by James Palmer
“No. Hobarth will be victorious, and everything will be fine.”
“You’re half right, magician,” said Shade, striding through the destruction into the car. “Everything will be fine for us.”
He held up the Ankh of Ra and said something that sounded old and syrupy. The artifact glowed and gave off sparks.
“You know nothing of the power you wield,” said Thorpe.
The albino barked laughter. “I know enough to take care of you, whelp.”
The mummy turned its head. Those words the albino had just spoken. It knew them. Then its dried-out orb of an eye locked onto the thing he wore around his chest. Its desiccated vocal cords tried to form the word No.
The mummy gripped the seat backs to either side of it and hauled itself upright.
The Ankh of Ra. In life he had sworn to protect it. In death, it was his duty as well. Now someone unworthy was taking it.
“Obey me, thing of flesh and bones,” said Shade, looking at the mummy. “Rend these men to shreds.”
The Ankh’s power was overwhelming, but something made the creature resist. He was its sworn protector. It had returned him to the land of the living—in the belly of this strange asp of wood and metal and surrounded by these unusual creatures—to honor his pledge. He must not fail.
Hobarth finally managed to get himself upright. “Mountebank,” it said to Shade haughtily.
Shade scowled at the metal man. “You can start, O mummy, with this overgrown teakettle.”
“No,” said Drummond, running up behind Shade, one of the Cadre’s weird guns, a coil of dull metal fitted with a pistol grip and trigger, in his hand, trained on the back of Shade’s head. “We had a deal.”
The Cadre flipped something on the gun with his thumb, and the hairs on the back of Cairn’s neck stood up, the car filling with the tang of ozone.
Shade sneered. “Very well. You can keep your brass man. I’ve got what I came for and then some. Let’s get this train going again so we can rendezvous with your associates as scheduled.”
“You’re madmen,” said Thorpe, “all of you.”
“I prefer the term forward thinker,” said Shade. “This world of yours is at its end, and I will be the architect of a new age. Now, O thing of rags, destroy them.”
The mummy sat up and lurched toward the magician and the gunslinger, but more slowly than it had at first.
“Give us the box,” said Drummond. “And we’ll make it quick.”
Thorpe gripped the machine man’s control device tightly. Overhead they heard pounding, as of footsteps.
“Their men,” said Cairn. “They’re going above and around us to the engine so they can start up the train.” He looked behind them and saw Waters, Chow and Dan Thunder coming toward them. He cocked his guns.
Thorpe began twisting the dials on his control box wildly.
Hobarth’s head turned, feeling the influence through the aether once more.
Hobarth, take.
The difference engine inside its head clacked, and the automaton turned to focus on the odd-shaped cross around the albino man’s neck.
The metal man stood, throwing out its powerful right arm and grabbing the Ankh of Ra. It pulled. The artifact’s ancient gold chain broke easily.
The train started up again with a lurch, and rapidly picked up speed.
The mummy halted its slow approach and turned. The Ankh of Ra was no longer calling to him, making him obey. In a moment he saw why; the bronze god had taken it from the albino! He mustn’t have it either.
The mummy turned and went for the Ankh, only to slam into Hobarth’s metal frame. The mechanical man’s left arm shot out, punching the mummy square in the face. It staggered backward, stunned.
Cairn took careful aim at Shade’s head, but couldn’t get a clear shot. The mummy and the metal man were in the way. No matter, he thought, whirling around. Chow, Waters and Dan Thunder were closing in, guns drawn.
Cairn fired at them, his bullets splintering wood paneling and shattering glass. He shoved Thorpe into a seat behind the magician, ducked into the row opposite.
“Hobarth,” Thorpe called, “throw!”
The metal man turned its head toward the sound of Thorpe’s voice, then tossed the artifact in his direction.
“No!” said Shade.
Thorpe tossed the automaton’s control box into a nearby seat and snatched the heavy artifact out of the air.
Seeing that the Ankh of Ra was no longer in the possession of the albino or the bronze god, the mummy relaxed.
“We must get it back,” said Shade to Drummond.
The Cadre harrumphed. “Get it yourself. This whole deal has gone from bad to worse.” He turned to his associates. “Gentlemen, let’s get what we came for. Off with the automaton’s head.”
“Scoundrels,” Hobarth blurted and sent his metal fist into Shade, Drummond, and the two Cadre standing behind them. The men toppled over backwards in a pile.
Drummond’s strange gun went off with a resonant hum, the projectile it fired going wild. It struck Thorpe’s control box before zigzagging off to lodge in the seat Cairn crouched behind.
The automaton turned and, seeking a new target, lunged at the mummy once more, grabbing the undead fiend’s bony shoulders and snatching it off the floor of the speeding train car. Hobarth tossed the mummy into the air to slam into the roof of the car, then let it fall to the floor. Dazed, the mummy flailed on its back like a trapped insect.
Thorpe inspected his precious box. “No!” he cried. “The control unit has been damaged. I can’t make him stop.”
Cairn was focused on Shade. His eyes narrowed as he watched him and the Cadre get up shakily and retreat the way they had come. He fired a shot after them, but missed.
Cairn twisted to look behind them, but Chow, Waters and Dan Thunder were gone. In a moment he knew why; a long, oblong shadow had moved next to the train, keeping up with it despite its great speed.
“Airship,” said Thorpe, noticing the shadow. “The brigands are getting off the train.”
Oblivious, Hobarth stomped at the mummy with his huge metal feet, but the creature countered him, grabbing his foot and resisting the force of the automaton’s pneumatic pistons with its preternatural strength.
Cairn swore, moving past Thorpe to a window. Shade couldn’t get away. Not again. He shattered a window with the barrel of his gun and peered out, grey eyes narrowing, looking for a vulnerable spot on the dirigible as it pulled up and away from the train.
“I’m afraid your personal vendetta will have to wait,” said Thorpe. “We have bigger problems.”
Cairn spun toward the magician, gun raised. If it wasn’t for him.
Cairn hesitated. If it wasn’t for this strange man, he would probably be dead by now, the life choked from him by a walking corpse.
Cairn turned as the mummy regained its footing and grappled with the man of brass. Hobarth pushed forward, taking the mummy with him. The automaton sent the creature smashing into a seat, snapping it from its frame. Hobarth kept pushing until the mummy’s bandaged form was hurled through the wall of the car with the sound of broken glass, splintered wood and rent metal. Still the mummy held fast, desiccated fingers digging grooves in the metal of Hobarth’s shoulders.
“Stop, Hobarth,” said Thorpe. “You’re going to—”
The machine man’s momentum sent both of them crashing through the side of the train car. They were now on a trestle going across a steep ravine, and Thorpe and Cairn watched as the brass man and the mummy tumbled through the air and down, still grappling, still fighting, into the ravine. They struck the steep rock cliff, metal bits flying off Hobarth while the mummy was crushed under the machine man’s weight like a rag doll, bandages flying. Down and down they went as the train sped away from them, sunlight glinting briefly off the metal man’s hide.
Thorpe slumped into a seat. “Two priceless treasures…gone.”
“We’ll be gone if we don’t stop this train,” said Cair
n, holstering his pistols. “Come on.”
A torrent of lead filled the air, shattering glass and wood.
Cairn dived to the floor, and Thorpe followed. Shards of glass and slivers of wood pelted them as the storm of bullets shredded the Pullman car around them. The sheer number of bullets told Cairn a Gatling gun was being fired at them.
“You’ve kept me from my errand for the last time, Cairn.” Shade’s voice, greatly amplified, boomed at them from the airship which once again moved beside the train. “Enjoy your last train ride.”
The albino barked laughter as the airship moved high into the air and veered east.
Cairn sat up, brushing off bits of wood and glass. He turned and looked at Thorpe, who seemed to be quickly analyzing their new situation.
“Well, this has certainly been an eventful trip, I must say.” He stood and brushed himself off. “Let’s go see about stopping this train, shall we?”
Cairn’s eyes narrowed. “Shade said it was our last ride. What did he mean?”
Nervously, the two men headed for the tender.
The train was rocketing madly down the track now, and Cairn could see what Shade meant by this being his last ride. Up ahead, the track veered sharply to the right toward another precipice. But this one had no bridge going safely across it.
“They must’ve gone ahead and switched us over to that track,” yelled Thorpe, standing shakily beside Cairn on the back of the tender. “Come on. We don’t have much time.”
Thorpe started to climb atop the tender, wobbling on the chopped wood used to feed the train’s boiler. He almost fell over the side, but quickly righted himself, and Cairn marveled at this out of place yet capable stranger.
Cairn clambered up the side of the tender, feeling every bit his age as he tried to keep up with the youthful magician. His eyes warily sought the airship, afraid it would double back and find easier targets here on the outside of the train. But it was just a pale dot receding eastward. Shade and the Cadre must have forged another uneasy truce.
Cairn crossed the loose pile of split firewood without incident and entered the engine of the locomotive right behind Thorpe.
The dead engineer lay sprawled in the middle of the engine’s compartment, a gaping bloody wound in the center of his chest.
Cairn’s eyes narrowed. How many people would Shade and his men kill? How many lives would they ruin in their lust for power?
Thorpe gasped at the body, and stepped gingerly over it to the controls. Quickly the train turned, almost knocking them to the floor.
“We’ve just made the turn down the dead-end track,” Thorpe said, grasping the brake lever and pulling back on it with all his might.
Cairn went to help him, and the train squealed as the brakes locked, throwing up sparks. Cairn watched with horror as the precipice drew closer and closer.
Finally, the train ground to a halt. The smell of burning metal and hot steam filled Cairn’s nostrils, and both men leaned out the window to have a look. The train rested on the very edge of the precipice, its cowcatcher sticking out over nothing but air.
“Can you back this thing up?” said Cairn.
*
It had been a tumultuous journey, and while Cairn was excited by his adventure, he still wasn’t any more enamored of trains than he had been before.
Thorpe insisted on going back for the stranded passengers. Despite all the damage they had a hand in causing, they received a sort of hero’s welcome when they finally arrived at the train’s next stop in Wyoming.
“So what’s next for you?” Thorpe asked Cairn as they stood three days later on the railroad depot platform.
“I’m heading east,” said the gunslinger, “to go after Shade.”
Thorpe nodded. “I hope your quest is successful. This Shade is a scoundrel of the lowest sort.”
Cairn nodded, already eager to leave this place with a fresh horse and head eastward. He had no idea how he was going to pick up the albino’s trail, but he had a feeling the ley line ran in that direction.
“What of you?”
Thorpe smiled. “I’m going to escort the remains of the Egyptian artifacts to the museum in San Francisco.” He patted a leather satchel, which held the Ankh of Ra. “I know the curator there, so I’m sure I can smooth things over regarding the loss of the mummy.”
The gunslinger was already looking at his horse, tied to a post outside the depot. “Good luck. Sorry about your machine man.”
Thorpe frowned. “It is a great loss to the scientific community. Especially its difference engine, the Cadre’s real target. But at least they didn’t get their hands on it. I guess the world has no more room for wonders like Hobarth and our bandaged friend.”
Cairn nodded and set off, leaving the magician alone on the platform.
Some Say in Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
--Robert Frost
It was cold on top of the world.
Dr. Jack Davis shivered in his parka as a gust of wind blew across the deck. He was freezing, but he wasn't ready to go in yet. He put the binoculars to his eyes and looked at the icy waters once more. Among the floating bergs, walruses frolicked, but nothing bigger. It had been weeks since they'd had a sighting, but Jack knew they were close. He could feel it in his bones.
The huge vessel moved slowly, knocking small icebergs out of its way, the huge rig Jack designed looking out of place in the Arctic Ocean. But it was necessary to hunt the prey they were seeking. Half a mile to Jack's right, a narwhale broke the service, its huge unicorn horn of a tooth flashing briefly in the fading light. The sun was a pale disk in the cloudy sky, the air so cold it seemed as if even that life-giving disc was itself frozen, its heat failing to reach Jack's skin.
"You should come in. It's freezing out here," said a voice behind him. It sounded very far away, and it was a full minute before Jack turned.
"It's also quiet. Nothing to hear below decks but the thrumming of the engines."
"Your engines," said the voice. Pamela Stewart came up to the railing to stand beside him. In their bright, government issue parkas, they looked like tiny specks on the huge mobile oil derrick of a ship that had been designed and built with one purpose, for catching Titanicus, the giant monster that dwelled in these waters. That was the name the press had given it, at least. It had no scientific name as yet. That was something Jack planned to rectify as soon as he could capture and study it. Study it and learn to control it.
The U.S.S. Searcher was the pride of the United States Behemoth Corps, a scientific as well as military vessel, it was designed and built for the sole purpose of capturing sea-dwelling monsters or, failing that, kill them before another country could lay claim to them. Jack hoped it would do more of the former than the latter. Ever since he was a child, he was fascinated by the giant monsters that shared the planet. He read everything about them he could get his hands on, from Dr. Robert Fetch's Monsters of World War II to more recent scientific treatises on finding and controlling these enormous beasts. They were pure forces of nature, and getting one to do your bidding was like learning to control the direction of a hurricane.
"You really think he's out here somewhere?"
"Yes. The sonar pings lead us here. He's probably just down under the ice, so deep we can't detect him."
"Now all we need is some bait."
Jack nodded. They were working on that. A sperm whale caught four hours ago had been cut up, and they were about to set a hook with it. Pamela had vehemently stated her displeasure about this, and had stayed below decks during the entire fishing expedition, as the men called it. Greenpeace wouldn't like it, but it had to be done if they had a
hope of catching Titanicus.
Jack and Pamela turned as a giant crane lifted the dead whale out of the Searcher's enormous hold, which was fitted off to one side of the gigantic vessel. It lifted the whale easily into the air and positioned it over the center of the ship, which was nothing but a rectangular opening to the sea. The dead animal hung there for a moment, and Pamela buried her head in the back of Jack's parka. Then the crane lowered the beast into the choppy blue-grey water until it was completely submerged.
Jack pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. "Tell him to lower the bait to three hundred feet."
He turned to Pamela. "Let's go inside where it's warm."
"What do we do now, Captain Ahab?" Pamela asked as they walked around the rectangular opening toward the administration cluster.
Jack grinned at her little joke. "Now we go fishing."
*
The idea was simple, at least on paper. Build a ship the size of three oil derricks, catch and kill a whale, and drag it through the water until something big enough to feel grabbed the line. It was an idea that had never been tested, however, and Jack's reputation was on the line. Not only that, but the whole world was watching. Pamela Stevens was a photojournalist with National Geographic, here to capture (no pun intended) the entire thing for the magazine. It was all a big publicity scheme. The government wanted to make a big show of strength by capturing yet another monster to add to their bizarre menagerie, showing the Russians that they could do them one better. It was another round of saber-rattling in a Cold War that had raged now for decades, with both sides displaying their monsters and creating an atmosphere of fear and distrust. If each country released their monsters on each other, the feeling was, no one would really win, because the monsters were capable of such unheard of destruction that nothing would be left for the victors. The basic idea was that a country could get just as much, if not more, by not using its monster then by unleashing it.
Jack explained this idea to Pamela once more as they went inside to the relative warmth of the operations deck. A seaman moved aside to let them pass, then went on about his rounds, reminding Jack that this was first and foremost a military vessel, even though its purpose was primarily scientific.