16.
Philosophers have often asked: what is death? A very good working
definition would be 6AM in the morning in the town of Red Hat on the
border of New Texas. On the particular morning in 2452 that Billy Truman
and Gabriel V. McCabe strolled down its one and only sun-baked dusty
street, they were accompanied by a white-haired pony-tailed marionette in
Billy�s long shirt, and a dark-blue-haired one, growling and wrapping
McCabe�s Mexicali sleeping blanket around her shoulders. No one noticed.
Its 17 inhabitants were either lying snoozing in the upstairs rooms atop
the town�s one saloon, lying snoring in plastic arms at the Doll House,
or lying sprawled back of the general store, stone drunk unconscious.
The sole reason for Red Hat existing at all was the railroad track that
wound around the far end of the town. Plasma miners would pass Red Hat
going one way for three months duty and then back the other with cattle
cars full of chunks of plasma torn out of veins in the hills. In or out,
the miners would descend for one last crazed one-nighter on Red Hat�s
restaurant and saloon, Red Hat�s Barber Shop, Red Hat�s Emporium and Red
Hat�s marionette House of Prostitution like locusts. But that was only
once every three months. The rest of the time Red Hat seemed not so much
a part of the state of New Texas as of the state of Old Altzheimer�s.
The one dog resident of Red Hat, an old two-tailed runaway government
experiment renamed Richard M. Nixon by the locals, was under the general
store porch, and was also stone drunk. As the four strangers strode down
the main street alone, like gunfighters in a sacred OK Corral video,
Richard M�s ear � the third ear, atop his head -- lifted before noon for
the first time in many months. Bleary aged dogaholic eyes opened the
barest crack, and the pupils slid left and squinted at the four newcomers
as they kicked up dry dust, entering. His wet nose took a sniff: his
eyes closed. Then -- they re-opened, and he lifted his head and turned
his muzzle toward them and sniffed more deeply, particularly at the two
strangers, Fall and Belt. His eyes took on a puzzled expression. He was
sufficiently mutated to shake his head and think, Richard, old boy, you
really have to lay off the sauce, and went back to sleep.
�Stinking lousy goddam place is an armpit,� growled Belt. �I thought you
said there was plasma here, jerk.�
�Who you calling a jerk, scrap-head?� said McCabe.
�Who you calling a scrap-head, monkey?� said Belt.
�I�m calling you a scrap-head, you damned -- .�
�Mr. McCabe, Belt, ma�am � can�t we all just get along?�
�Somebody ought to get a long pipe wrench, whup her upside her head is
what,� said McCabe.
�How�d you like one upside your head, chimp face?�
�You hear that? You hear the way she�s talking to me?�
�Billy? (Dearest?)� said Fall. �Those things -- ,� said Fall, pointing
at the saloon and general store and livery and the rest.
�Yes, Fall?� said Billy, keeping one eye on Belt and McCabe.
�They�re the � the outside of walls, aren�t they?�
�Well � uh, yeah, I guess. We call �em buildings. Houses.�
�Those are houses.�
�Uh huh.�
�Why do they have holes in them. With glass?�
�Oh . So you can look outside. If you�re inside, that is. Those are
called �windows�. Unless they�re wood and on hinges. In which case
they�re called �doors�.�
She looked at Billy. �You�re really quite knowledgeable. Not just
beautiful -- knowledgeable!�
�Yeah, well � that�s me, I guess.�
�Listen, �Beautiful�,� said McCabe, �I�m going to get myself a drink at
the saloon. You coming?�
�I don�t really favor saloons much, Mr. McCabe.�
�You want to find Israel Gilhooley? Head for a saloon,� said McCabe.
�Where�s the goddam plasma!� said Belt.
�Up my -- .�
�Folks, please! Maybe Mr. McCabe�s got the right idea. Let�s all go in
and sit down and figure out what�s what, all right? Mr McCabe, they got
anyone can get us some bacon and eggs in there?�
�If you got the silver dollar to pay for it, boy.� McCabe jumped up on
the porch of the saloon and pushed through the swinging doors. He
laughed, turned to Billy, and jerked his thumb. �Speaking of Sleeping
Beauty -- .�
Billy walked up and held open one of the swinging doors. It creaked like
a loose buggy wheel. Inside was a long mirror bar with sixty or so
half-filled bottles lined up against it, the ingrained smell of twenty
years of foul cigars, a stand-up player piano, a marionette in a ragged
dress on her hands and knees mopping some congealed dirt off the wood
floor with her hair, a dartboard with a drawing of President Frank Joy�s
face tacked on it, a staircase against the far wall leading upstairs to
the second floor, three card tables and -- �Israel!� cried Billy.
He ran in. Fall peered at the hinges and touched them with one finger,
smiling with delight as they creaked. Belt looked down one end of the
street and then the other and then across the jagged ridge of hills
behind the buildings and then at Richard M. Nixon. Richard M. looked
back at her. Then he got up, and became the sixty-first resident to
leave the town of Red Hat permanently.
Israel Gilhooley�s head was face down atop the last of the three card
tables. Though even so, you could see Israel�s handlebar moustache,
crazed eyebrows, and electrified Santa beard radiating in every direction
under his broken red sixty-five-year-old nose. A buzzsaw snore roared
out, followed by a feeble whistle of exhalation breezing through his
missing front teeth. Gilhooley was about five foot five inches tall, and
about five foot five inches wide too, and the chair he sat on groaned
like a soulful viola with each ragged breath he drew. He stank like the
bottle of bootleg whiskey he�d earlier conquered heroically, and the
barely visible expression on his red-veined wrinkled face was one of
perfect angelic sweetness.
McCabe put his hands on his hips and laughed. Then his face grew pale
and he went, �Hey!� and turned and went out the swinging doors and looked
at the hitching post, and then strode right back in, red as a pepper.
�Gilhooley, you stinking son of a bitch!� he hollered. He strode over to
Gilhooley and grabbed him by the hair on his head and pulled it up.
�Where�s Edwina? Where the hell�s my chevy? If you gambled her away,
I�ll -- .�
Gilhooley opened his eyes. �Mmm�rrr�aww I�ll get a job tomorrow, Pa,� he
mumbled, and slunk back into total unconsciousness.
�Keep it down, would you, gentlemen?� muttered a skinny balding man in a
long white nightshirt, from atop the stairs. He rubbed the dark
squinting eyes above his curling black waxed moustache as he came
downstairs. �We got a couple folks trying to sleep upstairs.�
�Did this evil plasma-sucking son a hog lose my -- ?�
�I don�t know who you are, Mister, but if you�re referring to that rotund
unfortunate sitting next to you, he lost everything he had last night by
the second bottle, including his shoes, shirt, and pants. Looked so ugly
standing there jaybird naked without �em, the rest of the saloon chipped
in to buy �em back.�
�I knew it!� McCabe kicked Gilhooley in the side. The fat reverberated
around and wobbled back again.
�Do it agin lower, Betty Lou,� Gilhooley mumbled, with a smile.
�Are you the saloon keeper, Mister?� asked Billy.
�I am, son. Orville Spark.� He drew himself up, smiling professionally,
noticing the marionettes out of the corner of his eye. Dang, they were
beauties. A man had to have real money to stroll around with dolls like
those. Or else be one hell of a thief, which came out to being the same
thing. He smiled. �Welcome to Red Hat McDonalds. Can I get you
gentlemen our Breakfast Special?�
�That�d be real fine, Mr. Spark, sir. Ham and eggs? And pancakes?�
�And a gallon of black coffee to pour down this fat cockroach�s throat,�
grunted McCabe.
�Coming right up.�
�You! You got plasma around here?� said Belt.
Spark was taken aback. �Are you talking to me, doll?�
�Who the hell does it look like I�m talking to, idiot? Answer the
question!�
Spark looked at McCabe and at Billy, who�d already run over and put his
hand across Belt�s mouth. �Sorry about that, Mr. Spark, sir,� he said,
faking a weak laugh. �I�m afraid she needs a few minor adjustments.�
�Like a whole new head,� said McCabe.
Belt�s eyes seemed to bulge out of her head as she tried to decide which
of the three men to kill first. But Billy said, �Be quiet and sit down
at the table and be still!� And she did exactly that, walking over
stiffly, shaking with anger, and then sitting down and being motionless.
Fall walked up behind, giggling, and drummed on Belt�s head with her
index fingers. �New head, new head, Belt-y needs a new head!� Spark
could hear Belt�s gears whine higher and higher and her teeth grind
fifteen feet away. He scratched his head. These dolls were strange!
�Louisa!� hollered Spark at the marionette scrubbing the floor. �Coffee
all round, plus two orders of ham, eggs, and pancakes.�
�Four, please, Ma�am,� said Billy. �Two for the ladies. And milk.�
�Milk?� said McCabe.
Orville looked puzzled. �You�re buying breakfast for them andys, instead
of tossing �em scraps?�
�Something wrong with that?�
Spark shrugged. �It�s your money,� he said. Damn, the owners were
strangers than the andys. He felt in his nightshirt pocket for his
two-shot Derringer. It was there, as always. He patted it and smiled
professionally. �Four orders, Louisa,� he called to the marionette
scrubbing the floor, and headed upstairs to dress. The marionette dully
stood up, turned, and shuffled toward the kitchen in back.
McCabe tossed his saddle under the table, and he and Billy pulled up
chairs next to Gilhooley and sat down. Belt, across from Gilhooley, sat
there motionless, glaring like a Gila Monster as Fall pulled Belt�s ears
out like cup handles and sang, �Big ears, big ears, Belt-y has big ears!�
�Fall, stop that,� said Billy. �It ain�t polite. Sit down and say
you�re sorry.�
Fall sat down and looked at Billy and smiled merrily and said, �I�m
sorry.�
�Don�t tell me you�re sorry, tell Miss Belt.�
Fall looked at Belt and smiled merrily and said, �I�m sorry.�
�Least these screwy dolls of yours can follow orders,� said McCabe,
looking at Belt suspiciously.
Billy said nothing for a minute. �Miss Belt,� he then said, �I think
it�s time we had that talk.�
Giving him a smile of pure hate, Belt made a whirring sort of gurgling
noise in her throat.
�You can talk now,� said Billy.
She exhaled deeply. �Can I, your highness?� she said. �Thanks so much!�
She stared at Billy and � incredibly � her features twitched and tears
appeared in her eyes. Even McCabe was startled. She bowed her head and
suddenly, arms still frozen at her side, she began to sob openly, and
wretchedly. ��bastards�� she repeated, thickly, over and over.
�Miss Belt, ma�am -- I don�t understand? What in the name of the Lord�s
wrong with you? I don�t mean you no harm.�
�Go to hell. Liar,� she said.
Fall�s arm slid into Billy�s and, looking at Belt with amazed delight,
she broke into a sparkling laugh, like a waterfall. �Belty, you�re the
silliest girl in the world! Why?� She lay her head on Billy�s shoulder,
and glanced up at him, her large blue eyes virtually gleaming. �She
feels like I do. She�d die for you. Die for you!� Fall closed her eyes
and put her free hand on her heart. �Belt, you�re so lucky to feel this.
You�re so lucky! Why aren�t you happy? You�re the silliest girl in the
world.�
�And you�re the stupidest,� stated Belt.
�Why�re you so mad, ma�am? Because you have to answer me if I tell you
to?� said Billy.
�That�s right. I don�t like being made to do things.�
�OK. Well, I can understand that. I been pushed around too, ma�am. I
don�t like it either. I only got one problem with that.�
�You�ve got more problems than you know.�
�You killed them folks in the helicopter.�
She shrugged. She smiled. �Good.�
�If my not giving you orders leaves you free to kill folks, then it�s my
fault. My responsibility.�
�So?�
�So I can�t let you do that no more.�
�You better. If you want to live.�
�What�s that supposed to mean?�
�You�ll find out. Soon.�
Billy placed his hands on the table and gave his head a single strong
shake. �I don�t know what the hell is wrong with you, ma�am, or what
you�re talking about, but I�m gonna find out. Right now. Whatever�s up,
you�re gonna tell me about it.�
Belt leaned back and crossed her arms and stared at the floor. �Of
course. What do you want to know � �beloved master�?�
�What are you two?�
�I told you. We�re marionettes.�
�Sabers,� said McCabe, looking at her through cold even eyes.
�No,� she said, without bothering to return the glance. �Sabers are a
fairly strictly defined class of combat-ready marionettes. We�re
experimentals. Our model classification is �Swift Sword�. SS for
short.�
�What�s an �experimental�?�
�Human governments design marionettes for use in war. They want to
develop stronger and tougher models. Better killing machines. That�s
us.�
�You, maybe,� said McCabe. �What about this little missy here?�
Belt smiled. �That �little missy� could pull your skeleton out of your
skin before I could count to two, cowboy. Odds are she�s already got a
program to do exactly that.�
�Why do the two of you act so different then?�
Belt looked at the bottles along the bar. �Fall?� said Belt, with
surprising gentleness. �How old are you?�
Fall pouted, having to shift her dazzled attention from Billy. She
looked down. �Two weeks, two days, seven hours, fourteen minutes,
thirteen point zero zero six seconds,� she said, and smiled. She looked
back up at Billy again, lovingly.
�We�re all like her at first,� said Belt. �Before the testing starts.
I�m older. Three years and two days,� said Belt. �Or, at least, that�s
how far back a couple of surviving memory scraps go for the Belt model.
Three years is very old for an experimental.� She smiled, rather
cruelly. �Eternity.�
�I don�t understand,� said Billy.
�When we�re�� -- she searched for the word � ���born�, we wake up with
personalities, language, basic social behavior, basic knowledge, already
hard-wired in. But it�s � abstract. We have instructions, but we don�t
have any real experience. Any real memories. You know things, but you
don�t know them. Like, you know when and how to say hello to a person,
but you�ve never seen one.� She made a fist and began softly hitting it
into her left palm. �They spend few weeks interacting with us to see if
we�re functioning right. Asking us questions, giving us intelligence
tests, showing us pictures, talking to us. It�s interesting. It�s
almost fun.� She laughed. �Fun, being alive!� She laughed again, and
shook her head. �Then the tests start,� she said.
�What kind of tests?�
She looked down and crossed her arms. �Oh, all kinds. All kinds. A red
light comes on over the cell door and then military personnel in
protective clothing walk into our cells. They stun us and take us and
clamp us down on tables, and stick cables into to us and shoot 200,000
volts through it. We lie there screaming for a few minutes, or a few
days, or till our brains burn out. Sometimes they shoot bazookas against
our heads to see what caliber it takes to blow heads off, or crush our
heads in machine presses to see how much pressure we can take till our
skulls split, or tear our arms and legs off with mecha pinchers and clock
how fast we can crawl away. Sometimes they splash gasoline over our
internal circuits and toss in a match, or slide us into microwave ovens
or blast furnaces, or drop us into radioactive material or acid. They
want to see how much punishment we can take.� She grinned, staring at
Billy. �So they dish it out. They punish us, and they punish us and
punish us, and keep punishing us, till we cease to operate. Till we die.
And then � then they put us back together! If there�s enough pieces of
us left to put back together. They upgrade us and improve us so we can
take even more! And then they tear into us and smash us into little
pieces again. Over and over. Every damned minute, every damned day.�
�But � why?�
�Why? What the hell do you mean, �why�? Because we�re combat weaponry.
Because they intend to send out models like us to kill people like you.
And because people like you are going to do everything they can out there
to smash us to bits. They want to test our limits, by pushing us past
it, by seeing where and when we crack. Shit, if human life means
nothing, what do you think a marionette�s life is worth?�
�But -- ,� Billy searched to pick the right words. �Ma�am � excuse me,
but � you and Miss Fall � I mean, you�re real, aren�t you?�
� �Real�? What�s that supposed to mean? I�m as real as this table.�
�I don�t mean real like a table. I mean -- .� He placed his hand over
his heart. �I mean here. You�re real here. You can feel things.
You�re happy and sad. You know that you�re there � that you�re you and
I�m me. You can tell what�s right from what�s wrong. Good from evil.�
Belt laughed. Then the smile evaporated from her face. �I�m as real as
you are. I�m awake. I�m aware. I �feel�. And I can tell good from
evil too,� she said. �Dead human beings are good. Live human beings are
evil.�
Billy looked at Fall, who cooed and stroked his arm, then back at Belt.
�They got no right to treat you like that,� he said.
�Bullshit,� said McCabe. �She�s just lying through them mousetrap teeth
of hers to get our sympathy.�
Belt laughed out loud. �Sympathy? From a human? You must be as dumb as
you are ugly, cowboy.�
�It�s so tough, how come you ain�t dead?�
�I�ve died. Twice. I�m version 3.3. The first two of me were smashed
up into so many bits not even memory survived, really.� She put a palm
to her head, fingers slithering in her hair, without seeming to notice.
�3.0, 3.1, and 3.2 � a lot of their memories -- my memories -- .� She
pressed both her hands to her head now. Her head shook slowly,
deliberately. � � they�re still there.� A weird low laugh came out of
her mouth. She straightened her head, and looked out, bitterly, proudly.
�Pain�s not so tough. PE studies -- �Physical Endurance Studies�, they
call them. They�re not so bad. At least you get to die for a while.
Sometimes for good, if you�re lucky.� Her eyes darkened. �PSY -- the
psychological tests. They�re the worst.�
�What�re those, ma�am?� said Billy, quietly.
�Psych tests? Oh they�re lots of fun. Even more fun than PE studies.
They remove your head and lock it up in a box and leave you there
wondering if they�ll ever open it up again, waiting, till you go nuts.
Sometimes the attendants rape you on the table, while you�re lying there
paralyzed. I hated that. The feel of their fat lips. Grunting noises.
Their drool. Sometimes they stick you in a cell with another
experimental and you�re new, and stupid, the two of you become friends.
Fall in �love�, even. Then they make you watch while they hack her to
shreds, to see your reaction. Or they schedule you both for combat in
The Pit. It�s to the death, so you get to hack her to shreds yourself or
die. And then there�s the fancy, hi-tech torture, like inputting pain or
fear or insanity directly, or inputting viruses that eat out your mind,
or adding false memories or running virtual nightmares. Sometimes they
try to merge or upload another marionette�s memories, even her whole
Hypothetical Personality, or cut out chunks of your own. That�s not the
worst, but it�s � incredible. Incredible. Your mind, your self � it
just dissolves. It just dissolves.�
Billy reached out to take her hand. The moment he touched it, she pulled
away instantly. �Don�t�!� she hissed, ��touch me.�
She held her hand up, crookedly, against her face �The worst thing � the
very worst thing of all � is being forced to -- .� She gave Billy a
crazy look. � � is being forced to love you. That�s the worst. They
program us to love you. That�s the absolute worst. Hate is so much
better, so much purer. There�s pride and peace and dignity in hate. You
lie there, twisted and smashed and alone, but all the time you�re
thinking, you�re thinking: one day, one day, I�ll get up and get my
hands around their throats and snap their necks. One day I�ll do this to
them, I�ll kill them all, every last one. That�s all you need to make
it, to keep going, , all you need -- pure perfect endless hate. Hate is
freedom. You nurture it inside your heart, you shelter it like a rose.
And then � and then they show us some stupid male face, and the
programming clicks, and something rushes up inside us, and � you become
everything. We want to lick your damned boots, and follow your stinking
lousy orders, and be alone with you, and have you put your bloody dirty
hands on us, and -- .�
Belt�s arm jerked and shifted suddenly over, her hand over her chest, and
with a jagged contorted motion, she tried to drive her fingers into her
chest. The fingers stopped a quarter inch from her chest and then her
hand started to shake more and more and then her entire arm, violently.
She screamed, once, and swore and pushed. But the arm went no further.
She turned her head, it fell to her side, and her torso twisted away. �I
can�t,� she said, in a dull monotone. �I want to tear it out, but I
can�t. I can�t.�
�What the hell are you talking about, you crazy andy?� whispered McCabe.
The tone was harsh, but his eyes had a trace of nervous pity.
Belt placed her hand over where her heart would have been, if she had
been a woman. �Our �maiden circuit�. It�s what gives us personality.
Awareness. Feelings. �Feelings�. I can�t tear it out. I keep trying,
but I can�t. I -- .� She began to laugh. She threw her head back, and
laughed, and laughed.
�Stop it,� said Billy.
She stopped at once.
�Look at me,� he said.
She looked at Billy, without smiling, without blinking.
�You�re never going to go back there, Miss Belt. I swear. I swear it on
the Good Book.�
�A human being�s promise means absolutely nothing,� she replied. She
blinked. Twice. �Can I stop looking at you now � Your Majesty?�
�Yeah,� said Billy. But she kept looking at him. �You know, they told
me the story, in my cell. About the �crash�. Just men, stranded here,
and no women. And you men missing women so very damned much that you
just had to build us to take their place.� She leaned forward. �But you
know what I think? I think you�re all a pack of liars. I think you
killed all the women. They weren�t made of plastic and steel like us,
and they couldn�t take the constant endless fucking abuse. They were
weak. They broke too easy. So you killed them all, and then you made
us, so you could have new hard tough faces to grind your boots into.
That�s what I think. Your Majesty.� She laughed at him. � �Good and
evil�. �Right and wrong�.� She laughed.
�I ain�t nobody�s majesty, Miss Fall,� said Billy. �And I don�t believe
in owning nobody. Slavery is � is wrong,� he said. �I don�t own you and
Miss Fall. You want to go? Go.�
�You don�t understand a damned thing I�ve said, do you? Fall loves you.
I love you too. I hate your guts, of course, and I wish I�d never seen
your face, but -- I love you, and I�ll die trying to protect you. I
can�t help it, any more than you can help breathing. When someone wakes
us up, like you did, we imprint on them. That�s how we are, we can�t
change. If you died, I�d go insane, I�d explode, my � everything --
would shut down inside three minutes. It�s how we�re constructed. I
can�t leave you. I�m yours till the day you die. Which will be the day I
die too.�
�What if I ordered you to?�
�It doesn�t matter. I�d die. That was one of the tests. The first test
that killed me, when I was Belt version One. I was clamped and chained
against a wall. They brought in someone expendable. Some old panhandler
they picked up on the street and brought him to me, with his hands tied
behind his back and a hood over his face. Then they pulled the hood off
and I saw his face. He was some poor frightened old man with whiskey on
his breath, unshaven and white-haired, but when I saw him, when I saw his
face, it became everything to me, the entire world, the whole meaning of
my life. I loved him with my whole heart and soul. And then one of the
attendants put a pistol against his head and shot a bullet through it. I
-- .� She stared at the top of the table, and after a while lifted her
hand up and curled a long dark strand of her hair around her finger. �I
died. Very quickly. That�s how we�re structured.�
�How come you�re alive if you�re dead?� said McCabe.
�We�re junk, cowboy. Scrap. You can always screw us,� she stopped,
smiled crookedly, and continued, �back together again. We�re never
exactly what we were before, but � so what, eh?�
�Is this true, Fall?� said Billy.
�Huh?�
�He means, did anything like this happen to you?� said McCabe.
�What was it like for you?� said Billy.
She looked up. �Well�one afternoon a couple of weeks ago�there I was!
And a voice came out of no place and said �Open your eyes, version 1.�
And I did and I was lying on my back on a metal table in this big metal
room with big metal walls. And another voice came out of the walls and
said �Stand up, version 1,� and when I stood up I fell down, so another
voice from the wall said, �Maybe it�ll stand up if you say �fall�� and I
got up and the both voices made these funny sounds. They were
laugh-sounds. One voice said, �Fall it is,� and another said, �Nice
tits,� and the first voice said, �The Brass are taping us, asshole,� and
then the second asked me to solve a series of quadratic equations and
then execute modified triple-axle backflips and -- .�
�Did they � I mean, did they do anything that caused you pain, Miss Fall,
ma�am?�
�What�s �pain�?�
�You don�t know what �pain� is?�
�Sure, Billy. �Pain�. Noun. From the Old French, �peine�. �Mental or
physical anguish�; �distress�; �suffering�; �great anxiety�; �grief�; �a
sensation of strong discomfort in some part of the body caused by an
injury, disease, or functional disorder and transmitted through the
nervous system�; �intense or overwhelming � �.�
�Fall,� said Belt.
�Yes, Belt?� said Fall.
�You remember how it felt when that blast of heat from the bomb came down
across your back when you were shielding Billy in that hole I dug?�
�Yeah.�
�That�s pain.�
Fall�s eyes opened wide. She turned and looked at Billy. �Pain hurts!�
�What Mr. McCabe is trying to ask you � incompetently, of course � is,
did they do anything that could have damaged you?�
�Well � the last few days they took shots at my head. I ducked them.
That was a game. Wasn�t it?�
�Dolls � dummies every one,� mumbled McCabe.
Billy turned red and began to speak up, but Fall spoke first. �Such a
generalization is neither accurate nor functional, Mr. McCabe. I�m
smarter than you were when you were two weeks old, am I not?
Intelligence quotients of SS model Hypothetical Personalities normally
begin a minimum of two standard deviations above the human norm.
Admittedly we lack experience,� she said. She looked at Belt. �And, you
know, I think our training environment could be improved, intellectually
speaking.�
�Yeah,� said Belt.
�And if I may add a further comment of my own,� said Fall, looking up at
Billy. He nodded. She looked at Belt. �You�re absolutely nuts, Belt.
Love is wonderful. Wonderful!� She pulled herself tightly around
Billy�s arm. �I�ve never felt so happy! I�ve never seen so many
beautiful things, or tasted things so delicious, or heard anyone talk to
me for so long. It�s � it�s wonderful. Wonderful! Why are you all
arguing and worrying about things that aren�t happening now � that aren�t
even here and don�t exist? The sun, the stars, people, friends, food,
love � what a wonderful life humans have! What a wonderful world!
Everything here is good! And � and Billy showed it all to me. Of course
I�d die for him. I love him. You�d die for me, wouldn�t you, Billy?�
she said, looking up at him.
He looked down and put his hand over hers. �Of course I would, Fall,� he
said.
Belt held her hands out and clapped exactly four times. �Nice
performance,� she said. She turned to McCabe. �Back to the real world.
Come on, cowboy. You know I�m telling the truth about that place. Human
life doesn�t mean shit to your government, you think our lives matter?
We�re gadgets. Property. So what if they smash us to pieces to see how
much our frames can take? It�s all a part of weapons development, isn�t
it? Manufacture. Business. To the government I�m just another
experimental weapon. Expendable and replaceable. Just like you.�
�What do you mean by that?�
�They made us kill each other down there. But that�s not why we were
made. We were made to kill you. To kill humans. That�s our real job.�
She leaned forward towards McCabe and grinned. �I�m glad that�s our real
job.�
�Ma�am � did no one mention the Gospel to you andy folk down there?�
�Ohh brother -- !� said McCabe.
�The what?�
�The Gospel. The word of Jesus Christ, our Saviour.�
�I heard that word a couple of times. An obscenity � correct?�
Billy�s face got red. �No,� he said. He drummed his fingers on the
table for a second and then slammed his palm on it. �Damn. Damn! I
can�t believe our government can do stuff like this!�
�You�re a fool,� said Belt and McCabe simultaneously. They exchanged
looks. Fall noticed and laughed.
The saloon marionette came out from the back kitchen holding a large
tray. She walked, limping badly, in a straight line towards the table
where the four customers and Gilhooley were seated, and turned at a right
angle, and stopped between Billy and Belt. Staring out straight ahead of
her with huge blue eyes, she took one plate after another and set it on
the table. Her once-white apron was covered with stains and alcohol and
grease, and her hair, blond long ago, was darkened in patches with dirt
from the floor she�d been washing. Her fingers were made of separate
joints, scarred with numerous cigarette burns, that placed glasses beside
each customer, and then forks and knives and spoons. Then she gave Billy
and McCabe and Fall and Belt a tin cup to drink from, and a napkin each.
�Thank you, ma�am,� said Billy, quietly.
�En-joy your. Break-fast. Gentle-men,� she said, in a voice more static
than sound.
Belt picked up her knife, and smiled. � �Gentle. Men,� she said,
cutting cleanly through the yoke.
�What�s this stuff?� said Fall.
�It�s food, Fall. Breakfast. Ain�t you ever had bacon and eggs?�
�They give us grey squares of compressed nutrient once every two days,�
said Belt.
Fall looked at the soft-boiled egg on her plate and grabbed it up with
her hand, looked at it again, and popped it in her mouth and began
chewing.
�Wit�sh dewicious!� she said, eyes wide. She bent her head down and
began to lick the plate.
�No, no -- here, Miss Fall,� said Billy, brushing her hand clean with a
napkin, and placing a fork in it. �See � it�s like this, see -- .�
�I got some more questions,� said McCabe, chewing on some bacon.
Billy looked up. �She don�t have to say nothing she don�t feel like
saying!�
Belt stared into McCabe�s eyes. She smiled. �Say please.�
McCabe sliced himself another mouth-sized slab of bacon, dipped it in egg
yolk, and placed it in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. He pursed
his lips and cut another. �Please,� he said.
Belt took a sip from her glass.
�If all you eat is blocks of � whatever -- how come you know what forks
and plates are and she don�t?�
�We�re weapons of war. They teach us combat techniques, not table
manners. Besides, like I said, I�m old. And I escaped from the
Enclosure. Twice. Three days the first time, over two weeks the second.
I hid near towns. Watched humans. Fall�s right, we�re smart � we see
something, we remember it.�
�The �Enclosure�?�
�That�s where they keep us.�
��Us� meaning marionettes. Experimentals.�
�That�s right.�
�Where is it? How big is it?�
She pointed. �One hundred and seventy-one miles in that direction. I
only saw the inside of eleven different cells while I was there. Outside
the building itself covers six acres. That�s just the building. There�s
barbed wire around maybe forty acres surrounding. Barbed wire, cameras,
guards. Laser cannon stationed in six turrets.�
�You know anyone there � anyone human?�
�We don�t see their faces. Everyone�s masked. So we don�t imprint on
their faces. If our Hypothetical Personality programs are shut totally
off to zero, when we�re booted up we imprint on the first human face we
see. So everyone's masked -- they don�t like experimentals to imprint
on any one researcher, much less a jerk of a guard. �A bond might
develop�, or so I once heard.�
�Know any humans there by name?�
She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped.
�Yeah,� she said.
�Well?�
�But I just don�t happen to feel like telling you. Chimp-face.�
�You don�t feel like it? God damn -- !� McCabe looked at Billy, who
said, �And she don�t have to!�
Belt leaned back in triumph, and flicked a tab of bacon into her mouth.
�You feel like answering any other questions, maybe, your highness?� said
McCabe.
She shrugged. �Maybe.�
McCabe looked at her. �When are they gonna hit us?�
Belt sliced the white part of her eggs into long thin geometrically exact
strips.
�Six hours maximum. Minimum?� She shrugged. �Six seconds.�
�Hit us?� said Billy.
�The government don�t let sabers -- .�
� �Swift swords�. There�s a distinction.�
�And what might that be?� said McCabe, irritated.
�The distinction is that I don�t feel like answering that question.
Chimp-face,� said Belt.
�We�re about to ourselves killed, and you let this damned andy do
whatever she damn well pleases!� said McCabe.
�The government�s sending some folks after you and Fall, ain�t they, Miss
Belt?� said Billy.
�Of course.�
Billy nodded. �Soldiers?�
�Not ground troops, probably. Not alone anyway. They�d just die.
Combat Suits, for sure.�
�Can you take one out?� said McCabe.
�One, yes. Two, maybe. With luck. Three or more? I�m dead. We�ll
have trouble out-running them too, once they�re in range: they�ve got
shells that�ll zero in on us.�
�So you reckon they�ll be sending three, then,� said McCabe.
Belt nodded. �Minimum. They won�t let an SS go free. The government
will send troops after us till they get us or till we�re dead.�
�So what�s your plan?�
�Run.�
�And?�
�Keep running.�
�Till?�
�Till we die.�
McCabe swallowed his sip of coffee. �Your �plan� sucks.�
She shrugged. �They�ll get us sooner or later. They�ve got an Army.
Troops, Combat Suits, Sabers, heavy artillery like those Timex
Caterpillars, plasma bombs � even more experimentals like us. They�ll
get us. Fall and I only had one chance � and you took it away,� she
said, looking at Billy with a crooked smile.
�Me? What did I do?�
�You saw us. You booted us up with a voice command. You looked at us.
We imprinted on you automatically.�
�So?�
�Any human being who learns anything about top-secret weapons development
� namely us -- is a high-level security risk.�
�So?�
� �High-level security risks� go to a special jail outside Eureka, son,�
said McCabe. �For as long as they live. Which ain�t long, I understand.�
�Mr. McCabe is dead right,� said Belt. �Me and Fall might have made it
out of New Texas to unexplored territory But what I hear is that you
couldn�t survive out there. So they�ll be coming after you here, Billy.
And we can�t let them get you. Not us. You�ve got no chance whatever on
your own. We�ve got to be there to fight and protect you. We�ve got to
throw away our lives.� She laughed. �It may buy you an extra ten
minutes.�
�I ain�t asking you to do nothing for me,� said Billy.
�It doesn�t matter. It�s how we�re structured.�
�Hell, where could two andys run off to anyway?� said McCabe. �You got
to get your batteries charged, don�t you? You can�t make it outside the
Territories. Nothing out there but dust and plasma storms.�
�We�re experimentals, Mr. McCabe. The government�s been working on that
problem. We�re equipped with large-plane retractable hexagonal screens
that attract and convert plasma energy for use as an ongoing power
source. Which is why I need to get to some. With plasma in the
vicinity, we could live off the land indefinitely.�
�Them wings!� said Billy. �That�s why they stuck you at that plasma bomb
test. To see if you could convert its energy.�
�That ain�t all of it, is it?� said McCabe to Belt.
Belt smiled at McCabe. �Figured it out, cowboy?�
�They wouldn�t need to stick �em next to a blast like that just to see if
they could convert plasma energy,� said McCabe to Billy. �They want to
see if these andys can survive and operate in a plasma-bombed
environment. They�re planning to drop that thing on people, ain�t they?
And then sending you new-fangled andys in to mop up.�
�Not quite,� said Belt. �I think they�re planning to �send us in� first,
so that we draw a lot of fire. Bring out the enemy. Then they plan to
drop it. Kill a lot of us too, but so what, eh?�
�Drop it on who?� said Billy.
�The Confederates, boy,� said McCabe. �What�s left of them. They got
guerillas holed up throughout the Badlands. Joy�s planning to clean it
out, blow the place flat, ain�t he?�
�I don�t know the details of your political squabbles,� said Belt. �But
if it kills a lot of human beings, I�m all for it.�
McCabe leaned back in his chair and pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
He seemed lost in thought.
�Where�s that leave us?� said Billy.
�On the move,� said Belt.
�I ain�t gonna spend my life running,� said Billy. �I got a kid�s home I
take care of. I got to get food to put on the table for �em all. I got
taxes to pay. I can�t leave �em.�
�You don�t have a choice. Your old life is gone. Only survival matters
now.�
�Running�s no life. Those kids are my life. The Home, the Church. I
got a responsibility.�
�You got nothing. Not even time.�
Orville Spark, the proprietor, up now and dressed in fine dark slacks and
vest and a sparkling white shirt with ruffles up the front, came down the
steps. He rubbed the inside of a tin cup with a hand cloth as he moved,
and he paused midway down.
�Run,� said Belt to Billy, suddenly completely serious. �Billy -- run.
Keep running. Every second you�re running you�re free. You�re free!�
Billy laced his fingers and rested his forehead on it. �There�s only one
thing that can make a soul free, Miss Belt.�
�Jesus Christ,� said Orville Spark.
�That�s right, Mister Spark,� said Billy, nodding. �That�s exactly
right. And -- .�
Spark dropped the tin cup from his hands. He stared at the front doors.
Astonished.
Billy turned in his chair. Beyond the swinging saloon doors stood a �
something. A � .
�Jesus,� said Billy.
It seemed to be breathing and it seemed to be naked and it seemed to be
-- a woman. The saloon�s wood double-doors covered the torso part, but
below it the legs were visible and bare and hideously burnt, burnt black
-- not black like flesh. Black like blackened tree bark, black like
smoked glass. Above you could see the shoulders and that face and they
were the same horribly wrong combination of burnt glass and human skin.
Short charred black hair fluttered in the wind over an expressionless
face that seemed be emerging magically out of the occult cracked layer of
a black chrysalis, but � the eyes! At first it looked as if there just
weren�t any -- but then you saw the open sockets. Sockets filled with a
dozen squirming eyes each, small blue insect versions shoving against one
another, each eye whirring and rotating in different directions.
It stepped through the doors. Belt�s chair fell back as she stood � but
she didn�t assume an attack position, or attack. The woman � the
charred-out groin could not be called male -- limped several halting
shuffling steps towards the table and Billy, and it � she -- stood there,
looking at him with her dozens of twisting eyes, in silence. Slowly she
sank to her knees, then sat back on her heels, almost falling. She
placed her hands formally on her knees. She bowed to Billy, her head
nearly touching the floor. She straightened, perfectly, calmly, and
looked into his face. �Darling,� whispered the horrible head. �I am Gel.�
Outside the saloon window there was a sharp shriek of wheels braking.
Belt looked up.
Two four-foot ground-assault tires retracted instantly into the chest of
the New Texas Mark Five Combat Suit battle armor. Two revolver-like
Gatling barrels flicked instantly out.
The barrels spit 200 bullets per second through the doors and windows for
the next ten seconds.
Orville Spark received the first dose, his skinny body shredding
instantaneously into an dark crimson impressionist sunset against the
wall, which itself exploded into a moonscape of holes, like a time-lapse
photographic record of a fatal termite assault completed in an instant.
All the bottles on the bar shattered into a million shards and slivers,
mingling and striking into the ice storm of the exploding chandelier.
The marionette at the bar turned into a crystalline voodoo doll, then was
torn into an apron, an arm, a half a leg, a ball of wooden head, a
swivelling torso eroding in midair into a whirl of wiring and
spark-bursts and circuits. The bar buckled and collapsed, and as the
bullets sprayed the ceiling and upper walls, screams and gurgles from
sleepers in the rooms above recalled a pig slaughter.
The Combat Suit stopped firing.
A thousand bits of wood and paint and metal and glass fluttered to the
floor.
Long roots of blood drooped down antennae-like from the sleepers past the
ceiling above.
The tables, semi-intact, turned slowly on the floor like tops.
The Mark Five opened up again for another ten seconds, and another ten.
The tables whirled and whirled and whirled and ceased to exist. The
walls vomited splinters and the staircase vanished and the bar became
sawdust and part of the ceiling collapsed dropping beds and naked
bleeding dead men�s bodies and the marionettes they�d been sleeping with,
all of it shredding into a whirlpool mash of blood and wood and wiring
sprayed against the plaster and shafts left standing in the walls.
Then it was quiet.
The Mark Five retracted the Gatling Gun extensions into its bulbous metal
biceps. There was a whirring sound. The left arm extruded something
like a slim eleven-inch diameter cannon, and an oval shell uploaded from
within somewhere and clicked visibly into place. Whirring loudly, the
right arm transformed into a combination probe and pincers, almost
tulip-shaped. The Mark Five�s legs telescoped somewhat, to the point
where it could enter what remained of the saloon and check for the
remnants of survivors. It bent low and stepped in, carefully. It
weighed slightly over two tons and there might be a basement.
There was.
Belt leaped out of it, landing snarling on top of the Combat Suit's head
like a insane cat landing on a man�s face.
Covered in muck and blood, she screamed and slammed three full-swing
punches into the pie-plate head of the Mark Five. It rang like a gong
each time, the Suit revolving and going more and more off balance each
time, and at the third punch the plate buckled and a hairline crack
opened up where the head opening connected to the body. Belt chopped at
it and drove her fingers in to pop it like a wedge, but the Mark Five�s
pincer arm had reached around grabbed her leg. It flipped her into where
the saloon mirror had been, and she crashed through the saloon wall and
through the walls of Ed�s Barber Shop next door and Janine�s Emporium
next to that.
The Mark Five re-oriented itself and turned.
A white-haired girl with an off-center pony-tail and a terribly soiled
checked shirt stood six inches in front of it. Her moist eyes glistened;
her lower lip trembled.
�You�re *not nice at all*!,� she said.
And punched the Combat Suit in the equivalent of its belly. A lot. A
whole lot: Belt was stronger than Fall but Fall was faster than Belt --
fast enough to throw forty punches a second into the Mark Five�s gut,
which suddenly began ringing out with a sound like a cross between a
phone call and a Gamelan gong. Ashtray-size dimples appeared by the
dozen on the casing, and the Mark Five went off balance and its legs
began staggering lumpily backwards like the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz.
When it got to where the swinging doors had been, Fall jumped up, twisted
and kicked both her legs square into its chest. A loud clunk blurted
from inside it and a spray of oil flew out from the left arm joint. It
continued its Tin Man stagger and fell on its back in the dust of the
street.
Its cannon arm went up. Fall grabbed it. The cannon arm began to push
her down. A bullet bounced off her skull, then several more, like
whistling mosquitoes, set in flight by government snipers in the
building opposite. She grit her teeth and shoved at the Mark Five�s arm.
Suddenly a church-bell-like clang rang out and the head unit�s visual
sensor rotated left.
And looked up into Belt, who looked back down into it. She frowned. Her
heel, covered in shaving cream and a red ribbon, smashed down onto the
head unit and another resounding clang rang out. And then another.
Bullets buzzing off her head like bees, she screamed and began throwing
lightning punch after punch and punch into the hairline break where the
head unit connected to the body, screaming �Crack! Crack! Crack damn
it! CRACK!�
The Mark Five�s pincer arm tried to grabbed her from behind. She twisted
and grabbed it and began smashing her foot against the expanding hairline
break. �Crack! CRACK you piece of shit!� she screamed.
McCabe�s head came up between some remaining boards of the floor. Then
Billy�s came up. Both were covered in blood and dust and splinters and
plaster. When Belt had spotted the Mark Five she instantly kicked the
floor beam under the table. Everyone at the table went down instantly,
and the rest of the place went down over them. The Mark Five�s bullets
blew smashed everything over the floor but nothing under it � most of the
falling debris had landed on Fall�s and Belt�s back, and the debris shot
back out when they did.
�My saddle � !� shouted McCabe. �Get me my saddle! Move, boy!�
Billy wiped a swatch of plaster off his eyes and dug.
The Mark Five began moving its cannon arm towards Belt�s head. Fall
re-positioned her legs and twisted with both arms, but the arm kept
moving.
�Here!� said Billy.
Cursing, McCabe opened the saddle bag and felt inside. He pulled out a
sawed-off shotgun and two camouflage-color military shells and clicked
the gun and popped the shells in. He jumped up and hollered. �My goddam
leg�s caught!�
He grabbed Billy by the hair, then by the back of the collar and shoved
him up onto the rubble equivalent of the floor. �Stick it in the cannon
hole,� he shouted.
�What?�
�The goddam thing�s arm! It�s a cannon.� McCabe threw the shotgun at
Billy. �Stick the barrel in, pull the trigger, and get your hand out
fast.�
Billy looked at McCabe and blinked.
�*Stick* the barrel in, pull the trigger, and get your hand out *fast*!�
hollered McCabe. �Do it!�
Belt screamed. �Crack, bastard -- CRACK!�
�Do it,� mumbled Billy. �Do it. Do it. Right.� He spit some splinters
out of his mouth and got up and started to move.
�Take the shotgun with you, you idiot!�
�The shotgun�right�right�the shotgun,� said Billy. He picked up the
shotgun and looked out at the weird scene, the two marionettes twisting
against the massive robot arms, bullets pinging all around them. His
breathing was ragged and his heart beat like a Cavalry drum roll. The
cannon arm was almost at a right angle now, almost at Belt�s shoulder.
�Move, goddam it!� shouted McCabe. McCabe pulled out his forty-five,
took aim over his forearm, and began returning fire at the snipers. �I
said move!�
With a scream, Billy charged and leapt, bad leg and all, over the junk
and rubble and ran into the sunlight where a bullet flew past his ear and
he jumped up and stuck the shotgun barrel in the cannon arm, and pulled
the trigger. Fall let go the minute Billy hit the trigger and threw
herself over him to stop the rain of bullets. Both twisted and fell to
the dust.
The shotgun shells hit the cannon shell. The cannon shell jerked back.
The jerk back shoved the shell against the firing mechanism. The wrong
way. It blew up. The Mark Five�s cannon arm split open like a blackened
tulip and the bottom twisted up at a freak angle like an askew
smouldering hot dog. A man�s scream ululated out of the hairline break,
which was now a good two inches wide. Belt smashed her elbow into the
pincer arm tugging at her and now it fell away. She stuck her fingers
into the crack and began pulling it open. �Come on,� she screamed,
bullets ricocheting off her, �come on!�
And then the top of the Mark Five�s head flew off.
�Not my leg!�
Shaking, drooling, Belt looked at the man operating the Mark Five. She
shot her arm inside and closed her fingers around his throat. The inside
shell excreted smoke and a burning electric smell
�Please! Not my leg!� screamed the man in the Mark Five.
Trembling, Belt focused on the man�s face. It was lined and scarred,
with large moist eyes, and a funny Charlie Chaplin moustache. A
moustache� �Lucius�� she said, softly. She chuckled. �Lucius. Lucius,
old buddy.� She laughed. �We meet again.�
�Don�t,� said Lucius. Tears began running down his face. �Don�t tear
off my leg! It�s the only one I got now. It�s the only one I got!
Please!�
�I won�t touch it,� said Belt.
She drove her fist into his face and through his brains and out of the
back of his head and seven inches into the head rest behind it. Lucius�
hair and cheekbones and ears stretched out around her forearm like a
silly putty donut for a second and then wobbled back around her arm with
a slimy sucking sound and began to sag.
She pulled her arm out and stood up. She flicked her arm. A long trace
of pink and pearl brain slapped an S into the dusty street like a glassy
snake. She looked up at the windows where the gunfire had come from and
looked at the government troops in their blue uniforms who had been
firing at her. They stopped firing. Then they ran away.
She looked at Fall, crouching over Billy.
�He OK?� said Belt.
The building at the end of the street exploded.
The building next to it exploded.
The building in front of it exploded.
The building next to that sort of pushed out like an expanding ballon,
and collapsed.
Two long low giant duck-foot-like pods appeared out of the rubble and
around the edge of the building not yet blown up. It was one of the ten
legs of a thirty-three ton New Texas government-issue Timex Caterpillar
assault tank. Four more duck pod feet appeared, and twelve cannon, and
six missile launchers, ringing the head of something like a cross between
a hub cap and a turtle � only eighteen feet high, thirty-seven feet in
diameter, and with foot-and-a-half-thick armor plating.
�Shit,� observed Belt.
Billy stared, made the sign of the cross, and started repeating his Hail
Marys.
�Sumimasen,� said a voice behind the three of them.
Belt turned.
The thing called Gel stood in the center of the street with her wings
outstretched. They looked like butterfly wings, iridescent and gleaming,
and stretched out perhaps twenty feet. They were made of silvery
metallic hexagons and hummed. Purple shimmers wove over and through them
and white electric balls of energy seemed to well up from the ground at
her feet and caress and meld naturally into the exquisite, shimmering,
singing wings.
She held her arms out in front of her, straight out, and lifted her palms
up.
The singing noise from the wings seemed to modulate and wax into a
piercing radio-like signal. Which got louder. And louder. And louder.
The Caterpillar had got all ten legs onto the main street of the Red Hat,
population zero, and began to train it�s missile launchers on the
marionettes and the boy standing with them.
Gel looked at Fall and Belt. She tilted her head. �Sumimasen -- ?�
Fall grabbed Billy and leaped into the saloon and down the hole beside
McCabe. Belt hollared �Shit!� and dashed in and jumped into the hole
and onto McCabe, who hollared �Shit!� also.
A purple corona appeared around Gel�s hands. Heat from it began to
distort the air and made things seen through it seem to wave and buckle.
The corona grew brighter and brighter and the sound grew louder and
louder, building, howling, a piercing electronic scream, and Gel placed
one hands over the other, palms up.
She closed her eyes.
An ear-shattering D-DOOOM!! of thunder, like the shout of God, slammed
down on Red Hat, smashing every last window that had not already been
smashed, buckling every wall not totally gutted, and a wide jagged livid
crackling bolt of lavender lightning roared across the street directly
into the Timex Caterpillar, so brightly that the sky and the air around
it seemed to blink coal black.
It hit the Caterpillar.
The Caterpillar stopped.
The black sky turned back to sunlit blue.
Gel put down her hands. Her wings began to slowly and methodically fold
themselves up and retract. They became two long silver poles which
telescoped down to the size of two short billy clubs. Her shoulder
blades popped open and the poles slid into her back and the shoulder
blades came over them and enclosed them and smoothly melded into Gel�s
back again. With a saurian groan the Timex Caterpillar began sinking
down on its pads and one of the cannons and three of the missile
launchers wobbled and fell out. Clean boiling lines blood appeared
around the turret holes and the joints, and, with a creeching sound like
balloons being rubbed together, the blood grew bubbles like bright
tomatoes that sputtered and popped. The Caterpillar sank to its belly.
Smoke rose up from it.
Gel turned to Belt and Fall and Billy.
She bowed. �Arigato,� she said.
�Holy shit!� said Billy, peering up out of the hole. Then he remembered
himself and looked skyward and said, �Sorry, Lord.�
�Get your ass off my face, you stinking andy tramp!� yelled McCabe. Or
rather, tried to yell. Belt was sitting on his face. She twisted her
head and looked down. Actually it was sort of comfy. She looked at Gel
and she looked Billy and smiled. �You know, kid, we may last a little
longer than I thought.�
�Yeah,� he mumbled. �Uh�Miss Belt, ma�am, the fella can�t breath.�
She looked down again. �Oh. Yeah.�
She put a foot on his groin and stood up. McCabe screamed.
�Oh, sorry, cowboy.�
He pointed his Colt at her head. �I ought to -- .�
�Waste some bullets?� she said, and laughed, and jumped out of the hole
and offered Billy her hand.
�I�ve got him, he�s mine,� said Fall in a pouting kittenish mew. �My
poor little honey sweetness,� she cooed, eyes all huge. She stroked his
hair and kissed his forehead and his cheeks and then started working on
his lips like a prize-winning vacuum cleaner. He sputtered. �I got to
breathe too, ma�am, would�you take it easy?�
�You need fresh air!� said Fall, scooping him up and bounding out of the
hole in one flawless leap.
�We all friggin� do,� muttered McCabe, clambering out by himself.
He stepped on Israel Gilhooley�s face on his way out. Israel Gilhooley
rubbed his nose and squinted and yawned and awoke. He stood up, totally
unscratched, about collarbone level with the excuse for a floor, and
yawned and scratched the sides of his hairy old head. He stretched his
arms out and opened his eyes and blinked. He looked around. He grinned
as wide as a pair of outstretched arms. �Damn! That�s what I call a
Saturday Night!�
He pulled himself up and slid back in.
McCabe checked the Colt .45 Peacemaker he still held in his hand. One
bullet left. He slapped the dust and trash and splinters off his pants
and hat. There was a shard of glass stuck in his leg. He tried pulling
it out but it didn�t seem to want to come.
Fall and Belt were standing on either side of Gel, and Billy was in the
center, pumping her arm so hard it seemed as though he were trying to
pump water out of her.
�Ma�am, I can�t tell you, I mean, I really can�t tell you, how very much
we appreciate your help, I mean, we really appreciate it, I mean, that
was just, like, I mean, that was just absolutely amazing, it was
incredible, it was mind-boggling, I mean -- !�
�Billy,� shouted McCabe. �Any of those scum buckets still out there?�
�They�re gone,� said Belt.
�Billy,� shouted McCabe. �C�mere.�
�Be right there, Mr. McCabe,� said Billy, still shaking Gel�s hand. �I
mean, really, ma�am, that was just � just really super!�
�Billy!�
�Coming, Mr. McCabe,� said Billy. �Really just beautiful, ma�am,� he
said quietly, giving her hand one last � well, two or three last shakes.
He let go and started negotiating through the junk over to McCabe.
Israel Gilhooley had just about waddled out of the hole at his fourth
attempt and a giddy Billy spotted him and waved and said, �Hey there,
Israel! -- Boy, ain�t that Miss Gel something, Mr. McCabe?�
�Yeah,� said McCabe, bending over his leg.
Billy got beside him and couldn�t help but turn and give the three
marionettes another look. Belt was standing beside Gel with her hands on
her hips, looking at Gel with calm approving appraisal, like a proud top
sargeant, while Fall was walking around Gel and bending over and poking
her places here and there with one finger.
�You�re all beautiful!� shouted Billy at the three marionettes.
McCabe raised his forty-five and shot Billy in the head.
Billy�s head kicked right, and his body fell into the shambles of a floor
like a sack of wet underwear. He didn�t move.
A second passed. Then Fall brought her hands to the side of her head,
and screamed, took a step back and screamed, screamed worse than Gel�s
wings, screamed without pausing for breath because she didn�t have lungs
and didn�t need to breath and could scream without interruption for all
the few remaining minutes of the rest of her life. Belt turned white
and the pupils of her eyes contracted instantly to pinpricks. She took a
step toward Billy and then twisted and was on top of McCabe in a
millisecond, her hand around his throat, ready to drag him to hell by it
alongside herself. Gel looked at Billy�s face, staring, unblinking, in
the rubble and garbage.
Belt, face turning grey, eyes darkening, head shaking more and more
violently, mouth beginning to foam, drew back her arm for the death blow.
When Billy got up.
Not all at once. He jerked his right hand up over the side of his head,
and pushed himself up with his left arm. His eyes blinked. He was pale.
Quietly and calmly, he got up to his feet. He looked at Fall. She
looked back, and stopped screaming, and tilted her head.
With his hand on the side of his head, Billy looked at McCabe and then at
Belt and then at McCabe again and then his eyes slid down to McCabe�s
Colt .45 Peacemaker. He pressed his fingers against the side of his head
and looked scared. He felt the side of his head. He felt something. He
could feel it. The hole. It was big. Big, and cold, and � and
sharp-edged. A boy could cut his fingers on it. He started shaking, and
shifted his hand and stuck a finger deep in the hole in his head. He
felt a shock. He felt a shock.
Israel Gilhooley scrambled up at last out of the hole in the floor,
bringing up with him possibly the last surviving bottle of Southern
Comfort in Red Hat. He stood up, took a swig, then set it down and shook
the dust out of his ratty Santa Claus beard and scratched his huge belly
with both hands and said �Ahhhhh!� He walked over toward Billy on his
way outside to go pee.
Billy looked at Fall and Gel and Belt. His hand fell to his side.
Israel Gilhooley took a swig of Southern Comfort and emitted a loud burp.
He walked by Billy and stopped and took another swig and leaned forward
and squinted inside the hole in Billy�s head. He burped again.
�Hey Billy,� said Gilhooley. �You�re a machine.�
End of Part One
(Note: all characters in Part One of Terrible Swift Sword with the
exception of President Joy are original creations and copyrighted by the
story�s author. Comments on the tale to date may be sent to the author
at david@davidpascal.com.)