file number at the Vault, but it could be a trap. ∧∧ “You ought to be paying attention. The Law is about to speak. These weak old Senators should listen as well.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Just as Daxon reached the podium, he met Zeke’s eye in the front row. Looking away he then launched into a gravelly harangue. ∧∧ ∧∧ “The nation now enters a new era. We are thankful for all of the founding Senators’ efforts and intentions but the coming generation will be the ones to realize their grand plans. We must repopulate. This requires strict adherence to the lifephase system, and an increase in security to make sure the fruits of our labors are not taken from us or left to rot. Atlantas has been plated in iron, the strongest barrier yet. But we must not give over its control to Queers and degenerates. All of our resources must go to perpetuating the generations.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Daxon was grandstanding. Zeke frowned. His grandfather had been against segregating the Queers in a separate city-state. Daxon seemed bent on eliminating them entirely. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “There are those that seek to desert our city-states, endangering themselves and those inside.” Zeke saw a handful of the Auspices huddle together and whisper behind the stage. Daxon rambled on. Two Lawmen stood to his side holding a large screen to block the dust that was blowing sideways now. It stung Zeke’s skin. ∧∧ “To ensure our safety we have begun construction on a great machined cannon, which is powerful enough to blast through the walls of any city-state or stop an advancing army. Offensive weapons are banned by the Senate; this is a defense against them. What is ours won’t be taken from us.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Bic elbowed Zeke. “This’ll be on the broadsheets tomorrow. You could control that if you join the Senate.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke tried to shut it all out. The Major trumpeted the achievements of the Recorders, and the recent enhancements to the watchposts. He spoke of Zeke’s grandfather as though he was ancient history. ∧∧ ∧∧ The sun slipped behind the nearby barrier, casting them all into a shadow of twilight. Finally the signal was sounded, and the sheet covering the statue was unpinned. It took to the air immediately, fluttering up over the nearby barrier. There was a halfhearted round of applause from the rows of chairs. The Auspices were gone. ∧∧ ∧∧ Before the next speaker could start, Zeke got up and walked into the center aisle. A murmur echoed through the crowd as ever
y pair of eyes followed him down the aisle and away from the ongoing ceremony. The statue was a poor likeness. It looked nothing like his grandfather. ∧∧∧

  Eliza, these letters will come to you when I’m dead. They can’t arrest me then. Before that happens, I’m determined to read all of Zadock’s letters. I hope you will too.

  As his western journey continues Zadock’s letters become more fascinating. The traveling party was well received in an Indian village, and remained there for three days. Zadock made notes on the tribesmen. There were no women among them. Based on their location, and his description of them, I believe they were the Konza tribe. He tried to ask questions about the animals used for their skins and feathered dress. He attempted drawings of the warriors and their garb. Strangely, McMarrow seemed to prefer the Indians’ company.

  McMarrow clearly had an interest in the fight for Texan independence and sympathy for the Indians. In 1843, the U.S. secretary of war was eager for negotiation with Texas and Mexico. McMarrow was rightly worried that U.S. annexation of Texas would bring war with Mexico, who still claimed the state.

  But McMarrow was opposed to the preceding president of Texas, Mirabeau B. Lamar, and his followers, who were separatists. Lamar was against annexation, and took steps to establish Texas’s legitimacy as a nation. He also attempted to drive all American Indians from Texas lands.

  Violence in Texas was inevitable.

  Though Zadock’s letters provide a somewhat continuous narrative, much is left out, and I remain desperate for supplementary sources. Too many holes remain. Even if I am barred from telling you of your ancestry, I can make up for it by building a case for Zeke’s. He is your family bloodline now.