Terrible Swift Sword
by
David Pascal
Part Two: 'Broken' (chapters 1-3)
(Note: Part Two of Terrible Swift Sword is complete, but a bit long. In
hopes of keeping the FFML post from getting overly bulky, I�ll be posting
Part Two here day by day in smaller sections. However, interested
readers who would like to read or download the whole of Part Two can find
it at the SMJ Fanfiction Page at
http://www.geocities.com/~davidpascal/smj.html and get the whole piece
there � and really ought to, since it�s much more readably formatted.
Some points: the technological references relating to nanotechnology,
cryostasis, and neuroanatomy are (to the best of my knowledge)
scientifically correct summaries, and reasonable extrapolations. Anyone
interested in these subjects -- and they really do have a lot of dramatic
potential for story writers -- is advised to go see www.foresight.org
and, particularly, www.cryonics.org for its clear and readable
information and links on the subjects. Two of the books referred to in
Part Two � Leta Hollingworth�s �Children Above 180 IQ� and Frank Tipler�s
�The Physics Of Immortality� are actual books, and, indeed, classics. My
reference to 'the Great Extinction' is taken from James Halperin's fine
sci-fi bestseller 'The First Immortal', and both that and Shelby Foote's
magnificent three-volume The Civil War, which I dipped into for some
research in doing TSS, are well worth reading.
Technically, none of the characters appearing in the original Saber
Marionette J series appear in TSS, though a few are referred to. Nor
(offhand) do I think there are any spoilers.
Saber Marionette J is owned and copyrighted by AnimeVillage.com * Satoru
Akahori * Hiroshi Negishi * Tsukasa Kotobuki * Kadokawa Shoten * Bandai
Visual * Sotsu Agency * TV Tokyo.)
Summary of the story to date:
TSS takes place on a distant planet called Terratoo, 450 years in the
future. Six male colonizers survive a crash-landing, and the technology
that survived with them is such that it can only produce male clones with
which to repopulate the world. An all-male planet results, the only
females being a series of androids called �marionettes�. Each of the six
men found separate nations that reproduce very closely earler versions of
their own culture -- ie, �Japoness� is like 19th century Japan,
�Gartlant� like 19th century Germany, and New Texas is a Wild West-like
collage of old Americana. Billy Truman is a 16-year old orphan from a
Christian Home in New Texas. New Texas is still experiencing guerilla
warfare ten years after a full-scale Civil War between the Union
government (led by an exact clone of original colonist and founder,
President Franklin Joy), and the Confederate forces of the Southern
Territories.
Billy goes prospecting in the New Texan Badlands and comes across three
figures tied to posts. He realizes the area is the site of a nuclear
test and tries to free them before the bomb explodes. The figures are
marionettes, and Billy wakes them just as the explosion hits. Two,
reacting instantly, save him. Fall is almost newly created and very
innocent. Belt was created for use as a military weapon and is savage in
the extreme. Gel, the last, was seemingly burnt to a crisp. Belt
expects the three survivors to be hunted down and killed by government
military observing the test, and the three of them run for it. A
Confederate group arrives and takes away Gel. Billy and the other two
are interrupted as they break camp by Gabriel McCabe, an ex-Confederate
also in the Badlands prospecting, who gets the drop on them with a
pistol, but whom we learn apparently went out to locate the lost Billy
and return him to Billy's co-prospector, the fat and amiable Israel
Gilhooley.
Meanwhile Dr. Ahab Pierce, scientist-director of the Enclosure, the
military research installation that produced both the marionettes and the
nuclear test, sends the brutal combat veteran Ezekial Skinner along with
a unit of men, an experimental tank, and three combat metal-suits, to
locate and return the marionettes. Skinner suspects that Pierce is
afraid the escape of the marionettes threatens some secret plan of
Pierce�s; and he is correct. In the field, Skinner�s unit splits up.
Half encounter and kill the Confederates ferrying Gel. Gel wakens, and a
burst of energy obliterates all the attackers except Skinner, just out of
range. She walks away and eventually joins the other marionettes in a
town called Red Hat. Skinner�s remaining forces arrive and attack them
there. Fall and Belt defeat one metal-suited attacker, while Gel
virtually flattens the tank with an inexplicable burst of power.
The attacking troops scatter, and as Billy and the marionettes celebrate,
Gabriel McCabe shoots Billy in the head. The marionettes, programmed for
absolute loyalty and subservience and dedicated exclusively to the person
who wakes them, begin to self-destruct at once and Belt grasps McCabe by
the throat to kill him in the moments before the inevitable happens.
Suddenly Billy stands up. Placing his hand to his head, he learns to his
shock that he too is an android � a machine. And from there we go back
fifty-five years, to...)
Terrible Swift Sword: Part Two:
Broken
1.
When Ahab Pierce was a boy of six, members of the scientific class in New
Texas commonly maintained a Victorian appearance. A scientist, or
�school-taught mechanic engineer�, as they were called, was expected to
wear a long blue greatcoat with a high collar, long deep pockets for
calipers and sextants, and an Abraham Lincoln stovepipe hat. They were
expected to wear eyeglasses with thin metal rims, emblematic of hard
study and stern dedication. The highest of them were allowed the
romantic indulgence of a full flowing beard, the very highest a carven
owl-headed cane. And the second of the three figures walking down the
silent dimly lit corridor of the Georgetown Institute of Special Studies
on Christmas midnight in December of 2396 was very high indeed, for all
that was exactly what he wore.
�I simply cannot understand how you got the President to agree to do it
in the first place, Doctor Lightner,� said Esau Hogg, the Institute�s
President, a beefy fat-faced man with an elaborately Washingtonian
pig-tail, trotting beside the tall bony man stalking ahead. Lightner had
the gaunt wasted body of a scarecrow topped by the face of a actual crow
� a huge beak of a nose, a crevice mouth, slicked-back black hair,
piercing black eyes that missed nothing.
�The President does what he must because he loves our country,� said
Lightner. Normally he�d have laughed at a lie that bald, but then the
weasel of an administrator walking beside him would be certain to pass on
all of Lightner�s remarks to the President and his �Special Agents�.
That�s what it had come to, he thought to himself, with contempt. Even
men of science, lying.
�Still, you can�t just barge in like this � we�ve got guidelines -- !�
They came to a tall oak door with a peephole at eye level and a brass
plate below it that said �The Guest Room�.
Dr. Lightner leaned forward and looked into the peephole. He saw nothing
but a few pale blue ribbons of moonlight streaming from a window outside
of his direct line of vision.
�See? He�s fine. He�s fine!�
�It�s dark.�
�It�s dark? -- Damn him, he�s smashed the lights again!�
Dr. Lightner�s head turned. �If you�ve hurt him -- .�
�No, no, of course not. We haven�t. But, Doctor � he�s already escaped
twice! At some point you�re simply going to have to allow us to exercise
some direct discipline. Is physical discipline so bad? After all -- .�
Lightner looked past Hogg, to the short hooded figure who had come along
with Lightner. That was Lightner�s only hope now. Perhaps it always had
been. He frowned; and rapped on the door with the owl�s-head of his
cane.
�We�re entering,� called Lightner. He nodded at the school�s President.
The President fumbled at his keys and opened the door.
They walked inside.
The room was entirely dark, except for concise pearly ribbons of
moonlight that streamed in through the window past the bars. It was a
very comfortable Victorian room with a very comfortable Victorian sofa
and a very comfortable Victorian desk and very comfortable Victorian
paintings on the wall -- all of them slashed. All the rest of the room
glittered. Moonlight twinkled on the shattered glass from the ornate
Victorian chandelier which the room�s occupant had somehow managed to
smash to pieces. Lightner�s hawkish gaze slowly passed around the
apartment till he saw the boy, sitting in the corner, hands around his
legs, face swallowed in the darkness.
�Hello Willy,� said Doctor Lightner.
�That name makes me sick,� said the six-year old boy, sitting motionless
in the darkness in the corner.
�How would you prefer I call you?� said Lightner.
�Infrequently,� said the boy.
Lightner grinned. Excellent. Excellent language usage.
�Speak properly to your elders!� said Hogg. �By God, we should beat the
tar out that little brat.�
�Shut up,� said Lightner.
Doctor Lightner approached the boy. The lad cringed. Slowly, Lightner
knelt down on one knee, and carefully reached out his hand. As Lightner
expected, there was a sudden flash, and moonlight leapt from a long shard
of chandelier glass in the boy�s hand, aimed at Lightner�s face.
Lightner caught it easily, and twisted. It fell from the boy�s hand.
And Lightner noticed what his spies in the Institute had reported to him.
The boy�s wrists were indeed bandaged. The boy struggled and grunted,
but Lightner held the wrist tight and reached out and pulled the taped
bandage down. The scars where the boy had tried to cut his wrists the
week before were jagged, dark red and puckered.
He let the boy go and stood up.
�See what a little monster he is,� said Hogg. �What we need is
permission to -- .�
Lightner swung around and struck Hogg in the face with enough force to
knock him to the floor. �You stupid -- .� He sputtered. �Get out! Get
out of here now!� he roared. �You�re dismissed! And if I see so much as
a scratch on this boy again I�ll order any other pathetic cretin running
this establishment dissected! Do you understand me? Now get out of
here.�
The school President opened his mouth to protest, but since some of his
teeth were wobbling too loosely to form the words, he thought the better
of it. Scrambling up red-faced from all fours, he gave the small
monk-like hooded figure accompanying Lightner a shove instead, as he
dashed out of the room. The figure in the hood accepted it quite
passively.
When the door closed, Lightner turned to the boy who was curled up in the
darkness, and knelt down again. Lightner�s heart was still beating
rapidly, out of sheer fury. Beating too rapidly. He took out his pill
box and took his medication, and gave his heart a few seconds to let it
calm down. At length he smiled. �Well, Mr. Infrequently,� he said, �I
have a surprise for you.�
�Nothing you or the other morons running this prison have or do could
surprise me. And if you must address me, address me as Ahab.�
Lightner smiled. He stood up. He had arthritis in his knees, and
elsewhere. Kneeling hurt. He pulled over a chair from the dining table
and brushed off a few glass fragments and sat on it. �Why Ahab?� he
said.
The boy lifted his head and looked at Lightner. At that angle, cool bars
of moonlight suddenly crossed the boy�s face. His blond hair and blue
eyes seemed a bit angelic in the moonlight, as some children�s do. His
eyes really were extraordinarily blue, thought Lightner. �Ahab was a sea
captain I have come to admire,� said the boy.
�Ah, you�ve read Moby Dick then. I thought you were referring to King
Ahab in the Bible.�
�That tissue of absurdities? Grow up, Lightner.� The boy said it
without irony. That lack of irony was one of the few things that marked
him as a child, thought Lightner. But he is a child, thought Lightner --
he is a child, and if I fail to take that into account, I could lose him.
And that would be unthinkable.
�You don�t care for the school facilities here then, I take it?�
Ahab snorted. � The �school facilities�? The teachers are even bigger
clods than the students, if such a thing is possible. Teachers, students
-- they�re all swine, bullies � tyrants, savages, all of them. You can
see them aching to resort to brute force. Like the brutes they are.
Quite disgusting.�
�They have the brightest children in all New Texas here, Ahab.�
�All New Texas must be a singularly ignorant place.�
�I hated school too,� said Lightner. �The bullying. The boredom. I was
often quite intensely lonely. � Are you ever lonely, Ahab?�
�Never,� said the boy, fiercely. �I want less company, not more.�
�Don�t you want to make friends?�
�I want to be let out of here! I want to be left alone!�
�I�ve brought you a friend.�
The boy emitted a sound too sick to be called a laugh and turned his face
back into the darkness.
�A very special friend,� said Lightner. �Just for you.�
He gestured to the figure in the hood and cloak. The hooded figure
walked over beside the boy and knelt down on its knees and sat on its
heels. It bowed to Ahab, pressing its head to the floor, which made even
Ahab look over. It straightened and an astoundingly perfect white hand,
like porcelain in the moonlight, came out of the cloak and reached up and
pulled back the hood. Ahab looked up and his mouth opened. He was, for
the moment, speechless.
�I am. Gel,� she said.
She was smiling. It was the most beautiful smile on the most beautiful
face William Ahab Pierce had seen in the entire six years of his life.
He turned away from it at once, frowning intensely and angry with
himself, because � because he couldn�t help himself but look back up!
The face was � extraordinary. Perfectly smooth and symmetrical. Her
eyes were vast and almost imperceptibly slanted and their color was an
absolutely pure black, like her hair. She didn�t look like anyone, but
it wasn�t the foreignness, it wasn�t even the beauty � it was the
perfection. It was as though a master sculptor had deliberately designed
a doll�s face for some princely client. And -- the kindness, the
serenity of the expression. He was suddenly aware of his heartbeat � his
cheeks warming. Why?
�Gel is from Japoness, Ahab,� said Lightner. �You�ve heard of it?�
Ahab looked down again. He had to get control of himself. Control.
Control! �I�ve heard of it. Not that I follow politics much. A
neighboring state, isn�t it?�
�Quite right. President Joy recently concluded a treaty of friendship
with it. Its chief, Mr. Emperor Ieyasu, gave our glorious leader a
number of gifts in celebration of this historic agreement. Gel is one.�
Ahab looked at her again and turned toward her this time, his eyes even
wider. �She�s a marionette!�
�That she is. That she is. One of the most advanced models ever
designed.�
Ahab stared immediately at her chest. Where the complex of logic
processors would be. �Say something to her, Ahab,� said Lightner.
�What�s your data storage capacity?� said Ahab. Lightner chuckled.
What a romantic, he thought.
�One. Na-no-chip. Six-teen. Point-six. Hun-dred thou-sand. Gi-ga.
Bytes. Ex-clu-ding na-no-neur-on-al sub-strate in-ter-face.�
�Impressive, isn�t it? All the books in all the libraries in all the
world are right there in her head, young Ahab. And a fair chunk of the
databases from the Mesapotamia to boot. Just about all the available
knowledge, scientific or otherwise, that the human race has managed to
salvage is sitting right there in that pretty little head. And it�s all
yours.�
Ahab stared at Lightner with mild hatred. �In return for what?�
�In return for just learning it. That�s all. No one�s going to push you
anymore. That�s been tried. And it�s failed. Just like I predicted it
would. No more pushing. You can do what you want. You can learn a
hundred thousand incredible things. Or you can sit there in the dark.
It�s up to you. You do what you want, and Gel here do what you tell her,
from now on. She�s here to be your companion. Your teacher.�
�Why?�
�Because you need her!� Because you�ll die without her, he wanted to
add, like you�ve tried to do. But no, no, thought Lightner, I won�t let
you die, my Ahab. You�re too important. The most important person in
the history of this whole damned planet. I won�t let you die. Doctor
Lightner smiled. �She�s gentle, Ahab. She�s not a Saber � she hasn�t
the strength to break a pencil. She�s what the Jappos call a �geisha
marionette�. She intended to provide what the Jappos regard as cultural
education. I asked � I pleaded --with the President himself to let you
have her. The President himself!�
Ahab did not give a damn about the President. He pulled his eyes away
from her, he rolled back into the blackness of the shadows. It�s just
another trap, he thought. Another obvious trap. He drew his arms tight
around himself. �If she�s so great, why�s he giving her to me?�
Lightner wanted to say: because the President -- that mentally
handicapped ape in the White House -- doesn�t give a damn about science
or culture, much less feminine beauty, and would either have put this Gel
into some dark closet or under the can opener of some eager-beaver
�science advisor� clever enough to use her for an excuse to waste tax
money. But -- Lightner was a survivor, and survivors learn to be phrase
things carefully. �The President has many marionettes,� said Lightner,
smiling. �As many as he wants. He can spare one. And he realizes that
the way you�ve been handled in this institution has been � stupid in the
extreme. You need a�a friend, Ahab. An intelligent friend, as
intelligent as you. Gel�s that friend. She knows so very many things,
Ahab. She knows the answers to a billion questions. Science, computing,
engineering, whatever you�re interested in. She teaches. She talks �
that�s right, regular person-to-person conversations. She can dance.
Sing tunes. Even play some sort of Japanese banjo thingamabob called a
�koto�. Would you like to hear her sing, Ahab? Sing something, Gel.�
Gel�s programming searched for and determined the most likely song that
would be sung by a marionette to a six-year-old New Texan boy. It was an
ancient political air that had been turned into a children�s lullaby over
the centuries. She sang it in a voice that curled through the velvety
hush of the darkened room like a ghost. Like daybreak.
�Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of The Lord.
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored.
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword � �
�Why is it you separate individual syllables when you speak
conversationally, but not when you sing?� said Ahab.
�Song pat-terns are. Pre-pro-grammed and. Do not re-quire.
Im-prov-is-a-tion or. Sel-ec-tion. To speak in-ter-act-ive-ly re-quires
-- .� She paused for six seconds. �Thought,� she said.
� �Thought�?� said Ahab. �You think?�
She paused again, longer. �I think I. Think.�
Despite himself, Ahab smiled. � I�ve got him, thought Lightner; I�ve got
him!
�She does more than think,� said Lightner. �She feels. In a manner of
speaking. She�s self-aware. She�s yours, Ahab, she�s committed to you �
programmed for you. Hell, she�ll die for you if you ask her. She loves
you.�
Ahab�s frowned with acid contempt. � �Love� -- .�
But Gel interrupted. �Hai,� she said, �A-hab-sa-ma.�
�What�s that mean?�
Lightner began to answer, but Gel spoke first.
� �Hai� is a. Jap-onn-ess phrase. E-quiv-a-lent in mea-ning to. The
Tex-an �Yes�. The. Suf-fix �sa-ma� is. Ap-pen-ded to. The name of
the. One who is held in a. Most high and u-nique re-gard by. The
spea-ker.�
�As in �Gel-sama�,� said Ahab.
�If you hold me. In most high and. U-nique. Re-gard,� said Gel. �Do
you hold me. In most high and. U-nique. Re-gard. -- A-hab-sa-ma?�
>From the darkness, Ahab could see the moonlight falling like a halo upon
her hair, and the glistening stars twinkle in the kind dark pools of her
eyes. The eyes didn�t blink, and he could almost see the invisible lines
on her neck, along which her head turned when it turned, and when he
looked at her hands he could see the digits were separate segments, not
smooth human hands. And he knew, he knew she wasn�t � really � real�but
-- the moonlight fell like a halo upon her hair� and the glistening stars
twinkled in the kind dark pools of her eyes�
�Hai,� he said. �Gel � sama.�
She smiled at Ahab. Her perfect gentle smile. She held her hand out to
Ahab. Her perfect gentle hand.
He raised his hand and placed it in hers.
2
Skinner had been lying in the long grass for nearly an hour now. Nearly
a goddamned hour! He had been cutting off the rebel�s ear with his Bowie
knife and whistling �The Theme from the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,�
when the explosion hit him. The impact knocked him into the long grass,
into which his body rolled automatically and professionally, knees
curling up into a ball, fists and forearms around his ears and face. The
ear he�d been cutting snapped off the rebel�s head at the earlobe with a
sharp wet smack, like bubble gum going pop, and flew up and off into the
sky like a pale deformed butterfly.
Skinner hugged the ground as low as possible. His one good eye tried to
stare as far back as it could without moving his head. What the hell was
that? He thought for a second that a plasma cloud had thrown a freak
bolt of lightning down, in fact several at once, but there wasn�t a cloud
in the sky. Cannon? He�d seen cannon used in the war. In fact he�d
ducked them often enough on the receiving end as a Confederate, before he
sold those fools out and joined the winners. But cannon was mild
compared to this. Was more coming?
He lay on his stomach, clutching grass in his hands, eye open,
unblinking. His knife was gone, blown away who knows where. He slipped
his pistol out of his leg holster and slid it under his belly and slowly
pulled back the hammer. If it was cannon, then -- with luck -- when
whoever came over for the clean-up found him, they�d kick him over to
identify him, and he�d at least manage to take one or two of the bastards
down along with him. Maybe all of them, if they were Confederate.
Wasn�t much left of the Confederate guerilla forces these days but poorly
armed kids, old men, and cripples. So they said. -- Trouble was, �they�
might be lying, and Skinner had no desire to die right that minute. He
sure as hell was not going to get up, a plain target in an open field.
He lay in the grass, waiting.
Ten minutes went by as he�d lain there. He�d heard a sound. Someone
approaching. Coming through the long grass. He�d gripped his pistol.
It came closer and closer. A weird burnt smell assailed him. He felt an
impulse to vomit, but one movement, one twitch, and there�s be a bullet
in his back. His heart pounded. A Rebel rifle was probably pointing at
his head right now. Get closer, he thought, come on, soldier, get
closer! Let�s go say hello to the Devil together!
And then � the sound had grown fainter. It moved away. Shuffling.
Limping. It grew more distant. He waited. Ten minutes. Twenty. A
hour, a goddam hour! His arm started to cramp up. His forehead began to
sweat. Why hadn�t he taken that piss when he�d had the chance? Shit,
how long a reconnaissance were the bastards going to run before they said
something? Was he going to have to lie there till he qualified for
Social Security? Lying in the damned dirt was no position for a soldier,
a warrior, for Ezekiel Skinner! Fury started to break over him.
He tensed his muscles and leapt up, crouching and scanning like a jungle
cat.
The long grass waved quietly in the wind. Nothing seemed to be happening
in any direction. Except up ahead in the ravine where he�d left Wilbur
in the Mark Five, rummaging for the marionette. Two or three long low
streams of lavender smoke seemed to be rolling softly out in counterpoint
like lady-like ribbons from the ravine�s black scorched mouth.
Everything else was dead quiet.
Skinner approached it, low, nearly on all fours, bobbing in a fast
chimp-like run. Spotting his knife, he snapped it up with his free hand
without so much as breaking stride, and kept moving toward the mouth of
the ravine. He crouched back into the grass again just outside the
ravine�s mouth and stuck the blade out, trying to get a reflection on it
from anything still inside. Anything moving. The blade reflected
nothing but shards of black.
Skinner angled his head around the corner. That was the trouble with
having one eye. Lose it, and -- . He pushed that thought out of his
head. It was an invitation to cowardice. Cowardice! He spun into the
ravine, pistol in one hand and knife in the other, and showed his face to
whatever was waiting.
Nothing was waiting. Only the remnants of carnage. Of a strange,
different carnage. There was a sixty-foot circle of simple charred
blackness. The grass, the rocks, the remaining stumps of trees and vines
� all seemed to have gotten instantaneously flattened and blackened. The
dead rebels and their chevies were just slightly smoldering black
skeletons now, with pieces of silver radiation suit almost molten on
their bodies like patches of pearly cheese. The occasional bright spur
of a gold tooth stuck out of a skull. In the center of it was what
remained of Wilbur. The explosion had not so much blown him away as
hammered him straight into the ground, his Mark Five�s metal legs
sticking up at the hip out of the ground at the end of two fifteen-foot
grooves the legs had dragged stretching from ground zero. The rest of
the suit was just utterly mangled, like the blackened stump of a crashed
car stomped into blade-like shard and driven into the earth. Wilbur�s
bones and half his skull peered from it visibly, the teeth of the skull
open in what looked vaguely like an open paralyzed shout of horror, fused
by heat directly into the metal, which even now continued to make fizzing
and popping sounds around it.
What the hell was going on, Skinner had thought. He looked around.
There was something more, something more. Something missing. � The
marionette! � He ran to the bones of the chevies and kicked them aside,
the ribs crumbling with crisp porcelain snaps. Was she underneath?
No�no�but a sword-class marionette couldn�t be vaporized -- not totally
blown away, not even by this. Where was she? Had the Rebels sent a
clean-up detachment? Did they get her? He checked the ground for
footprints. He found some.
But -- they weren�t boot prints. They weren�t even feet -- not exactly,
not human feet. And they weren�t leading in. They began in a depression
in the black grass, as though something had fallen there several feet
away from the warped metal sculpture that had been Wilbur. There were
even patches of green under the blackness as though whatever had fallen
had protected it, almost as though � as though the blast had headed away
from it, not struck it.
And then, whatever had fallen there, in the center of the sixty-foot
charred circumference in which Skinner was standing, whatever had fallen
there had -- gotten up. Gotten up and walked away. Skinner looked at
the quietly fuming alien footprints. They led out of the ravine and
away, cutting a mild trail into the long grass. It had walked right past
him. Right past him! Skinner�s eye followed the line of the trail.
�Damn!� he said.
His trained military mind assessed the implications, conceived and
discarded possible scenarios, and weighed the next immediate action. He
took a piss.
�Ahhh�.� The urine hissed on the radiant hot scraps of metal at his
feet. Then he turned his back on the screaming skeletal mouth of Wilbur
and, zipping up, he slipped his gun behind his belt and followed the
trail of Glory.
Behind him, on a ridge a half mile away, light glinted on a set of field
binoculars. They were in the calloused hands of a tall unshaven young
man, lying in the grass on his belly in a long dusty sodbuster�s coat.
He watched Skinner move away.
�What�s he doing, Jessie? See anything?�
The young man with the binoculars spit. �Kind of a puny weiner for a
high-ranking Blue-belly, I�d say. Other�n that, looks like he�s
following some kind of trail, Major,� said the man. �Near as I can
figure.�
The second figure, the Major, knelt down beside him. He scratched his
jaw. �What�s your guess as to where he�s headed, Corporal?�
�Closest town in these here parts, be a place called Red Hat, Major. Ol�
Baldy seems to be a-moseying in that general direction.�
�He out of eyeshot?�
�He can�t see us, if that�s what you mean, sir.�
Major Thaddeus T. Jeffries nodded. He stood up, and the wind blew open
his coat. Beneath the long brown weather-beaten chevy-hide coat was the
grey, gold-buttoned uniform and burnished saber of a full Major of the
Confederated States of the United Southern Territories. He removed his
gloves, put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Two horsemen rode up,
dust-beaten grey tunics visible under their coats. They both looked
fourteen.
�Colt?� said the Major. �You and Bucky take four men down to that ravine
and try to locate the marionette. It looks like it might be headed
toward Red Hat, so have Mott take all ten of the rest of our boys down
there. Bucky and you join them there, if you don�t turn up nothing in
the ravine. Keep a low profile � you run into Confederates, make sure
they don�t see you. No scrapping, understand? Don�t do nothin�. We�re
here to get that andy, nothing else. As for Jessie here and me, we�re
gonna play follow the leader for a mite. I expect we may all meet up in
Red Hat together eventually, but if we don�t I�ll have Will send you our
whereabouts by carrier pigeon. Understood?�
�Yes, sir. Sir?�
�What is it, soldier?�
�You think that andy be on the move?�
�Looks it.�
The boy looked as though he wanted to say something, but hesitated.
�Well, son?� said the Major. �Spit it out.�
�Our boys was supposed to pick the marionette up and meet us here at the
rendezvous. Instead they�re spread out down there like raspberry jam on
burnt toast. What should I tell the boys about that?�
�The truth. Ain�t just our boys spread out down there, Colt. There�s
Blues too, and we had orders to give the Blues a wide berth. Looks to me
like the Blue-bellies jumped our boys. Leastways the only person walking
away is that one-eyed dude with the pigsticker, and his fat butt�s in
Washington-issue overalls. I reckon they hit our boys and the marionette
too. I also reckon messin� with that marionette ain�t conducive to a
long life span.�
�So what do we do? The Blues gonna be sending back-up, sure as
shootin�.�
�Follow her and find her. That�s the job General Baker assigned us too,
and by God that�s what we�re going to do. You see any Union regulars in
Red Hat, you spot any trouble at all, just hang back till I get there.
Don�t go in till I get there. Hang back.�
�What if she leaves Red Hat?�
�Follow her. Don�t try to take her. It don�t look like the healthy
thing to do. But don�t let her get out of your sight neither. Stick to
her like fart to a skunk. Got it?�
�Yes sir,� said Colt. He looked out in the direction of the ravine.
�Something else on your mind?�
�The General went out with the pick-up team. You think the General�s one
of them dead fellas down in that ravine?� said Colt.
�General Baker�s got more lives than ten longtail cats, son. Don�t you
worry �bout him. Worry about staying away from those Blue-bellies.�
�But what if we do run into some, Major?� said Bucky. �What if they come
after us and we can�t shake �em?�
Major Jeffries reached into his tunic and scratched an itch. Why, he
asked himself for the hundredth time, did the boys who asked him
questions like that always have to be fourteen? It had been a long time
since the Major had been fourteen; a very long time. �If the Blues come
after you,� he said, �kill �em. Kill �em all.�
3
Fall screamed. She placed the fingers of both her hands spread over her
face and screamed.
Belt threw McCabe to the ground like so much irrelevant trash. She
looked at Billy. Stared at Billy. Astounded. Her face twitched almost
into a laugh and then into an expression that had never been on it before
� hope. Joy. Deliverance. She whooped and leaped on Billy and threw
her arms around his hips, and twirled him in circles in ecstacy, whirling
him around.
Billy screamed, twisting his head left and right. �Don�t touch me, don�t
put your hands on me!�
She slowed down, and stopped, and looked at him. He struck her in the
face. �Let go of me, let go of me!� he shrieked. He kept hitting her in
the face, over and over. He slapped and struck her in the face over and
over and over again till the happiness in her eyes flickered and faded
and died out. Her arms parted. He pushed himself away from her and
slipped backwards and fell in the piles of destruction and trash.
�Billy�,� she said.
�Shut up!�
�You�re one of us.�
�Shut up!�
�You�re one of us��
�Shut up!� he screamed. �You�re lyin�! I ain�t a � a machine! That
cain�t be! I ain�t!�
He placed his heads over the sides of his head in his hands as though he
was trying to crush the thoughts inside it. Curling his legs up, he
closed his eyes. He closed his eyes and began to rock, repeating to
himself, I�m dreaming, I�m dreaming, I�m dreaming.
Fall took a step back, and turned, and ran.
Beside Belt, the biceps along Gel�s upper shoulders suddenly popped open.
Wisps of steam blew out, a high whistling hiss, then moderated into
wispy strands like cigar smoke. She leaned forward and fell to the
ground. A few automatic not-quite-human arm movements seemed to be aimed
at raising her up, but the tarantula-like gestures amounted to a few
brief spurts and then died out. She lay there, paralyzed and steaming.
A cart pulled by two chevies had run out of the livery before it
collapsed during the carnage. They whinnied in the street, flute-like,
turning in circles, not sure where to run, where to return. Something
inside the Caterpillar tank unit down the street exploded dully. Wind
blew a sheet of the official Washington newspaper across Belt�s legs. It
rustled crisply in the wind.
Then a bullet struck Belt in the head. Then another. Slowly, Belt�s
head turned. She looked up at a terrified but persistent young Union
sniper in a smart blue uniform and button-down cap still taking shots at
her from a second story window in the hardware shop across the street.
He fired again, striking her in the cheek with a mild ping! Without
expression, she bent over and picked up the Mark Five beside her with one
hand and flung it at the soldier with all her might. It slammed into the
upper building and tore the entire second floor off, like a grenade
blowing up a roomful of toothpicks. She looked at the sky showing
through the empty space where the second floor used to be. A lavender
cloud in the shape of a fish hung there, peacefully dissipating. Belt
turned and looked down at Gel. She looked at Billy.
She turned, abruptly. �Fall!� she shouted. Belt executed a long
single-jump leap down the street to where the Emporium she�d been thrown
through had been. �Fall!� Her arms slashed, orangutang-like, at the
collapsed rubble and flicked away strips of flooring and series of
shelves. �Fall, goddammit! Answer me!�
Fall�s head and shoulder turned slightly around the corner of a
still-standing wall down the street. Her head was down; her arms were
crossed over her chest. Her hands gripped her shoulders. Her hands and
shoulders shook. She snuck rapid frightened looks at Billy.
�Get the carriage with the chevies,� shouted Belt. �Now! Move!�
Fall took a tentative step out, looking at Billy with pure child-like
terror.
�Do it!� screamed Belt.
Fall stepped out into the street, looked at the chevies crying and
rearing their six forelegs over and over in the air, and was simply
instantly there, lightning-like, holding their reins. Their panicked
legs struck at her head and her shoulders and her almost angelic
blue-white hair. Chips flew from their hooves. �Stop,� she whispered,
almost at the point of tears.
�Bring �em over here,� called Belt.
Fall walked them over to Belt, the whole time keeping her eyes half on
the ground and half on Billy, who was sitting in the rubble of the
saloon, curled up and mumbling and shaking. She led the chevies so that
they were between her and Billy. She kept as far away from him as
possible, nearly sliding along the opposite walls of the few
half-standing places of business in Red Hat. She reached Belt and stood
there, holding the reins and peering at Billy through the chevies�
rearing legs.
Belt stood up with an armful of dust-sooted clothes and blankets. She
reached out and grabbed the carriage and shifted the entire thing over
with one hand. The chevies bucked and screamed, but the open rear faced
her. She threw clothes and blankets into the rear, then, chevies
protesting, she dragged the end of the carriage to where Gel and Billy
lay. She looked at Billy. Then she grabbed him by the collar and threw
him into the wagon. He screamed at her touch, and stopped screaming when
he hit the back of the backboard, hard. She picked up Gel by the thigh
and threw her in too, like a javelin. Then she looked at McCabe.
He was lying in a pile of garbage with a sliver of glass in his bleeding
leg, and a red line oozing out of the corner of his mouth. Half-waking,
he looked up at Belt, and wiped at the red line with the back of his
hand.
It took Belt four steps to reach McCabe. Her hand closed around his
throat like a hawk�s claw around a fat worm. She lifted him straight up
in the air by the neck. His face turned red as sunset instantly, and
froth sputtered at his lips. His boots kicked for a few moments, and
after that his eyes began to roll upwards and his boots stopped kicking.
She flicked him like a baseball into the rear of the wagon, next to
Billy. He slammed against it, splintering the wood, and lay there
silent, like a puppet with its strings cut. Billy said nothing. He�d
shut his eyes again, and covered his head with his hands again, and was
weeping and muttering the name Jesus over and over.
�Hey there, little lady!� said Israel Gilhooley, waddling up. He grinned
his ever-charming gap-toothed smile and slapped his massive Santa Claus
belly. �Looks to me like you and that other little missy are looking to
take the boys for a friendly family buggy ride. Well, hee-hee!, let me
tell you, old Israel Gilhooley knows every nook and cranny hereabouts,
and if what you need is a guide that�ll give you some good directions � �
Belt drove her hand flat into the center of his chest and pulled out his
heart, with a sound like a dozen snapping rubber bands accompanying it.
Red splurted down her hand and forearm. She snapped the remaining veins
with a turn of the wrist, and tossed the thing aside onto a jagged
collage of dusty black shingles, and turned to go.
�but�but I didn�t�do anything to you�, Gilhooley had wanted to say, knees
sinking, as blood began to circle round his lips like lipstick.
But he was dead by then. And besides she had already walked away.
�Get in the back,� Belt said to Fall, who was looking at what she could
see of Billy�s coppery hair, rustling in the lifting wind. Fall didn�t
move. She simply stood in the street, staring at Billy, her hands
bunched into small trembling fists pressed up against her face. Belt got
up on the seat and grabbed the reins. She looked at Fall. �Get in the
back!� she roared.
Fall put a hand on the backboard and flipped soundlessly in like a
landing fairy, sitting in the corner farthest from Billy. She grabbed
for a blanket instantly and pulled it over herself, hiding underneath,
her eyes peering out at him.
�Hee-yaa!� shouted Belt, and slapped the reins. The Chevies bucked and
rocked, confused, and went nowhere. Cursing, Belt reached over and tore
the lead chevies� tail out. It screamed in horror, a wailing noise
between a piccolo and a police siren, and tore forward insanely, dragging
the other along till it locked into step. Rocking wildly, kicking up
dust, the carriage ran over the debris and corpses across the main street
of what had been the town of Red Hat and charged out into the desert
country of the Badlands.
In it, under the intense light of the morning desert sun, Billy stared
down past his feet, where the immobile charred metal and plastic face of
Gel lay. She looked horrible and beautiful, like a fashion mannequin
struck like lightning. He looked at her eyes, and saw that all the nine
eyes he had seen in each socket were independent eye-like camera
shutters.
And suddenly all of the ones in the left eye, only the left eye, suddenly
moved up and focused squarely into his. He closed his eyes in horror and
then reached up slowly with trembling fingers and touched his own eyes
and thought � no, it can�t be, it can�t be.
Soundlessly his lips began to whisper the psalm: �Unto Thee � unto Thee
will I cry, O Lord my rock; be not silent to me: lest�lest, if thou be
silent to me, I become like them that go down into the pit��
�Faster, you sons of bitches!� shrieked Belt, raking her claws across the
hind quarters of the screaming chevies.
*
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