Bats of the Republic

by Zachary Thomas Dodson

I decided to come to Texas. Only for the letter. And to ensure that Zeke’s claim to the Senate seat is legitimized. I will not give in to my desire to see you. It is too risky.

  So far, I can’t say I find Texas to my liking. It seems that after its commissioning, this city-state was allowed to grow according to its own perverse idea of justice. It troubles me.

  Chicago-Land is beautifully constructed. Many buildings there survived the test of time. After the Collapse, it was the most intact of any city-state. This new republic is flimsy and poorly designed. Dust coats everything, and your neighbors can readily be heard through thin sheet-metal walls.

  I had hoped that my spirits would be lifted by the Vault. I had never seen it before yesterday. I’m sorry to say my careful plans were poorly realized. The architecture is not what I pictured. It is massive. But the materials used are cheap. It feels clinical and stale. Much more like a laboratory than a library.

  They have kept one essential part of my design: The roof of the Vault is a sanctuary for bats. At night they emerge and eat moths and bookworms that would otherwise destroy the Vault’s paper contents. They are the only creatures here, and it is forbidden to kill them. The only price is a thin layer of guano.

  I purposefully visited the Vault on your day off. My blood ID as a Corrector still allowed me entry. It is amazing what the Auspices do with their blood alchemy. Their work sustains the entirety of the city-state, yet they are ostracized for it. It still seems like magic to me. With a drop of my blood, the guard ID’d me and let me into the Vault. There was a palpable energy to the place, Threaders bustling through rows of files and folders, but it is far from what I had dreamed of.

  Though I was allowed entry, I felt nervous there. I’m poking around where I shouldn’t, advancing dangerously into foreign territory. I should fade into the dark and give my mind some respite from troubling thoughts about missing books and letters, the contents of which I can’t guess at.

  How do you live with watchposts at every intersection? It is a forest of echoes. I wholeheartedly believe in documenting our lives, and in the protection of that accumulated knowledge as the sacred seed of culture. However, Texas is a gross perversion of the founding principles of the Vault system. I’m worried that I’ll be seen near you, even accidentally. Especially as much time as I’m spending at the Vault.

  The Lawmen want it to seem as though they are always recording everything. Every single anomaly is flagged, and offenders are outed and ostracized. The dead zones, created by the short-staffing, make the system arbitrary and unfair. It’s fear-mongering. This was never the purpose of recording, and I know Senator Thomas would object to the surveillance here.

  The most egregious offense is the targeting of Queers. I had not realized Texas had backslid so far. Many said the lifephase system would threaten the hard-won rights of Queers. Texas makes me think that this is now coming to pass. Once someone here is identified as Queer they are immediately shipped off to Atlantas. I know that many choose to live there, free of the pressure to procreate. But forced segregation is another matter entirely. There is the sense that the authorities in Texas would rather just throw the Queers into the rot.

  I have been told of the steammoat that rings this city. It seems like a mechanical torture device. Zeke’s grandfather would not have condoned the banishment of citizens outside the walls of society, even for the punishment of murder, a crime which is unthinkable in Chicago-Land.

  I hope it is nothing more than a fear tactic. The hand of the Law is weak here, yet they would have you believe it is made of iron. Perhaps they think a totalitarian performance will ensure order. I would say the opposite is true. The city-state is on edge.

  Zeke, your pair, should be warned.

  I thought I might gain information through his cousin Bic, and bypass the need to disturb Zeke and interfere in the life of your pair. I went to Bic’s unit in the singles’ quarter. Escaping the notice of the watchposts was easy. I simply waited for the rotation of Recorders to cycle away from his unit.

  Bic lives in a slovenly fashion. Dust is tracked inside and his things are scattered everywhere, sabres and savage paraphernalia. It was dark and smelled of sweat. As a person, he is also repulsive. He refused to answer questions about his grandfather, and was suspicious and arrogant toward me.

  Slowly, I realized that Bic was jealous of Zeke. He said Zeke had all the family documents. He had been left with nothing.

  So I went back to the Vault of Records to investigate. Bic is a Lawman himself, or was. His record is without a blemish.

  What I’ve found in Zeke’s file is disturbing. He had a flag: a deadline for an uncarbon’d document. The file had been doctored so that no one would know it was an open case. Daxon has taken the thread on personally, highly unusual given his rank. His namestamps were all over it. I instantly knew it was the letter. By reporting it I only meant to discover it. I never thought that it might be something the Thomas family was hiding from the Law. Being here, I can see why they would.

  Somehow, by trying to help, I have endangered you. I must set things right. It is imperative that I talk to Zeke. I have left a note for him at your unit. I must convince him to let me see the letter. If he destroys it or gives it to Daxon, it will be lost to the historical records forever.

  We will have to meet without your knowledge. I’m sorry all this has happened, and that you will find out about it through these letters. Zeke may be able to explain when the time comes.

  FAM. LEPORIDAE

  GEN. LEPUS

  8.7.43, 19:30, 55 deg., 5 knots, 7/10ths cloud coverage

  Marching through the Missouri Territory

  Jackrabbit, long straight ears. White markings along stomach and feet. Seen in a field by the river, late this eve. Out looking for something to eat, or maybe a bit of adventure, he froze when I approached. In contrast to the smaller hares commonly seen in Illinois, he was content to sit patiently while I drew him. I would have expected him to flee.

  10/7/43

  FORT OSAGE, MISSOURI

  Dearest Elswyth,

  We have traveled the Illinois and the mighty Missouri, a good deal overland. There has been much marching, and my feet ache in ruined shoes. I doubt your sympathy for my condition would preclude a sly smile at my uncouth presentation, outfitted in roughs for the forest and all my provisions and field instruments slung there on my back. There was a good bit of adventure in it all, and I have collected many specimens already, some I know will interest your father a great deal. The land became marshy, and our forward progress, especially that of the animals, was impeded with regularity. I tried to sketch a rather boisterous river beaver, and my page was grabbed and ripped up by McMarrow. He called it a waste of time. He then berated Rodriguez for bringing so many pack animals, which have caused the delays.

  Finally we arrived and met McMarrow’s newly commandeered troops at Fort Osage. There is a soldier among them, who suffered a severe snakebite to his lower lip, and so had it removed to spare his life. He now looks as though his teeth are always bared. I don’t like him.

  Rodriguez told me that late on that same night he spotted three figures emerging from the Major’s quarters. They wore gray robes hung with silver jewels, and he thought at first they were “ladies of the evening.” But when they left they took the goat cage with them. It was conspicuously silent and looked heavier to carry. Rodriguez was suspicious, but he has been sore since McMarrow’s fit by the river.

  Rodriguez has twelve wagons waiting for him in Westport. He is anxious to make that outpost to-morrow. His brothers travel east and buy goods from contacts there to ship by steamboat to Westport. Then he drives them over the Santa Fe Trail and sells them in Nuevo Mexico or to other traders in the territories. At quite a handsome return in silver bars, I might add. He made this trip last year and said strong troops with a trustworthy leader, unlike McMarrow, are needed. Otherwise, he fears we will be attacked by freebooters or Indians.

  Rodriguez was doubly consternated by w
hat happened today. This morning, after his visit from the robed women, McMarrow moved us all away from Fort Osage, and set up camp near an Indian village.

  McMarrow seemed much more comfortable with the Indians than with the men he is now supposed to lead. Friendly, even. He finds the Missouri troops wanting, and barks orders and insults ceaselessly.

  I wish you could meet these native men. They are a fascinating tribe, gayly adorned in feathers and paint. They are called “red men,” but to me they simply look like white men who have been burned by staying out in the sun too long. They do not seem foreign at all, save their faint southern accents. I made to depict one in full regalia, but my skill failed me. It is a poor rendering. I shall stick to the animal kingdom from here on out, in service to the museum.

  At this camp the mosquitoes are especially troublesome. At supper, a swarm came upon us so ferociously that even our considerable hunger had to give way to the discomfort they caused, and our meal was left unfinished. It is very late now, and I have just seen McMarrow to his tent. As though the day were not enough trial, this dark night has proved particularly agitating.

  I was already awake, due to mosquitoes inside my tent, when I heard a commotion outside. I emerged in time to see the Major’s shape collapse into the remains of the evening’s fire. It took Rodriguez and me both to extract his large frame from the fire pit. McMarrow escaped with only a few personal papers turned to ash and a small bit of his boot melted at the toe. I do not know how no greater injury was caused him. He was greatly intoxicated. After we rescued him from the fire, Rodriguez returned to his tent in a huff. He was not amused by the drunken antics. I was left alone with McMarrow in the moonless night, only the silver river of the Milky Way strung above our heads.

  He then began to tell me disturbing things. It was hard to make sense of it, his speech was slurred and his breathing labored.

  FAM. NOCTUIDAE

  GEN. PHOTURIS

  10.7.43, 21:00, 45 deg., interior

  In my tent, a few miles from Westport, Missouri

  Moth, gray. No antennae, elongated thorax. Very large, nearly two inches. Has been trapped inside my tent for the better part of an hour, softly bumping against the sides. I’m not sure that I can sleep, in any case. Certainly one of the largest moths I’ve seen, and not a species I recognize. So I decided I might draw her. Perhaps by a trick of the moonlight, she was strangely devoid of color, and unsettled about returning to the out-of-doors, despite that being her natural environment. Her thorax glows like that of a firefly, and for this I name her Lightning Moth.

  He told me General Irion was a true Texian who wants annexation for the territory to the U.S. He thinks that Texas would best be a state, and draw on the strength of the Union for peace. But many men in the Republic of Texas wish to remain separate. McMarrow describes Irion as a peaceful man driven to violence by circumstance. He would prefer to negotiate somewhere other than the fields of battle.

  He claims Irion has rescued many prisoners, and his camps give a home and a life to loose, wayward men. Finding a place for these outliers is his true work. He said that your father has been friends with him for many years, and the man is civilized at heart.

  Yet he also extols the general’s skills at warfare. McMarrow described a cunning victory at the Battle of the Secret Tunnel. Irion wanted to take a seemingly impenetrable citadel. After a long siege, he finally ordered his men to burrow underneath its walls, so that they might emerge in the heart of the city and attack. The story was garbled and I would not vouch for the veracity of it.

  McMarrow said the separatists only look to take advantage of a lawless place. They care not for the war over Texas but arm themselves as an excuse to search for the Indians’ hidden cities of rare precious metals that they may plunder them. He said that Irion would be the future of Texas, if only she would accept him. He was disconsolate, and his words became squawks. I was able to stand him up and help him to his tent, where I listened until his sobbing turned to snoring.

  For my part, sleep is even further off now. The news of the Texian’s internal conflict has disturbed me greatly. Despite this, I constantly find myself wishing that you were with me. The journey to come does not suit a lady, surely, but if you had a traveling soul like your Aunt Anne’s, perhaps you could visit my dreams at night and we could speak of the particulars and peculiarities of all that I am experiencing.

  Anxious, Alone, I remain respectfully Your Obd Servant, Zadock Thomas

  BEGIN PHONO TRANSCRIPT:

  Z. THOMAS ›› Gram, that letter that I found? The unopened one? Did Gramp want me to have it?

  A. THOMAS ›› Oh, certainly dear. Any of his things that you want, you can feel free to take…

  ›› No, I mean…yes, thank you. But I was asking if he left it to me. Specifically. You know, for me to keep.

  ›› Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that, dear.

  ›› I ask because apparently it was supposed to be in my bundle. The Law knows about it.

  ›› That letter you took to be copied? Are you in trouble?

  ›› No, I won’t be, I’m going to have it carbon’d. I’m getting around to doing that. I just wanted to know if it was, you know, special or something.

  ›› Oh, I’m sure it was, dear.

  ›› But that one in particular? Would he not have wanted it carbon’d?

  ›› Which one?

  ›› It says “DO NOT OPEN.”

  ›› Then maybe you better hadn’t open it. There might be a reason someone wrote that on there.

  ›› Gram, that’s the feeling I had. Which is why I’m asking you. Is it important?

  ›› Your grandfather began to regret that carbon copy law. That and lots of things. Recording of everyone all the time. That was never his purpose.

  ›› I wish he had lived long enough to see me do…something. Besides waiting.

  3 SECONDS DEAD AIR

  ›› So, no reason for that particular letter?

  ›› Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that, dear. You can have it if you like.

  ›› OK, Gram. Well, thanks for talking with me. I’ve got to run now.

  ›› And how is…

  ›› Eliza. Well. She remembers the tea service.

  ›› Oh good. That’s the key to civilization. A good tea served properly.

  ›› Yes, it is. I miss yours. Gram, I have to go now. I’ll try to come see you soon.

  ›› Please do, dear. In fact, you’ve got clearance. As the Khrysalis, you can travel to any city-state. You’re cleared to come to Chicago-Land anytime. Some of the Senators are anxious to meet you. We’re all awaiting your decision.

  ›› I know. I’m thinking about it.

  ›› Goodbye now. You just do what you think is best.

  2 SECONDS DEAD AIR

  FLAG ➤ ›› With the letter. 〈 WHISPER

  ›› What? Gram, are you there? Hello?

  END PHONO TRANSCRIPT

  ∧∧ After hanging up the phonotube Zeke somehow felt more restless. Eliza had gone to pick up the laundry from the central washatorium. She wouldn’t be home for a while. Zeke called Raisin and arranged to meet him down at the square. He put on his jacket and hand-kerchief, and pulled his brimhat low. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He closed the front door behind him, checking the lock twice. The evening air shimmered. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke walked down his street, away from the north quadrant, hands folded in his jacket pockets. He had walked every quadrant of the city-state at least a hundred times. He needed to think. Should he take the seat, or open the letter first? The phosphor lamps on the watchposts flickered above him. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ A flutter of bright flashes above. Bats. They were the only animal that came within the boundaries of the city-state. Birds got caught in the weather pylons, domestic animals were banned, but the bats left their home in the Vault every evening and flew over the barriers in search of food. The phosphor lamps lit the underside of their bellies and tinted their translucent wings gr
eenish white. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧They flashed across the sky like shooting stars. Swooping after the insects drawn to the lamps. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke stopped to watch them for a long moment. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The city-blocks were identical. Steam valves releasing excess pressure, hissing blindly. Zeke walked past the grocery, a large, brightly lit tent carved into the night sky. Signs advertised the goods inside. Flavors to add to fount-water. Expensive, naturally grown fruits and vegetables. He pulled his jacket tightly against a dry chill. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke walked past more watchposts; most were empty, with pasted-on broadsheets struggling in the wind. He counted the wooden planks disappearing under his feet. Then they stopped. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke looked up. The barrier towered over him. The rim was empty. Lawmen weren’t on patrol tonight. He had come to the barrier.

  ∧∧ ∧∧ The curving slope of the barrier leaned above him. The gleaming metal façade seemed unscalable. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He followed it, walking east. The quadrant was empty. No one ever wanted to be seen near the barrier, lest they be accused of trying to flee. He could see the hatches that led to the outward-facing loopholes, windows for the cannon or scorpio weapons. And the toeholds that allowed Lawmen to climb up and patrol the ledge. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He tipped back his brimhat and stared up at it. Thick ropes of dust swirled across it, caught in the vortex the walls created. His eye caught a shadow on the perfect face of the wall. He walked closer. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Someone had dipped a mop in a bucket of ink and written giant letters: “OPEN IT NOW.” Zeke’s first thought was of the letter. But the message was not for him. It was about the barrier. The Deserters wanted the wall to come down. They spread their propaganda through painted slogans, written in the night. The Washers hadn’t gotten to this one yet. ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke looked around cautiously. There were no watchposts nearby. He stepped closer. The handwriting was messy, human. He touched one of the dripping letters and brought his black finger to his nose. The ink was fresh. It smelled earthy and intoxicating. Zeke thought of the letter. Eliza’s reaction had scared him a little. She hadn’t always been afraid of authority. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ They had met at a fountain saloon in Port-Land. There was no alcohol, just flavored fount-water. They were giddy, surrounded by the young generation in an uninhibited city-state. Laughter rolled off their tongues like mercury. Eliza had never tried pomegranate water. She wasn’t used to luxuries. Zeke bought her one. They moved to a booth, away from their friends. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ They weren’t supposed to court. That was reserved for Texas, the city-state of pairing. Zeke bought her more pomegranate water until he ran out of money. The sugar gave them both stomachaches. She told him about her father and her status as a Gray. He didn’t care, despite his own bloodline. The system didn’t account for how he felt. Eliza had begun to train with the records, but couldn’t find her father. ∧∧ ∧∧ She was clever with the files. Zeke was a year older and was transferred to Texas first. He avoided the square and the courting that his friends did, and waited for Eliza. They talked on the phonotube constantly. Later she would doctor the records to make it seem as though they had met in Texas. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ It was such a relief when she finally transferred. Raisin was paired with Leeya, and the four of them were inseparable. He missed those days. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke suddenly remembered he was supposed to meet Raisin at the square. He hurried away from the barrier, pulling up his hand-kerchief against the dust. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He neared the center of the city-state. It was lit by many flickering phosphor lamps, a swarm of green fireflies in the dusty air. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The square was filled with folks. Flash silver jewelry refracted green flecks of light. White flowing fashionclothes and sharp brimhats were on display. Singles stood outside on the plankways in front of saloons flashing hand signals across the square. The signals had started as a way to evade the constant surveillance of the watchposts but had evolved into a sly form of courting. The ladies used elaborate fans to hide their flirtatious gestures. Drunken laughter crackled through the air cut by the occasional Law whistle.