Terrible Swift Sword
by
David Pascal
Part Two: 'Broken' (chapters 7-9)
(Note: Part Two is long, so I�m posting it on the FFML day by day in
smaller sections. 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 and get the whole piece there
� and really ought to, since it�s much more readably formatted.
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.)
Comments should be directed to: davidpascal@juno.com.)
7.
In the year 2403, when Ahab Pierce was thirteen, he took Gel by the hand
and jumped off the supply wagon heading into Merrysville just after
sunset. It took over six months. Six months of planning and waiting and
preparing, of putting false clues and mis-directions in place. But it
worked. He�d escaped. He was free � they were free!
They hit the ground together. Gel stumbled. Ahab caught her. They were
the same height now, the same size, like brother and sister. That�s what
she had called him one evening, after he�d worked days upon days on
upgrading her processors � oniisama � big brother. He was the big
brother now; he looked at her, her beautiful face. She was depending on
him. He hugged her, and looked up in joy at the pinpricks of stars
beginning to wink happily through the deepening blue of the sky.
He pressed his face against hers. He laughed. It had been simple.
Simple! He�d studied chemical and medical texts and worked out a way to
produce an easy form of food poisoning, one that would make it like some
communicable disease was being spread. The doctor in the place where he
was being guarded was the first to be infected. Then Ahab himself began
to fake the symptoms. The guards � only four! it was the fourth of July
weekend and the rest were on furlough -- couldn�t take the chance he�d
die. They drove him to the Georgetown hospital a clinic. On the way
he�d sprayed them with a perfume atomizer he�d filled with the poison.
They fell over themselves within seconds. He grabbed Gel and ran out the
coach door � straight back to the house where he had trained and studied
morning to night under guard for the past seven years.
Ahab had laid out an extensive meticulous plan for getting as far away
from New Washington as possible � and hidden it where any clod could find
it. The clods would, he knew, and follow the false trail, while Ahab and
Gel headed straight back towards the house, and hid there right under
their noses. There was shed out back where the soldiers put a room-full
of furniture that had been damaged in a small fire Ahab had
�accidentally� set. A local tradesman was picking it up in an hour. It
was slightly charred, which spoiled it for the elegant residents of
Georgetown, but he could always get a good penny trading it to travelling
salesmen willing to polish it up and bring Washington�s cast-offs to the
people in the outback. Ahab and Gel ran in the midnight dark to it,
rapidly, silently. Guards would have spotted them from the windows
normally � but the guards weren�t watching tonight.
Ahab picked Gel up � she was frail and light, not a Saber � and put her
over the fence and jumped it, and the two of them curled up in a large
dresser. They lay inside in the dark, listening, till eventually two of
the tradesman�s movers arrived and began to yank and stamp around. The
movers sang and joked and loading up a covered wagon with the discarded
furniture curled up in a large dresser. Ahab and Gel lay inside in the
dark, listening to the workers grunt and finish tying down. Finally the
wagon pulled away. Ahab could hear the sound of chevies clopping down
the street as they left. Had the guards been found? Would the wagon be
stopped? Searched? But no � the tradesman�s wagon rambled casually down
the street, and over to the dock beside Lake Potomac, where the
tradesman�s boats all lay. The movers, grumpy now that their drinks
earlier had begun wearing off, shoved the furnishings onto the barge for
Merrysville, took payment, raggedly signed their X to a piece of paper,
and wandered off in search of beer.
Merrysville was a boom town. A rich vein of plasma had been struck a
year ago, and by luck the original location was beside a river connecting
into distant Lake Potomac itself. In six months the population had
tripled twice over, and in a year the plasma had begun to tap out. The
serious miners had begun to drift elsewhere, and Merrysville now catered
exclusively to the leftovers -- panhandlers, claim jumpers, gamblers, con
artists, and miners looking for a spree. Gambling halls, saloons, and
dollhouses had eased out most all other businesses, and rare was the
night when two or three people didn�t end up shot in the street. As long
as money rolled in, the town officials looked the other way.
Ahab walked down the street, his hand in Gel�s, amazed. He understood,
abstractly, that this was how things were, how people existed � without
walls, without electrified fences, without guards or surveillance. But
he�d never seen it. He couldn�t quite grasp it. These people � went
where they wanted to go and did what they wanted to do. Whatever they
wanted to do! No one stopped them. No one watched them. They were free
� as free as he had ever dreamed of being.
But�they seemed � they seemed insane. He and Gel stood on the porch of a
barber shop. He stood looking at people like a naturalist studying some
astonishing new variety of insect. There were drunks stumbling over
themselves, lying in their own vomit in corners. Men rolled out of
saloon doors, cursing and punching and kicking, while other men strolled
by them, indifferent. He saw legless veterans panhandling from
passersby, and small boys picking pockets and running. Marionettes
sporting per-hour price tags and mesh stockings and brassieres stumbled
stumbled jerkily in circles in front of hotels. Riders would roar in on
their chevies and toss the bottle they�d just finished into the air and
blow it to pieces with their six-shooters and scream old Cherokee cries.
No one seemed to be acting � logically.
He walked arm-in-arm with Gel down the street, holding her closely, past
where a circle of men were standing and squatting and laughing and
hollering. Between them he could see a flurry of feathers and red
spurts. Gel approached nearer and bent her head. Inside the circle the
men had set two roosters fighting. The roosters slashed and cut each
other with their claws, leaping and screeching. One�s eye was torn out,
and with a jerking swoop the other rooster flapped down and tore out the
other eye, leaving only a red hole. The blind chicken screeched and
shook its head from left to right. Half the men cheered and applauded,
as betting money changed hands and the blinded rooster hopped in clumsy
weakening circles and shook its ravaged face.
Ahab took Gel by the arm. �Iie, Gel-chan. Let�s � let�s find a room.�
They walked down the street, taking and receiving curious glances, till
Ahab spotted a large house with a board that had a sign with the words
�ROOMS� painted in red nailed over the door. He brought Gel in with him.
It was a small cramped room with what had to be two dozen scrawny
ill-assorted cats sleeping, strolling, and hopping atop the love seat
serving as foyer. Taken a bit aback, Ahab walked up to the counter.
Behind it was an unshaven slack-faced desk clerk in a rocking chair,
polishing a sawed-off shotgun.
�Whuts gon be?� said the clerk.
�We want a room. To sleep in.�
The clerk gave them a weird look. Ahab was still in his white laboratory
coat with six pens and pencils in the breast pocket. Gel wore a blue
sailor suit and patent leather shoes. �That an andy?� The clerk smiled
and sucked a molar. �Half buck, half hour.�
�Half what?�
�Half a buck, half an -- .�
�I heard you. What�s a �buck�?�
�Are you funnin� me, boy?�
�I � don�t understand -- ? Do I need this �buck� in order to get
accommodations?�
�You �spect folks�re gon give you a room to stay fer nothin�?�
Ahab was puzzled. �They always have before.�
�Get the hell out of here, punk,� mumbled the clerk, turning away. He
coughed up some spit and launched it into a spitoon, and sat back down in
his rocking chair. �Town�s getting� crazier-assed every weekend,� he
muttered.
�Wait!� said Ahab. �You want � you want something in return for the use
of the room. Correct?�
�Yeah. �Correct�. You got something?�
Ahab searched his pockets. He had nothing. He said, �How about � how
about if I reviewed the ergonomics of your architectural layout?�
�Huh?�
�The arrangement of furniture and various items and � uh � wildife in
your establishment. It�s � it�s obviously inefficient. An analysis of
the relative space-to-content ratios inside would probably open up
additional -- .�
�What the fuck are you talk � ? Get the hell out of here, �fore I blows
your smarty-pants little ass off!�
The clerk pointed the shotgun at Ahab. Gel walked quietly in front of
him, and put her arms straight out at her side, like Christ, to shield
him.
The clerk looked at her huge-eyed face, dumbfounded. Ahab, panicking,
reached behind himself and grabbed a cat on the arm of the divan and
flung it at the clerk. It landed perfectly and with an expression of
perfect serenity atop the man�s head, and all four claws dug into his
scalp like mountainneers� picks. �AAAOOOOO!� he yowled, and dropped the
shotgun trying to pull the cat up. It shrieked and dug in all the
harder. �AAAOOOIIEEEEEEEEEE!� Ahab grabbed Gel�s arm and pulled her
out the door in a split microsecond.
They ran down the dark street like blazes, around corners, behind
buildings, over a fence, and finally stopped behind a hardware store
porch next to a saloon. Ahab couldn�t run any farther. He placed his
hand on his chest, to calm down his breathing. He�d run five long
minutes. He�d never run so long or so far in his life. He looked at
Gel. And suddenly he began to laugh.
�Did you see the look on his face -- ,� said Ahab, clapping his hands on
his knees and laughing.
�The expression on the face of the cat. Was topographically similar,�
said Gel.
Ahab laughed so hard it began to hurt. But � he couldn�t stop. Gel had
never seen him react like that before. She observed him closely, and
then opened her mouth and did something she had never done before too.
She tilted her head said: �Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.� She closed her mouth.
Ahab stopped and stared. Then � he burst out laughing again.
�Well, you two youngsters do seem to be having a good time,� said a rich
pleasant voice.
Ahab turned.
�How d�you do,� said a tall blond cowboy. �Jody Mix is my handle.� He
was out of shape, with the belly inside his checked shirt hanging well
over his Buffalo Bill Cody belt buckle. And his cowboy hat was pitched
so far back on his head it was a wonder it didn�t fall off. But he had a
big smile and an open expression, and when Ahab took the hand that he�d
stuck out, a hearty handshake followed.
�Say, how come you two young uns are out so late? Aintcher Poppa gonna
worry? This ain�t the safest place in Merryville for young boys and
fillies to be at night, y�know.�
�No,� said Ahab, still half-laughing. �No, I�m afraid I don�t. My
companion and I are new to your � very amusing metropolis. Mister Mix,�
he said.
�New!�
�Yes, that�s right. We were just trying to get a room,� said Ahab, and
began to laugh again. He forced himself to stop, barely. �But perhaps
we should try elsewhere.�
�Why, what was the problem?�
�We don�t have any �bucks�.�
�You don�t have any friends round here�ll put you up?�
�I�m afraid not,� said Ahab.
�My my my � that is a problem, hereabouts.� He rubbed his dimpled chin.
�But I tell you what. I believe I know a place that�d put up a young
couple for the evening. You�d have to work it off, of course � washin� a
few dishes, maybe some moppin�. But it�s a dee-lightful establishment.
Vittles sweet as honey ham! -- Interested?�
Ahab looked at Gel. He smiled. He knew things would go right. He�d
felt it.
�Interested?� said Ahab. �Mister Mix, we are fascinated! Thank you,� he
said. �Thank you � my friend. Where is this �dee-lightful
establishment�?�
Mix chuckled. He bowed, sweeping his arm under his waist. �Right down
the road, young master,� he said. �C�mon.�
They got up and Mix led the way down the street. �I got to tell you,� he
said, confidentially, �I ain�t no saint. The folks that own the place?
They toss me a quarter for every late-nighter I bring in.� He shrugged
comically. �A man�s gotta eat, right? A man�s got to feed his appetite,
don�t he?�
Ahab laughed. �That�s fine with me, Mister Mix.�
�My friends call me Jody.�
�Jody,� said Ahab.
�Here, we can cut through this alley, here, save ourself a few steps.�
They turned into a dark crevice between a closed emporium and a tall Doll
House. Mix led the way. Ahab looked at Gel. Moonlight streamed down
over her features, giving them an almost spiritual halo. He put his arm
around her waist. �Mister Mix, would there possibly be any strawberry
ice cream at this establishment? All my life I�ve wanted to taste
strawberry ice cr -- .�
Mix�s elbow smashed backward into Ahab�s face with the force of a iron
mallet. Ahab�s cheekbone broke instantly, long with several teeth that
went stumbling across his tongue, like broken glass.. He fell flat on
his back, astonished. Astonished and stunned by pain.
He felt his leg jerk up. Mix had grabbed it by the pants cuff. �Shucks,
now didn�t I tell you that my friends call me �Jody� and not �Mister�?
Dang -- you must not be my friend.� He pulled Ahab by the leg around the
back corner of the emporium. It was a black stretch of space, about ten
feet by ten feet square. A man in a cowboy hat was standing there,
smoking a cigarette in the shadows.
�Hee hee! Looks I found us some girls for the evening, Jake,� said Mix.
�Blond and brunette!�
Ahab noticed a streak of something pass over him. It was � Gel. She was
striking her fists against Mix�s back. He felt as though he were being
patted with a flyswatter. Mix chuckled. �Lookit that, Jake! I never
seen one do that.�
�You OK?� mumbled the man with the cigarette.
�Hee hee! Relax, she ain�t got strength enough to crack a dew nut.�
�Dzhelll�� said Ahab, garbled vowels and bloodied teeth spilling over his
lips. He twisted. Mix let his leg drop. Ahab rolled onto his side and
tried to push himself up. He stood up on two legs, staggering.
The man with Mix stepped out of the shadows. He was unshaven and had
black hair and a red neckerchief. He threw away the cigarette.
�I want the blond,� he said.
�Do help yourself!�
Ahab launched himself at Mix, who was holding Gel by the wrists. The
man with the neckerchief grabbed Ahab by the hair before he got half way
over. He threw a hard left hook and a right cross into Ahab�s face and
head, followed by two uppercuts to the abdomen. Ahab hit the ground. He
remained conscious long enough to feel two ribs snap as a cowboy boot
rammed down into them, repeatedly. Distantly, he could hear a stream of
Gel�s gentle Japanese. Then he felt, saw, knew, nothing.
The black-haired cowboy looked down, smirked, and began unbuckling his
belt and taking his pants down.
�Hey Jake -- forgit that little punk. Check this out.�
Mix was running his fingers down along Gel�s arm and then up her leg.
�Damn if I can feel so much as a gol-durned seam! Lookit this skin,
Jake. Shit, I ain�t never seen nothin� like it. She�s smoother�n
fresh-churned butter, and warmer than a baby kitten.� He laughed,
�Hee-hee!�, tearing away the shoulder of her sailor suit blouse. �She�s
really special!�
The black-haired cowboy turned and looked at Gel, and then back at Ahab,
and then again at Gel. �Yeah?� he said, moseying over�
Ahab woke up several hours later, just before dawn. He lay on his back,
staring up through blue, swollen eyes at hard, precise stars in the deep
purple sky. At one at the same time he felt incredibly, almost
mystically distant, as though he were a ghost looking down at his body,
and also in more pain than he had ever been in his life. He could barely
even recognize it as pain, it was so immense, so alien. His face and
ribs felt as though they were being seared on a barbeque; they felt
impossibly huge and heavy, as though someone had set huge thick girders
directly underneath his skin. His face felt like a hundred pounds of
stone. He heard a weird, racked sound, like a falling accordion. He
tried to define it. It was his breathing.
He tried to say �Gel� and nearly wept as the movement broke open the
dried blood on his cracked lips. But he didn�t. He clamped down on his
teeth, or what was left of his teeth, and rolled over and tried to stand
up. It was as though pain were some infinite dazzling river and he was
trying to swim it upstream, stroke by bright stroke. His fingers
scrambled in the dust like a scorpion. He gurgled. �Gel��
His left eye was swollen and ripe purple, but through it he could see two
bands of something pale and golden behind a barrel�legs?�Gel?�He rose up,
focusing all his concentration not to cry out, not to faint, and stood up
curled and bent, his arms nursing his ribs. He turned his head up, and
shuffled himself toward the golden color.
Yes, it was a pair of legs. Yes -- they were Gel�s. One lay straight
out, the foot snapped; the other was bent and twisted into an L-shape
impossible for a human leg to assume. He whimpered a noise and staggered
closer. She was lying puppet-like, half-propped up against the wall.
She was naked. Ahab had never seen her naked. And she was broken. Her
left arm had been snapped off and was lying several feet away, barely
connected by bright strings of copper wire. Her breasts had been hacked
off and thrown away. Two long deep bloodless cuts slashed across her
face like mud cracks, and a set of deep Bowie Knife slices criss-crossed
repeatedly across her pubic area. Her left eye had been gouged out,
leaving only a dull red pulsing electronic glow behind it. Thick bunches
of her long black hair had been torn out of her head.
The remaining eye was operative. And when Ahab came within the proper
distance, it focused on him and her head swerved up at a freak angle to
face him, with a high-pitched whirrrrrrr. �Ko-ni. Ch�chi-wa,
A-hab-sa�sa-ma. I hope. You slept. Well.�
Ahab dragged himself closer. Gel was splashed with and lying in
something golden. Brief strings of something white and slimy hung from
her face. He approached closer and recognized the smell of urine and
sperm.
He reached her and knelt beside her. He turned his face away. He could
not look at her. He began to whimper quietly, deep gasping sobs that
sent lightning spasms of pain through his side. He drew his two
trembling hands up and began to unbutton the front of his no longer white
laboratory coat. With an animal whimper he shrugged it off his
shoulders, and reached around and pulled it free. He still could not
look Gel in the face. He knelt in front of her, working the sleeve of
the jacket between his thumb and fingers like a rosary for a moment, and
then brought up the sleeve to wipe her face clean. The face looked at
him, unmoving. Then he pulled her close to him in order to put the lab
coat around her shoulders and cover her. The coat covered her shoulder,
and she was so close�so close�Ahab threw his arms around her, pressing
her close, tears streaming from his shut eyes.
�Gomen nasai�� he whispered -- I�m sorry. �Gomen nasai.�
Gel�s head turned, and returned, and turned, and returned. �Ex-plain?�
she said. �Ex-plain?�
He let go and gently drew the coat closer around her. �I�ll explain
later. Darling.�
�Have you. Planned. The d-day�s. I-tin. I-tin.� A glob of black oil
curled over her lower lip and ran down her chin. �I- i-tin-er-ar-y,
A-hab-s-sa�sa-ma?�
�Yes,� he said. He pulled up his shirt, and quietly wiped the black
stain from her lips with the tail of his shirt. The light of dawn
streaked down from some direction. Somewhere a rooster crowed, and in
the distance the piano in an all-night honky-tonk played Folsom Prison
Blues. Down the alley way, out in the street, he could see a glimpse of
them walking. The others. The humans. A chevy trotted past, and then
three or four wandering chickens, and then two boys with cap pistols
taking shots at a passing stumbling marionette hauling two buckets of
water. They laughed. He looked at Gel and wiped the rest of stains from
her chin. He looked at the stained cloth in his hand, and an immense
darkness entered his soul. He made himself smile. �We�re going back
home, dear,� he said
Gel�s head swivelled toward him. She stared up into his eyes. Her
cracked lips parted.
A sound came out.
�Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.�
8
Forty-eight years later, an android named Belt drove a buckboard rig
quietly down the main street of Jacksonville, drawing no particular
attention. She was just another dusty weather-beaten newcomer in a
chevy-hide longcoat, with the collar up and a grey two-gallon hat pulled
down low over her head. Fall and Billy sat in the back, not looking at
one another, not speaking. Billy stared at the floor of the buckboard,
and Fall�s downcast eyes flicked sometimes over Billy�s and sometimes,
startled, at all the things and people along the street. Jacksonville
was not a out-of-the-way watering hole like Red Hat, but an actual town
with maybe a good thousand or two people in it. The main street was full
of shops and hardware stores and emporiums and livery stables and even an
actual lending library. Old men stood around barrels telling tales of
the Civil War, young boys played in the streets, and preachers and
politicians and travelling salesmen held forth on street corners with
booming oratory, sometimes ducking cabbages and tomatoes.
But most amazing of all to Fall were the marionettes. There were dozens
of them. Dozens and dozens and dozens, mechanically sweeping up in front
of shops or beating dust out of carpets strung on hitching posts, or
standing holding chevies� reins till their master returned, or sometimes
even carrying turquoise parasols and walking in elegant Victorian dresses
arm in arm with men. Some, the rich men�s dolls, looked as human as
Fall, and even smiled. Some were wooden and walked along in crippled
jerks. One was daubing iodine on a small boy�s scraped knee, and stroked
his hair. Most all were slim and young and pretty, and wore long dresses
down to the ground, and blouses that entirely covered up their arms and
were buttoned up to the neck. She was surprised when they passed one
building with two marionettes outside who seemed naked except for black
stockings and black arm-length gloves. They both wore white wooden signs
hung from their neck that said �Ride �Em Cowboy! One Dollar A Half Hour�
in hand-painted red. They looked out expressionlessly from heavily
lipsticked and mascara�d faces. They were silent. All the marionettes
were silent, noticed Fall. The men laughed and cussed and argued and
swore, but all of the marionettes were silent.
A small freckled blond boy ran up next to Belt and said, �Lookin� for a
good livery stable, Mister? We got one open stall left. Fit these two
fine beauties of yor�n right nice,� he said, then hesitated, as he
noticed the bleeding scars along the chevies hindquarters and their
exhausted tread.
�It private?� growled Belt, behind her coat collar. �Secure?�
�Uh�heck yes, Mister! No one�ll bother your chevies there. Guaranteed.
Shoot, I�ll guard �em personal for an extra nickel!� He pointed at his
chest proudly with his thumb. �Ain�t nobody gonna give you no trouble
round here with Ephraim Levi to protect you!�
�Where?�
�Right round that corner there, sir.� He ran up to the nearest chevy and
grabbed the side of the bit between her teeth. �C�mon, darlin�,� he
said, and made a kiss-noise. �C�mon.� The scared-looking chevy tugged
back away for a moment, but Ephraim patted her head and talked to her and
the chevy gave him a goofy chevy mile and licked his hand. He led her
down the street and around the corner.
When they reached the livery stable, Ephraim pulled out a key chain from
his pocket and continued his spiel. �This is Josiah Levi�s Livery
Stable, that�s my Poppa, Josiah Levi, and he�s runs the best livery
stable east of Saskatoon, and I ain�t lying, Mister, we�ve put up the
noble beasts of some mighty important folks here, all right, mighty
important, big-name politicians and travelling artistes and even a
Confederate general once, yes sir, who shooked hands once with the great
Josiah Royce hisself, and � .�
He pulled open the door and led the chevies and the buckboard in over the
matted straw along the floor, and knotted the rein across a hitching
post, and turned and went back to the stable doors. �And if you�d like,
sir, I can brush down their coats too. Ain�t nothing that gives a man
more pride than sashaying down the street in front of a well-groomed
shiny chevy, my Poppa always says,� said Ephraim, closing the doors, �and
it�s only a small additional charge of -- .�
He turned. Belt�s hand was around his throat instantly, and lifted him
straight up into the air and slammed him against the door, which shut
instantly.
�Don�t kill him!� shouted Billy.
Belt removed her hat with her free hand, and threw it to the side
casually. She looked up into the terrified eyes of the boy.
�You hear what I say?� said Billy
Belt looked over at Billy with all the contempt of the professional. She
squeezed the boy�s throat. He gurgled and his eyes rolled up and
fluttered. They closed. She let go, and the boy fell to the ground in a
rumpled pile. �He�ll be out for a few hours,� said Belt. She turned to
Billy and crossed her arms over her chest.
�Well? Here we are, �Darling�. Home sweet home. What now?�
Billy stood up quietly and bent over and put his hand on the side of the
buckboard to jump off. His hand went almost by itself to the neckerchief
tied around his head, but he caught himself. His hand curled into a
fist. He couldn�t touch himself there -- not there. He hopped off
quietly, and stood there, looking at the ground. He chewed his lower
lip, and seemed to be preparing to say something. Instead he turned and
shuffled over to the door, looking down at the straw over the floor all
the way, and mumbled, �I � I got to go see the Reverend. You two, you
take care of McCabe. Lock this door up after I leave.� He didn�t look
back at Belt�s withering stare; he looked up and over at Fall. She
instantly looked away. �I�ll be back�� he said. He flexed and unflexed
his fist. �I will, I promise.�
He let himself out the door and turned his head. �I promise,� he said.
He quietly shut the door.
9
�Captain Skinner�s headed into Jacksonville, Sergeant Holt. No doubt
about it.�
Holt nodded. He stared in the direction of Jacksonville with his one
good eye. Although �good� would not be the way most people would
describe it. Like the rest of his face, it was hard, focused, and
utterly pitiless. A collective groan had gone up among the men once
Private Matthews had gotten them together and given them Skinner�s
instructions. They�d thought it was all over, but it wasn�t. And when
they�d gotten themselves all together, the ranking officer turned out to
be Sergeant Major Elijah Holt. The lunatic.
Holt had lost everything in the war. As a young man he�d inherited his
Poppa�s farm near Cheektowaga. He was the �elder brother�, which is to
say, his Poppa had requested and gotten six genetically related clones
issued at three-year intervals to serve as family and farm hands. They
worked the land and fed the stock and endured the often harsh lash of
their Poppa�s Old Testament fundamentalism. But the land was beautiful
and the work was good and he loved his brothers and his Poppa and most
especially his youngest brother, Jessie, who was as sweet a child as
Cheektowaga had ever seen. Poppa pretty much ignored Jessie. Jessie was
puny, clever, and cheerful, none of which helped chop logs or milk cows.
Elijah had had more or less to take on the responsibility of raising him,
which he did. He did so gladly. Jessie was cleverer than all of them
put together, felt Elijah. He�d be a preacher one day, or a doctor �
maybe even a Senator.
But then the war came. And Holt and his older brothers were called up to
fight for the Union. Holt knew nothing about the war or the reasons
behind it. He only knew that if he went into battle he might be shot,
and if he refused to go, he would definitely be shot. So he got his
Poppa�s blessing, and patted little Jessie�s head for the last time, and
headed South, where one by one he watched his brothers get shot in the
head, or bayoneted through the belly or blown up by cannon ball fire.
Ten weeks before the war�s end, a Rebel soldier whom the squad had
tracked down jumped down on Elijah from a tree branch and stuck a knife
in his eye. Elijah woke up in an Army bed two weeks later and lay there
for two months, hating the Confederate Rebels with all the passion in his
heart. Upon recovery, he received his first furlough in nine years and
went home. Home -- he rode over the beautiful green fields and the
sunlit ranges, thinking of how tall Jessie must have grown and how wise
all that book-learning must have made him, and when he turned the last
ridge he came across a scorched field. The house, the barn, the stables
� nothing remained but charred black posts and the whistling wind
murmuring through jumbled stretches of blackened chicken wire.
He rode wild-eyed into the town, where the sheriff and two deputies
eventually had to beat him silent and throw him into a cell. The sheriff
was a one-armed man, a former Union sergeant. He explained. The
Confederate troops came over the ridge one day, and the Union troops
threw them back, and the Confederates came again, and the Union troops
scorched the earth, so the Confederates would have no food to eat, no
bounty to loot. It worked. The Confederates withdrew. Cleaning up, the
townsfolk found Elijah�s Poppa gut shot. Jessie�s body was never found.
Elijah got drunk and stayed drunk till he ran out of money. Then he
rejoined the Union Army up at Mendon. He had no where else to go. And
the Union Army still had Confederate scum to mop up. He wanted to help.
He wanted to find Confederates and cut out their eyes too, and burn their
fields and houses too, and kill their little brothers too. He wanted to
drive his bayonet through the belly of every last grey uniform on the
face of the earth. He was a fanatic, and after a number of unpleasant
incidents it was decided he would be assigned to someplace far away from
civilians as possible, preferably under a commander sufficiently more
vicious than himself to contain him. He ended up at the Enclosure under
the command of Ezekial P. Skinner.
Skinner had made Private Matthews into Sergeant Matthews, but Holt was
Sergeant Major Holt. And so Holt was the ranking officer of the remains
of Skinner�s unit. And so he was in command. Private Matthews prayed,
prayed, that Holt would stay outside of Jacksonville till Skinner gave
word. Outside New Washington, over three-quarters of the people of New
Texas had fought in one way or another for the South. The Sheriff and
his deputies would be on their side, but there had to be hundreds of
ex-Confederates or sympathizers in a town large as Jacksonville this far
South. Not to mention those unbelievable God-damned andys. The unit
still had one anti-marionette missile launcher and some high-tech
doo-dads. But not enough to stand off these andys, not to say the whole
town on top. If they went in and started shooting, there�d be a
bloodbath. And it�d be their blood.
Holt sat atop his chevy, staring down into Jacksonville through his
single unscarred eye. Treasonous, rebel-loving Jacksonville. Den of
Judases. Pit of Iniquity.
�Sir,� said Matthews, �begging your pardon, sir, but if I may� Captain
Skinner didn�t specifically request that we enter Jacksonville�in fact I
believe Captain Skinner would have wanted us to wait outside for further
orders�I really do believe those were his intentions�we oughn�t to go in
half-cocked, sir, is all I�m saying�Sir?�
Major Sergeant Holt removed his army-issue long-barrel Colt revolver and
looked at it and checked to see it was fully loaded. He lifted it beside
his head, pointing its long steel barrel straight up. �We ain�t goin� in
half-cocked,� he said. He pulled back the hammer with a loud click.
�We�re going in fully cocked. Right now.�
*