Preface
Slog
started life as a short story– basically just Part I of the IV parts below. It
was one of my earliest pieces of short fiction. It ended, by design, with the
main characters left hanging. So, it was fairly easy to continue the tale with
one sequel and then with another and another; almost by accident I had a novel
on my hands. To date, it remains my only novel-length fiction, though I have
written dozens of short stories including a couple of which are almost
novellas. Slog both gains and suffers, I think, from being an early youthful
work. Back in 2001 I made a stab at revising the novel for publication, but
found that I could do little to address its flaws without damaging the merits,
too. Other than updating a few technological references, I let it stand. (The print version remains available from me directly, in case this online version stirs your interest in owning one
– which, yes, is one reason I’m posting it.) Very much the same considerations
restrained my reediting for the 2013 version below. So here, for better or
worse, with only minor tweaks to the original, is Slog.
SLOG
Part I
Sweat
History is a pack of lies. “Bunk” was Henry Ford’s famous
monosyllable. The official version flatters the powerful. The revisionist
version flatters those striving for power. Politics. I should know. I made up
most of the lies myself for both camps in what is now called Morrisbourg. Just
for fun, here I intend to tell the truth – or at least such parts of it that
don’t embarrass me too much. My name is George Custer. No, not that one.
Another one. One of the advantages to these times is that only a few people
know enough really old bunk to make jokes about my name.
Time is creeping up on me. The memories of my youth are much
more vivid to me than what happened last week. My grandfather used to say that,
which is a particularly unsettling vivid memory. It seems only yesterday that I
sat by the edge of the swamp and skipped stones across the black water. Ripples
on the surface flashed red from the rising sun. The temperature had cooled to
90 degrees overnight – or rather 32 on the only scale for which anyone under
age 30 has a feel anymore. A five meter long alligator lay motionless in the
early morning shade on a narrow strip of beach.
The flying insects were enormous by the standards of the old
days. A dragonfly with a one-foot wingspan hovered over an algal mat. After the
climate change, many insects reverted to ancient forms. This strikes me as odd,
since it was always this hot in equatorial regions, and the bugs of last
century remained small in those parts. Somehow the movement of the subtropical
bands north and south triggered the change, possibly by activating dormant
genes. The insects were lucky. All that human genes had to say was that they
world had grown too hot.
The humidity, as usual, was near 80%. The temperature
typically hit 120 at midday. Even the dragonflies seek shade. An eerie quiet
descends. Then a breeze picks up in mid-afternoon, and insect wings resume
their roar.
Climatologists once enjoyed arguing about the contributing
factors in natural swings in earth’s climate evidenced in the geological
record. They also argued over just how much human activity was warming the
planet. The sun played a mean trick on them. It proved itself to be a variable
star of an atypical type. While the climatologists’ theories may well have had
merit as far as they went, when the sun without warning suddenly began burning
hotter, it overwhelmed all other influences. The effects were devastating.
Unexpectedly, disease initially was the biggest killer. Some diseases were
known, such as Marburg
A handful of northern governments remained intact throughout
the chaos enough to preserve a tiny fraction of their population and some
semblance of order within a small portion of their territories. Most survivors,
though, were like me: living alone in a wilderness of jungle growth and ruined
cities. My jungle was New Jersey Garden State
I made my home in Morristown
I turned away from the languid bayou waters and walked up
the narrow path formerly known as Pine
Street South Street
I trudged up the stairs for my daily scraping chore on the roof.
The solar cells powered an air conditioner and a few other circuits, but they
required constant maintenance. Fungi and green plants spread rapidly over the
panels. The air conditioner kept the temperature inside the theater under 100.
As I emerged onto the roof, I saw Joelle standing by the edge. She was peering
through the canopy.
Joelle was the first of the new arrivals in Morristown Morris Street Morris Street
I sat there gaping until she tried another question. “What’s
your name” she asked.
“Uh, George. Miss, what are you doing here?”
“I’m Joelle. Joelle Perrault, not that you asked. I’m here
because this is where it’s at.”
“Where what is at?” I asked.
“The frontier. The frontier is always where it’s at. Why, am
I not welcome?”
The question diverted me from asking “The frontier of what?”
A frontier presupposes the existence of something on one side of it. As far as
I knew, Morristown
“Maybe later.”
What we did instead was haul her supplies back to my home.
It took four trips. In addition to a cache of arms, which I deemed sensible,
she had brought trunks full of more clothes and scented potions than I thought
altogether necessary. She wouldn’t elaborate further on what was so appealing
about this particular “frontier.” For me, it was home, and always had been, but
if I ever chose to travel I expected to go north. When I pressed her about it,
she simply shrugged. Those shoulders were cute and she deflected many an
inquiry with them in the days that followed.
Joelle revealed little about herself. She said she was
Belgian, and her accent gave the claim support. She said her father had sailed
for North America when she was a little girl,
hoping to find something better. Instead, he had found a shattered and
overgrown world little different than what they had left behind.
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“Gone,” she said, and shrugged again.
Joelle was suitably impressed by my expertise at having made
the theater habitable. There was solar electric power supplying functional
appliances – and, the plumbing worked, though only because I had bypassed the
sewer in a way a Health Department, if one existed, would not have approved.
I dealt with the awkwardness of negotiating sleeping
arrangements that night by avoiding the subject. Though mine was the only bed
and mattress, there were plenty of cushioned surfaces including sofas for her
to select, so I simply told her to make herself at home wherever she chose.
Against my expectation, she chose to slide into bed with me. I didn’t object.
It was clear that she was more experienced than I. I didn’t object to that
either. She couldn’t possibly have been less experienced than I, even though I
was pushing 30. Did I mention that prior to her arrival I was the town’s only
resident?
Thoughts of that first night together came back to me as I
stood on the rooftop and watched her delicate form lean over the rail.
“I wouldn’t rely on that rail’s sturdiness,” I said.
“Banana trees,” she said in response.
“What? Where?”
“I mean they would grow well here.”
“Uh, yes. I suppose they would.”
“Iguanas are in the trees,” she added.
“Yes, I’ve seen them. In fact, I’ve roasted a few over the
years.”
Fauna and flora were a favorite topic of hers. She once
carried on for most of an evening about how many catfish were in the local
waters. I hate catfish.
On this morning my thoughts were not on iguanas or catfish
but on the latest arrival in Morristown
To this day I am deeply suspicious of the name Ulysses S.
Johnston even though the man stuck to its use tenaciously. I encountered him
while examining the condition of the old post office building, located across
from a former park that once was the center of town. The park was called the
Green, which wasn’t ironic when originally named. Joelle had expressed interest
in the building’s habitability. To my
surprise, I saw a barrel-chested man in apparently robust health striding
toward me.
“Hello sir!” he shouted to me in a booming voice. He wore
mud-stained cotton that was bright white in the clean patches. He carried .45
automatic in a hip holster.
When I reached out my hand and said I was George Custer, he
smiled and exclaimed, “Pleased to meet you, General!”
He paused for a few moments, and then announced himself as
“Ulysses S. Johnston,” thereby instantly outranking my namesake in two armies.
A dark beard truly gave him a somewhat Grantean aspect. So, I later learned,
did a fondness for alcohol.
Ulysses, or whatever his real name might have been, led me
to his boat to meet his companion, a man who, then and later, made a point of
staying in the background. The boat, tied up at Spring Street, was a 24-foot
launch laden with ropes, crates, winches, and two .30 caliber machine guns. At
the stern, a flagpole flew the Jolly Roger. “Excuse my playfulness with the
colors,” he said. I later had cause to doubt that playfulness had anything to
do with it. His companion leaned on one of the machine guns and glared at me as
we approached. “Marcel, this is George Custer,” Ulysses said with a snicker. “I
told him he could call me Ulysses.”
“Hi, Marcel,” I said.
Marcel nodded and grunted in reply, which proved to be his
usual standard of loquacity.
“What kind of engines are on the boat?” I asked.
“Twin sixty horsepower,” Ulysses said. “More power than is
useful in these bayous, of course, but they’re good to have in the open. My
yacht is moored downriver. It’s too big to make it this far up the Passaic
“Uh, no.” I recounted to him Joelle’s arrival a couple of
weeks earlier, and then instantly regretted doing so.
“Well, well,” he said. “The both of you will have to join us
for dinner. I insist.”
“Why are you here, of all places?” I asked.
“I’m a salvager,” he said. “And this place is as good a
place to salvage as any.”
“What sort of salvage?”
“Anything.” He reached in a pocket and pulled out a handful
of pearl necklaces and sapphire earrings. “As you can see, I’ve already been
‘shopping.’ There are parts of the world where loot like this is still
valuable. In places like this, it was just left behind in abandoned shops.”
“The earrings clash with your eyes,” I said.
“Now you’ve hurt my feelings,” he said with a grin.
When I returned to the theater and told Joelle about the new
visitors, she insisted on frying up catfish and taking the lunch to them. “You
don’t have to go, if you don’t want to,” she said.
“Oh, I’m definitely going with you,” I answered. I
considered swapping my 9mm for a heavier caliber, but decided someone might
make the obvious joke.
When we arrived with the basket, I thought the two men
stared at Joelle rudely, but she didn’t seem to notice. I introduced them and
Ulysses invited us onto the boat.
Ulysses was expansive with Joelle, while scarcely
acknowledging me. He told her of his trips to the ruins of Lisbon
and Cherbourg and her hometown of Brussels
“You can have your own stateroom on the yacht, Joelle. The
ship is outfitted with every luxury. You can see Canada
or Greenland .”
“Isn’t a yacht a ‘boat’ regardless of its size?” I said.
Ulysses ignored me. I was feeling seriously outmatched. It
was with some astonishment that I heard her answer, “I’m staying.”
“Why?” he guffawed. “Because of the General here?”
It would have been nice if Joelle had said yes to this, but
she just shrugged, and repeated, “I’m staying.”
Ulysses looked thoughtful. He then tossed the remaining
scraps of his catfish overboard. A secondary splash indicated it had received
immediate attention in the waters. “It has been a pleasure. Thank you for the
victuals. I’ll be returning the favor before I leave. I’m sure the General told
you about my invitation.”
To my ears, the most welcome part of those statements was
the indication he would be leaving soon. Another two weeks transpired before
Ulysses’ silent companion delivered RSVP cards to the door. The cards looked as
though they had come from I bridal shop. I tried not to attach significance to
this. The cards invited us to a farewell party at the Headquarters Plaza
In many ways the Headquarters
Plaza
As I stood on the roof next to Joelle, I reminded her, “The
farewell party starts just after the rains end. I guess he’s going home
tomorrow. Are we going?”
“Of course we’re going. When is the next time we’ll get
invited to a party? The card says he’s serving ‘gator. The tails are excellent
if they’re done right.”
“Did I do it right last week?”
In reply, she shrugged. “You’d better attend to the
photoelectric panels,” she added.
I was not ready to be diverted. “I don’t like him – or trust
him,” I said.
“I know.”
“We should go armed.”
“We always go armed. Because of the wildlife,” she
specified. “You’re not planning something stupid, are you?”
“Who, me?” Lunatic, maybe, I thought to myself, but not
stupid.
My sense of foreboding was deepened by Joelle’s apparent
equanimity. My namesake is best known for a spectacular loss, but I consoled
myself that most of the time he won. He did it by moving faster than anyone
expected and hitting hard. He knew that much larger forces could be defeated if
they were caught off guard. On his last foray he failed to consider the
possibility that his opponent would be very much on guard. He should have
prepared a retreat for that eventuality – an “exit strategy.” He didn’t. His
record both of victory and defeat is instructive.
The sky grew hazy and a distant thunder grumbled.
Ulysses had not threatened me openly. Yet, I was sure my
life was in danger. Saving required taking the initiative – preparing for a
rapid attack and an even more rapid retreat. He was too cunning to fall to a
simple frontal assault. My only hope was something cockeyed and unexpected.
“I’ll be back before the rains,” I told Joelle. “I’ll get to
the panels later.”
She nodded acknowledgment. It was out of character for her
not to ask where I was going, but she didn’t. Her mind was elsewhere. A more reflective
man than I might have worried where. Or maybe not. Female pulchritude makes
most men thickheaded.
I hoped the supplies I needed would be at the old lumber
yard on Ridgedale Avenue
I carried as much as I could back to the dinghy, and motored
toward the Headquarters
Plaza
I grounded the dinghy where the building met the water and
trudged around to the front entrance. The heavy pack, on my back, the long coil
of rope on shoulder, the tools in my pockets, and the opossum tied to my belt
sapped my strength in the relentless heat. The dead animal was extra weight,
but leaving it in the dinghy was likely to attract a large predator. The glass
doors of the main entrance resisted most of my full weight before opening. I
forced them shut again behind me. An oppressive aroma of decay in the building
made me gag. Pink and blue teddy bears stared at me from behind the cracked
glass of a gift shop. At the end of the hall was the entrance to the hotel
portion of the structure. To my surprise, lights shone from inside an open
elevator. Had Ulysses fired up the hotel’s emergency generator and gotten an
elevator working? I entered the carriage and pushed the button for one floor
below the top floor. The doors slid shut. The elevator jerked and groaned, but
it rose. When the doors opened, I exited and took the stairway to the roof.
On the roof were satellite dishes that might be able to
transmit to one of the handful of functioning satellites still in geostationary
orbit. Ulysses might use them to contact his yacht; I wanted the option to
prevent that. The emergency generator was also on the roof inside a makeshift
shed that was not part of the building’s original structure. I guessed it had
been relocated here years ago when rising waters threatened to flood the
basement levels, where one or more generators most likely initially were
located. I planted dynamite under the generator connected to a timer. I didn’t
set the timer since there was no way to predict a “best” time to kill the
power. I hoped I would be able to get to the roof if things went sour. I tied off
my rope to provide an alternate, if scary, escape route from the roof to the
ground. I stored my Remington just inside the rooftop door along with capped
and fused sticks of dynamite. I returned to the elevator and descended to the
lobby. A random thought crossed my mind – it involved a long shot, but I seemed
to have a little time to experiment.
At the lobby level I exited and forced open the door of the
next elevator. I flipped the breaker switch. The power came on. As I’d hoped,
the generator supplied the whole bank of elevators, but Ulysses had activated
only one. I next found a broom in a utility closet, removed the handle, and got
in the second elevator. I climbed through the ceiling hatch of the elevator
carriage, reached down with the handle, and touched the C button. The C level,
I knew, had no more than 10 or 20 centimeters of water. Water began leaking
into the compartment as soon as the carriage stopped at C. I heard something
large sloshing around outside the doors. The doors opened and water washed in.
I dropped the possum along the back wall of the elevator, making a splash. I
hoped that the sloshing I’d heard was an alligator. It wasn’t, but it was just
as good. A monitor lizard, likely an escapee from an abandoned zoo, poked his
head in the doorway. It was a big one, probably a Komodo, measuring close to
four meters from nose to tail tip. Monitors prefer dry land generally, but
something in the garage must have attracted him. Now he had his attention on
the opossum. The creature hesitated and flicked his tongue. Then he lunged at
the bait. I reached down with the broom handle and touched the “close door”
button. It closed on the lizard’s tail and reopened. The creature hissed and
spun around, but this drew his tail into the carriage. The door shut, trapping
him inside. This had the makings of yet another diversion. It was worth the
cost of tomorrow’s lunch.
From atop the carriage I was able to reach the outer door
release to the next garage level up. I exited, found the stairs, and returned
to the lobby. I left the building, feeling I had given myself a few options. Of
course, if Ulysses simply shot me on arrival, none would help. I suspected he
had something else in mind, though I didn’t know what. Curiosity about this was
one factor preventing me from simply sniping him preemptively. Curiosity is
almost as effective as lust at enticing us to make bad decisions.
The sound of outboard motors reverberated in the thick hazy
air. Ulysses was returning. Droplets began fell on my head. The rain had become
a torrent by the time I reached home.
Joelle had started to get ready a full hour before I did.
She finished well afterward. The results were spectacular. She looked
devastating in her summer frock, white boots, perfect grooming, and AR15 rifle.
I immediately suggested blowing off the party, but she smiled and wagged a
finger “no.”
I commented that her choice of weapon was odd for someone
who thought guns were only to combat dangerous wildlife. She quoted Emerson,
“Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” I think Emerson was wrong about
that, but I chose not to argue. It gave me an excuse to choose an AK47, which
packs a greater punch with a 7.63 round than does the AR15 with a 5.56. I had
found this particular AK when exploring an abandoned house on the other side of
town. As the weapon was fully automatic, the original owner had been in
violation of New Jersey
We left the theater after the rains had finished and reached
the Headquarters Plaza
Overhead florescent lights in the hallway flickered and
hummed angrily. They created a disturbing pattern of brightness and shadows on
the walls. A Rolling Stones album played in the background. The air smelled of
cigar smoke, incense, and roasted meat. We followed the aroma. At the end of
the hall, Ulysses emerged from a side door wearing a paisley tuxedo. Joelle
laughed.
“Welcome, Mademoiselle,” he said with a deep bow. He kissed
Joelle’s hand. “You too, Colonel,” he said glancing up at me. I had been
demoted. I was well aware that that “colonel” was my namesake’s final rank.
Joelle curtsied theatrically and brushed past him into the suite. I
acknowledged Ulysses with a hand twitch and followed her, managing not to brush
the host.
The party was larger than expected. Two strangers were
inside the room. I guessed they were crewmen from Ulysses’ yacht. They wore
blue denim, sidearms, and solemn arrogance. They had all the charm of
militiamen from some Balkan civil war. They stood in front of a long table
laden with food, drink. On the wall was a homemade banner with “Crazy Horse
Saloon” written in red paint. Ulysses slapped my back as I stared at it.
The suite was large. What we were using as a banquet room
opened up to a separate bedroom with a large king size bed. I walked through it
and peered into the bathroom. It had a marble floor and a whirlpool tub. “The
nightly rate for the suite must be killing you,” I said.
“Not at all,” Ulysses answered. “It’s off-season.” He
exhaled loudly, before continuing, “Gentlemen…and lady…I can’t help noticing
that all of us are armed. Only the U>S> government thought Alcohol,
Tobacco, and Firearms belonged together. This is a social event. I must insist
we put them away. Please. Just for the party’s duration.”
“Away where? Are we supposed to give them to you for
safekeeping?” I asked.
“Why General, I do believe you don’t trust me. I suggest the
closet in back of you. You see it has a lock. You may hold the key.” The
inflection he gave “General” somehow took the re-promotion out of it. Hotel
suites don’t normally have locks on closets, so I presumed he had installed it,
and that he would hold a spare key.
He walked to the closet, held open the door, and nodded to
his minions who without hesitation put their sidearms inside. Ulysses held open
his tux jacket to reveal a pearl handled .45 revolver. He withdrew it and put
it on a closet shelf. The man just had bet his life on civilized behavior from
Joelle and me. Sometimes the man was almost likeable. Still, I was convinced
other weapons were hidden and near at hand.
Joelle shrugged and put her assault rifle in the closet. I
briefly considered delivering a lesson on the evils of gambling, but decided
that multiple murder might negatively affect Joelle’s opinion of me. I added my
AK to the stash in the closet. Ulysses shut the door, locked it with a key, and
handed the key to me. “Now we all can relax more easily,” he said.
I began to worry that this was indeed a social event and not
an ambush. If so, when the time came to leave, the lizard in the elevator might
be a problem.
I hated to admit it, but the party was fun. The last one I
attended was as a child, and the number of attendees at that one was smaller.
The music was loud, the jokes were raw, and the laughter was genuine. A fine
selection of wine and liquors flowed, though I only feigned partaking of them,
instead sticking with tea and canned soda. The soda in the undamaged cans was
still drinkable after all these years but flat. I wanted to keep my wits and
reflexes sharp. Ulysses drank freely, but seemed oddly unaffected by the
alcohol. His men drank more than moderately, but not to insensibility. They
served up roasted alligator in onion sauce from large turkey pans.
Ulysses was his boisterous self. He bragged about his ranch
on the Gold Coast of Greenland. He recounted numerous adventures including
outrunning a Russian gunboat on a chase lasting from Murmansk
Hours passed, the general level of intoxication rose, and
night fell on the world. When the windows turned completely black, Ulysses
turned off the regular lights and switched to black light. The effect was
surreal. Ulysses’ paisley tuxedo lit up in a riot of colors while Joelle’s
white took on an otherworldly glow. From cross the room she herself vanished in
the dark while her dress seems to hover in the air without an occupant, like a
ghostly scene from the movie Topper.
Huge insects fluttering against the outside of the windows also reflected an
eerie light.
There comes a point in every party when there has been one
too many drinks poured, one too many songs sung, and one too many jokes told.
Good parties wrap up when that point is reached. Bad ones continue, often
ending in drunken arguments and brutal hangovers. This one did both. Shortly
after midnight, a drunk but steady Ulysses ejected a CD in the middle of Some Girls. He switched back from black
light to white. The party was over. The crewmen resumed their default setting
of quiet attention, though one had to brace himself against the wall to stop
wavering on his feet.
Joelle and I watched with interest as Ulysses tipped a
table, spilling the raining food onto the floor. From a corner umbrella stand,
he retrieved a large map and unrolled it on the table.
“General, come look at this.”
My rank was holding steady for the moment. I was surprised
he had addressed me instead of Joelle. It was out of character. I walked to the
table, my shoes squishing in alligator marinade. The map was really a
false-color satellite image. The structures preserved the shape of Manhattan
“New York City
“Yes, obviously,” he answered while stabbing a finger at Times Square . “What do you think about it?”
“I don’t really think about it. Not often, anyway. It’s too
crowded. I’d guess as many as a few hundred crazies still live there, fighting
over the scraps. Large chunks are flooded. The steel frames are surely rusting.
It’s amazing so many of the buildings and bridges are still standing. It’s a
giant junkyard. Why? What do you think about it?”
“You see the obvious, but not the bigger picture,” he said
gruffly.
“So, show me the bigger picture. And, while you’re at it,
explain why you’re showing me rather than Joelle.”
“Parlez-vous Francais?”
“No.”
“That’s why I’m talking to you instead of the charming guest
in white,” he said. “Quebec Maine Reykjavik
“By ‘stumble’ you mean you bribed someone,” I said.
“Bribe? I prefer to think of it as a tip.”
I suddenly got why Ulysses was suspicious of Joelle. “Did
you know anything about this Joelle?”
She shrugged. The gesture was losing its cuteness.
“Can anyone her tell the difference between a Walloons and
Quebec French accent?” I asked the room at large. No one answered. “OK,” I
continued. “This is all very interesting. It’s nice to keep up with current
events. But what difference does it make? There is no USA New York Quebec
“Much more of the city is retrievable than you think,” he
said. “Nothing freezes anymore, so new water and sewer lines, where needed can
be run over ground. What you call ‘rubble’ is a vast resource for new
construction. Many of the existing buildings can be made habitable. The city
could hold a population of 10,000 within a decade. I mean productive settlers
and consumers, not the human rats living there now. Then the city can be a
springboard to resettle the South or the interior.”
“Very ambitious,” I said, “but, once again, so what? What
has this to do with me?”
Ulysses sighed in disappointment at my slowness. “Real
estate, General. All cities teeter on the brink of starvation. They need
constant supplies from the countryside – supplies this area can provide. We can
catch enough fish, lizards, and alligators to feed those thousands. We are
sitting on a treasure chest.”
I began to see Joelle’s earlier interest in bananas and
iguanas in a new light. “Let me get this straight,” I said. “You have a yacht and
an estate in Greenland , but you want to be the
proud proprietor of an alligator farm.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of “proprietor of a
colony.’”
“Come again?”
“Quebec New York Quebec ,
and 1000 square kilometers will become the personal property of whichever
signatory delivers the claim to the Land Officer in New York
“What do the other four signatories get out of it?” I asked.
“In the absence of a contract among themselves – which is
their responsibility to make – they get the good will of the claimant. In this
case, that means my good will. I will not agree to a contract, as you might
have guessed. But don’t worry, George. I’ll cut you in. Your status as a
verifiable born-and-bred resident is particularly useful, but don’t think you
are indispensable. We’ll digitally record the proceedings to prove the
signatures are not frauds. I’ve already recorded enough images of the town and
the route here to prove our presence in the location.”
“There are six of us,” I said.
“Your math is irrefutable.”
“I take it you don’t want Joelle’s signature.”
“The accent worries me,” he said. “I don’t really know her
status or what her relationship might be to the Quebec
Joelle smiled and distractedly fingered a window against
which a hat-sized moth fluttered.
“Sign, George,” he said. Don’t make me go find someone
else.”
“My I ask why you didn’t bring a fifth signatory of your
own? That seems unusually sloppy.”
“You may. I did have a fifth. He met with an unhappy
accident: terminal greed.”
One of the sailors smiled.
“What if I should meet with an unhappy accident after
signing?”
“That would be tragic. Sign the paper, George. I suggest
that your options are limited.”
I looked at his three goons and at the closet door in front
of which they stood. I nodded. Ulysses handed me a fountain pen as Marcel aimed
a camera at us that he had picked up from somewhere. I assumed hidden guns were
just as accessible to him. I signed the top line of the document. I felt like
John Hancock. The three sailors signed in turn, trading off the camera as they
did. Then Ulysses signed the bottom with a flourish.
“Excellent. Now, Colonel…” Ulysses choked off as he looked
up.
Joelle was aiming a .32 automatic at him. I haven’t a clue
to this day where it had been. “Put the camera down,” she ordered, and then
waved the men back. “Pick up the camera, George. The rules don’t limit the
signatories to five, they merely call for at least that many. Record me
signing.” She put her gun in my free hand and walked to the table. I was
ecstatic. She and I were in this together. She signed and slid the document in
the top of a boot, from which it protruded.
“Give me the gun and camera, cher, and open the closet,” she
said, waving the men away from the door. She slipped the camera strap over an
arm.
“Right.”
I took out the key and opened the door, but as I reached for
my AK, she said, “No, no. Stand with the others.” The .32 was pointed at me.
With a constriction in my chest, I backed up and stood next
to Ulysses. He favored me with a sour smile.
Joelle, facing us at all times, sidled to the closet. She
slung the AK over one shoulder and the AR over the other. She draped the
sidearm belts over the arm with the camera. The loose .45 temporarily had her
stumped, but she ended up holding it against her body with her arm. There was
something fascinating about the performance.
“I think it would be best if I don’t hear any footsteps
behind me,” said the heavily burdened Joelle as she backed out of the room. “By
the way, General,” she added, addressing Ulysses, not me, “I’m not a spy for Quebec
Ulysses was poised to lunge as Joelle exited the room, but I
tugged on his sleeve to stay put. He looked doubtful but, perhaps out of
curiosity, stood still as minutes passed. The crew, accustomed to following
orders rather than taking initiative, waited for direction. A shriek and a
clatter came from the hallway. We both hustled to the door. The hall was empty
except for sidearm belts, two loose handguns, the AR15, the camera, and the
document, which, I guessed, Joelle had removed from her boot while she waited
for the elevator – one that contained a 12-foot monitor lizard. She must have
dropped everything but the AK when faced with the lizard. This was wise. Any of
the other weapons would have annoyed it. There was no rifle fire, so she was
still running down a side hall, or the creature had caught her.
I ran for the elevators and grabbed the AR and the document.
To my surprise. Ulysses was not behind me. He must have calculated that I would
get to the AR first, and so ducked back into the room. I dove into the
stairway. Rifle fire raked the door as it swung shut behind me. There indeed
had been other weapons hidden in the suite. I ran up to the next landing and
started up the flight toward the roof. The door banged open, but I was out of
sight in this position. Multiple footsteps banged in the logical direction:
down. I reached the roof door, lit fuses on two sticks of dynamite, and placed
them on the top stair. I grabbed my Remington, which so far I hadn’t needed,
and ran to the generator. I set the timer on the generator charges and then the
one on the satellite dishes for two minutes. I heard muted gunfire beneath me,
including the distinctive rattle of an AK47. I tossed the AR off the roof, shouldered
the Remington, dropped the rope over the edge, and rappelled down the outer
wall. On any other occasion, this would have terrified me, but my supply of
terror already was being fully used. Above me I heard satisfying crumps as the
dynamite sticks detonated. Lights went out on the tenth floor, and the windows
went dark.
The rope ended five meters short of the ground. I lowered
myself as much as I could and dropped to the ground. I landed with a splat on
the muddy bayou bank next to the motor launch. Something large splashed a few
meters away. I clambered onto the boat and looked for the ignition. It was a
keyed ignition, but the key was left in it. This was a careless invitation to
thieves. I turned the key and the engines roared to life. I engaged reverse,
and the boat slid off the bank. I pushed the gear level forward and motored
east. I traveled as fast as I dared in a nighttime lit only by a sliver of
moon. It was nearly two fast: I was almost decapitated by an overhanging branch
I had failed to see in the dark. It brushed my head and removed some hairs.
Well downriver I passed a yacht, presumably Ulysses’, but
decided not to switch vessels on the off chance someone was on board. The fuel
gauges on the boat looked adequate for the full trip.
I considered what to call my colony. Morristown
didn’t sound quite right for a town in Quebec
The boat entered the Upper Bay Manhattan
SLOG
Part II: STARS
My pet monitor lizard “Luggage” posed like a statue next to
the Cave Saurum sign atop the white
marble steps. He didn’t stir and his eyes stared fixedly ahead, but I knew he
was aware of me. He preferred the hour before noon when the direct sun bleached
the steps. The length of his chain was open to doubt from the sidewalk, so he
deterred idle visitors.
The tasteful masonry structure was built in 1916 in a federal
revival style, when it was the main post office for Morristown , NJ
I’m George Custer – no relation to the 19th
century cavalry officer of the same name. I’m the proprietary Governor of much
of what once was the northern part of New
Jersey Delaware and south to the South Branch of the Raritan .
After a rough start, the colony is flourishing. The tough
survivors who had natural immunities to the diseases that ravaged North America are emerging from their hideouts in the
hills and forests, and they are settling here where the rule of law has been
reestablished. There are more of them than I ever imagined. The population of
Morrisbourg already numbers nearly 400. Folks are starting farms and opening
businesses.
At first I resented the loss of my solitude. I had grown
accustomed to being the sole resident of the town of my birth, but the truth is
that it is good to have people around again. Of course, it helps when you’re
rich. I never had experienced wealth before. When you are alone, the word
doesn’t have much meaning. Of course, modern notions of crowding are different
from what they once were. Back before the climate disaster, this little town
was home to some 20,000 people. Today there aren’t 20,000 people in all of the
former New England and Middle
Atlantic States
I reentered the mansion. It still feels strange to me that
I’m really the Governor. It wasn’t something I had planned. My wife Joelle sat
in a lawn chair in the marble entry hall. She had planned to be Governor. It didn’t work out. She wore a
two-piece orange bathing suit. A blue haze hovered over her. She was seldom
without such a cloud anymore. A pink bong with a happy face on it stood on the
floor next to the chair. On the other side of the chair was an open bottle of
banana wine. She exhaled and coughed. It wasn’t hashish today. The sweet odor
of opium drifted my way.
“Good morning, Joelle.”
She squinted at me and answered, “Hey.” She looked away and
shook her head. I got the feeling that I once again had failed to meet her
standards. “I need some more weed and more wine,” she said. “Get them today.
And the photocells on the roof need cleaning. Do it now! The fans are barely
turning. I shouldn’t have to ask you these things. You can be such an ass. I
don’t know why I married you.”
Neither did I. There was no reason she couldn’t have taken
care of those chores herself while I was out collecting the rents. Since
descending into addiction, Joelle had become demanding, self-centered,
unhelpful, and mean. It was a display of weakness that contrasted sharply with
her former confident self-reliance. She hated to be alone these days, but her
alcohol and drug induced rages and general nastiness alienated all her friends
and acquaintances. They alienated me too. This wasn’t the woman I had married.
“Do you have to smoke dope right in the foyer?” I asked.
“What am I supposed to do? Hide away in some boiling hot
room upstairs? I’d like to meet anyone who comes to visit. Not that anyone does
thanks to that damn lizard of yours. I told you to get rid of him.”
“He’s my pet.” I didn’t add that he wasn’t the main reason
no one visited.
I tried to make myself angry enough to break it off with her
for good, but once again failed. We had known good times together. I had to
admit, also, that Joelle’s good looks were holding up well despite the chemical
battering and her general disregard of them. Am I so shallow as to be
influenced by that? It seems so.
“I’ll go fix the photocells,” I said.
“Don’t break any this time! At least Ulysses didn’t trip
over his own feet!”
Joelle was fond of comparing me unfavorably to Ulysses S.
Johnston. He, Joelle, and I once had competed for the possession of
Morrisbourg. Though my last-minute entry into the race was impulsive and
slapdash, I had won. Luck had paid a large part in that. After filing my claim
to Morrisbourg in New York
At first our life together was exciting and rewarding.
Together we administered the colony. Morrisbourg grew rapidly by serving the
food and resource needs of a renascent New York ,
recently re-occupied and annexed by Quebec
English-speakers outnumber the Quebecois, and just call them
“French” even though (or because) that annoys them. The French have done
alright by me. They enforce my status as proprietary governor, after all.
Beyond that, they’ve reintroduced the rule of law, issued a declaration of
individual rights that is passably liberal, and they’ve given the locals the
opportunity to raise our living standards above the level of Tarzan and Jane.
We could have been colonized by worse. The real French are having a much
tougher time of it under the heel of the Swiss. Still, they are a bit arrogant,
and carpetbaggers from Montreal dominate the
business and government in New York
Morrisbourg provides New
York
The danger of sitting on this three-legged economic stool
soon was evinced in my own home when Joelle herself became a customer. The
change in her was rapid and depressing. Joelle always had been ambitious,
ruthless, and smart. She was as dangerous as a leopard, but I loved her that
way. She scared me, but I loved her. Now she just wanted to stay home and addle
her mind with booze and drugs. I realized full well that her substance abuse
and torpor were related to the misfire of her plan to seize Morrisbourg for
herself. Marriage to the Governor was a poor substitute for being Governor.
After the initial stimulating years of establishing the colony, her
dissatisfaction began to grow. For this reason, I felt partly responsible for
her current state.
I tried to think of a solution short of signing the colony
over to her. I knew Joelle well enough to know this would be hard on the
colonists – and on me. I had vetoed many a harsh measure for which she actively
argued. While scraping fungal growth off the photocells, I thought of a
diversion. This is not the same as a solution, but it is something.
As usual, I was soaked in perspiration when I left the roof
and returned to the foyer. I’ve almost forgotten what it is like to be dry.
“Joelle, why don’t you accompany the next wine shipment to New York
“Why don’t you go yourself? And you stink. Take a bath.”
“I can’t. Go to New
York
“Don’t negotiate. Just tell them the way it will be,” she
said.
“Regardless, they’ll keep me busy for a while. It would help
if you met our major distributers and the politicos in New York
“Parties?” she said.
“Yes. Meet with the Mayor and the Military Commander. Make
the society pages. It’s good for business. It might be fun, too.”
“I’ll need quite a lot of money,” she warned.
“We have money. Take what you need. The next boat leaves on
Friday, though you can take a later one if you want.”
“No, I’ll go Friday. But you owe me, George.”
Joelle apparently liked the big city, because a few days
stretched to a month. New York
While she was gone, I got up, ate, worked, slept, and played
entirely on my own schedule. It was relaxing and revitalizing. Yet, a part of
me missed her. Perhaps that part was insane, but the fact remains. What can
explain such a reaction? The answer can’t be found in books on library shelves
– at least not on the shelves in Morrisbourg. I know. I’ve looked.
All vacations come to and end, even those that masquerade as
work. One day I walked into my executive office and was startled to see a
familiar face. Joelle had sent no warning of her return. She glanced up at me.
Her eyes had regained their old fire. Something seemed to be missing; it took
me a while to realize the missing element was opium smoke.
I got only as far as “Hey, great to see…” when she cut me
off with a question.
“Where are the distillery accounts?” she asked.
“Under ‘B’ for banana. Why?”
“Because you’ve let the distillers cheat us of our proper
percentage.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you taking an interest again. Welcome
back.” I meant that in more ways than one. “Did you enjoy your extended
excursion?” I queried.
“Yes. Try to enjoy yours, though I can see how you might
not.”
“I have no travel plans,” I objected.
“That’s where you’re wrong, cher. Report tomorrow to Captain
Le Clerc on the gunboat La Salle .
She’s tied up at the Battery . I told the wine
boat to wait for you until 6.”
“It doesn’t need to wait because I’m not going,” I said.
“Yes, you are.”
“How do I put this? No. That’s it: no. I have a colony to
run here.”
“No,” she responded. “I have a colony to run. This colony
has been placed in Trust to me for the duration of your assignment, which
already has begun.”
I was beginning to recall the less enchanting aspects of
Joelle’s old self. “By whose authority?
Besides,” I argued, “we have a contract and a prenup…”
“Both of which have been suspended for the duration of the
Emergency – by the authority of the Regional Military Commander.”
It was beginning to look as though I was taking a trip.
“What’s all this about? What emergency?”
“Quebec is asserting its
legitimate sovereignty over the whole of North America, exclusive of the
territories substantively and usefully occupied by Canada
and the Republic
of Alaska Panama
“Really? Wow. Well, it’s nice to keep up on current events,
but I don’t see how that is an emergency. There is no one in any of that area
capable of disputing the claim.”
“You are wrong,” she said, “which is getting to be a habit
for you. Before making the announcement, the PM decided she would send a modest
force to occupy Washington ,
DC
The “our” did not escape my notice. “What’s to occupy? Foggy
Bottom started out as a swamp. The whole District must be under water,” I said.
“No, Capitol Hill is dry, more or less. Troops landed a few
months ago.”
“Months? Why am I hearing about it only now, and only from
you? There hasn’t been a word about it on the radio or in the papers – unless
those references to survey missions count. I thought the whole point was to
make headlines with this symbolic occupation.”
“They would be the wrong headlines,” she answered.
“Are ‘wrong headlines’ the emergency?”
“Yes. The entire expedition is missing. They reported
landing in DC, and then went silent. A relief boat was sent. The second team
reported back that the place was deserted. They made one more report, and then
nothing was heard again from the second boat.”
“Well, maybe some swamp dwellers jumped both expeditions,” I
speculated. “You know how dangerous some of them are. But they can’t amount to
more than a band of armed bandits. The French probably sent too few troops to
protect themselves.”
Joelle smiled. “You have a habit of referring to your
countrymen in the third person, as though you are not one of us – and we’re not
French. But yes, the PM shares your view. This time we are sending adequate
forces on the La
Salle , and you are going with them.”
“Why me? In what possible way can I help anything? Whose
screwy idea was it to send me?”
“The ‘bandits’ as you call them.”
“Come again?” I asked.
“The bandits asked for you – by name. Remember I said we got
an additional report from the second boat? The report said that a sign nailed
to a pillar by the main entrance of the Capitol announced ‘a state of war now
exists’ – it didn’t say between whom and whom – and further said ‘we demand
Governor George Custer of Morrisbourg’ act as negotiator for a peace accord.’”
“I’m dumbfounded. That is so very strange,” I said.
“Isn’t it? I dare say the Prime Minister is suspicious of
you. She had half a mind to arrest you as a spy. Her better nature prevailed,
and she ordered the Regional Military Commander to employ you as negotiator,
and to take whatever other measures he felt necessary.”
“Thanks for vouching for me.”
“I didn’t say I had.”
“Well, I guess I’m going on a trip to DC.”
Joelle shrugged. The gesture wasn’t as cute as it used to
be.
“Oh, George? One more thing. I’m pregnant. Now hurry or
you’ll miss that boat.”
“You’re…”
“I don’t want to discuss it. Don’t worry: the colony is in good
hands while you’re gone. And, if anything should happen to you, under the terms
of your Will the colony will stay in good hands. Don’t trust so much in safes,
George. Now go!”
Harbor water lapped the hull of the warship tied up at the
tip of Manhattan La Salle was a
beautiful diesel-powered coastal patrol vessel painted in blue, white and gray
camouflage. She sported a 120mm main gun and several .50 caliber machine guns.
She likely was the equal of any ship in any of the world’s remaining navies.
Few governments can afford such toys anymore.
The organized military forces of the world consist
overwhelmingly of modest infantry units with automatic rifles. The only hi-tech
to which any have access is old tech. Advanced economies are such an intricate
web of skills and resources, that the ability to produce advanced products –
including high end electronics – effectively collapsed along with global
population. Modern economies, accordingly, are a weird mix of 19th,
20th, and 21st century technologies. Blacksmiths and
horse-drawn wagons exist side by side with scavenged microchips and gas
turbines. No one can manufacture new “smart” missiles, but some of the old ones
still work. The satellites are winking out, but for now enough are functioning
to allow rapid global communication.
I introduced myself to the French marine at the gangplank.
Wordlessly, he grabbed my duffel bag and emptied the contents on top of the sea
wall. He stuffed underwear, soap, socks and a razor back in the bag. The rest,
including books and spare clothes he left at his feet. He tossed the bag back
to me and waved me aboard. I never did learn if he had kept the dumped contents
or kicked them into the water.
I found the bunk room below. One sailor there pointed at the
top bunk of a triple bank. My nose would be almost against the ceiling. I hoped
the trip wouldn’t be too bumpy. I tossed my duffel bag on top and returned to
the deck. The crew studiously ignored me. I found a place to sit in the bow in
front of the main gun. Within the hour, crew untied the moorings. The engines
rumbled and the ship backed away from the dock.
The sleek ship sliced through the calm harbor waters. We
cruised past the statue of liberty. The fumes blended with the sea air to form
a heady smell.
“Mister Custer!” barked a voice behind me. The voice
belonged to the ship captain, a weathered choleric fellow who looked much older
than his 32 years. I got up and walked around the gun to face him. I held out a
hand. He didn’t take it.
“On this ship what I tell you when I tell you to do it. Not
one jot more or less, and without delay. Do you understand?”
“Yes, captain.”
He spun on his heel and walked off, visible restraining
himself. I wondered if he, too, thought I had collaborated with the bandits in
DC.
I explored the deck, and tried approaching the captain
again, hoping for a more cordial response.
“Excuse me, sir. I’m curious about what’s under the tarp on
the back deck. It’s as big as a medium-size whale.” I added irrelevantly, “You
know, the hemp ropes holding it down probably came from Morrisbourg.”
“I don’t care if you twined them yourself with your own
fingers! Custer!” He spat my name. “I’ll tell you what you need to know when
you need to know it! If you poke your nose where it doesn’t belong I’ll chop it
off! If you try to contact anyone, I’ll throw you overboard! And don’t
fraternize with my crew!”
“Contact? Whom would I contact?”
“That is the question, isn’t it? Did I make myself clear
about your limits?”
“Crystal
With 20 sailors and 40 marines aboard, the ship was crowded.
If any one of them spoke English, aside from the captain and the medical
officer, he didn’t reveal it. The medical officer was the only woman aboard.
While she did exchange the common courtesies with me, I refrained from striking
up a real conversation with her. For one thing, I was sure the captain would
regard that as fraternizing. For another, the French woman already in my life
was trouble enough. I spent time fishing, as did other members of the crew.
Fishing is excellent what with the end of commercial fleets. Porpoises played
in our wake.
When night fell I could see stars! I rarely saw them at
home, because of the plant cover, hazy skies, and frequent rain. I stared at
the sky for hours before finally going below and squeezing into my bunk.
We re-entered poor visibility the next day as we rounded the
tip of the Delmarva Peninsula . The towers of
the suspension sections of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel faded in the haze.
Le Clerc did not slow the vessel on that account. Soon we entered the broad Potomac , much swollen beyond its former banks. We cut
back to a more cautious speed. Sailors took hand soundings to double check
whatever electronic readings were available on the bridge. Others took stations
at their guns.
The ambient heat was more oppressive than in Morrisbourg.
Back home the mist usually burned off by mid-morning, but down here it was
still as dense as a steam bath. We rounded the bend where the Anacostia meets
the Potomac , and the Capitol dome came fuzzily
into view. Jungle growth on the Arlington Washington Monument
We maneuvered between structures and puttered over a flooded
Independence Avenue Space
Museum
Despite the brutal humidity, the marines went over the side
with admirable celerity. They splashed to shore and occupied the rear veranda
of the Capitol in minutes. The sailors moored the ship and stretched a walkway
of rope and boards to land. We waited as the marines entered the building. Le
Clerc stood by the gunners on the 120mm. Exploring such a large structure was
no easy task, but after two hours, a sergeant emerged on the verandah and
signaled that the building was secure. There was no sign of the members of the
previous expeditions.
To marines had been held back from the assault. Le Clerc
dispatched them by rubber raft to the Washington Monument
As night fell, the main force of marines took up positions
around the Capitol. Le Clerc ordered me below, and posted a guard on me. I
didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.
After a fitful night’s sleep, I was awakened by a marine who
spoke in English, “Follow me.”
I needed a shave and even more urgently needed to attend to
some basic biological functions. “Give me a couple minutes,” I said.
The marine would have none of it. “Follow me!” I followed
him.
As we walked through a patch of swamp grass, I saw something
strange: horseshoe tracks. Where could horses be raised around here? And who
would transport them to this island? Where were they now? It was hard to see
the sense of it.
We entered the Capitol through the Diplomatic Entrance on
the ground floor. Our footsteps rang hollow in the dead air of the old stone
corridor. We climbed a two-tiered staircase and passed through a short hallway.
I looked right and saw Benjamin Franklin looking back. This was Statuary Hall,
originally the House Chamber before the new wing was added in the 1850s. We
moved on to the Rotunda. Even with the smell of decay and the spread of fungus,
the space was impressive. On the ceiling was a bizarre painting of George
Washington rising gloriously into the clouds above Roman-clad figures. Winged
Victory held a sword in one hand and her red-white-blue shield in the other.
Mildew had destroyed most of the paintings in the wall niches, but The Declaration of Independence in Congress
and The Surrender of General Burgoyne at
Saratoga were still recognizable.
The marine prodded me. We proceeded to a semi-circular room
with a half-dome overhead. We were in the old Senate Chamber where the Senate
had met until 1859. This was the site of the historic 19th century
debates on freedom and slavery. I don’t believe in ghosts, but, if they do
exist, surely some hang out here. Le Clerc sat at Daniel Webster’s desk. A
balled-up flag lay on top. It was the Stars and Stripes.
“This was flying on the east side,” he said. The east side
of the Capitol is the main entrance, even though it faces away from downtown.
“OK. The bandits are patriots. What’s your point?” I asked.
“The point is reinforced by your use of the word
‘patriots.’”
I sighed loudly. “The USA
“We are not French and ‘under’ is an insulting preposition.”
“Fine. Use whatever proposition you like. I’m not
political.”
Le Clerc looked at me with deep skepticism. “A colonial
Governor is not political?”
“This one isn’t – and, besides, my authority is suspended at
the moment.”
“Good. Let’s call things by their proper names, Custer. Your
friends here are not patriots and are not bandits. They are terrorists. They
asked for you specifically to negotiate with us, and they added a demand that
we’ve kept secret, even from your wife. The terrorists demand that we travel
upriver. You are to be present. You will be our representative, which in my opinion
is a case of the terrorists negotiating with themselves. They made no mention
of hostages, but we must assume they have them, which makes their demands an
ultimatum Or do you already know all this?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“You may have fooled the civilians with that lie – including
that poor wife of yours – but you aren’t fooling me! Custer, you and your
buddies are despicable scum. Taking hostages is a coward’s way to negotiate. If
it were up tome, I’d shoot you right here, bring in some serious artillery, and
bombard the riverbanks with HE the whole length upstream. But the PM wants the
hostages back even if it means dealing with trash. So cut the crap and tell me
what you want.”
“I want to go home. Le Clerc, you are way off base on this
one. Honestly, I don’t know these people. I don’t know what they want. I’m
flabbergasted that they knew my name. If I had to guess, I’d say they heard it
on some news broadcast about banana futures.”
Le Clerc shook his head, plainly disbelieving every word.
“So are we taking La Salle
upriver?” I asked.
“Oh you’d love that: take the ship in a channel through
dense jungle where your friends can blow us out of the water at will with
hidden guns.”
“Well then, what are your plans besides threatening me,
which, I assure you is as useless as it apparently is satisfying?”
Le Clerc reluctantly accepted that I would not speak for the
bandits, even though he refused to accept that I could not. “We are going
upriver,” he said, “but on my terms, not yours. Let me show you that cargo
about which you were so curious earlier.”
On the way back to the ship we passed marines carrying
crates of explosives to the Crypt beneath the Rotunda. “What’s that all about?”
I asked.
“We are prewiring the Capitol for destruction. If we are forced
to abandon the site to the terrorists again, we are leaving it a pile of
rubble. We can detonate by radio from La
Salle or from the Washington
Monument
Once again he assumed the bandits were my people. I often
have been underestimated, which has worked to my advantage. This was the first
time I had been overestimated so completely. I didn’t see an upside to it.
In a sense, the captain was right not to trust me. He had
done nothing to increase my affection for the French, and the symbols of the
old Republic stirred something in me. I began to wonder if we would be better
off independent. The more I thought about it, though, the less sensible the
idea seemed. The lower 48 were a giant disaster area where the only things more
deadly than the climate, germs, and wildlife were the surviving humans. The
Alaskans still had a government, true enough, but they were in no shape to
intervene down here. What little law, order, and, I had to admit, justice
prevailed were contributed by Quebec
As we exited the Capitol, I saw La Salle ’s secret weapon taking shape. An
airship was inflating. It already hovered above the deck though only about 70%
full. It was nearly as long as La Salle itself. The gondola slung below was open with
no glass. I was impressed. The declining industrial capability of Quebec
“The gondola has room for four,” said Le Clerc. “She’s
powered by a 25-horse gasoline engine with a three-blade prop. She’s filled
with hydrogen.”
“Isn’t that awfully dangerous,” I asked.
“Helium is in short supply. We can make hydrogen from water
by electrolysis. Besides, hydrogen gives 20% more lift. As for the danger of
fire, I don’t mind placing you at risk. I would regret the loss of a crewman,
though, which is why I’m going with you myself.”
“With me? You mean we’re going up in that thing?”
“Yes.”
“Won’t we be a very big target?”
“Oh, I don’t expect your pals will shoot at you,” he said.
“Besides this is a diplomatic mission, is it not? I’m not even bringing weapons
except for this.” He patted his 9mm. “And that’s not for them.” I understood
that it was for possible use against me. “Listen, Custer,” he added. “If any
harm comes to those loyal Quebecois held by your friends, I’ll make you pay.”
“Fly now, pay later.”
Le Clerc explained the basics of airship operation to me.
They were more complex than I had thought. I learned, for example, that within
the outer skin were inner bags called ballonets that served to compensate for
pressure changes. These required constant attention.
A crewman approached us with two glasses and a bottle. It
was Old Yeller, Morrisbourg’s
horrible banana wine. He poured a glass for each of us. To my surprise, Le
Clerc clinked his glass to mine. I understood this to be some expression of
camaraderie at the start of a new mission, which, given his evaluation of me,
was a major concession on his part to sportsmanship on his part. I clinked back
and downed the glass. I hate banana wine. The crewman was unsuccessfully
suppressing a smirk. I guessed he shared my opinion of Old Yeller.
We slowly rose above the sunken city. The engine started
easily and we nosed the craft upriver. Teddy Roosevelt’s statue, standing
ankle-deep in the Potomac , seemed to wave to
us as we passed overhead. Linear breaks in the trees marked old highways. I
identified a long curving one as the Capital beltway. For hours the scenery
barely changed. There was mile after mile thick steamy foliage split by the
river. There was no sign of bandits or of any human occupation.
“What’s the range of this thing?” I asked.
“We could make it to the Mississippi
“I keep telling you I don’t know.”
“So you say. Regardless, we are not turning back until we do
a full reconnaissance.”
At last a change took place in the scenery below. The hills
became mountains that our blimp barely cleared. We think of Maryland
as a fairly level place, formerly host to horse farms and the well-to-do
suburbs of DC and Baltimore, but the western counties are as rugged as anything
this side of the Mississippi Kenya
“We’re running out of river, aren’t we?” I asked
Le Clerc grunted and pointed at a rotted billboard below:
“Welcome to West Virginia
“Are we setting down?” I asked.
“No, because this is where you want me to set down. I’m
going to look at what you don’t want me to see. There is smoke beyond that ridge.”
I wasn’t sure we had the altitude to clear the ridge, but we
did, barely. Below us was a plateau covered by farms complete with fences and
plowed fields. There were more shouts and the pops of rifle fire. Le Clerc full
throttled the engine. I could hear bullets striking the fabric of the blimp. We
passed over a white farmhouse close enough to touch the chimney. The farm
looked like a Norman Rockwell painting. A village center of sorts was on our
left. The smoke in the air had the acrid odor characteristic of industry. I
assumed it consisted of blacksmith shops. Nothing more sophisticated seemed
possible. A US
We were losing altitude from the bullets. We were lucky not
to have exploded. People below had come outside their homes and barns to look
at us. Most were dressed in blue. We reached the far edge of the plateau. Our
continued to drop but the slope was steeper than our rate of descent. Jungle
growth was in the valley ahead.
“Call La Salle , Custer. I’m a little busy here!”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to call La Salle . That might bring
down firepower on these farmers, who probably were guilty of nothing more than
defending their homes against what they viewed as an outside threat. Besides,
there were the French captives to consider, assuming there were any. Calling in
the marines now might endanger them unnecessarily. The request for me as
negotiator was beginning to make sense, too. If they learned somehow by radio
broadcast that I was a Governor of a colony of Quebec
I perfunctorily fussed with the radio. “La Salle . Calling La Salle .”
“It will work better if you use the right frequency,” said
Le Clerc.
“Which one is that?”
“The one it on before you changed it!”
Our descent was now alarmingly swift. As the valley floor
loomed, a collision with the trees looked imminent. I spotted a small lagoon formed by a blockage
in a large stream.
‘Can you make that?” I asked.
“We’ll see.” Le Clerc revved the engine and steered toward
the water. “If we survive the crash, you won’t survive a minute past it!” he
shouted.
Saying as much out loud probably made Le Clerc feel better,
but it foolishly gave me fair warning. I grabbed his hair and banged his skull
on the steering column. Stunned, he sunk to his knees. This gave me the
opportunity to slip the 9mm out of his holster and throw it overboard into the
jungle. Le Clerc recovered enough to push me back and spin around. He got his
hands on my throat just as we hit the water. Both of us went sprawling. The
gondola submerged under the weight of the deflating fabric. I pulled myself
over the side against the inrushing water and swam to shore without looking
back. I knew too well the kinds of creatures that inhabit waters like this.
Among them, if still alive, was Le Clerc, who no doubt was irritated with me. I
hoped he was. For all of his lethal threats, there was a rough honor to the
man. I almost liked him.
I grabbed tree roots at the lagoon’s edge and pulled myself
out of the water and muck. I plunged into the dense foliage. Any passerby a
meter away would have been hard-pressed to see me. I felt safe. As a poisonous
snake slithered past my ankle, however, I decided that safe was a relative
term. I needed to reach the settlement on the plateau if I planned to survive
for long. I had to make the long climb up the steep mountainside. It would be
best to get to the top before nightfall. There are sharp teeth in the jungle and
I would be easy prey in the dark.
There is no need to recount in detail my painful ascent
through vines and brush in the debilitating heat while having blood sucked out
of me by more types of insects than I knew existed. Once upon a time, some
folks were desperate to save the last scraps of the world’s rainforests. I hope
they’re happy. By nightfall I had made substantial progress but was still in
the forest. I climbed a tree to sit out the dark. I hoped not to be eaten
before morning. Somehow I fell asleep.
I opened my eyelids. Sunlight leaked through the leaves. I
was exhausted, dehydrated, and in pain, but there was nothing to do but
continue up the slope. I dropped to the ground and slogged forward. In only 100
meters I was through the tree line. I had stopped that close to my goal. In
front of me was a three-rail wooden fence and beyond that was grass pasture.
Horses in the pasture grazed peaceably.
The breeze shifted a rank smell even worse than my own
acquired odor wafted my way. To my left on the ground was the carcass the size
of a full-grown pig, though it more closely resembled an oversize rat. I had
heard of capybaras, giant rodents native to Brazil
Peach trees do not grow tall, but their profusion of
branches makes them easy to climb. This merit quickly proved minor. As I settled
in the upper branches a jaguar walked out of the forest and leapt the fence at
a bound. The big spotted cat soft-pawed the distance to the tree with the
nonchalance of which only cats are capable. She sat at the bottom and looked up
at me.
I’ve never enjoyed, or even understood, killing animals for
sport. It would be a lie, though, to say I felt anything but relief when a
bullet dropped the jaguar. Ulysses S. Johnston clicked the bolt on his Springfield
The resemblance to General Grant was now almost laughably
close. Ulysses wore a blue uniform that recalled those of 19th
century cavalry officers, though the tailoring was slapdash and the color too
light. Five stars were on each shoulder, an unusual rank in any age. The
uniform looked like denim and must have been terribly hot. He was accompanied
by two young cavalrymen, also in denim cut to be uniforms. Between them on a
donkey was a bedraggled and tied Le Clerc. One of the men dismounted and offered
his mare to me. I accepted gratefully.
“Welcome to Aurora
I probably hadn’t missed it by more than a few meters. “I
always prefer the scenic route,” I answered.
The soldier whose horse I had taken was leading Le Clerc’s
donkey from the ground. “Are you OK?” I asked Le Clerc.
He merely glared at me.
“He’ll be fine,” said Ulysses. “He led us on such a merry
chase before we caught him that I know his health is good. Sorry about my boys
shooting at you, but you caught them off guard. We were expecting some little
motorboat on the river. When you appeared in the sky they thought it was an
attack. You always were full of surprises, George. An airship! That must have
been fun.”
“All but the last few minutes.”
“‘Oh, the humanity.’ We’re patching the blimp up, or at
least trying to. We don’t know yet if it’s too badly damaged.”
“Is Route 50 really passable? Or is it just less grown-over
than either side?”
“It is passable by horse and buggy as far east as Winchester and as far west as Parkersburg Atlantic to
the Pacific.”
“I seem to have stumbled on the set of F Troop,” I remarked.
“Are you casting me as Captain Parmenter?” Ulysses asked.
“Not if you’re casting me as Wrangler Jane. What is going on
here?” I asked. “And how have you managed it? I’m guessing there are a few
thousand people up here. That’s a lot, but it’s not enough to support industry
above the craft level. Just making all these uniforms must tax all your
resources.”
“We don’t need to manufacture everything. There are plenty
of malls and warehouses to be scavenged if you know where to look. Our scouts
found a warehouse full of denim clothes only a few miles away, for example. It
takes little tailoring to turn them into uniforms. But don’t underestimate our
capacity for self-reliance. A people can achieve anything with national focus.”
“Is national focus what you have?” I asked skeptically.
“Yes. At bottom it is all we have. You need to understand
what these people have experienced. After the world changed, this little
community against all odds hung on. But when I arrived, everything was on the
verge of collapse. This little patch of the good life had attracted human
wolves. Gangs of them robbed, raped, and burned. The jungle was safer. Aurora
“So you moved in with a tougher gang. That’s called forming
a government, isn’t it?” I said.
“Is that a joke?”
“Sadly, no.”
“Are you an anarchist, my boy? I didn’t think you were so
utopian.”
“I’m not. I’m sad about that too. So, are you the man on
top?”
“They call me Chief, which I tolerate,” said Ulysses.
“Yes, I imagine you would. Are you still using the name
‘Ulysses S. Johnston.’?”
“Yes again, thanks to you. You are important to us, and so,
therefore, is our history together. History records that name.”
“What is your real name?”
“Whatever I say it is. Right now, it’s ‘Chief.’”
“The title suddenly sounds a little less spontaneous on the
part of the Aurorans. I don’t suppose you allow them a civil government,” I said.
“Now is not the time for liberal democratic tripe! That is
what destroyed America
“So this is a military government?”
“Precisely. We are at war, after all. I’m aware that people
have political instincts, George, but instead of trying to suppress them or to
let them run riot, we channel them. Anyone can join the National American
Party, which is the only legal political organization, and which serves the
interest of the state. We can achieve anything with focus.”
“By ‘the state’ you mean these few thousand mountaineers.
And you are focusing the Aurorans by picking a fight with Quebec
“The French picked the fight! They invaded!”
“Their invasion didn’t bother you when you thought you could
get them to give you title to Morrisbourg.”
Ulysses laughed. “You have firm grasp of the obvious,
George. Don’t be offended. Few people have it. I’m glad you don’t buy into
ideology, really. We are more alike than you think. I enjoy your honesty with
me, but I must warn you not to talk like this in public. If you do, I might
have to shoot you as a subversive. So keep your candor just between us.”
“What about these two?” I referred to the accompanying
soldiers. “They hear you talking. Will you shoot them?” The man leading the
donkey smiled at the question.
“No, of course not, George. These two are my closest guards,
and I rely on their greed for their loyalty, not on their belief in any –ism.
They can’t be disillusioned because they have no illusions. They simply know
their best bet is to stick with me. It’s your best bet, too, George. I’ll have
a uniform delivered to you.”
“Have I been drafted?”
“Yes. You and the French captain here are guests of honor at
tonight’s rally. I want you both in uniform.”
“You said I was important to you,” I said. “Why? I had a
theory, but I see it was wrong.”
“You are important, but not indispensable. Don’t think for a
minute we can’t do without you. But it was fun scaring the French into thinking
a rebellion was stirring, and that the Governor of Morrisbourg was part of the
conspiracy. If they shot you, you would have been an American martyr. If they
sent you here to negotiate, I knew they would do it by committing their best
forces to a very vulnerable position. And if you turned-coat, as I urge you to
do, you provide a high-profile inspiration to others to do the same. However
the French responded, the results would favor us.”
“Well, that’s quite a Machiavellian plot,” I said.
“I can’t take credit for it. The plan was Joelle’s.”
The news of Joelle’s betrayal caused my stomach to clench.
Why was a part of me proud of her?
“She just wanted Morrisbourg for herself, so she got you to
set me up,” I said. “She doesn’t care about any of this.” I indicated Aurora
“I know that, George, but it worked to our benefit anyway.”
“She’ll betray you, too, the moment it is in her interest.”
“But it’s not in her interest. If she stays quiet and the
French win, she’ll be the heroine who saved Morrisbourg from a traitor – that
would be you. If we win, she’ll be the heroine of the revolution. She is
utterly predictable, and therefore safe. I’m much less sure of you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m not ambitious.”
“Untrue, George. You’re not diligent – you like the easy
path – but you are ambitious. You’ve proved it. Ultimately, you are more
ambitious than Joelle. Don’t you know that? She wants to be the big fish, but
she doesn’t care if it’s a small pond. You want to be a whale in the ocean,
even if you’re not the biggest whale.”
I was having trouble keeping up with the metaphors. “What is
it you want of me Ulysses?”
“I want you to be my second in command. Colonel is just a
temporary rank until I’m more certain about you. My plan is to promote you to
four-star general in short order.”
“Second… four stars? Are you kidding? No…I can see you’re
not.”
My astonishment evaporated when another question crossed my
mind. “When exactly did you talk to Joelle?”
“I wondered when you would ask. I met her in New York
I had another question about the nature of the bump, but
decided I didn’t want to know the answer. Instead I asked, “What about the
French from the first two expeditions to DC? Are they alright?”
“Some of them. You’ll see them tonight at the rally.”
The “some” suggested there had been casualties. That was
unfortunate, but unsurprising.
“Is the rally for this National American Party of yours?”
“It is,” he answered. “It’s now your party too.”
“You might want to consider changing the name.”
“Why?”
“Do you really want to be known as Nappies?”
He glared at me with his intense brown eyes.
We approached a two-story home with a front porch that
wrapped around one side. Four uniformed young people sat on the porch; they had
eagle armbands on their left arms. They snapped to attention and saluted when
they saw us. Ulysses knew one of the four by name.
“Weston!”
“Yes, Ch…Chief…sir,” she stammered.
“Show Colonel Custer a room upstairs. You are his attendant
until further notice.”
“What about Le Clerc?” I asked.
“He is a prisoner of war. He’ll be quartered elsewhere.
Until later, Colonel,” said Ulysses.
I dismounted, and responded, “Until later.” Ulysses sat
motionless as though he expected more. I caught the hint and saluted. He tapped
his horse with his heels. The guards and Le Clerc followed.
I climbed the stairs of the farmhouse porch. The young woman
saluted.
“Please don’t do that, miss. Not around the house, anyway.
Let’s keep it informal.”
“Yes, Colonel.” She opened the door for me. “Your room will
be the one up the stairs, first door on the right.”
The interior of the house smelled of firewood. It was a
pleasant odor. Weston followed me up the stairs. Directly ahead was the open
door of a bathroom. I peeked inside. It contained an old fashioned claw tub
with a shower attachment.
“Is the shower functional?” I asked.
“Yes sir.”
The thought was delicious. “If you bring me a razor I’ll
love you forever.”
“Sir?”
“Please bring me a razor.”
“Yes sir.”
The shower was refreshing beyond description. The “cold”
water in fact was lukewarm, but it was still more wonderful than any shower I’d
had in years. Weston walked in while I stood beneath the showerhead. She placed
a razor and a toothbrush on the sink and turned to face me.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, miss,” I said with embarrassment,
“Corporal, sir.” She turned slightly to show the stripes on
her right arm.
“Very well. No, Corporal. I’ll be taking a nap, so go back
to doing whatever you were doing.”
“Yes sir.” She picked up my clothes from the floor and left
the bathroom with them.
I toweled off and peeked out the door. The hallway was
empty. I scooted to the assigned bedroom. The bed was an old four poster with a
thick featherbed mattress. I tentatively lay down atop it and was asleep in
seconds. I remember nothing about the next several hours. When I awoke there
were folded clothes on the bed next to me that bore a passing resemblance to a
19th century colonel’s uniform. There also were undergarments. Boots
were on the floor by the bed.
I got up and donned the uniform, which wasn’t a bad fit. I
don’t know who had guessed my size.
The boots were a bit snug, but not uncomfortable. I looked
at myself in a mirror mounted on the back of the door to the hall. I felt quite
soldierly. It’s amazing how much a uniform can affect your whole worldview. I
opened the door. Weston was standing outside.
“Excuse me, miss…I mean Corporal. Could you come in here for
a few minutes?”
“Is something wrong, sir?”
“No, just talk with me a moment.” I stepped back and sat on
the bed. Weston entered and faced me. She was pretty in tomboy way with
short-cropped brown hair and bright blue eyes. She couldn’t have been more than
19.
“I just arrived this morning.” I said.
“Yes, I know sir.”
“What I mean is that I haven’t yet caught up with the
situation here. I need to ask you some very basic questions. They may seem
dunderheaded to you, but perhaps you expect that from an officer.”
She didn’t smile, but said, “I’m here to help, sir.”
“Assume that I know nothing, which isn’t far off from the
truth. What’s with the armband, for instance? I see not everyone wears it. Just
how militarized is this place? How did it get this way? I‘m completely lost,
even though Ulysses says he plans to bump me up to second-in-command.”
“The Chief told you that?” She was so impressed that she
missed the “sir.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t repeat that, Corporal.”
“Yes sir. The armband signifies the Eagle Guard. We aren’t
regular army but we fight alongside it. We’re the armed wing of the party, so
we’re more committed. We act as the Chief’s personal guards and as a police
force too.”
“Sounds like Blackshirts.”
“Sir?”
“Never mind. How did all this start?”
“You have to realize what this area was like before the
Chief rescued us. Gangs of thugs from the outside somehow found out about our
settlement. They attacked and robbed us. Vigilante groups fought back, but then
they acted as bad as the thugs. My parents weren’t killed by outsiders but by
vigilante neighbors when a boy I’d snubbed accused them of collaborating with
an outside gang. I don’t want to tell you what they did to me.”
“The boy deserved to be shot.”
“I’m pleased to her you say so, sir. Anyway, when Ulysses
and his men came into town, they packed the firepower to suppress all that. It
wasn’t just the use of force – there had been plenty of that before. It was
what he had to say. He inspired us to get our house in order so we can face our
real enemies instead of fighting with each other. If there were scores to be
settled, he settled them. That boy I told you about? The Chief handed me a gun
and told me the boy’s fate was in my hands, whether I chose clemency or death
the matter would end there.”
“What did you do?”
“I shot him. I’d die for the Chief, sir.”
I held back from saying she very well might.
“The rally is in a few hours,” she added. “I’m to escort
you.”
The rally was held in an open field just after twilight. The
stars were bright and a warm breeze blew gently. A rustic wooden stage was lit
dramatically by four well-placed bonfires. A loudspeaker system was wired to
car batteries. Perhaps 3000 people were gathered in the field, most of them in
uniform. I’d never seen so many people in one place.
Ulysses walked on stage to a drum roll. Applause and shouts
came from the crowd. He waved to me to step forward. I walked on stage and
stood on his right where he had indicated. Two guards escorted Le Clerc, hands
still tied, onstage and held him up on Ulysses’ left. There were boos from the
crowd. Ulysses held up his hand for quiet.
“We have with us today,” he began, “Captain Le Clerc of the
French naval vessel La
Salle . His plans to destroy us have been defeated.” A roar of
approval washed over the stage. “Also with us is George Custer, the legitimate
Governor of New Jersey, now in exile. By his order, New
Jersey is hereby returned to the Union .”
There were more shouts. “The days of the French invaders in the United States Recovered Territories
I leaned into the microphone and uttered something
ambiguous. “I’m deeply impressed by what you have accomplished here. I hope not
just to match but to exceed your expectations of me.”
Restrained applause came from the men and women in blue.
Ulysses smiled at me and nodded toward the back. I took the hint and withdrew
from the stage. The guards led Le Clerc backstage as well.
“Here in Aurora Quebec America
There were more cheers, but they seemed to me to be less
than universal. This is not just a patriotic crusade, though it is that, too.
It is a war for culture. It is a war for the future of mankind. The French are
effete. They are dangerous to us. French art is merely decadence. Books such as
this deserve on the bonfire!” He held up a copy of 120 Days of Sodom
This echo of my former thoughts put a knot in my stomach.
“This is no time for internal division. Our fingers must
unite to form a fist. The French have taken our lands, corrupted our culture and
oppressed our people. In the occupied territory they have destroyed American
lives with a vicious trade in opium that they ban north of the Maine
“We live in the proud state of West Virginia America
Two grim prisoners were led on stage by boyish-faced Eagle
Guardsmen. They were the first survivors of the earlier Quebecois expeditions I
had seen.
“The rules of war are clear,” said Ulysses. “Enemy
combatants out of uniform are spies, and are not entitled to the privileges of
Prisoners of War. Their lot is summary execution.”
One of the Guardsmen withdrew a revolver and unceremoniously
shot each prisoner in the head. I was stunned. Le Clerc tried to rise to his
feet but was shoved back down with a rifle butt. He glared at me with deep
hatred. As the bodies were pulled from the stage, Ulysses waved forward a
beautiful red-haired young woman wearing the armband.
“Please join in the singing of the national anthem,”
directed Ulysses.
In a sweet voice, the redhead began to sing, “Oh say can you
see…” The crowd joined in slowly, but by “the rockets red glare” was
participating forcefully.
Ulysses withdrew from the stage, conceding the microphone to
other speakers, each of whom hated the enemy more than the one before. As one
began a denunciation of French cooking, Ulysses sat down next to me on a wooden
bench.
“What was the purpose of those murders?” I spluttered. “They
were just a couple of field biologists from Montreal
“Custer, I’m disappointed in you. Can’t you see that by
failing to object to the ‘atrocity’ they became participants in it? They’ll
justify it to themselves as being ‘for the greater good’ just to protect their
own self-images. I locked in their loyalty, not undermined it. And don’t
underestimate the power of fear. Besides, the French really were in civilian
clothes, and therefore were spies, you know.”
“Legalistic nonsense,” I said. “I arrived in civilian
clothes, too.”
“Then you may profit by their example. But enough of this.
How did you like my speech?”
“Irrational. Quebec is not France , as Le Clerc reminds me repeatedly, and
the citizens of Quebec North America .
Their ancestors were probably here before ours. You said they are effete and
dangerous. They cannot be both. The Marquis de Sade is a giant irrelevancy who
has nothing to do with Quebec USA Quebec
“Custer, Custer, you are letting your emotions run away with
you. That’s for the sheep out there, not for us. I wasn’t asking you if the
speech made logical sense and I didn’t ask you to recite the Declaration of Independence. I was
asking you whether you thought it was effective propaganda. When you are
talking to the masses you are talking to a dumb brute. Anything more nuanced
than ‘Our Side Good, Their Side Bad’ confuses them. Sense be damned.”
“You don’t believe a word of what you were saying, do you?”
“I’m not an idiot, George.”
“Then your speech was effective propaganda.”
“See? At heart you are a blackguard like me, and can see the
truth of things. But you have to stop these moralistic outbursts to which
you’re so prone. They are childish. Morals are whatever the ruling elite says
they are. If you plan to be part of the new elite, you have to abandon those
foolish ‘ethics’ that were invented to keep in power an elite now long dead.
So, George, are you going to join us ‘fascists’ and help me write our own
rules, or would you prefer to join the company of those Frenchmen?”
“Okay, I’m in,” I said. “I can’t affect much if I’m dead,
can I? Maybe I can moderate this whole
enterprise from the inside.”
Ulysses laughed. “No weasel of a Congressman could have
rationalized better. Things are going to move very fast, George. In two days we
retake the Capitol. Than we sail La Salle
into New York Harbor New York
I paraphrased Benjamin Franklin. “A third will support you,
a third will oppose, and a third won’t give a damn.”
“There, you can be Machiavellian when you try,” he said.”
“There is a flaw in your plan, ‘Chief,’” interjected Le
Clerc. It occurred to me then that Ulysses’ willingness to discuss his plans in
front of him did not bode well for the man.
“And what is that, my dear Captain?”
“My sailors and marines. Not one of your barges will get
within a kilometer of La
Salle . Do you know what a 120mm can do?”
“Yes, I do, but I don’t think we need worry about it. Are
you an oenophile, Captain?”
“What on earth does that have to do with anything?”
“I’ve explained to George about our scavenging expeditions.
On one of them in Clarksburg
“What have you done to the wine?!”
“Yes, that would offend a Frenchman. Did you know that one
of the nasty new bugs of the modern world can live in wine with alcohol content
less than 15%? Mortality is 80% and the survivors won’t be in much condition to
fight. How many of your crew are teetotalers, do you think?”
“If there’s only one, that’s enough! You’ll never take my
ship!”
“Oh of course we will. But, if by some chance we do not,
we’ll send her to the bottom. That would be a shame, but we can do without her
if we must. We have alternate transport. You see there are underwater charges
set all around the Capitol. We can blow a hole in La Salle ’s hull whenever we
wish. Thanks, for the airship, too, Le Clerc. You’ll be happy to know we
repaired the hull and refilled her with hydrogen. What is the lift capacity? We
haven’t yet run tests.”
“Two passengers barely,” said Le Clerc.
“Three easily,” I corrected.
“When you are up against the wall, I’ll be on the firing
squad,” Le Clerc snarled at me.
Ulysses laughed. “So what shall we do with the Frenchman?”
he asked.
“Take him with us. He’s a negotiating chip with any French
survivors.”
“There is a small bit of sense to that thought, though I
suspect you just lack the stomach to shoot him. You don’t mind if I keep him
tied, do you? Also, I’d prefer you not to have a firearm for now.”
“I rather expected both conditions,” I said.
Back at the farmhouse, I tried to rest some more, but tossed
fitfully instead, I have no love for the French, but hated helping to replace
them with Ulysses’ fascist regime. There was a tap at the door.
“Yes? Come in.”
My attendant peeked in. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but I
could hear you were awake. May I have a word?”
“Yes, Corporal. What’s on your mind?”
“You are Governor of New Jersey.”
“Morrisbourg.”
“New Jersey
“That’s what he says,” I said.
“You’ll be needing an assistant you can trust – one who also
has the confidence of the Chief.”
Weston, I realized was making a career move. “You’re at the
top of my list, Corporal Weston.”
“Thank you, sir. I know you won’t regret your choice. Is
there anything I can do for you before morning?” she asked.
It took me a moment to be sure the offer meant what I
thought it did. “No, Corporal… What’s your first name?”
“Abigail.”
“No, Abigail. Perhaps we can resume this discussion when
we’re up North, though.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think I can sleep now. Wake me up in time for the war,
would you?”
“Yes, sir.” She left, seeming quite pleased with herself.
My affection for my homicidal wife had deterred me from
accepting the young lady’s offer, yet I regretted turning her down, too. These
thoughts drove politics out of my head long enough for me to fall asleep.
I was awakened before daybreak. I road on horseback down
Route 50, which really did pass by the lagoon where the repaired and inflated
airship awaited. Ulysses and Le Clerc already were aboard. The barges, I was
told, had set out much earlier in order to arrive in DC at dawn. I felt it was
reckless of Johnston
We dropped our mooring ropes and lifted into the sky at the
sun brightened the horizon. We began the leisurely trip downriver. As we passed
over Chain Bridge we could see the tops of the Capitol and Washington Monument Georgetown ,
I thought to warn Ulysses of the snipers in the Washington Monument La Salle was gone.
Le Clerc, sitting on the floor, smiled. “Did I neglect to
mention that the crew has standing orders to withdraw if the ship seems
seriously in danger?” he said. “If they started falling sick, that would have
been reason enough.”
“Well, that is a setback,” said Ulysses. “It’s not fatal,
however. The ship would have been useful to us, but I have agents in New York
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Le Clerc.
“Because you no longer have any value as a negotiating
chip.”
Barges full of troops were below us on the Potomac .
The lead ones grounded on Capitol Hill. Troops jumped off and rushed to occupy
the building.
I’m not political, but there are times when you have to make
a choice. This was the last opportunity to put a stop to Ulysses and his
Blueshirts. Damn it all, I had to back the stinking arrogant, miserable,
nose-in-the-air French, may they all choke on their nasalized vowels!
On the theory that one should stick with a winning strategy,
I grabbed Ulysses by the hair and rammed his head on the steering wheel. Johnston
“Déjà vu,” I said.
“About time you started speaking your country’s language.”
We both went over the side and dove beneath the water before
the flaming fabric enveloped us. Don’t try swimming booted and in uniform. It
is harder than you might think. I swam to the hillock with the Washington Monument
Two powerful hands wrapped around my neck and a knee planted
heavily in the small of my back. The world began to go black before the hands
and weight lifted. Le Clerc had pulled Ulysses off of me. The two wrestled on
the ground. I hoped Le Clerc could end for himself, because there was no time
to waste. Bluecoats already were paddling this way. I ran toward the Monument
entrance.
There are 897 steps in the Washington Monument
My footsteps and his echoed loudly inside the masonry
obelisk. I could see nothing in the dark interior, but it sounded as though he
was gaining. My lungs were raw and painful, and no amount of panting was enough
to catch my breath. My feet resisted every aching step. Before long I was
crawling. My breath rasped worse with each breath. 897 does not sound like an
overwhelming number, but I felt I had spent a lifetime on those stairs. At long
last my hands pushed open a door and light washed over me, but my vision was
clouded from lack of oxygen. I heard a loud wheezing behind me.
As I’d hoped, a transmitter was still in place below the
observation port facing the Capitol. I made one final lunged toward it. My
vision was still blurred, so I fumbled desperately for a switch or button.
Almost by accident, my hand depressed a plunger.
Even with my blurred vision, I could see the Capitol dome
rise noticeably. Then its 9,000,000 pounds of iron crashed down into rubble. A
deafening roar from the explosion hit the Monument. Other explosions ripped
through the House and Senate wings. The marines must have set charges there as
well.
The wheezing behind me turned to coughing. I turned and my
vision cleared. A mud-covered Ulysses lay on the floor on his back a meter from
me. His face was as red as any I had ever seen. Saliva drooled from his mouth
and he clasped his left arm with his right.
“The whole continent could have been yours one day, you
total fool!” he coughed.
“Does this mean I’m no longer Commissioner for the Recovered Territories
“I’m going to get you Custer!”
“It doesn’t seem likely.”
“Then my troops will.”
“Well, you may have point there. But not before I put an end
to you.”
“I so overestimated you. You’re just a sheep after all. And
you’re ending nothing, least of all me. You don’t have the guts to kill me, you
spineless wimp!”
I considered this. “You’re right. And you know what? I’m
proud of it.”
I walked to the exit and descended the stairs, leaving
Ulysses sprawled on the observation deck. My lungs hurt badly and my legs felt
rubbery. Two hundred steps or so later and explosion shook the tower. Masonry
blocks missed me by centimeters and light streamed in from above. A 120mm round
had torn off the top of the structure. The La Salle was back.
I quickened my descent. The sound of cannon and machine gun
fire bespoke of serious damage being done to the West
Virginians . I felt sick.
The next day I stood next to a badly battered but alive Le
Clerc on La Salle’s foredeck as we
motored out of the Chesapeake Bay . It turned
out that we owed our survival to the age-old dispute between marines and
sailors. The marines hadn’t shared the wine.
Le Clerc said, “I’m still trying to decide whether to shoot
you or give you a medal.”
“Neither. I’m no hero and I’m not political.”
“Right. The nest in Aurora
“No, they’ve suffered losses enough. Besides, fascist states
are personality cults and the personality is gone. They’re not barbarians, just
mountain farmers who went on a binge. They’ll go back to fighting among
themselves now.”
“I suppose you oppose our reoccupation of DC too,” he said.
“There isn’t much left to occupy. But a trading post
somewhere on the river wouldn’t be a bad idea, and might help promote peace –
especially if it’s someplace with a different symbolism than DC.”
“Harper’s Ferry?”
“Le Clerc, that was almost a joke. By the way, what’s your
first name?”
“Maurice.”
“Oh, sorry. I’ll just stick with ‘Le Clerc.’”
Thanks to Le Clerc’s support, the Morrisbourg colony was
returned to me upon our return to New
York
Joelle accepted defeat of her schemes with equanimity. When
I returned home, my monitor lizard was nowhere to be found and Joelle had a new
reptile-skin vest. I didn’t ask. I could have put her in prison had I revealed
the extent of her collaboration with Ulysses, but I saw little advantage to
that, so I didn’t.
Several months after my return, Joelle simply disappeared.
She left behind the cherry blossom I had retrieved for her from a case in an
unflooded floor of the Smithsonian. She also left our newborn son. Fond as I am
of the boy, I wonder about his fierce brown eyes. Mine are hazel. I can’t help
but picture his face with a full black beard.
SLOG Part III: Sand
It was another warm and sunny March mid-morning in Juneau , Alaska
There was a festive spirit on Fourth Street
One unshaven fellow was expressing himself loudly to his
buddy who sat on the curb next to him. Each had a beer in hand and a few more
under the belt. “Hey, I don’t approve of what he done,” he said. “But shit,
what did the French expect? They should have left the man alone.”
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying Bill, but that doesn’t make
it right. The French are people too, sort of.”
“So give him to the French, then. It’s not our business to
judge him.”
“Maybe we will, but you know they’ll just shoot him.”
“Well, that’s not our business either.”
The two men had voiced a common popular sentiment. Whether
or not to extradite Aeneas Custer rather than try him in Alaskan court was, in
fact, the issue being decided at this moment inside the architecturally
uninspired brick building that served as the Capitol of the Republic of Alaska
A hush fell as a Town Crier exited the Capitol carrying a
bullhorn. “By a vote of 10 to 6 with 4 abstentions, extradition for the
prisoner Aeneas Custer is denied!” he shouted. “Trial of the prisoner will
proceed at once!”
This was the news for which the crowd had hoped, and they
now awaited a chance to glimpse the most evil man in the world as he was
escorted from the Capitol to the Courthouse. Aeneas, wearing no handcuffs and
flanked by only four police, emerged from the building. He carried books of
some kind. The Ensign heard murmurs of “There he is,” and “he looks so normal.”
Bill, the beer drinker on the curb, snorted, “Four cops! I think they’re hoping
someone will spare us the trouble of a trial.” The Ensign thought to herself
that Bill might be right.
If so, the powers-that-be were disappointed. No one in the
crowd made a threatening move. No shot was fired from some hidden vantage
point. Aeneas and his escorts walked unmolested past the statue of a bear, a
reminder of Alaska
The three judges who would hear the case were Alfred
Hirasawa, Jeanette Wilson, and Michael Maggio. Hirasawa, who presided, was a
stocky man of 54 and widely known as a “character.” Several of his opinions
were required reading schools for their literary merit. On this day he wore a
Hawaiian shirt. Judge Wilson was 40, and best known for hosting a radio program
on legal matters. She was known for insight and a sarcastic wit. Maggio was a
soft spoken 84-year-old, highly respected as the primary author of Alaska
Within 15 minutes of Custer’s arrival, the bailiff called
the court to order.
TRANSCRIPT ALASKA
JUDGE HIRISAWA [to
prosecution]: State the charges, and keep it brief.
PROUDFOOT: Your honors, the man before us today is charged
with Crimes against Humanity, a felony recognized in the national criminal
code. He has committed murder and mayhem on a scale that almost defies
comprehension. Further, he did so with full knowledge and intent. He in fact
told his victims of his plans to murder them.
The defense surely will argue that these events took place
in the context of a war. Yet, it is long established that c’est la guerre is not a license for murder. Moreover, the
defendant started the war without provocation. This contributes to the charge.
We are not dealing here with some rebel fighting for a noble cause. Far from
it. We have here a spoiled scion of the most influential family in the
Morrisbourg Territory of Greater Quebec, a region once known as New Jersey
HIRISAWA: My, My. How does the defense plead?
AENEAS CUSTER [cutting
off his attorney]: Your honors, I wish to do without counsel.
HIRISAWA: Mr. Custer, this is a capital case.
AENEAS CUSTER: That’s why I wish to do without
this…gentleman.
HIRISAWA: Do you wish a change of counsel? I may consider
it.
AENEAS CUSTER: No sir. Frankly things look bleak even with
the best attorney in the world. I expect to crash, but I’d rather pilot myself.
HIRISAWA: Mr. Custer, this is not a kangaroo court. You will
get a fair hearing. Whether or not that is any use to you is another question.
AENEAS CUSTER: Understood. But I still wish to speak for
myself.
HIRISAWA: Suit yourself. How do you plead?
AENEAS CUSTER: To Crimes against Humanity? What can I say?
HIRISAWA: Guilty or Not Guilty. Pick one.
AENEAS CUSTER: Not Guilty as charged. Your honors, I have a
request, and I’m hoping the Alaskan reputation for substance over formality
will prevail.
HIRISAWA: What is the request?
AENEAS CUSTER: I wish to tell a story in my own way. In a
sense it is two stories: my father’s and my own. My defense succeeds or fails
on the basis of this story alone. Upon hearing what I have to say, this court
will exculpate me or it won’t. I have no wish to debate legal points with the
learned prosecutor over there, so once I’m done, I’m done. I won’t respond to
anything he has to say, and I won’t question any of his witnesses.
PROUDFOOT: Your honors, the defendant cannot structure this
trial to suit himself. This is not his private theater.
AENEAS: Have you looked outside, Mr. Proudfoot? This is very
much theater. The question is whether I get billed as the villain.
[Pause while judges
consult] HIRISAWA: If the defendant is proposing to make a statement and
then shut up, we are inclined to let him do so, provided he doesn’t intend to
keep us here all day. How long will this story take, Mr. Custer?
AENEAS CUSTER: An hour, I suppose. No more than two.
[Judges consult again]
HIRISAWA: That is at the outer limit of our patience, Mr. Custer, so don’t
exceed your time. Your request is granted.
AENEAS CUSTER: For the first part of my story, it will be
simplest to read into evidence, portions of the journal of my father, the
former Governor…
PROUDFOOT: Objection! The defendant’s father is not on
trial. Besides, this journal has been published in the Juneau
AENEAS CUSTER: The prosecutor brought up my family in his
statement, your honors.
HIRISAWA: So he did. We have granted the defendant’s request
to tell his tale in his own way, Mr. Prosecutor. Besides, the media are not the
courtroom…except sometimes for my learned colleague. [Hirisawa gestures at
Judge Wilson.] Go ahead Mr. Custer.
AENEAS CUSTER: Thank you. I will concede to the prosecutor
that that the contents of the journals of my putative father George Custer,
covering the period from the foundation of Morrisbourg to the Battle of DC, are
well known to the court and to readers of the newspapers. So, I’ll begin well
after these events with his entries regarding the Firecracker. These have not precisely because of their relevance
to the current proceedings. The copy of this portion of his memoirs, which I
sent to Quebec City, contained my supposed threat which the prosecutor
mischaracterized in his opening remarks. Before I read, though, I need to put
what was dubbed the Firecracker in a personal context.
The event that changed my life and the lives of so many
others occurred more than a decade ago when I was 16. It was the night of a
beachside bonfire in Asbury Park. This was an annual tradition among
English-speaking youths held on the eve of July 4, a date chosen because it
annoyed the French speakers. A few French always showed up for the bonfire,
though. After all, it was a good party.
That year the party was shaping up as the best ever. Flames
were 10 meters high, fueled with timbers from the ruined structures of the old
beachfront town. The music was loud and disagreeable enough to keep most adults
at bay, except for the usual handful of past-30 hangers-on who were desperately
trying to retain an illusion of youth – and, of course, the hebephiles. All of
us dipped our mugs freely into kegs of Old
Yeller banana wine. We carried on in the manner you might expect of rowdy
teenagers. By midnight a large minority of partiers were unconscious or nearly
so. The remainder continued to dance, sing, chase each other, mock-fight, and
not-so-mock neck. I was no social magnet in those days, so I was an observer
rather than a participant in the necking. One young lady did flash me, but then
she wouldn’t talk to me. I suspect she mistook me for someone else in the dark.
The party ran down over the next few hours and by 4 a.m. only a few of us were
awake. I was pretty exhausted, but I wanted to see the sunrise. I had seen
sunrises before, true enough, but a very pretty and very high brunette wanted
to see the sunrise, too. She was my last chance for a hookup at the party, so I
fought the heaviness of my eyelids and waited with her on a dune. I never did
catch her name. She recited parts of poems, but didn’t finish any of them.
As the eastern sky brightened in anticipation of the dawn,
the brunette stood up so I stood up, too. She walked to the edge of the dry
sand, just above where the waves lapped. She sat down cross-legged and faced
the sea. I did the same, but I got the impression she didn’t want to be crowded
so I sat a few meters away from her. She uplifted her arms as though willing
the sun to rise. She took deep breaths of the sea air. She was a beautiful
sight. She took another awesome breath and raised her hands once more. So it
was that I was not actually looking at the horizon when it erupted in a
blinding white light. The sky overhead turned as pale blue as at midday. I
looked east and saw a semicircle of light that was not the sun. I also saw a
visible pressure wave rush toward us.
The compressed air hit hard enough to knock me on my back and sting me
with sand, grit, and droplets of seawater. A thunderous roar engulfed us.
The brunette was sprawled in the sand. She lifted herself up
on one elbow. A water wave high enough to be impressive but not enough to be
truly dangerous struck the beach and washed past us. Both of us clawed at the
sand against the backwash when it receded. We ran for higher ground. She was
ahead of me and I lost sight of her when she cleared the dune. Most of the sky
returned to darkness but a glowing mushroom cloud roiled on the horizon. Newspapers
called it the July 4 Firecracker.
The explosion, estimated as 200 kilotons, was far enough out
at sea to cause no casualties on land, though a fishing boat failed to return
to port that morning. Nonetheless, terrified residents of New York fled the
city. They feared that the Firecracker was somebody’s near miss, and that a
second attack would be on target. The Quebec military mobilized. Yet, as days
passed, no foreign power or credible terrorist group claimed credit. A few
motley would-be insurrectionists pretended to have something to do with it, but
when they were arrested and interrogated they proved incapable of delivering a
weapon more sophisticated than a spitball.
A rapidly assembled Investigative Committee without a single
scientist on it conducted an inquiry. In short order it concluded that the
explosion was accidental. The Committee members relied heavily on the testimony
of a munitions “expert” who testified that the yield of the device was
consistent with thermonuclear warheads carried by some ships and submarines in
the early part of the 21st century. The Committee concluded that a
warhead on some aged sunken vessel had destabilized in a remarkably unlucky way
and detonated. A reassured public went back to business as usual. The Committee’s
theory, while reasonable and satisfying, was dead wrong.
The Firecracker set in motion a chain of events that led to
the vast death and destruction for which I am being blamed.
The prosecutor is not wrong when he says I come from a
wealthy family, but he leaves out the detail that my wealth was lost – or, more
properly, stolen. The pampered lifestyle of my childhood came to a swift end at
the same time my adolescence ended.
My father George, even after he gave up the proprietary
governorship of Morrisbourg remained the wealthiest man in the colony. I don’t
remember my mother, Joelle Perrault-Custer, who left when I was an infant.
George provided for me, and hired nannies when I was young. One who spoke with
a distinctive accent was named Abigail; I was very young and so don’t remember
if her last name was Weston. Once George was out of politics, he stayed out of
the public eye. When we left the colony on a supposed expedition of
exploration, The Morrisbourg Daily Record didn’t make mention of it. When I returned
alone and reported that my father had died at the hands of bandits in Chicago,
the obituary did make the front page, but there was only superficial public
interest in the story. Everyone knew the hinterland was dangerous, and George
was yesterday’s news. There was strong interest in the family’s wealth on the
part of my father’s trusted personal attorney, however. Since I was still a
minor, he managed to get himself named executor of George’s estate by a judge
who was his personal friend. Over the next year he bled the estate dry with
endless administrative fees. By the time I turned 18, there was nothing left.
My complaints to other judges that my inheritance had been stolen fell on deaf
ears – whether they also fell on greased palms I never could determine.
George did not die in Chicago. That was a lie I told to
prevent further conflict and harm, strange as that sounds today. The real story
of his death would have changed nothing about the estate issues, so I said
nothing more about it until a reporter named Boris Fontaine from Pierre Roulant magazine knocked at my
door. Was it really only a year ago? The 30th anniversary of the
foundation of the Morrisbourg colony was coming up, so he wanted to do a
nostalgia piece about the founders, George and Joelle Custer. He was thrilled
to find me living day to day in a one-room log cabin in a place called Jockey
Hollow. According to legend, it once quartered some of George Washington’s
troops. I don’t believe the legend.
With a lack of tact astonishing even in a reporter, Boris
exulted, “The Custers were the wealthiest family in the Southern Colonies, and
now you’re down to this. This is great! The folks will love to read about it.”
“I don’t think it’s great, and I’d rather they didn’t,” I
told him. I was about to chase him away with a pitchfork when the thought of
getting some cash out of Boris occurred to me. “Will you pay me for an
interview?” I asked.
“No. But if you have some memorabilia, maybe we can make a
deal.”
I thought of George Custer’s journals. I had made copies in
the days before the money ran out. “Would you be interested in George’s
journal?”
He was. And Pierre
Roulant was more generous than was good for any of us.
This brings us to the relevant portion of George’s
unfinished journals, which I’ll now read it into evidence. I’ll add such
commentary as may be useful.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
The government dismisses the firecracker as a one-off mishap
– a chance event with a decaying weapon. My gut tells me this opinion is wrong.
I’m hoping the feeling is just indigestion.
I’m hardly an expert. All I know about nuclear devices comes
from very general century-old books on the subject in the Public Library,
originally aimed, I think, at a teen readership. The trouble is that the Investigative
Committee didn’t seem to consult anyone with higher expertise. The books tell
me that triggers on thermonuclear weapons consisted precisely shaped
conventional charges surrounding a plutonium or uranium core. As a safety
measure the charges were kept misshapen until the weapon was armed for use.
That way, if the explosives went off, they would just deform the core instead
of imploding it; there would be no fission and therefore no fusion. The
conventional charges on unarmed devices went off on several occasions in the
old days but never caused a nuclear detonation. Arming a weapon took two people
with physical or digital keys.
This indicates to me that if the Firecracker was an
accident, the device had been armed. It’s possible I suppose, but why? Then
there is Aeneas’ eyewitness description. True, eyewitnesses are unreliable.
They commonly misremember or flat out lie. But what he describes sounds more
like an airburst – or perhaps a surface burst – rather than a submarine
explosion. If so, the accident theory seems even less likely. Any way you look
at it, something is wrong.
Assume for the moment that the Firecracker was not an
accident. In that case, it either missed its target or it didn’t. But if it
didn’t, why set it off close enough to shore to see, but far enough away to do
little or no damage. Was it a message? If so, it is as obscure as it was loud.
For some reason the document in the safe nags at me. I
haven’t looked at the frustrating thing in a year. There is no reason to draw a
connection, but somehow I feel there is one. It would be megalomania, though,
to conclude that the explosion was purely for my edification.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: Evidently it was megalomania to conclude it
but not to suspect it.
“The document” to which George refers, your honors, was a
note from Ulysses S. Johnston. George found in a sewn-shut back pocket of the
uniform given to him by Johnston for the Battle of DC. It was inside a
water-resistant plastic bag, which is probably the only reason it was readable
after the events of the battle. I’ve never been clear on when he discovered it.
If it was before he returned to Morrisbourg, it raises the question of why he
didn’t show it to Le Clerc.
At the top of the document was Pentagram. The text in
Ulysses’ handwriting read “I’m twice the man you are you two-faced panderer.”
Following in very small type was an apparent cipher consisting of 50 strings of
numerical symbols such as >171.74+76.23. Each was paired with ten paired
sequences of letters and numbers such as QKJY4567/VCKO5489, and so on.
By the way, my eyewitness account is reliable.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
The meaning of this cryptogram continues to elude me.
Quebec’s intelligence service no doubt could read it quickly, but I am reluctant
to surrender it. It was meant for me. I have tried rearrangement, substitution,
and using the initial statement as a key, all without results. Johnston surely
intended me to be able to decode it, even if he wanted it unreadable to a
casual observer. He gave me far too much credit.
Why did he give it to me at all? Was he serious about his
second-in-command offer to me? Did he want me to carry on his legacy if
something happened to him in the Battle of DC?
Did he enjoy our adversarial relationship? Maybe. He was a strange
fellow, more complex than he appeared on the surface. I still dream about the
artillery strike that killed him and nearly killed me.
Two days have passed since my last entry. I am an idiot.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: George had rare moments of insight, your
honors.
HIRISAWA: Keep the commentary pertinent, Mr. Custer.
AENEAS CUSTER: I’ll do my best.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
The only balm for my ego is that my subconscious was on the
right track. The breakthrough came this morning when Aeneas visited me in my
office. Aeneas is 16 and already is bigger than I am. He must shave daily to
hold back a dark beard. His robust figure easily could become rotund if he
fails to exercise properly. I dare not lecture about that since middle-age
spread is beginning to show on me.
Looking at him, I suddenly realized why Ulysses was
interested in having me succeed him. He was securing the future of Joelle’s
child. Am I really that slow? Or was I hiding the truth from myself? I wonder
if Aeneas shares my opinion about his paternity.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: No, I didn’t. Perhaps I’m slow, too.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
Aeneas put the day’s post on my desk. I was examining the
document for the thousandth time.
“What are you working on, dad?” he asked.
“Here, you might as well look at it. It’s a family secret –
so secret that even I don’t know what it means. It could be a treasure map for
all I know.”
Eager to be included in a family secret, Aeneas snatch up
the paper and pored over it. I had been joking about a treasure map, but
perhaps the remark nudged his thinking in this particular direction.
“Is this a pentagram on top?” he asked.
“I think so. Or maybe it’s just a five pointed star. Ulysses
was into national symbols.”
“This is from Ulysses?”
“Yes, he gave it to me before the Battle of DC.”
“The way it’s drawn forms a pentagon inside,” said Aeneas.
“Wasn’t the Pentagon in DC?”
“Arlington, across the river. It’s a thought. Maybe it would
be worth exploring the ruins. Ulysses might have found something there while
scavenging. But would we recognize the something if we found it?”
“Maybe these symbols are coordinates inside the building.”
“They seem awfully complex for that – too much information
for a corridor map, assuming the building is still standing.”
“What’s with the insult?” Aeneas asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve been working under the assumption that
it has something to do with the cipher, but maybe it’s nothing more than an
insult. The man had an idiosyncratic sense of humor.”
While he peered and frowned at the document, I reached for
the mail he had brought. Bills made up the bulk. It is surprising how little
real mail a washed-up politician gets. Since my last electoral defeat running
for Governor, I’ve largely been forgotten. I picked out and opened the one
letter that looked personal. It was stained and wrinkled as though hand-carried
through rain. I unfolded the letter. It was dated July 4. In block letters, it
read:
HAVE I YOUR ATTENTION YET, PANDERER? NORTH BY NORTHWEST. DO
I HAVE TO DRAW A MAP? BRING THE BOY. TELL NO ONE. YOU HAVE 30 DAYS. REMEMBER
ULYSSES.
I was stunned. How could Ulysses possibly have survived? But
who else would know about the word ‘panderer” in the document? Would I never be
free of this man? He was like a case of malaria that kept coming back.
My sluggish synapses finally sparked.
“The voters were right to reject me. I’m too dimwitted to be
governor. Bring me that old Atlas on the second shelf,” I said. The Atlas was
only of limited use in the remolded new world, but it was something.
Aeneas brought me the book, and I turned the pages to South
Dakota.
“Why South Dakota?” he asked, reading the page upside down.
“Because that’s where Mount Rushmore has twice a two-face,
and that’s where Cary Grant went. Ulysses always called politicians panderers.”
“Who is Cary Grant?”
“We’ll pursue your classic film education another day.”
I located the Monument on the map. The town of Custer and
the Crazy Horse Monument were nearby. The locations shouted the humor of
Ulysses S. Johnston.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: After, naming me Aeneas, George lost any
right to complain about anyone else’s nominal humor.”
HIRISAWA: Don’t make me repeat myself.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
It had occurred to me many times before that the symbols on
the document might be coordinates of some sort, but until now I didn’t know
where to start. I took back the document and drew lines with a pencil on the
map using the first set of symbols and Mount Rushmore as a starting point. I
guessed that the > symbol meant east, + meant north, and the numbers were
distance in miles or kilometers. I tried miles; Ulysses was old-fashioned.
Something didn’t look right. The line ended in a nameless
place north of Bismarck, ND. It was hard to imagine there was anything of note
there. I tried kilometers and still ended up in the middle of nowhere. What
would Ulysses find of strategic value there? Phrasing the question that way
immediately made the answer obvious. The final version of the Minuteman ICBM to
be deployed was the Minuteman VI. Thanks to a series of arms reduction
treaties, each missile carried a single warhead instead of the several
so-called MIRV warheads carried by earlier versions of the missile. 500 were
still scattered around the northern Plains States when the government collapsed
– 499 after the Firecracker. Solid-fuelled and with self-contained power
sources, they very well could be made operational; one definitely was.
It appears Ulysses discovered a list of missile locations –
no, they would be control room locations, each commanding a squadron of 10
missiles. He’d probably scavenged it in the Pentagon. The associated pairs of
letters and numbers are the access codes for arming the warheads.
The Firecracker been intended for me after all. It seems an
excessive way to get my attention. Perhaps he wanted to frighten me, too. In
that case, he has succeeded. He has succeeded so well that I’ve decided I need
help. I don’t want to involve the authorities. If I do, the next Firecracker
might not burst offshore.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: I wish to add, your honors, that, in the
interest of social responsibility, I did not give real directions and codes when
describing the document earlier. My examples merely showed the format.
PROUDFOOT: What else did you falsify?
HIRISAWA: There will be time for that later, Mr. Prosecutor.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
“Aeneas, pack your bags. We’re going on a trip.”
“Where? For how long?”
“We’ll stop in New York first. Take informal rugged clothes.
I don’t know how long.”
“Informal rugged clothes for New York? Are we camping in the
park?”
“Just do it. We leave tonight,” I said.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: George wrote the above in his regular
journal, which he kept in the safe at home. I found it there when I returned to
Morrisbourg. The rest of the journal that I’ll read to you now was written in a
small leather-bound book that he kept tied to his belt. I’ll explain how I came
into possession of it in due course.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
Captain Le Clerc, Retired, rents an apartment on the fourth
floor of 30 Central Park South in New York City. The elevators do not work.
Ever since climbing the steps of the Washington Monument, I have hated stairs.
Aeneas waited on a park bench outside while I ascended to the fourth floor and
banged on the door of 4A.
Le Clerc opened the door as far as the chain would allow,
which wasn’t very far. Even through the crack I could see that he was unshaven,
dirty, and was getting a paunch. His breath smelled of banana wine.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“Well enough to waver between shooting me and giving me a
medal. In the end you didn’t do either.”
“George!”
The door slammed shut. Le Clerc unlatched the chain and
flung the door open so that it banged against the doorstop. He grabbed my hand
and shook it heartily. He pulled me inside. The apartment was messy. It was not
filthy besides, but was on the road to that condition. The view out the window of
the park was lovely, even in its current overgrown condition.
“To what do I owe a visit from a big-shot Governor?”
“Ex-Governor. I introduced elections and right away the
people thanked me by voting me out of office,” I said.
“Excellent! You’ve restored my faith in democracy. Come,
have a drink.”
“Thank you Maurice, but this isn’t a social call. I need
your help.”
Le Clerc grimaced at my use of his first name. “I’m a
retired man on a scandalously small pension. My superior officers were unhappy
with the casualties among the marines in DC, but they didn’t want to
court-martial me as long as the politicians were pretending the battle was a
big victory and taking credit for it. So, they ‘encouraged’ me to resign citing
personal reasons. I’m sure I’m in no position to help you with anything.”
“DC was a victory.
I know there were losses, but… Anyway, you are the only one who can help.
Ulysses is back.”
“Nonsense. The 120 got him. You said so yourself. The shell
took the top 10 meters off the Monument. You were on the stairway below. He
didn’t run past you, did he? Even if he did escape, which he didn’t, he’d be an
old man by now. He’s a couple decades older than we are, and I’m feeling
creaky, I can tell you. What harm can he do now?” As Maurice spoke he poured a
glass of banana wine. He didn’t pour one for me.
“You don’t need to be a young athlete to push a button,” I
said.
“What are you talking about, George?”
“The Firecracker.”
“You think he had something to do with that?”
“I know it. He sent me a message. And he has more nukes,
Maurice.”
“Well this changes everything!” Le Clerc now was taking me
seriously. He put down the wine glass. “Why are you talking to me? We need to
report to the Defense Ministry.”
“No, that’s the last thing we can do. I’m sure he has agents
among us, just as he did the last time – including in the government. If he
thinks we’re organizing an attack on him… well that’s something we just can’t
risk with his finger on a nuclear trigger. I underestimated him once before, I
don’t want to do it again. Not this time,” I said.
“What do you suggest we do, then? Wag a disapproving
finger?”
“I want to go meet with him. Just me, you, and my boy
Aeneas. I don’t think he’ll feel threatened by us,” I said.
“There’s a reason he won’t feel threatened.”
“As you say, the man is getting on in years. I have reason
to believe he wants to hand his keys to Aeneas, literally and figuratively. I
propose we let him do it.”
“And why would he want to do that?”
I told him.
“You trust a teenager with such weapons?” Le Clerc asked.
“Far more than I trust Ulysses.”
“I’m still not sure why you are coming to me.”
“We need to go west – well past the Great Lakes,” I
explained. “I thought you might have the connections to get us there. I was
thinking maybe chartering a boat to Minnesota, and maybe taking a tracked
vehicle the rest of the way if we can get our hands on one. I have plenty of
money to buy what we need. And we need to get to our destination in the next 30
days.”
“Why 30 days?”
“I didn’t mention the time limit?”
“You did not. Where is the destination?”
“I’d rather be sure you are committed to the project before
I disclose precisely where we are going.”
“Your boating idea is a bad one,” he said. “Pretty much
everything floating on Superior and Michigan belongs to pirates. I wouldn’t
sail there on anything less well gunned than La Salle. The land out there is a wilderness, inhabited only by a
few crazies. I don’t think even a tracked vehicle can get through.”
“Do we have to walk? Go on horseback?”
“Just how much re you willing to spend?”
“Whatever it takes.”
“Then I have an idea. But I still say we should bring in the
military, not confront Ulysses with two old fogies and a kid while hoping for
the best,” he said.
“I’m telling you he’ll lob nukes before a military strike
can take him out. I won’t do it. I won’t tell you where to find him.”
“Suppose I have you arrested right now and force the
information we need out of you?” he said.
“You are overlooking Ulysses’ spies. They may be watching us
right now. They’ll see something is up. We can’t risk it.”
Le Clerc picked up the glass of wine he had put down earlier
and downed the contents. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I’m
convinced you’re the butt of some practical joke. The Firecracker was an
accident just as the Commission said it was. Ulysses is long dead. No one has
any finger on any nuclear trigger. There are no spies. If anyone sent you a
note, it was probably the teenage son of a neighbor. Maybe it was Aeneas, and he’s
having a good giggle at our expense.”
“Believe what you like,” I said. “If what to say is true,
I’m thrilled, but I’m still heading west, with you re without you. Will you
help or not?”
“Yes. I’m happy enough to spend your money and go camping in
the wild west. It will be quite an adventure. I’ve been vegetating here.”
“Or fermenting.”
“Wise ass!” he barked. “So let’s go. I guarantee we won’t be
meeting Ulysses, though.”
“So long as we go,” I said.
“First stop, Montreal.”
“Your hometown?”
“I’m from Drummondville.”
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: There is a gap in the narrative here, so I’ll
fill it.
After a brief stay in New York, George, Le Clerc and myself
took a steamer up the Hudson. There was a short portage to Lake George. We
sailed all the way to the northern tip of Lake Champlain. They told me I
wouldn’t get seasick on a lake but my stomach disagreed. I spent much of the
trip leaning over the rail surrendering my breakfast. We took another boat down
a small river to the St. Lawrence. We switched boats one more time and finally
arrived in Montreal. George and Maurice dumped me in a hotel where I slept and
recovered from nausea.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
Montreal is a subtropical paradise with a climate much like
that of Miami a century ago. The metropolitan area is home to an astonishing
50,000 people, making it the most populous city on earth. Only Llasa in Tibet
can compete with it. On l'Île Sainte-Hélène is an industrial park where Maurice
said he planned to spend a large piece of my fortune. Dirigible Fabrique Nordique (DFN)
is located on the island in a modified geodesic dome to which a barrel-roofed
ware-house type structure had been appended. It once was a biosphere for an
environmental center – there isn’t much need for one of those these days. The
company builds airships. It built the one that had given Le Clerc and I useful
but alarming service in the Battle of DC.
The owners of DFN,
Jacque and Charlotte Le Pen, had started the business with high hopes and good
prospects. Airships could knit together a large territory with a decayed and
overgrown infrastructure, and also offered a way to project military force
quickly, as government and business executives immediately realized. Most
important of all, their manufacture remained within the limits of Quebec’s (and
the world’s) declining industrial capabilities. The Defense Ministry placed a
preliminary order for a fleet, and commercial transport companies showed
interest, too. The came a few accidents with bad weather, which airships
notoriously don’t handle well. Most damaging of all was the Battle of DC where
the craft had proved an easy target for ground fire. The Defense Ministry
canceled all orders except for a few reconnaissance craft, while only a package
delivery service bought any for business purposes. No one was willing to risk
the lives of paying passengers in them. The Le Pens hung on, but they and their
company were on the verge of bankruptcy.
A deflated blimp was under tied tarps outside the dome; it
was considerably bigger than the one Le Clerc and I flew in DC. We entered the
dome which seemingly was an unorganized jumble of scaffolds and aircraft parts.
A half-built airship was amid the scaffolding. No workers were present.
For reasons known only to himself, Le Clerc chose to wear
his old naval uniform. It was too tight. My French is all but nonexistent, so I
rely on Le Clerc for the gist of the conversation with the Le Pens. The couple
spotted us and approached.
“Can we help you?” Jacques asked.
Charlotte, surely because of the uniform, recognized us
immediately. “You two get out of here!” she shouted.
“We wish to purchase an airship,” said Le Clerc.
“Why? So you can blow it up, crash it in a river, and
destroy what’s left of our business? You are the reason no one trusts our
ships!” she said.
“Ma’am, it was scarcely our fault. We were at war and we
were shot at. It happens in those circumstances. I don’t think you can blame us
for hydrogen being flammable.”
“I can blame anyone I choose. Now get out.”
“Wait, Charlotte,” said Jacques. “I’m curious. Why do you
want an airship and how much money can you spend?”
“We plan an expedition of exploration beyond the Lakes. Do
you have something that can get us there and back? We’re prepared to pay a
reasonable price.”
“Does this have anything to do with Delacroix?” Jacque
asked. “Is someone finally looking for him?”
“Who?”
“It seems not. Louis Delacroix was self-described
entrepreneur who said exactly the same thing as you 15 years ago. He never came
back,” said Jacques.
“I heard nothing about it,” said Le Clerc.
“He asked us to keep mum about his expedition. He didn’t
talk to the papers before he went, as so many other explorers do. I never met
his crew, if he had one. No one ever asked us about him or his expedition. I
made no promise to keep silent as he asked, but… well, why would we advertise
that one of ships didn’t come back from a trip? Do you still want to go?”
“Yes.”
“How soon?”
“Immediately.”
“Do you have 400,000 francs?”
I understood the question about the price. “Yes,” I said.
“Then follow me.”
“Jacques, are you insane? Don’t sell to these people!
They’ll do something stupid with our machine and damage our reputation some
more!” said Charlotte.
“If we don’t sell to somebody soon, that won’t matter,”
Jacques answered her. “We’ll go bankrupt anyway. But my wife has a point,” he
said, redirecting his remarks to Le Clerc. “Have you told the media about your
expedition?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll sell to you under three conditions. One is that
you tell nobody before you leave – if you go missing like Delacroix, I don’t
want any more bad publicity. Second is that you tell everybody if you return –
it will be a good advertisement.”
“What’s the third?”
“Your check has to clear.”
Charlotte shook her head. She still was unhappy about
dealing with us, but was mollified by the conditions – at least the third one.
Jacques led us to the hanger attachment. The airship
tethered inside was bigger than the one in DC. She was at least 50 meters.
“This is the P16, the most time-tested model we have. In any
case it’s the only model available
immediately. It originally was intended for service with the Diplomatic Corps,
but just prior to delivery the government canceled the order for budget
reasons… and, they said, safety reasons. The government never would sign a
penalty clause, so we ended up eating the cost of construction. It’s not as big
as the airships used for hauling cargo, of course, but you say that isn’t your
purpose. You see the props are cowled and are mounted each side of the gondola.
They pivot and swivel, giving a pilot exceptional control while eliminating the
need for a ground crew when landing, though having one always helps. There’s a
short wave radio. The craft contains electrolysis equipment to regenerate its
own hydrogen. The engines are multi-fuel turbines; they give the best range,
though not the best performance, on diesel.
“What is the range?” asked Le Clerc.
“On diesel, you can
take her to the Pacific without refueling. The craft was designed with
Vancouver in mind as a destination. I feel obligated to warn you that the
prototype of this same model was flown by the errant Mssr. Delacroix. How do
you plan to pay?”
Le Clerc passed along the question. I knew that my deposits
in two banks which had home offices in Montreal together totaled more than
400,000, so I wrote out two checks. “They should clear in a few days,” I said.
As we left the DFN
campus, I said to Le Clerc, “We could use acetylene and as much dynamite as we
can carry. Plus the usual survival gear.”
“You know,” he said, “I’m not even going to ask why we’re
taking dynamite. We’ll need cash for it, though. No checks. So we’d better stop
at your bank.”
It took three days for the check to clear into the le Pens’
account. During that time, Le Clerc led me to what must have been every bar in
Montreal, including one where he spent a thousand of my francs on strippers. I
was afraid to leave him alone lest he have a change of heart and contact the
authorities about our mission, but that meant acceding to his whims. He did
find time to have supplies, including black market dynamite, delivered to the
P16. Aeneas mostly stayed in the hotel room with his nose in books.
On our last night in Montreal, I lost count of Le Clerc’s
shots of vodka, but after he had enough of them he led me to a brothel. I have
no objection to the business, per se,
but I wasn’t really in the mood, and, besides, didn’t want Le Clerc slipping
away while I was occupied. I fended off offers in the lobby by explaining I was
just there to keep my friend out of trouble. The ladies were understanding
about it. A half-hour after Le Clerc went upstairs with a brunette named Mona,
Mona came downstairs to ask my help.
“What have you got in mind?” I asked.
“He’s passed out. Get him out of here.”
Mona helped me get him dressed. He must have tipped her well
– especially since it was on my dime – but I gave her some more. We roused him
sufficiently to get him to his feet, with each of us holding one arm, and Mona
helped me get him down the stairs. Once out the front door, though, I was on my
own with him. I struggled to hold him up as we staggered toward the hotel. Once
in the room, Aeneas helped me guide him to a bed, on which Maurice dropped
face-first.
“I compliment you both on your brand of perfume,” said
Aeneas. I suppose the aroma had rubbed off. He must have a good nose to have
smelled it over the alcohol.
The next morning, an unshaven Maurice looked miserable on
the horse-drawn taxi-ride to l'Île Sainte-Hélène. He kept is eyes shut and
intermittently dry-heaved. Tethered in the open in front of the dome, the
silver-gray P16 waited for us. Aeneas suddenly looked as sick as Maurice.
Apparently I was the only one looking forward to flying.
I bounded up the ladder. Unlike the last airship in which I
flew, the gondola was enclosed, but the windows did slide open. Aeneas looked like he was ascending the
gallows as he climbed the ladder. Le Clerc, still convinced I was chasing wild
geese, then wearily pulled himself aboard. The le Pens released the ropes, I
started the engines, and the P16 rose smoothly into the balmy skies over
Montreal. To his credit, Aeneas soon seemed to be enjoying himself. Le Clerc
was as comfortable as anyone could be with a hangover of those dimensions.
As we flew west, the skies did not remain balmy. Ominous
clouds loomed ahead. Rain soon batted the windshield. Before long we were
flying blind, enveloped by rainclouds, and buffeted by drafts. By the time we
were over Lake Erie the storm had become brutal. We had little to guide us but
dead reckoning and a magnetic compass. Aeneas began to look ill again.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: This is an understatement of mammoth
proportions. By the way, I didn’t stay in my room in Montreal but went sightseeing
extensively. George never asked.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
Despite the weather over the lake, the route was preferable
to overland given the unpredictability of the Canadians in Ontario. They’re
twitchy about Quebec’s expansion and have fired on airships before. The risk of
overflying Ohio and Indiana was unknown. I preferred not to chance it.
At length we reached the shore of the lower peninsula of
Michigan, barely visible below. I took us higher into the mist until we lost
sight of the ground, on the theory that, if we couldn’t see anyone down there,
they couldn’t see us either. Whether or not the precautions were necessary, we
survived the crossing, though it took all night. We broke into clear morning
skies over Lake Michigan. Our flight smoothed out. Eventually, Aeneas felt well
enough to open the larder for a snack. I’d been too occupied to look earlier,
and Le Clerc was still too queasy from his nights on the town.
“Um, guys,” he said. “Much as I relish the thought of
chewing on dynamite, don’t you think you should have packed some more
conventional comestibles?” The food larder was empty.
I looked at Le Clerc. “I thought you had arranged for our
supplies.”
“I bought the hardware,” he said. “Couldn’t you have bought
the food and drink?”
“I could have, if I’d known you wouldn’t.”
“George, did you once specifically ask me to do that?”
“Guys!” interjected Aeneas. “I think the point is what do we
do now?”
“There’s plenty of water below us,” I said. “We just need
some containers. We should be able to find canned food in an abandoned store
somewhere. If not, we can hunt. I don’t suppose there is a rifle aboard.”
“I’m so glad the two of you used the past few days in
Montreal to prepare for a long trip into the wilderness,” said Aeneas.
“We had other priorities,” said Le Clerc. “And yes, there’s
a Lee-Enfield wrapped in the canvass bundle in back of the dynamite. I bought
it even though it wasn’t on George’s shopping list.”
We lapsed into silence. The engines droned steadily.
At last, a distant skyline came into view. “Heads up. I
think that’s Chicago. It’s as good a place as any to go shopping,” I said.
“Won’t the downtown be ransacked?” asked Aeneas.
He had a point. The urban centers were heavily looted as the
economy broke down and new deliveries of goods ceased. Rural and suburban
stores and warehouses usually were better bets.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: George needn’t have been surprised that I had
a point. I’ve been known to have one occasionally.
WILSON: This is not one of those occasions. Get on with it.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
“I’d like to look anyway,” said Le Clerc. “You know I think
this mission is a waste of time and money. We might as well do something
valuable by giving the ruins a once-over. Maybe they’re salvageable the way New
York was.”
I didn’t say so, but I was curious, too, so I kept us on
course.
The P16 nosed over Lake Shore Drive. Drifting sand had
infiltrated the city, heaping up on the Western side of buildings and cars.
This side of the lake was a dry as the opposite side was wet. There was no sign
of life below. The silence of ghost cities always disturbs me. The John Hancock
looked intact except for some broken glass. The old water tower still survived.
“There’s a big multistory shopping mall north of the water
tower,” I said. “Let’s see if anything is left on the shelves.
As le pen had promised, the directional thrust of our props
gave us very effective control. I brought us to a hover just above the street,
and tossed a grapple hook to a lamppost. It caught.
“So who goes down?” asked Aeneas, plainly not volunteering.
“I’ll go,” I said.
“Wait,” said Le Clerc. He unpacked the rifle and loaded it
with a stripper clip.
I rolled a rope ladder out the door and slung the rife on a
shoulder. “I’ll be right back if everything has been picked clean.”
Once on the ground, I was caught in the face by a sand-laden
gust. It was difficult to resist rubbing my eyes, but I feared doing so would
scratch them from the sand granules.
A door to the mall was wedged open by a sand pile. Inside,
the placed was a wreck. Broken glass was everywhere. I walked up an immobile
escalator past the empty shelves of a chocolate shop. The clothing shops still
had stock, but most others were out. In a sporting goods shop I saw two plastic
water coolers. I grabbed them and hurried back toward the airship, convinced
that there were no treasures to be found in this place. Besides, the mall gave
me the willies for some reason.
“Where next?” asked Aeneas.
“Lake Michigan. We’ll grab some water. It’s not as though
people are polluting the lake these days. Then we’ll stop outside of the city
somewhere.”
We motored past the corn cob buildings. This time we
grappled to the fountain in Grant Park. The fountain, of course, was dry.
“I’ll go again,” I said. “I’ll just fill the containers in
the lake and come right back.”
If there is anything more eerie than the streets of a
deserted city it a park in a deserted city. One almost hears echoes of
children, dogs, lovers, and dope dealers. I instinctively looked for traffic
before crossing Lakeshore Drive, sand-covered though it was. I filled the
containers and lugged them back.
While I stood on the fountain handing up the coolers, 20
wild men emerged from the parking garage under the park. Except for green paint
and the spears they carried, they were naked. They seemed upset. “Machine!
Machine!’ they shouted as they charged toward the fountain. I gathered they had
an eco-message about which they were quite sincere. However, the time was not
auspicious for a political discussion, so I released the grappling hook and
climbed the ladder. We took our leave.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: Your honors, George seriously misrepresents
this scene. Far from displaying such nonchalance, when the men appeared he
shouted, “Oh shit!” while yanking the grapple hook free. He leapt at and
grabbed the ladder of the already rising P16 while shouting, “Get the hell out
of here! Now!” Le Clerc took him at his word and throttled the engine. George
swung below us as we accelerated away from the park. One of the men below
tossed his spear, missing George by centimeters. By the time we dragged George
inside, he was drenched in sweat and was shaking.
WILSON: I think you judge harshly, Mr. Custer. That is this
court’s prerogative.
AENEAS CUSTER: I apologize for encroaching upon it.
WILSON: Pardoned.
AENEAS CUSTER: A full pardon?
WILSON: No.
PROUDFOOT: Your honors, may I remind the court that the
defendant is charged with unspeakable crimes. This tone of levity…
HIRISAWA: …is also this court’s prerogative. And his crimes
are speakable, or he could not have been charged. Do not for a moment think
that we fail to take the charges seriously, even when we banter.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER:
We picked up speed as I clambered aboard, and quickly left
the downtown skyscrapers behind. I was surprised to notice a 9mm handgun in Le
Clerc’s belt.
“I thought the Lee-Enfield was the only gun,” I said.
“I never said that, did I?” said le Clerc.
While fundamentally pleased there were no casualties, even
among the wild men, I can’t help but wonder why Le Clerc didn’t use his weapon
when they were attacking. Perhaps he was too occupied at the controls – at
least I hoped so.
Amid the sands west of the city we saw a Food Lion in the former suburb of
Elmhurst. I was reasonably sure that this time we were in an area that truly
was desolate. This time we lucked out. There were cans on the shelves. I waved
at Aeneas to come down the ladder and set him to work stocking the airship.
On a hunch, I walked to the remains of a house on a
residential street neighboring the supermarket. A heating oil tank stood
against the foundation wall. Not much heating fluid was burned in the world
once the sun heated up, so there was a chance some remained. I removed my shirt
and used it to insulate my hand against the searingly hot metal cap. It twisted
off easily. I used my belt as a dipstick, but it did need to go in far. The
tank was nearly full, and #2 heating oil makes fine diesel fuel. Once the
larder had been stocked, we maneuvered the ship over the tank and dropped a
hose. The internal pumps did the rest. I figured that it didn’t hurt to top up
our tank.
The Great American Desert stretched out ahead of us as far
as we could see. The land below us once had been the world’s breadbasket. Now
it barely sustains a few lizards. After hours of glaring sunlight we approached
a large trench in the sand. The once mighty Mississippi had been reduces to a
wadi, though sharp cuts in the banks testified to the occasional flood. On this
day the only sign of dampness was a darker shade of brown in a strip near the
centerline of the trench. The western sands turned a beautiful pink as the sun
set. When night fell, the stars were as bright as I’ve ever seen them.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: Your honors, a few pages of George’s journal
are missing at this point. I suspect he tore them out himself the moment we
spotted live South Dakotans, just as a security measure. It would have been
much safer yet to throw the whole journal overboard since it spelled out his
opinion about Ulysses and the missiles pretty clearly, but somehow I like
George better for not doing it.
What was removed was an account of our stop at a missile
control room. Finding it was no easy matter given our primitive navigational
aids, and it wouldn’t have been possible at all had George’s interpretation of
“the document” been in error. His gambles frequently paid off, though. Le Clerc
was visibly disturbed by the find. Only the outer steel door was locked or we
could not have gotten inside. We burned our way through it with our acetylene.
The inner tougher security hatches were wide open, as though the site had been
abandoned carelessly. There was no power to any of the consoles, but there was
bound to be some generating capacity on site. We didn’t look for it. As soon as
we confirmed the place was exactly what George had thought it was, we set
dynamite charges and destroyed the controls.
WILSON: Why didn’t you finish the job at the other control
room sites?
AENEAS CUSTER: We didn’t have the resources. The one site
had used up most of our explosives. We might not have been able to find the
others. Navigation is difficult out there. It’s not like the old days when GPS
could guide you through your phone from doorstep to doorstep. And, if the other
sites were locked up tighter than the first, we’d never have been able to get
in.
Le Clerc, though, had a similar question, and, as we rose
back into the sky, he told us how to do it. “Every last one of these sites and
the missiles themselves must be destroyed!” he insisted. “They are too
dangerous to leave out here. I insist that we call Quebec on the short wave,
and get a real expedition out here big enough to deal with them.”
“I know you well enough to know that you don’t ask my
permission when you feel something that strongly,” said George, “so I must
assume you already tried to use the radio at some point.”
“Give whatever part you removed from the radio to me now,”
said Le Clerc.
“No.”
Le Clerc removed his handgun.
“I don’t believe you’ll use that, but just in case…” George
tossed a small part over the side. “You’ll never find it in the sand down
there.”
“Are you crazy?” said Le Clerc.
“Maybe, but no about this,” he answered. “Listen, Maurice,
I’m telling you that at least one squadron of missiles is operational. Have you
forgotten the Firecracker already? What do you think Ulysses will do if he sees
Quebec’s military bearing down on him? We can’t risk it. Let’s just talk with him.
If we don’t come back, I’ve made other arrangements to notify the proper people
about him and about the missiles.”
Your honors, I believe this last claim was a lie George made
up on the spot. As far as I know or could discover afterward, he made no such
“other arrangements” at all. It mollified Le Clerc, though, which I suppose was
the idea, so that he agreed to continue according to George’s wishes.
“Have you given thought simply to killing Ulysses when we
meet him? If we meet him?” asked Le Clerc.
“Yes. But let’s hear what he has to say before deciding
about that,” said George.
THE JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER
Something strange had happened to the Crazy Horse Monument.
Erosion couldn’t have worked so quickly. It looks almost as though someone has
been feminizing the features.
The faces of Mount Rushmore loomed ahead of us. There was
something wrong with them, too. They were painted in colors one expects to see
only in comic strips. All the complexions were shocking pink. Washington
appeared to wear lipstick. Jefferson’s hair was a fiery red. Lincoln’s beard
was streaked with gray. In spite of myself I laughed while wondering idly if
the eye colors were right. My laughter was curtailed by what floated below TR’s
chin. It was a sister ship to our P16, but painted paisley. We apparently had
found the ship bought by Delacroix, who either was an agent of Ulysses or
Ulysses himself.
I pointed below. “Civilians,” I said.
“I sincerely hope so,” said Le Clerc. “Are those camels down
there with them?”
“Looks like it.”
The people below were garishly and colorfully attired. As
soon as they saw us, the pointed, shouted, jumped, and laughed like children.
We closed to within 100 meters of the other airship. A white-robed woman leaned
out the gondola and waved to us. She pointed east with an air of authority.
“What do we do?” Le Clerc asked.
“Go east. Maybe we’ll see what she wants us to see.”
As we veered eastward, smoke signals went up from
Washington’s noggin. I suppose it was a warning of our arrival. It seemed
unnecessary. We were hard to miss.
A cluttered outpost appeared ahead. Clusters of solar panels
reflected brightly on the hillside. Their arrangement seemed less efficient
than artistic. The frames were painted, giving them the look of mechanical flowers.
Long rows of garden vegetables were semi-shaded by semi-transparent plastic –
an old 20th century desert farming technique. The effect is to
create a partial greenhouse that controls sunlight and preserves moisture. Here
and there were groups of picnic tables shaded by tent canvass held up by poles.
Windmills churned below as well, providing, as we later learned, electrical and
mechanical power. Only a few people milled about. They were dressed like those
at Mount Rushmore.
“Maurice, please put away your gun.”
“It is put away.”
“I mean take it out of your belt and store it somewhere out
of sight. Please.”
“My gut tells me this is a mistake, but what’s one more at
this point? I’ll let you make the call.” Maurice packed the handgun away with
the rifle.
We hovered over a flat area next to a hill. The dimensions
suggested an old parking lot was beneath the layer of sand. Out of a tunnel in
the hillside emerged scores of people with even worse fashion sense than
anything we’d see yet. Their clothes included sarongs, loincloths, bikinis,
togas, and gauze wraps. Many of the fabrics were bright with painted flowers,
stripes, and dyed patterns. They waved, applauded, laughed, and smiled.
“They don’t look much like nuclear terrorists,” said Aeneas.
“I haven’t met enough of those to judge,” I said, though I
was thinking very much the same thing. This didn’t look like Ulysses’ sort of
crowd at all.
“What the hell is this place?” said Le Clerc.
“Beautiful Rushmore Cave.”
“Beautiful?”
“I’m just reading the name on the map,” I said.
We dropped ropes over the side. Several of the throng ran up
and fielded the ropes as though they did it for a living. They fed the ropes
through rings set in concrete posts, apparently installed there to provide an
alternate mooring site for the other airship, and kept them taught as we
lowered to the ground. They then tied off the ropes. I killed the engine.
The three off us slid out the door and instantly were mobbed
by attractive young men and women with leis. Despite the Hawaiian theme, the
ethnic mix was primarily Caucasian and American Indian, with a smattering of
others, an echo of the pre-disaster regional population. A rhythmic chanting
began, “Custer! Custer!”
“I see you’re expected. What is going on here, George?” asked
a deeply suspicious Le Clerc.
“I really don’t know.”
“That’s what you said in DC.”
“I was telling the truth, wasn’t I?”
“Were you?”
The exchange was interrupted when the chanters picked us up
and carried us. A young man sat playing the sitar by the tunnel adit.
“Is Ulysses here?” I asked one of our bearers.
“Ulysses? No, of course not.. You are joking with me,
Custer. Mother is waiting for you. We’ve all been waiting such a long time, but
the circle is complete now and all will be well.”
“Why do I doubt that?” said Le Clerc.
The gardens we passed were impressive. Cannabis, tomatoes,
grains, potatoes, beets, turnips, and yams were cultivated under the plastic.
Dates and figs grew in the open. The gardens were served by a network of PVC
pipes providing drip irrigation. The pipes tied together into a main line that
disappeared into the tunnel, where it ran along one wall,
We entered the tunnel, once the tourist entrance to
Beautiful Rushmore Cave. It was wheelchair accessible. The walls were covered
by murals in a variety of styles. Multicolored party lights strung along the
ceiling lit them up in a tawdry display. We passed a naked couple unashamedly
making love in the position of an illustration on the wall above them>
Aeneas gawked at them. I’ll have to talk to him about that.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: And George leered like a dirty old man. Give
me a break.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER
The temperature dropped as we walked. The earth is a
constant 13.5 degrees Celsius at modest depths, so for the first time in years
I began to feel chilly. It was wonderfully refreshing.
We entered an enormous cavity, called simply The Big Room.
Though already decorated by nature with stalactites and stalagmites, the room
was further enhanced by the locals who had carved many of the stalagmites into
statuary. A variety of lamps and colorful fabrics hung from the ceiling. In the
otherworldly light, children played while adults worked or socialized in a
friendly chaos. One woman was giving a puppet show to a mixed-age audience. I
heard her have one of the puppets address the other as George. I don’t think it
was meant to be me, since the puppet didn’t resemble me at all.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: Yes it did.
HIRISAWA: Mr. Custer…
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER
We passed a man who sat on the floor sewing something that
looked like a bra with a sunflower on each cup. Toward the middle of The Big
Room, an enthusiastic game of Twister was
in progress.
Our bearers put us down but four of them escorted us to a
side passage and through a string bead curtain. This “room” was smaller but was
far from cramped. Leather living room furniture to the left gave the place a
homey appearance. A bedroom set including a waterbed was to the right. Straight
ahead was a large chair carved out of the rock and covered with padding. Two
female guards with spears flanked the chair. They wore denim shirts and shorts,
but the garb didn’t look like military uniforms as did the denim of the West
Virginians; only the fact that the clothes matched suggested that they might
be. Both guards wore brown cowboy boots. The spears were the first weapons we
had seen among these people. On the chair – or, rather throne – sat Joelle,
clothed in a white silken robe. At 40-something, she remained stunning. Her
pale blonde hair had yet to gray or darken. On her head was a garland of
flowers.
“Say hello to your mother, Aeneas,” I said.
“You’re my mom?” he asked.
“Mother, not ‘mom,’ she corrected.
“Mother to us all,” said one of our bearers.
“And who is this?” Joelle gestured Le Clerc.
“This is Maurice Le Clerc. In the Battle of DC, he
commanded…”
“La Salle. Yes, I
know the name,” said Joelle with anger in her voice. “He spoiled everything!
What is he doing here? He has no business among us!”
The display of ire plainly caught the locals off guard.
Joelle checked herself, and said calmly, “Perhaps it will be for the best.
Please leave us,” she said to the bearers. Our livery service left twittering
and chattering. “You too,” she said to the guards. They looked surprised and
glanced at her for confirmation. Joelle nodded. They left the chamber.
“You named him Aeneas?” asked Joelle. “You have an odd sense
of humor sometimes. No matter. Why didn’t you come here earlier? My people were
beginning to doubt me about you, even though they wouldn’t say so to may face.
I nearly came and got you myself.”
“I came as fast as I could. Your letter was pretty cryptic,”
I said. “Was it your letter?”
“Yes, of course it was mine. Someone else could have read
it, George, so I couldn’t just say “Come to South Dakota, Sweetie.’ But why
didn’t you come 15 years ago? The directions were in the document Ulysses gave
you.”
“You read the document?”
“I told you not to put your trust in safes.”
“So you did.” I didn’t add that Ulysses and Joelle surely
had discussed South Dakota during their tryst in New York, so she didn’t need
to decode the document’s meaning. “I didn’t figure it out until your letter
arrived. I guess I’m not as quick as you. So where is Ulysses?”
“Ulysses? Why he’s still dead, I suppose. You and sailor boy
here killed him in DC. Don’t you remember?”
“But your note…”
“Said he was an honest man, not a live one. I expected you
to think of the mythical Ulysses...”
“…who after a long journey returned to his wife. You’re
going to have to communicate with me more simply, Joelle. I’m not a complex
thinker.”
“Noted.”
“So, the mythical Ulysses killed a bunch of Penelope’s
suitors. Am I supposed to…”
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
“What about Delacroix? Didn’t he finance your trip here and
buy you that crazily colored airship?”
“Are you jealous, George? We don’t approve of jealousy
around here. Anyway, there is no cause for you to worry. Louis Delacroix
suffered a fatal accident on the trip here.”
“An accidental accident?” I asked.
“There are accidents and accidents. This was one of the
second kind.”
“Madame,” said Le Clerc.
“Mother,” she said.
“Madame,” Le Clerc repeated, “I hate to interrupt this
little reunion, but do you mind telling me why you dropped a 200 kiloton nuke
off the coast of New York? It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was me. I wanted to get George’s attention. It
worked.”
“If you’ll pardon my saying so, that’s nuts. There would
have been nothing at all wrong with a ‘Come to South Dakota, Sweetie” note. I
know George. He would have come. Surely you know him better than I do, so you
should know it, too. So what if anyone else read it?”
“Do not call me
nuts in front of my people,” she warned. “They are a kindly sort, but they
won’t appreciate that at all. The explosion served two other purposes, too,
Maurice. It proved the Minuteman missiles still work, for one thing. We
couldn’t be sure until we tested one. You might argue we could have tested
anywhere, but I opted for a show of force. I’m sure you understand shows of
force.”
“But no one knows it’s you.”
“They will, Maurice. When the time comes for us to reveal
our possession of the weapons to the world, we’ll have instant ‘credibility’ as
they used to say in Cold War days.”
“Exactly what are your plans for the missiles?” Le Clerc
asked.
“Let’s come back to that later. First I want to show you the
life we’ve built.”
“The locals seem to revere you,” I said.
“Yes, almost literally. I saved them, George.”
“From what?”
“Themselves. They were scattered in settlements from here to
Rapid City, and spent most of their time raiding each other and bashing heads –
murder, rape, and robbery. It was as though producing for themselves and simply
co-operation never occurred to them. One scraggly band without the tools or
weapons to raid lived in these caves, mostly on lizards, but their numbers were
diminishing day by day. You might notice there are no old people here, and only
some who are middle aged. People didn’t make it to 40 before I arrived. They
were desperate for someone to show them another way to live – any way to live.”
“Then you magically flew out of the sky and offered one,” I
said.
“What’s more, my last name is Custer – thanks to you. You
might notice that a lot of places around here are named after someone named
Custer. I saw no reason to dissuade anyone that I was related. I brought with
me a cache of automatic rifles, courtesy of Delacroix, so I armed the group
here, and systematically captured or destroyed the other settlements. We
couldn’t afford to be gentle. We killed the men who showed any signs of
rebellion, and resettled the survivors in these caves.”
"How did you even know about the caves and the
situation here?” I asked.
“As for the social situation, I didn’t know anything about
it until I got here. I worked with what I had. But Ulysses – to give credit
where credit is due – was the one who saw the possibilities of the geology and
told me about them. The Black Hills are a granite outcrop surrounded by a doughnut
of limestone. Over the past few million years, the water running off the
granite has eroded out slashes of caverns on all sides, like lines on a clock
face. They make great natural shelter and the clear skies out here are perfect
for solar power.”
“…and there are missiles nearby in the desert that you and
he knew how to make operational,” I added.
“So there are.”
“Your story sounds a lot like the one Ulysses told me in
West Virginia, but his solution was more militarist and fascist than what I’ve
seen so far in this place. I haven’t seen any of those automatic rifles you
mentioned. Where are they?”
“Ulysses ultimately had a pedestrian vision, George – a
little like you. Militarism has been done. He thought it was an end in itself.
It isn’t – or at least it makes a pretty uninspiring end. We did have to resort
to it in the beginning, of course, but once we had suppressed or absorbed our
enemies, we put violence aside. We put away the rifles, to which on my private
guards have access; we keep them just in case we are threatened from the
outside. Once the civil wars were over, we started to prosper. There are plenty
of manufactured goods, such as the solar panels and windmills, available in the
ghost towns out there, and the airship makes retrieving them fairly simple. In
order hold it all together, though, I felt we needed a spiritual revolution,
too.”
“Hence this hippy commune with you as spiritual head,” I
said. “Why do they seem so enthused about my arrival?”
“Because people are never quite satisfied, no matter how
much better things are than they used to be. I promised them you would bring a
reconnection with the outside – a chance to be more cosmopolitan.”
“The outside is overrated,” I said.
“I agree, but many of the people are still hopeful about
what you represent.”
“I see.”
“I don’t,” grumbled Le Clerc.
Aeneas stayed silent but listened intently.
“Come, let’s take the tour,” she said.
Joelle showed us the cave. We met smiles and applause. The
commune, I had to admit, was impressive. Functional plumbing and electric power
had been installed, using materials ferried in by airship from salvage
expeditions. Outside the cave we gave the gardens a closer look, and then rode
by camel to nearby caves that formed part of the extended commune. The locals
did not rely entirely on salvage. Despite a casual work ethic, they produced a
surplus of textiles from their own looms, some ultimately from hemp, and also
blended their own colorful dyes. One of the cave sites specialized in
metalworks and ceramics, with furnaces for melting scrap and for glazing.
Joelle explained that they were able, if need be, to sand cast individual parts
for the airship engines or the electric generators; their technology was more
robust than it might appear, she insisted.
Joelle explained that she discouraged anyone from working
more than four hours per day. Because there were few personal possessions and
living space was communal there was no need for higher levels of production.
“There are more important things than things,” she said. Everywhere we went the
people seemed happy. The sun was low in the sky when we reentered Beautiful
Rushmore Cave and returned to Joelle’s chamber.
“We’ve done something new here, George,” she said. “Or maybe
very old. Anyway, it’s different from the general way of the world. We’ve come
to terms with the conflict within.”
“What conflict?”
“Pleasure principle and the death instinct. Eros and
Thanatos.”
“Freud?”
“Ultimately, yes, but he, as Reich realized, didn’t tilt
enough in the direction of Eros. Repressed people make repressive
civilizations.”
“But you say you’ve come to terms with the conflict. That
implies a place for Thanatos too – a place for an appetite for destruction,” I
said.
“So it does. But first I think you should experience the
Eros – especially you, Maurice. You strike me as a very repressed man.”
“You didn’t have to escort him around Montreal’s bars and
brothels,” I said.
Joelle laughed. “Strangely enough, that’s not a
contradiction, because he feels guilty about it, don’t you Maurice?”
“I never claimed to be a paragon of virtue, Madame,” said Le
Clerc.
“There you see?” said Joelle. “He believes his indulgence
was a moral lapse. We are not like that, Maurice. The pleasures of the flesh
are a virtue here, and the highest paragons of virtue are the love priestesses.
You might have noticed them: the pretty ladies in white.”
“By priestesses, you mean prostitutes,” he said.
“No such thing is even possible here, Maurice. We have no
money, we have no property, and we don’t buy or sell anything. The only reward
the priestesses earn is honor. Sexually frustrated young men are the most
dangerous people in any society – they commit the crimes, they engage in
violence, they foment unrest. We make sure they’re not frustrated. Some of them
don’t do well winning female companionship based on their charms alone, so the
priestesses step in. Even so, I don’t arm them. You might have noticed my
guards are women.”
“Are you telling me you promote adultery and polygamy so
that young men will be too complacent to bother with mischief?” asked Le Clerc.
“We do keep them complacent but, but your phrasing is packed
with prejudices. We promote polyamory, Maurice. We don’t promote polygamy,
monogamy, or marriage of any kind. Adultery is a meaningless word here. Without
property, marriage serves no useful purpose. It merely promotes jealousy and
anti-social behavior. We better off without it. Two, three, or more people are
together when they want to be and apart when they wish.”
“I have a question,” said Aeneas. “Everything you’ve said so
far sounds all rather heterosexual. What about the others?”
Joelle paused before answering. “It’s all very
heteroflexible. We don’t draw the same kind of distinctions around here as do
people back where you grew up, and we don’t think in terms of ‘others.’ People
pair or multiple up any way they like. We don’t fuss about it. I’ll admit,
though, there’s a young lady I’d intended for you to meet – but if you’d prefer
not to…”
“Oh, I’d be happy to meet her. I was just curious.”
“We also make use of mind expanding aids, some of which grow
naturally and some which don’t. We don’t brew much alcohol, though. That can
kill you – worse, it dulls the senses instead of enhances them.
“I get it,” said Le Clerc. “You’re a commune of drug-addled
psycho-babblers. However, your degradation is not my responsibility.”
“How open-minded of you, Maurice.”
“But you keep glossing over the missiles,” he said.
“And you keep obsessing about them, which shows me where
your head was at. During the civil wars, you are precisely the sort of opponent
I would have ordered killed.”
“Is that a threat, Madame?” asked Le Clerc.
“A statement of fact. Fortunately for you, you’re a guest,
and I’m allowing you some leeway.
“Madame, I wish to point out that you’ve already killed with
those weapons. A fishing boat never returned when the Firecracker went off.
Surely you must have known that was a possibility – you must have known there
was a chance the missile would come down in the wrong place and kill thousands.”
“Very unlikely.”
“But possible. It bespeaks a carelessness with lives that
concerns me deeply.”
“Maurice, what you need to learn – but I fear never will –
is that you and people like you are the ones who show – who always have shown –
the real carelessness with lives. Who built the missiles in the first place?
People just like you. But I don’t want to talk about this now. I have a
surprise for Aeneas.”
Joelle clapped her hands. One of her guards peered into the
chamber. Joelle gestured with her index finger, indicating “now.” The guard
vanished. A few moments later she reentered escorting a pretty young woman with
red hair and hazel eyes.
“George, you obviously know that Ulysses is the father of
Aeneas. I want you to meet my daughter Selena. Aeneas, this is your
half-sister.”
Aeneas looked thunderstruck. I’m amazed he never suspected.
“Selena? Is she…?” I asked.
“Your daughter? Of course not, George. Can’t you do math?
But I want you two to know each other anyway. Before you ask me who is the
father, suffice it to say he is not here.”
I suspected he was not anywhere. I wondered if the
ill-starred Delacroix had red hair.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: Your honors, whether or not I looked
‘thunderstruck,’ George’s expression when looking at Selena was considerably
less dignified. It was from this moment that George went native, and, since the
motive couldn’t have been parental, it was very likely his attraction to this
younger prettier version of Joelle. He may not have acted on it, but…
HIRISAWA: Mr. Custer, we agreed to hear your story, but not
your armchair analysis of your father.
AENEAS CUSTER: He’s not my father.
HIRISAWA: As that may be. Get back on track.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER
“One of my guards will show you quarters where you can rest
and clean up. We have a party tonight and the three of you are guests of honor,
so you’ll want to be awake.”
We were led away to a side cavity forming a chamber equipped
with beds, bedpans, and a bathtub filled with deliciously cool water. I suppose
these were perquisites of being “the Custer.” Like Joelle, I apparently was
“more equal than others.” I claimed the tub. Le Clerc used it next. Aeneas
didn’t bother.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: Of course not! After two grimy old men? The
room had washcloths and a pitcher of water. I made do with those.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER
Aeneas was sullen. Sometimes he looked at me with murder in
his eyes. He was angry at me for having concealed his origins, but I did not do
that out of malice. I tried to talk to him but he would have none of it.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growled.
After a time I gave up. Le Clerc observed us without
comment. I then dozed for what felt like several hours, but must have been
less.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: It was much less.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER
At length, a denim-clad guard awoke us and led us outside.
The sky was cloudless and starry, though a band of red still lingered on the
Western horizon. A gibbous moon looked huge and gold.
The party already was in full swing. Food, drink, and
intoxicants were laid out picnic style on at least 20 long cloths. There were
no plates. Instead there were trenchers, slabs of hardened bread that served
the same purpose but became edible when soaked in juices. The guard led us to
our places on large stuffed pillows next to Joelle. The people picked and ate
buffet style, but there already were full trenchers topped with delicacies in
front of the four of us. The drinks were unidentifiable and I was not inclined
to experiment. Joelle picked out a pitcher and filled a clay goblet for me. It
tasted like carrot juice. Perhaps it was.
Sitar music and the sickly sweet smells of hash and opium
filled the air. I noticed Joelle didn’t partake of either despite her history
with the substances. Light-hearted sexuality pervaded the scene. Couples – and
triples and quadruples – did as they pleased openly.
“Reminds me of a Grateful
Dead documentary,” I said.
“Animals!” muttered Le Clerc.
“What are you complaining about now, Maurice?” asked Joelle.
“Don’t you people have any decency? There are children
present here!” he said.
“Yes, precisely. They can learn the healthy loving ways
adults can interact with each other, instead of learning guilt, repression, and
hate. They won’t be twisted up inside the way you are. What’s more, you’ll find
there is little or no child abuse here. That requires secrecy, and secrecy
follows from guilt. On the very rare occasion it happens, the abuser is always
found out and we deal with him swiftly. Can you say the same in your world?”
“You must have an epidemic of young teen motherhood.”
“On the contrary. Do you see any such thing around you? The
young learn to be careful early, and, since they don’t hide their activities,
their friends are likely to warn them before any serious lapse happens. In our
family, peer pressure is almost always beneficial, not harmful.”
“What you call beneficial is disgraceful,” said Le Clerc.
I decided to shift the topic of conversation before this one
grew any more heated. “What is that area next to the cliff?” I asked. “It looks
like you’ve modified it to be a theater. Are we going to have a play?”
“We do have plays there sometimes,” said Joelle, “but
tonight we have a sporting event. You asked about how we bring Thanatos into
the balance. While we defuse destructive instincts in the ways I’ve explained,
not all aggressive tendencies can be removed by a tender touch.” Joelle flicked
a finger under my chin. “On holidays and special occasions we have bouts of the
Champions.”
“You mean like boxing matches?” I asked.
“More like gladiators. The participants are usually
volunteers – there are always volunteers – or they are criminals sentenced to
fight. Champions are feasted and pampered right up to the moment of the
contest. The love priestesses pay the contestants special attention. Criminals
are released from further punishment if they win. The volunteers, if they win,
receive the acclaim that champions of any sport typically receive. The event
satisfies the remaining appetite for violence in the participants and the
spectators alike, all the while weeding out the most dangerous and violent
persons from our communal family.”
“I see.”
“So do I!” said an offended Le Clerc. “You said ‘weed out.’
These bouts are to the death, aren’t they?”
“Of course.”
“So we are about to witness a murder.”
“No, Maurice. We are about to witness a sporting event, and,
as it happens, justice. One of the participants is a sportsman. He will face a
sentenced criminal. We do have a few. Not many compared to your world, but a
few. The commune does consist of humans after all. The Champion has a chance
for honors, and the criminal has a chance for redemption. This is far kinder
and rehabilitative than the way criminals are treated back East.”
“What was the crime?” asked Le Clerc.
“Jealousy.”
“You have condemned a man to death for being jealous?”
“No. We have condemned a man to risk death for acting
jealous, not being so. Possessiveness is antisocial in spirit to be sure. No
one owns another person. But we don’t punish thoughtcrimes, only actions. The
man’s obsession with a young woman was unwelcome, and his behavior was
threatening toward her and violent toward her other lovers.”
“He could survive,” said Maurice. “Are you telling me he
will be welcomed back in your community if he does?”
“Yes.”
“And if he is still obsessed? Suppose he still acts the same
way, as I deem likely?”
“We believe people can evolve, Maurice, and that they can
learn from their errors. If I did not believe this, you would not be sitting
there. Nonetheless, a repeat criminal will not face the arena a second time for
a serious offense, but exile.”
“Exile to where?”
“Out in the desert somewhere.”
“That’s death sentence.”
“Not necessarily, but the odds are better in the arena. We
don’t see many second offenders.”
The cloudless sky had turned starry, though a narrow band of
red still lingered on the Western horizon. A gibbous moon rose huge and gold. A
Champion took the stage and bowed to the crowd. Two female guards led the
criminal combatant, hands bound, onto the stage next to him. One cut the man’s
bonds. Both men were bare to the waist. The criminal was blond, tan, muscular,
and somewhat shorter than average. He affected a smile that came off looking
more like a sneer. His darker opponent was considerably taller, but appeared
less athletic. His expression was stoic. One guard picked up a crossbow and
climbed up onto the rocks. The second guard offered a bowl to each combatant
turn. Each man sipped from it.
“What’s in the bowl?” I asked Joelle. “And what’s with the
crossbow?”
“Mushroom soup is in the bowl. The mushrooms are the kind
that will reduce pain and psychically expand the experience for them. The
crossbow is just to keep the bout honest. If one of the Champions flees or
refuses to fight, the guard will dispatch him.”
The two men faced each other and began to circle. At first
their barehanded strikes were tentative, but they grew in force and confidence
as each man got the other’s measure – or perhaps it was just the mushroom soup
taking effect and making them reckless. Despite trading blows for a quarter of
an hour, neither could get the better of the other. Tired of the standoff, the
criminal charged the tall man, striking his waist with a shoulder. Both fell to
the ground and wrestled desperately.
I winced at a shrill and unexpected noise: Joelle had blown
a police whistle. In response to the signal. A guard tossed two two-meter poles
into the arena. At the sound of the poles’ clatter, the men disengaged and dove
for them. Now armed with the poles, the two circled each other again. They
were, sweaty, dusty, and bruised, but neither man looked seriously injured. In
a swift move, the darker man cracked the blond in the temple with his stick,
and delivered a second blow to the man’s left ankle.. Blood flowed from the
man’s ear and nose as he dropped to his knees. A pole then caught him end-first
in the torso, cracking his ribs and knocking him on his back. The tall Champion
moved in to finish the criminal, but overconfidence slowed his attack. The
blond rolled to avoid the blow. Sensing he was about to lose the fight, the
criminal tried a desperate maneuver of the type that usually fails. He
staggered to the cliff face, jammed his pole in a rock crevice, and snapped the
end, rendering it as pointed as a spear. He spun and faced his onrushing
opponent, ducked the man’s swing, and stabbed. The sharpened point of his stick
entered the Champion’s heart. The criminal’s opponent fell dead. The victor,
seriously injured collapse on the ground.
The onlookers shrieked and applauded.
“Why is everyone happy the criminal won?” I asked.
“They are happy about the rousing bout. Who won is not the
primary issue. Besides, the winner no longer is a criminal. He is redeemed. And
even if Mr. Le Clerc’s pessimism about character reform proves justified in
this case, I don’t think this fellow will be very dangerous from now on,
crippled as he is, do you?”
“Barbaric! Grotesque!” complained Le Clerc.
“As opposed to what, Maurice? A firing squad or locking him
away ten years in a cage? Your ways are barbaric, Maurice, not ours.”
The contest had been a real crowd pleaser, and the party
resumed in earnest. In addition to feasting, the partiers passed around
mushrooms, pills, and powders, while the aromatic smoke in the air thickened.
Soon, people were making love in bewildering combinations of numbers and
gender. Aeneas gaped awkwardly. Joelle held back from the amorous activities.
“What about you?” I asked. “Don’t you normally join in all
this?”
“Don’t be jealous, George. You saw what happens to jealous
men. Besides, strangely enough, I’ve been quite virtuous by Mr. Le Clerc’s
standards, but not for reasons I imagine he would endorse. I rely on public
perception of me as being ‘above it all’ and somewhat special. It doesn’t help
to reveal myself intimately as an ordinary less-than-youthful woman who
sometimes needs a bath and has bad breath.” She shrugged in her characteristic
way.
“There is something sad about that.”
“Well, then why don’t you do something about it? You are
‘The Custer.’ I can stay above it all and still play with you.”
“In front of everyone? I’m not as young as I used to be, and
distractions might be…well…distracting.”
“Some of what you’ve been drinking contains enhancements.
But I don’t think you’ll need them.”
Whether they helped or not, I realized I was eager and
physically ready. I reached for her.
“Not yet,” she said. “I have something to arrange first.
Aeneas and Selena are my…our…logical successors. We need heirs if we are to
preserve this culture. Have fun, kids.”
Selena took Aeneas by the hand and led him away.
Le Clerc was outraged. “Custer! You can’t allow this! This
is unnatural! It’s illegal!”
“Not here, Maurice, I said. “Try to be open-minded. This was
a common arrangement in the ancient Egyptian royal families. In some places it
is legal to dally with a cousin while in other places it isn’t. In the old USA
some states allowed kids to marry at 13. All those standards are arbitrary.
These people have a right to set their own.”
“Surprisingly enlightened, George,” said Joelle.
“Dark as dark can be!” said Le Clerc. “Have you really
bought into this snake pit, George?”
“They all seem happier than you, Maurice.” I looked at
Joelle and asked, “Now?”
“Now,” she said.
It had been a long time. I didn’t realize until then how
much I’d missed her touch. I needn’t have worried about distractions. I was
conscious of nothing but the two of us for the next half hour. When we were done
and I looked up, I saw we were surrounded by dozens of the locals. They smiled
and applauded. For a moment I turned beet-red. They laughed at that, too, and I
joined them. I understood at last the hold that Joelle had on these people. I
might not be willing to die for her, as I was sure most of the South Dakotans
would, but I might well kill for her.
INTERRUPTION OF JOURNAL:
AENEAS CUSTER: I wish to draw the court’s attention to this
scary statement.
HIRISAWA: Attention drawn. Continue.
JOURNAL OF GEORGE CUSTER
“Where’s Le Clerc?” I asked.
“One of the white-robed love priestesses is attending to
him. She told him he looked like he needed company,” said Joelle, who
apparently had remained more aware of her surroundings than I.
“And he went?”
“Oh, don’t worry. He’ll wallow in guilt about it later.”
The party was winding down as revelers passed out one by
one. Some folks were still getting higher. A group of four men and two women
without a stitch on caught my attention as they danced and passed around a
bottle of blue liquid. From the way their eyes rolled, I guessed that whatever
they saw didn’t belong to this world.
END OF JOURNAL
AENEAS CUSTER: Your honors. George’s journal ends here. He
must have scribbled these last entries during the night. I saw him sitting with
a self-satisfied grin as Joelle dozed on the pillow next to him. Selena lay
asleep next to me. I believe she partook of the various sedatives available on
the picnic cloths. I didn’t. I remained awake partly from sobriety and partly
from excitement over the recent activities of Selena and me.
Le Clerc reappeared at this point and sat down next to me.
He had found an earthen jug and was drinking from it. From the smell, it was
wine.
“Aeneas, let’s take a walk,” he said quietly.
“Alright.” I got up quietly and donned my pants. I doubt a
local would have bothered, but old habits die hard. The two of us walked out of
earshot of those still awake.
“Aeneas, I’m sure you find Selena fascinating, but the world
is full of women.”
“The world isn’t very full of anyone, but I concede roughly
half the population is female. What’s your point?”
“Back home you are young man of means with a socially
noteworthy name. You live in a mansion. You have the resources to experience
life to the full – to travel the world if you wish. Girls will flock to you.”
“They never have,” I said.
“Life after high school is different. Trust me. What is
regarded as important changes after the teen years. You will be regarded as a
catch.”
“Once again, what’s your point?”
“You are only 16. Don’t be dazzled by a party and a quick
fling.”
“It wasn’t so quick.”
“Never mind that,” said Le Clerc. “Look around you. These
people live in a cave. For all Joelle’s fancy talk, these people literally are
troglodytes. She wants you to live in a cave too. With Selena. Forever.”
“Is that so bad?”
“Yes, when you other option is the whole world. You won’t
have that option when Joelle obliterates Quebec.”
“George says she won’t do that. The missiles are just a
deterrent.”
“He’s wrong. This is not Woodstock West, however much it may
seem to be on the surface. You know how George always insists he is not
political even though he always is at the center of political intrigue; there
is a sense in which he is right about himself. He has a few notions about
ethics that he picked up from somewhere, but mostly he is a pragmatist who
doesn’t take any ideology too seriously. He doesn’t understand true idealists.
Ulysses wasn’t one; he only pretended to be. But Joelle is. She obviously believes
her claptrap in a way Ulysses never did. Idealists are ruthless in pursuit of
what they regard as ‘the greater good.’ They have no trouble killing people for
their own good. I understand Joelle all too well.”
“Why? Because you are an idealist?” I asked.
“Yes. The difference is that I know what the greater good
really is. I served two decades defending it. Joelle’s notion of ‘good’ is
perverse beyond measure.”
“That seems a narrow way of looking at it.”
“Aeneas, the point is that she will launch the missiles. I
guarantee it. She will convince herself that a pre-emptive strike is
‘self-defense’ or in the higher interest of humanity. She cannot allow an
alternative lifestyle to this one to persist, or sooner or later her people
will defect to glitz and glitter of Quebec and the other remaining
civilizations. Do you want to be responsible for the deaths of thousands of
people? You will be responsible if you don’t stop it.”
“You are being melodramatic.”
“You are being cowardly.” Le Clerc sighed and said in a
lower voice. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. Let me put it another way. You can
be a hero. Are you up to it?”
I rather liked the idea of being a hero, especially if being
one wasn’t too dangerous. Besides, what if Le Clerc was right? But why did he
want me to play the part?
“Why don’t you be the hero?” I asked. You’ve been one
before.”
“I would if I thought I could do it alone. I can’t. The
airship isn’t well guarded, but it is guarded. Someone has to make a
distraction and someone has to fly the ship.”
“You’re going to steal the P16?”
“No, Aeneas. You will.”
“No. But, assuming I did, how would this make me a hero?” I
asked.
“A messenger who informs Quebec about the danger of
operational missiles will be a hero.”
“How will carrying back the news help?” I objected. “The way
I see it, if Quebec attacks South Dakota when I deliver the news, Joelle
definitely will launch. I don’t know if she keeps people in the missile control
room at all times, but, for safety’s sake, assume she does. No attack on the
Black Hills can succeed fast enough to prevent a launch.”
“Which is precisely why Quebec won’t attack. Neither will
Joelle. Both sides will be deterred because, once everyone knows where she is
located, she can’t launch a strike without provoking a counterattack: Mutually
Assured Destruction, as the strategy was called in the old days. No one gains
from an attack so no one launches one. Everyone stays safe. Think of it as a
way of protecting Selena, if you like.”
Maybe my mind was affected by whatever substances I ingested
that evening, but Le Clerc’s arguments swayed me – admittedly the prospect of
being a big man Back East was as convincing as his moral arguments.
The airship was guarded by two of the blue denim guards, one
on each side. Accordingly, they couldn’t see each other – a weakness we could
exploit.
“How do we do this,” I asked. “They look pretty tough. There
must be a height requirement for the job. Both those women are taller than I
am.”
“We’ll use their fornicating ways against them. Circle
around so they don’t see us approaching together. I’ll chat up one and you try
to seduce the other.”
“What if they say no?” I asked.
“They will say no. I’m an unpleasant old man and both of
them are on duty. Even here that must count for something. We just need to
divert their attention a little. I’ll handle the rest.”
If anyone lying on the ground at the picnic sight noticed
the two of us walk on separate paths toward the P16, no one tried to intervene.
It is likely no one looked.
I approached the guard on the port side of the airship. The
young woman wore a headband in addition to the usual guard garb, and also had
tied her shirt to bare her midriff.
WILSON: Enough of the fashion report, Mr. Custer.
AENEAS CUSTER: Yes, ma’am.
PROUDFOOT: Your honors, while I am aware of the latitude
granted the defendant, may I take this opportunity to point out that he can’t
possible remember these long past conversations in the precise detail he is
relating them.
WILSON: The same thought occurred to me.
AENEAS CUSTER: The words are as I remember them. The content
of the conversations is correct in essence.
[Judges confer in
inaudible whispers.]
MAGGIO: The defendant may continue in his own way. The court
will take into account the “in essence” qualification.
AENEAS CUSTER: Anyway, I approached the guard and said, “Hi,
I’m Aeneas.”
“Yes, I know,” she answered. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks. It doesn’t look like you’ve had much fun tonight.”
She smiled. “Not tonight, but my job has its perks. Besides,
I’m not on duty 24/7, so I’ll get my chance to kick back. Maybe Selena can
spare you for a night at some point,” she said with a wink.
“You know about us?”
“I’ve known about you for years. We all have.”
“Wow. For years I’ve been famous and never knew it.”
“I’m sure the Custer had his reasons for keeping some things
secret from you.”
“He is such a very good secret-keeper that he kept them
secret from himself,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Jennifer.”
As we spoke I saw silhouettes inside the gondola that I took
to be Le Clerc and the other guard. To this day I don’t know exactly how he got
her aboard or how he kept her silent. Maybe he knocked her unconscious and
carried her in. Or maybe he successfully seduced her and she boarded willingly
as a lark, though I have to assume he then overpowered her somehow. All I know
is that the airship started to rise. The mooring ropes had been untied at the
gondola end and were sliding through past the cleats. It seemed he plan to have
me steal the airship had been modified.
“Did you get to see the contest?” I asked, still hesitating
while trying to decide whether to help Le Clerc further or to switch sides
again.
“No, no from here. There will be other bouts.” The sound of
the mooring ropes dropping to the ground caught her notice. She looked in back
of her and saw open space where an airship should have been. Overhead the P16
continued to rise.
“Hey!” she shouted. She looked up and threw her spear. It
passed through a gondola window but missed Le Clerc. The engines whirred to
life. Two other guards with bows came running from the picnic area. There
arrows fell short of the craft as it passed beyond a hillside.
Jennifer stared at me with dismay at the betrayal. Feeling
guilty, I turned away and found myself face to face with Joelle. Even in the
dark I could see the cold fury in her face.
“What have you done?” she demanded.
I had no answer.
“When we catch him he’ll face a Champion in the arena,” she
said.
George arrived at the spot in time to hear her last remark.
“We won’t catch him now,” he said.
“We have another airship and we will catch him. You!” she
pointed to a guard. “Have the ship brought here! Jennifer! You get some help
and bring me my accessories from my personal cache. You know the one. If you
fail me again you’ll go to the arena, too.”
Jennifer ran toward the cave entrance. The first guard
Joelle had addressed by this time had climbed a rise and was signaling Mount
Rushmore with a hand laser.
“We don’t know where he is going,” said George.
“Of course we do. He is headed toward the nearest missile
control room, which of course is the one I powered up. I presume you mapped the
locations and left the map on board.”
“Well, yes. But why would he go there?”
“To attack us, George,” she said. “How can you not know
that?”
“Le Clerc said he just wanted mutual deterrence,” I
objected. “He said he doesn’t want a war.”
“Look, you little idiot,” she said to me. “Don’t talk about
things you don’t understand. Mutual deterrence is based on a second strike capability – and ability
to absorb an attack and still hit back. If one side can obliterate the other
totally, there is no deterrence. On the contrary, the incentive in that case is
to strike first. Le Clerc thinks he can wipe us out with one blow, and that’s
what he intends to do.”
“I don’t see how,” said George. “You need two people to arm
the warheads, and he has no idea how to operate the controls.”
“He has two people! He’ll tell Sue Ann, the guard he took
hostage, anything to get her to co-operate. He’ll tell her he plans to send the
missiles harmlessly into the ocean and that he’ll kill her if she doesn’t help.
Or maybe he’s corrupted her with promises of wealth Back East. Maybe she’d a
traitor. I know he thinks he can get her to help. I have to assume he can, too.
As for the controls, any idiot can operate them. This was the most
sophisticated system ever installed before the disaster, but for that reason it
is very user-friendly. You just type in longitude and latitude. You don’t even
have to do that. You can point at any location on map and click. Enter the
codes and fire. The computer walks you through it. ”
“All the same, I don’t think he is a killer,” insisted
George.
“Of course he is. The both of you are. What about the Battle
of DC?”
“That was a war,” George said.
“Precisely. He thinks this is war, and he’s willing to
inflict collateral damage on civilians – something you always hesitate to do.
You really don’t understand us, George.”
A whining of turbines grew louder. The paisley airship from
Mount Rushmore lowered itself to the former parking lot.
“Both of you get in,” Joelle order George and me. Jennifer
arrived laden with the “accessories” Joelle wanted. They were two M4 assault
rifles and two shoulder launched rocket launchers.
Joelle replaced the love priestess at the airship controls
and ordered her off the ship.
“What fuel is your airship using?” she asked George.
“Diesel.”
“Good. We’ll catch him. We’ve kerosene in ours. We’ll have
better speed.” She took the ship up and pushed the throttles full forward. We
flew north north east.
Despite the age of the craft and its exposure to the
elements for years, the paisley ship performed flawlessly. I was impressed. The
Le Pens built good aircraft.
At the start, I assumed our odds of catching Le Clerc were
remote. I doubted our edge in speed was enough. If Joelle misjudged him and he
was heading to Quebec, we were going the wrong way and had no chance at all.
She hadn’t misjudged and my assumption was wrong. My chest constricted when
something occulted the stars in the sky ahead. Joelle was right. He had made a
beeline for the nearest missile control room. It was time to try to repair the
damage I had done.
“Over there!” I pointed. “Le Clerc is over there.”
“Not a moment too soon. The control room is straight ahead.
Aeneas,” said Joelle, “I want you to know that if you were anyone else I’d send
you to the arena for what you did. I don’t believe in third chances, so don’t
ever ever cross me again.”
“Yes ma’am.”
We closed slowly on the P16. Le Clerc must have seen us too.
“Take the controls,” Joelle ordered George, “and keep
closing.”
She picked up the rocket launcher and leaned out the window.
I don’t know if what she used had any heat-seeking capability or if it was just
point-and-shoot. Either way, the rocket hit the target. Le Clerc’s P16 erupted
in a fireball. A soft rumble from the explosion reached us. Le Clerc’s airship
descended to the ground at a leisurely pace.
Within minutes we skimmed over the wreckage. The hydrogen
already had been consumed, and what was left of the P16 smoldered below. I
don’t know whether they jumped or whether they were thrown from the craft when
the gondola hit the ground, but both Le Clerc and the guard had escape being
burned alive. Both lay face-up in the sand a few meters from the wreck. Neither
was moving. George lowered our airship to the ground. Joelle, the lightest of
the three of us, leapt out, armed with an M4. The ship lurched upward but
George resettled it by adjusting the gas pressure and the directional motors.
“Take the controls, and stay on board,” said George. “Keep
her on the ground.”
I took over and George, also armed with an M4, followed
Joelle. I countered the loss of weight by throttling the props. Turbines are
not deafening engines, and I was able to hear most of what the two said on the
ground.
Joelle walked first to the young woman and knelt down by
her. “Sue Ann. Sue Ann!” She felt for a pulse. I could see from Joelle’s
response that she didn’t find one. She stood up and went over to Le Clerc. Le
Clerc was bleeding from shrapnel wounds and possibly had injuries from the
fall, but his eyes opened when Joelle kicked him in the side.
“I don’t think you’ll be much trouble for an opponent in the
arena in your current condition, do you?” said Joelle to Le Clerc. “I’ll ask
Jennifer if she wants you. Oh, you didn’t meet Jennifer, did you? Don’t worry,
you will.”
George spoke more encouragingly, “I’ll try to talk her out
of that sentence, old boy. You know, this is your third crash in a blimp? With
a record like that you’ll never get insurance.”
Le Clerc managed a pained smile.
“Come on, George,” said Joelle. “He’s not going anywhere. We
have business in the control room.”
She strode toward the entrance, which only 100 meters away.
To my surprise, she had left the place unsecured and unmanned. But then,
without the map locations and codes, there wasn’t much risk anyone would find
it in this desert, or be able to do any harm if he did.
As George began to follow, Le Clerc gasped out, “No! Stop
her, George. She is going to fire on Quebec.”
“No, she isn’t,” said George. “I’ll bet she just wants to
make another demonstration shot. There won’t be damage. Besides, she needs my
help to fire a missile, and I won’t help her hit a civilian target.” Joelle
stopped in her tracks to listen to this exchange.
“No, George, she doesn’t need your help. She just needs a
second person. If you or Aeneas won’t help her, she’ll go back to Rushmore and
get someone who will. You don’t understand us! She is going to slaughter our
countrymen.”
George shook his head and took a step toward the control
room.
None of us had considered that Le Clerc might be carrying an
“accessory” of his own. Le Clerc rolled painfully on his side, pulled out his
9mm from behind his back, and aimed it at Joelle. A burst of fire came from
George’s M4. Le Clerc ceased moving permanently.
“I’m sorry, Maurice,” said George, “but her people are my
countrymen and she is my wife.”
“Come on, George,” said Joelle softly.
“Just a minute.” George walked up to the airship. “Aeneas,
this is a good ship,” he said. “I hereby dub it Nearer.” (It was years before I learned the reason for choice.)
More quietly, he said, “Listen, this is an order and a plea. Wait until we are
both inside, lift off, and go full throttle in a straight line as far away from
here as you can get. If nothing unusual happens in half an hour, come back.
Don’t be early.” George looked at me a long moment, unclipped his leather
journal from his belt, and tossed it into the craft. George turned away and
walked to Joelle.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“Just some reminders of his family duties,” said George. I
suppose they were.
As they entered the control room bunker I faced a dilemma. I
suspected that following George’s instructions would expend my second chance in
Joelle’s eyes, and she had made it clear there would be no third. I didn’t
fancy an appearance in the arena. George, on the other hand, rarely was wrong
tactically, and he never had tried to do me harm even though he had reason to
resent me. I made a fateful decision. I dropped ballast and rose into the sky.
I chose the direction in which I would have a tailwind and thrust the throttles
full forward. No airship is a jackrabbit, but my ground speed climbed to nearly
100kph.
I was perhaps 40 klicks away when, for the second time in my
life, I experienced an artificial dawn. The sky turned bright blue. The shock
wave overtook me in less than two minutes. Even at this distance it keeled the
airship on its side and nearly flung me out of the gondola. The windshield
shattered. The radio, which hadn’t even been turned on, sparked and burned out.
I could smell oil.
I have to assume that George was responsible for a
point-and-click targeting their own control room. I don’t know whether Joelle
really was going to attack Quebec as Le Clerc predicted or just set off another
demonstration as George expected. Whatever the case, George evidently decided
it was necessary to remove the threat permanently. He thereby answered the last
question in his journal. He was willing both to die and kill for Joelle – just
not in the way she would have wanted.
Nearer limped back
to Beautiful Rushmore Cave. I desperately wanted to leave the Black Hills and
return to my pampered life in Morrisbourg, but the airship was in no condition
for the trip. A crowd waited for me. The fireworks in the north had been
impossible to miss. As I set the craft down, several locals secured it with
mooring ropes to the same rings to which the other P16 had been tied. Jennifer,
new spear in hand, stood in the front rank and treated me to a murderous stare.
It seemed unwise to reveal that Joelle and George were dead.
Instead, I pretended to be acting under their authority. The Dakotans were
quite credulous. After all, I was a Custer and Jennifer, unsurprisingly, hadn’t
explained to anyone how I had distracted her, since this would have cast her in
a very bad light. I’m not normally a convincing liar, but I was inspired by the
serious risk to my life. Le Clerc had been allowed to escape, I told them, as a
test of his character, and as a proxy test for the general run of people Back
East. He had failed Joelle’s test, I said, and bee-lined for the missiles
instead of for home. He planned to destroy our commune. Joelle had anticipated such
a possibility before Le Clerc even arrived, I told them, and had rigged the
guidance program of the control computer so that anyone attempting to fire a
missile without entering the password “Luggage” would drop the missile on the
control room bunker itself and no where else. George and Joelle had given Le
Clerc a chance, and he used the chance to destroy himself. This was the
explosion the Dakotans had seen and heard.
“What about Sue Ann?” asked Jennifer.
“Regrettably she died with Le Clerc,” I said. “She is a
heroine. She was informed of the plan to test Le Clerc, and helped carry it
out. She chose to let him destroy himself, knowing she was sacrificing her own
life. Joelle did not ask her to make that sacrifice, but it was a brave choice.
She chose to protect the commune by letting the test reach its ultimate
conclusion.”
The experience, I continued, proved that contact with the
outside world was no yet wise. It must come eventually, however, but Joelle and
George needed to sow the seeds of enlightenment in the so-called civilized
world to prepare the way. So, they were headed east to begin the task. They had
confidence, I told them, that the Rushmore Commune is advanced enough to
continue without them.
“Joelle instructs Selena” I said, “to assume the role of
Mother. The commune is to treat her with the respect and obedience due Joelle
herself.”
Unlike nearly all of the Dakotans, Selena, I could see, was
buying none of this. Nonetheless my lie had put her in charge, so she chose not
to question it.’
“Joelle’s last instruction is that the airship be repaired
so I can follow them and assist them in their work Back East. I shall return
when the time is right.”
I had recreated the scenario for Selena that Joelle had
constructed for herself. She was the Mother and I was new Custer whose return
the commune would await.
The airship Nearer
was ready in three days. I got the impression Selena was eager to see me go.
She made no further offers of intimacy.
I flew a southerly route far from the Great Lakes. I
maintained high altitude and speed on a path to Morrisbourg. This time the
weather was with me. The desert below gave way to rain forest. If anyone down
there took shots at me, I was too high for them. Upon arrival in Morrisbourg I
reported that George and Maurice had died in an unfortunate encounter with
natives in the ruins of Chicago. The report sparked surprisingly little
interest. My paisley airship garnered much more comment, but no one in
Morrisbourg knew that it was not the ship we had bought and flown west; as for
the colors, George was known to be an eccentric who once had owned a monitor
lizard as a pet. The Le Pens no doubt thought I had reneged on the sales
agreement by not advertising the virtues of the craft, but, after all, it was
the wrong craft. The one they sold George didn’t return, which nullified the
agreement.
As I explained earlier in my testimony, I did not benefit
from my return. My estate lawyers stole my inheritance. They even seized Nearer, ostensibly in lieu of unpaid
fees, which they then used as an aerial pleasure yacht, mooring it at a
warehouse on the outskirts of town.
This brings us to the reporter Boris Fontaine and my
supposed threat to life and civilization, a threat that the prosecutor claims
is evidence of my premeditation.
I spent the money from Boris and Pierre Roulant for the delivery of George Custer’s journals in
order to fully equip myself for an expedition to the west. I loaded the
supplies on Nearer, which I fully
acknowledge stealing, though in my opinion I was just reclaiming what was
rightfully mine. I knew it would take Boris a little time to read through the
journals. The threat was an admittedly ill-considered addendum that, in a fit
of pique, I scrawled onto the end and signed. It reads in full:
“By the time you read this I will be in South Dakota. If the
Dakotans are not already manning a missile squadron at all times, I will see to
it that they do. Any attack on the Rushmore commune or the Dakotan missiles
will be considered grounds to launch them. I alone will determine whether the
philosophy of George, Joelle, or Le Clerc with regard to the warheads is the
correct one.”
HIRISAWA: Does that end your testimony, Mr. Custer?
AENEAS CUSTER: No, sir, but I’m close. The consequences of
this note and of my arrival in South Dakota are crucial to my story and
defense.
HIRISAWA: Then I suggest we break for lunch and resume in an
hour.
Slog Part IV
Snow
TRIAL TRANSCRIPT
PROUDFOOT: Your honors, the defendant described himself as
an inspired liar. I will grant him that. But the final moments of his testimony
he admitted to premeditation. I ask for a summary judgment of guilty at this
time.
AENEAS CUSTER: Your honors, those were not the “final
moments” of my testimony, and I didn’t admit to anything. My “threat,” which is
to what I presume the prosecutor is referring, was somewhere between ambiguous and
innocuous. I wish to finish my story.
HIRISAWA [consults
colleagues]: Ambiguous perhaps, but not innocuous, Mr. Custer. However, we
already have agreed to let you complete your story and then sit down. The
motion to change the defendant’s pleas is denied.
PROSECUTOR: Your honor, do we need to produce radioactive
rubble as evidence to prove his threat was real?
HIRISAWA: Denied, Mr. Prosecutor.
AENEAS CUSTER: Thank
you, your honor. As I will reveal, I never had any authority over the Minuteman
force. Whatever thoughts I had of acquiring any influence, much less authority,
proved to be wishful thinking. None of my actions in the days after I wrote the
note seemed at the time to be the slightest bit hostile, unreasonable,
irresponsible, or reckless. It is easy to be wrong about such things. Your honors,
Heraclitus said that you cannot step into the same river twice.
HIRISAWA: You had better make that pertinent immediately.
AENEAS CUSTER: Yes, sir. You can’t walk in the same desert
twice either. I should have guessed the South
Dakota Black Hills . I didn’t understand Le Clerc’s reference to
“Woodstock West,” when he made it, but I looked it up when I got back. It was
an apt one. I was eagerly anticipating reuniting with Selena and the brood at
Rushmore.
The engine of Nearer
ran smoothly after all the passage of years. My former lawyers kept up with the
maintenance. Well, why not? They had my all inheritance to spend on it. The weather
over Pennsylvania Pennsylvania
The airship felt like home. The very scratches on the
control panel were familiar. The gondola’s aroma, rich with hydrocarbons,
evoked memories of George and Joelle.
I carved the name Nearer
on the rail. George would have liked that. I had learned this was one of
George’s little jokes. It seems there once was a famous psychedelic bus named Further.
The succession of hills and valleys below became soporific.
I nodded off at the wheel, but not before engaging autopilot. Eventually, some
minor turbulence shook me awake, but a quick look around showed the autopilot
had done its job. The downtown towers of Pittsburgh
The jungle gave way to savanna in Ohio Indiana Midwest . I
awoke feeling refreshed. Below was a landscape of magnificent sand dunes.
Rudolf Valentino on a white stallion would have finished the scene to
perfection. As may be apparent to the learned judges, I had taken George’s
advice about classic movies.
Guesstimating my position to be west of the Mississippi
As the winter constellation of Orion fought a losing battle
with the moon for dominion overhead, the land below grew ragged. Buttes and
spires glowed in the reflected light and seemed as unreal in the bright
moonlight. The range of hues reminded me of some Loony Tunes artist’s conception of Mars. These were the Badlands of
South Dakota below me. Home was near.
Memories swept over me once more. I was eager to reunite
with Selena and I hoped she remembered me fondly. Hours dragged as a head wind
slowed Nearer. Not too soon for me,
red reappeared in the sky, this time in the east.
A view of the Black Hills
filled the windshield. Flying above them felt as familiar as a walk on a
hometown street. The four faces of Mount Rushmore
peeked over a far hill. They grew slowly as I flew closer. Abe Lincoln’s beard
had acquired some gray. Whether this was deliberate aging by the local artists,
or simply weathering of the paint, I couldn’t tell. All the faces looked a bit
pale. The entrance to Beautiful
Rushmore Cave
It was a gorgeous new day. I needed a shave and a bath but I
felt strong, healthy and enthusiastic. My life, which had been interrupted for
the past five years, was about to resume.
I made a low pass over the site as an announcement of my
arrival. The grounds outside the cave were neater than I remembered. A handful
of farmers in clothes of muted hues were tending to the sheeted gardens, while
two other workers adjusted photoelectric panels. These few had started work
early, but the commune members always worked and played when it suited them. So
long as people completed their chores, Joelle had not been a stickler for
schedules. The farmers stopped work to watch me but did not leave the
gardens. The panel workers disappeared inside the cave. I
circled while news of my presence spread.
Nearly fifteen minutes passed. The farmers resumed their
work, though they looked up at me frequently. No colorful merry throngs rushed
out to greet me. It was still early, I reminded myself; most of the commune
might still be sleeping off the effects of a party.
At last a response came from the cave, and it was not
comforting. Two men dressed in desert beige uniforms scurried out. They carried
deadly accurate M40A1 rifles, sniper rifles once favored by the US Marine Corps
back around the turn of the millennium. They took positions by the rocks near
the cave entrance. They aimed at me.
As soon as they were in position, a third young man, also
dressed in a beige uniform, walked out of the cave. He strode to the large flat
sand-covered area that once had been the visitor’s parking lot for this former
national park. He motioned to me to land. The directional props allowed me to
lower the craft with little adjustment to the ballonets. I tossed ropes over
the side, which the beige man secured steel rings. The rings were rusty, which
was unsurprising. Nor airship had been around here in a while. I shut down the
engine.
I was shocked by the minatory response to my arrival, and by
the fact the rifles were fielded by men. Something was horribly wrong. It was
too late to retreat, however. So, I put my misgivings aside, opened the door of
the gondola, and dropped to the ground.
“Come,” said the beige man laconically.
“I come.” The man didn’t smile, but marched toward the cave.
I followed.
Two 7.62 muzzles followed my movement until we entered the
cave. The familiar coolness of the cave air washed over me. The smell, however,
had altered. The underlying odor of the rocks remained the same and evoked old
memories, but the anticipated overlay of incense and perfume was gone. Gone
also were the wall-coverings and murals of orgiastic scenes. The latter had
been painted over with off-white paint. White florescent lights shone overhead
in place of the party lights that once had marked the way.
The Big Room was as impressive as ever, due to its size and
natural formations. The human aspects of the place had changed radically. The
colorful interior lights had been replaced by white light LEDs. Gaudy tribal
chaos had been replaced by understated compartmentalized order. The space was
subdivided into distinctly defined areas. Carpets hung on wooden frames formed
walls and offered privacy. In front of many of them were tables stacked with
trade goods. The handful of people who were awake busied themselves at
productive tasks. They stacked clothes, sorted items at the tables, swept up,
and performed household chores. In place of the former outrageous and
suggestive fashions were practical work garments. The overall population had
shrunk.
Unlike the gleeful reception that George had encountered, the
locals in the cave seemed only mildly interested in me. They glanced my way
occasionally but none called out or approached. My attention was so diverted by
the changes that I didn’t notice my guide had stopped. I walked into him and he
elbowed me back gruffly. We stood before the entrance to Joelle’s old throne
room, guarded by a second man in beige packing a classic 1911 Colt .45. The
beads, which once separated it from the Big Room, had been replaced by a steel
door set in a mortared stone wall. My guide knocked.
“Come in!” a muffled female voice answered.
The guard opened the door for me. He remained outside when I
entered.
The interior furnishings had been tidied but still were as homey
as before. Couches, a dining table, and a four-poster bed occupied most of the
available floor space. A red runner carpet ran straight from the entry door to
the niche in the wall that had been Joelle’s throne. This now looked less like
a throne and more like an executive’s chair, thanks to a wooden executive desk
placed in front of it. In the niche sat a trim and fit Selena. The trace of
baby fat she had as a teenager was gone. She casually leaned back and tapped on
the desk with a finger as she regarded me. She was dressed much like Joelle’s
female guards once did: blue jeans, a crisp blue denim blouse, a wide brown
leather belt, and brown cowboy boots. Joelle’s spear-wielding Amazons were
nowhere in sight. She was not without protection, however. Selena was flanked
by two handsome young men in beige uniforms.
“Hello, Custer” she said. “Or do you call yourself Johnston
these days?”
“Just call me Aeneas.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t play Dido.”
I don’t know why I hadn’t expected Selena to be literate. “Forgiven.
My namesake needed help from his mother Venus to manipulate Dido anyway. Venus doesn’t
love me that much.”
“She used to, kid. She used to. Lot
of good it did her. I’ve seen the blast site where Control Center 2 used to be.
You killed Joelle, didn’t you? George too.”
“No. Actually, George targeted the warheads himself.”
“Really? Hmm. Well, that makes you much less interesting.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“So, why are you here, Aeneas? Why aren’t you back in
Morrisbourg spending all your money? Or have you already spent it?”
“No, some other folks were kind enough to take it all and
spend it for me. I’m here because I hate the East. I miss this place. I miss
you. My fondest memories are of here and of you. This is where I belong. Joelle
made something very special out of these Hills. She was a visionary and a
genius.”
“Joelle was a fool. The whole commune scene was
unsustainable. Secular communes never have had good prospects. Once the
charismatic founder is gone, they fall apart because of all the usual human
imperfections. She was a big cult heroine and she wasn’t reluctant to use
deadly force against subversives, so she held sway. But even if she had lived,
the next generation wouldn’t have taken her seriously. Teenagers already were
snickering at her hokum.”
“Teenagers always do that. They prefer their own hokum.”
“You know, Aeneas, Le Clerc was the most admirable fellow of
the bunch of you. He stood up to Joelle and argued with her face-to-face. I
never saw anyone do that before. He helped me to start thinking for myself. A
few of the things he said were even true.”
“Maybe. Everyone here seemed pretty happy though. He wasn’t.
Joelle was just trying to get people to expand their minds.”
“All she did was fry their brains. That woman had a screw
loose and so do you for trying to justify her. Damn! My own mother gave me
opium and LSD and who knows what else? How sick is that? How can you think that
was good for me? It just made me stupidly euphoric at the cost of whopping
hangovers.”
“According to Paracelsus,
everything is poison and everything is medicine. It is all a matter of dose.”
“The proper dose of some things is zero. Look, I don’t stop
the folks here from killing themselves with drugs if that is what they want to
do, but I sure don’t make it a public obligation. Economically and socially
Joelle made this place a lunatic asylum. Hey, I’ll give credit where it is due.
Joelle did invest in enough basic industry to make civilized life here possible,
even without salvage from ghost towns. but she had no interest in encouraging productivity.
In fact, she set up huge disincentives by demonizing personal material achievement.
Joelle talked about freedom, but locked up everybody in her communalist
prison.”
“She offered them something else,” I said.
“Oh, please. Don’t pretend to be all spiritual with me. I
grew up with experts. You aren’t even an amateur. You just told me that other
folks spent all your money. Would you have come back here if you still had it?”
“Perhaps not,” I said honestly.
“There you are. We all want more for ourselves, my dear
brother. Freedom is the freedom to get it. I hope you noticed Joelle knew how
to enrich herself well enough. She knew that the point of rules is to make the
getting easier for the rulers. Joelle made herself a queen and the rest of us
her serfs. Laidback, doped up, oversexed serfs, because that was how she wanted
us to be, but serfs all the same.”
“I take it you are now are the rule-maker.”
“Right, and I’m not ashamed to use that position to benefit
myself and my buddies, but at least I’ve made it possible for other people to
benefit themselves too. Hard work can get you somewhere these days. There are
lots of caves around here, and many of them now have private owners for the
enjoyment of themselves and their families. Now we have private farmers,
private manufacturers, and private salvagers – we called the salvagers ‘miners’
– who stake claims in the ghost towns out in the desert. If you can’t see that
my way is kinder than Joelle’s, you are as blind as the cultists.”
“Cultists? Are those people who object to your new methods?”
“There always is a lunatic fringe, Aeneas, but the better
classes support me and my reforms 100%. I’ll do you the favor of assuming you
are not a total fool. Despite your sentimental baloney, you have come to me because
you are broke and didn’t know where else to go. Well, I’m sorry, but you do not
have a home here. Your presence is very destabilizing.”
“Why am I destabilizing?”
“Because of the fringe. There are always envious people who
resent the success of others and who demand that the rest of us to take care of
them. If they can’t or won’t get more get more for themselves, they will settle
for seeing their neighbors get less.”
“You seem to be talking about class. How can that be
important in a small population like this?”
“Class starts to be important when the population reaches
two, Aeneas.”
“OK, maybe. But why worry about me? I haven’t roused a
single rabble.”
“Because our malcontents have their political goals all
mixed-up with mysticism. They turned Joelle into a cult figure, which she
almost was in her own lifetime. As ‘The Custer’ you are the cultists’ obvious
hero.”
“I see. So now I’m a working-class hero. All I wanted was to
be king.”
Selena smiled, “I suppose that’s the dialectic of history.
Quite honestly, I’m tempted to kill you, but you are as dangerous as a martyr
as you are living among us. It is much better for me if you run away. So, you
can be king of the road. Get out.”
“You mean get out of South
Dakota
“Yes, I mean get out of South Dakota
“Go where?”
“Don’t tempt me to be crude. I don’t care. Your airship is
being fitted and supplied as we speak. Be grateful I’m letting you keep it
instead of making you walk. You will do me the return favor of taking three
passengers with you.”
“Who?”
“Subversives: mystics who pine for the old ways and plotted
to overthrow me. You should be pleased. Two of them are pretty women. You
communalists can burn incense to the memory of Joelle, fog your minds with
whatever dope you please, and have a love fest in the sky. Enjoy yourselves.
But do it someplace else.”
“You are missing one option, Selena. I could back you up in
your policies without leaving. I’m not opposed to plutocracy if I get to be a
plutocrat. We could rule together”
“Please! One, I don’t trust you. Two, a relationship between
us is perverse and I’m now old enough now to know it. Three, you weren’t that
good.”
She rang a bell of the sort on hotel desks. The guard
outside the door entered. She gently ordered, “Escort Mr. Custer to the holding
room, Brown Eyes.”
He returned a crisp salute.
“Catherine the Great,” I muttered to myself while leaving
Selena’s quarters.
“I heard that!” she said.
I was led to the same side chamber where George, Maurice and
I once had rested before Joelle’s big party. The décor was more utilitarian,
but it still contained a bathtub. It was full. A touch with my left index
finger proved the tub water was hot. When the guard left, I stripped and
relaxed in the tub. Selena’s efficiency had some advantages. I’m sure that if
there had been any trains in her domain, she would have made them run on time.
I lost track of time, and was still soaking when a guard
entered and ordered, “Come.”
“I come,” I answered again in Tarzan mode.
The guard waited impatiently as I dried off and donned my
clothes. We walked back to the cave entrance. I attracted subdued attention
from people we passed on the way, but none spoke to me.
The sudden rise in temperature as we exited the cave made me
dizzy. The bright sun was painful. Only by squinting could I see my fellow ‘subversives.’
Flanked by uniformed men with M4s they stood by Nearer. One of my passengers was a strapping young blond man who
would have been at home in an old surfer movie. Next to him were two young,
dark-haired women. Selena was right. They were pretty. All three social
undesirables wore bright colors and unruly hair that clashed with the current
clean-cut fashions at Rushmore.
The guards wasted no time. They helped us into the gondola
with rather more force than was necessary, and unceremoniously released the
mooring lines. The ship rose gently and a light wind carried us away from the
cave. The faces of Mount Rushmore looked on.
The unattended paint would fade to white in only a few more years. This thought
made me sad.
As I fussed with the controls, I felt myself being
evaluated. I looked over my shoulder into the blue eyes of the fair-skinned
brunette.
“You’re really the Custer?” she asked.
“Yes. Disappointed?”
“Yes,” she answered with simple, brutal honesty.
“And your name is?”
“Charlene. That’s Chester
“I don’t know yet. We can’t go back East. I burned a few
bridges there. I am open to suggestion.”
“Greenland is supposed to
be nice,” Charlene offered.
“Yes, but Quebec
“How about California ?”
asked Chester
“It’s pretty stormy there I understand.”
“BC? Alaska
“Maybe. Russian pirates cause some trouble along the coasts,
but Vancouver and Juneau Oregon
“I want to go to Greenland ,”
complained Charlene.
My response was equally childish. “It’s my airship.”
“Let’s go anyplace with a coast. I’d rather be on the beach
regardless,” said Chester
“How would you know? You’ve never seen a beach,” I reminded
him.
“Dakota is a beach. I’ve never seen an ocean. I would like
to.”
“South.” It was the first word spoken by the woman with a
rusty complexion and Native American features. The name Maggie didn’t fit her.
“What?” I wasn’t sure I heard her right.
“Go South.”
“You are aware that the sun lives down there.”
“Yes, but with the climate all twisted around, some places
might be livable that you don’t expect. Besides, what if we go beyond the
equator? Argentina Chile North America . Can we make it
that far in this contraption?”
“Possibly, if we loot along the way.”
“Abandoned property is not loot. It is salvage. That’s what
Selena says, anyway, and she is the law.” There was undisguised bitterness in
Maggie’s voice.
“You don’t think very highly of her.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. But we have no choice but to
leave. Hmmm… South. Well, that would be an adventure and it’s not as though I
have something better to do. Okay, I am up for it. All agreed?”
Maggie nodded. Charlene was silent. Chester
“South it is.”
The engine responded to the throttle. There is something
enjoyable about the feel of acceleration against the back of the seat. We flew
toward the sun as it rose toward noon.
My passengers looked back toward Beautiful Rushmore
Cave Chester Mount Rushmore shrank to an unrecognizable
bump on the Horizon. It was about that time that Chester
“What is that?” Chester
I looked, but saw nothing but blue. I grabbed the binoculars
from him and looked again. Just barely I could see little dark cigar shaped
objects.
“Airships! Quebec
As I watched, thin vapor trails arced in the distant. My
stomach turned. “Missile tracks. Shit. Shit!”
I couldn’t help feeling responsible. I hoped Selena survived
the next half-hour. Boris too. For now, the task was our own survival. I pushed
the craft to full speed. I hoped the French were focused on ground targets and
hadn’t spotted us. Hours passed with no sign of pursuit. We tried to divert our
thoughts what we had seen. That night we took up Selena’s suggestion and had an
orgy in the sky. As a recently designated working-class, hero I recalled the
dictum of Marx that history repeats itself, the first time as tragedy and the
second time as comedy. Our sexual groping and panting had none of the
spontaneity or sense of play that I had recalled from my last visit to South Dakota Chester
In order to get my mind on something else I explained the
controls to Maggie who seemed the most competent of the three passengers. She understood
the principles instantly, so I let her navigate. She chose a course of SSW. We
throttled down to our most economical setting and slowly churned south.
The landscape below stayed persistently Saharan. Wherever we
could identify old settlements we located fuel tanks and topped up our own.
Water was the scarcer resource. We tried to identify old food stores. Usually
some water was to be found inside. Our biggest score was at a Shop Rite in Littleton , Colorado
We had reached foothills of the Rockies ,
so I pointed out that the cooler upper slopes of the mountains might be
habitable and inhabited, but I didn’t question Maggie’s quick rejection. She
was determined to continue south keeping the mountains on our right. I enjoyed
surrendering responsibility to someone else. My own decisions hadn’t turned out
well lately. Near the New Mexican border she checked our maps, looked thoughtful,
and made a sharp turn west. The mountainous terrain remained arid and
uninviting. Eventually I grew curious.
“You have something in mind closer than Argentina
“Just a passing thought, but the idea doesn’t look
promising. You took long enough to ask.”
“We trust you.”
“You do? Why?”
“Why not? So where is this unpromising place of yours?”
“We’re here.”
Low canyon walls opened up on each side of us. The canyon
walls held giant caves with extensive whitened ruins.
“What an odd place to build.”
“Mesa
“They look rather light on the modern conveniences, like
roads and drainage.”
“No doubt. They were abandoned 800 years ago. I hoped with
the climate all topsy-turvy maybe the area was getting some rainfall these days
so we could start another Rushmore here.”
“It doesn’t look as though it has rained here in years. You
can fry your dinner on those rocks.”
“Yes. It’s OK. I have another idea.”
“A better one I hope.”
“Me too. How high can this thing fly?” Maggie asked.
“I don’t know. My dad took one over the Appalachians
once without a problem – until he was shot down.”
“Our present elevation above sea level is higher than the Appalachians . Maybe we can do a lot better. Let’s take
her up and get out of this heat. Let’s see what Nearer can do. I like that name by the way.”
“It was George’s idea,” I said.
“Take her up.”
“Roger.”
“Who?”
Uncertain if Maggie was teasing me, I retreated behind
dignity and stated, “We are going up.”
The ground fell away beneath us.
“Nice machine,” she said.
“The Le Pens would be gratified to hear your opinion. Maybe
I can short wave them a message one day … if they are still alive… if there is
still a Montreal
“Selena is a bitch.”
My instinct was to argue this point, but evidence was on
Maggie’s side. There was no excuse for firing those missiles. I hoped they
weren’t aimed at civilians. If they were, unless the Quebecois soldiers were
almost inhumanly civilized, Selena likely wouldn’t survive their attack. This
thought was depressing, too.
I spoke to Maggie. “Selena kept the missiles manned at all
times>”
“Just 10: one squadron. She activated a new squadron after
the incident with the first one involving Le Clerc and The Custer. I was part
of a control room crew until I opened my mouth and got labeled a subversive.
Now she has only her soldier boys on site. Those anal retentive robots will
obey any order she gives them.”
I ignored her reference to George as the Custer instead of
as the former Custer. Wasn’t I the Custer now?
“While we were waiting for you by the airship, the guards
told us you lied to us when you left Rushmore years ago. Did you?”
I stole from Mark Twain, “Truth is a precious resource. One
should be economical with it.”
Beginning that night, Charlene and Chester
Our southward flight continued with a slight western detour.
The Grand Canyon was spectacular. We probably
were the first tourists in a generation to see it. The jungle returned
somewhere near the Mexican border. Then we were forced into strict rationing.
No trace of old cities could be seen through the steam and growth.
We got a break at Acapulco
We grew accustomed to a blazing sun. In the rarefied air of
higher altitudes the heat was surprisingly tolerable. We proceeded southeast.
The foliage below us continued to thin out until it disappeared altogether. The
barren desert beneath us was not the windswept sandy sort. The ground looked
hard and solid. Heat waves seemed to make the rocky surface ripple.
My desire to sightsee was outweighed by the inadvisability
of lingering in the tropics. Make time we did. We kept our distance from a
volcanic eruption in progress in Nicaragua
“Let’s pause here,” I recommended.
“Are you nuts?” Maggie asked.
“Possibly, but we should top our tanks.”
“Where? I don’t see anything down there but dirt. Keep
going.”
“See that big ditch and those chunks of concrete? I think
it’s the Panama Canal . There must be loads of
stored fuel around there.”
“So what? I don’t see any buildings. They must be burned to
the ground.”
“Probably.”
“What if even buried oil tanks boiled over or exploded?”
“Then we’re out of luck. I think anything buried in the ground
should stay cool enough though. Up North the earth is a constant 15 degrees C
year round once you dig down a meter. I doubt it is much different here.”
“I’ll bet that top meter is mighty warm though.”
“No doubt. In fact, we had better wait until night to land.
The daytime heat down there is a killer.”
“Land where?”
“There. See that?”
“What?”
“A broken up concrete strip. It looks like an airport
runway. I’ll bet those big rectangles are hanger foundations. That smaller one
is what we need. I think that was a garage for trucks. They must have had their
own tanks on site.”
“All right let’s circle until night and then take a look
around.”
Charlene and Chester
“Chester
“OK.” Charlene took the wheel. Chester
The fog was a sauna. I kept dancing to make the ground
bearable through my thick leather soles. By one foundation wall a pipe stuck
out of the ground. I tapped it with my foot and smiled at Maggie. She shrugged
and walked back to the gondola to retrieve the hose. I burned my fingers on the
pipe cap. I returned to the gondola and asked for the toolbox while Maggie
stood with the hose.
“The black tool box?” asked Chester
“The only tool box. Yes it is black.”
A few moments later the judicious use of a hammer removed
the cap. A musty petroleum smell exuded from the pipe.
“What do you think it is?” Maggie asked.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” Our multifuel turbine had
a wonderfully varied appetite. It would run on almost anything, maybe even tar
though I never tried it. The pump hummed as it sucked the mystery fuel into our
tank. As I shifted my weight from foot to foot I grew aware of a susurration
like the shifting of sand in the wind. There was no wind. I spotted the source.
“Look at those.” I pointed out to Maggie.
A mat of mushrooms pushed up through the soil. Their heads
expanded as we watched. These fungi already had adapted to the brutal
environment, perhaps by forming hardened spores for the day and absorbing
moisture from the night fog.
“Do you think they are edible?”
“You are welcome to try them,” she offered.
“Maybe next time.”
The fungi rose around our feet. I kicked at them, and they
fell over easily.
“Look at the size of them. That one is a foot high and still
growing.”
“They get through their lives in a hurry though. The ones
that first sprouted are rotting away already.”
The mushrooms where she pointed trembled and toppled.
“I don’t think they’re rotting.” A rustling and crunching
sound grew in intensity all around us. “Something is eating them. Bugs.”
“I hate bugs.”
Maggie had a lot to hate. Beetles emerged from the ground
everywhere. The oversized mushrooms all around us turned black with them. The
mushrooms were eaten as fast as they could grow.
“Yuck. Are we done here, Aeneas?”
“Near enough.”
I called to Chester
“What’s the matter?”
Then I knew.
“Ouch! Damn it!”
My legs were covered with beetles and blood. “Into the
gondola now!” I lifted Maggie by the waist over the rim. I was right behind
her.
“Lift out of here!”
Charlene fumbled at the controls until I pushed her aside. I
dropped ballast, adjusted ballonets, started the engine, vectored our thrust,
and pushed the throttle.
The only time I ever saw Maggie cry was when she was picking
off beetles. I joined her. So did Chester
We were able to remove all the beetles. Wherever one was
present was a painful certainty. There must have been some toxin in the insect
bites. I don’t remember passing out, but all of us were unconscious within the
hour.
Once again, we owed our survival over the next few hours to
the simple but solid engineering of the Le Pens; for when I awoke the
unattended engine was purring steadily. We were over open ocean and heading
south. I felt ill.
I nudged Maggie. She groaned and lifted her head. I never
have seen her look worse.
“Where do you think we are?”
She groggily took in the situation. “I don’t know.
Pacific probably. Go east. Southeast.”
“We may not have been going south all this time. We didn’t
engage auto-pilot.”
“You mean you didn’t. Why not?”
“I just didn’t. Look, if this is the Atlantic ,
going east will take us further out to sea.”
“True. But if it is not the Pacific, it is probably the Caribbean and east will take us over islands. Would you
rather go west?”
Odds favored Maggie’s bet. “No.”
“Well?”
I nodded and turned our machine to the southeast. After
several hours a shoreline came into view. Maggie smiled.
“We’re still in the equatorial zone,” Maggie stated. “In
fact I think that’s Ecuador Lima
I was embarrassed that Maggie’s sense of geography was
better than mine. “Sure, but I like to keep the tanks as full as possible. If
we had run out of fuel out there we would have been in serious trouble.”
“If we hadn’t stopped for fuel we wouldn’t have gotten lost
over the ocean. We should go as far as we can if that will get us past the
bugs. I’m not tangling with overachieving cockroaches again.”
“Do you really think they live this far south?”
“How would I know? They probably need that awful environment
at the Isthmus, but then again maybe they don’t. You know, there must be
another element to the ecosystem we didn’t see. The mushrooms need to grow on
something. Maybe there are heat-resistant bacteria in the soil or something.”
“Do you want to go back and research the question?”
“Pass for now. But someday, yes. The next time I’m wearing a
beetle-proof suit though.”
We reached the Peruvian border and continued south. Lima
There also was no evidence either of the type of erosion
caused by nightly fungal blooms like those in Panama Peru were similar to
Panama Chester
The sightseeing was good. The Rio Rimac was a dry gully. We
floated over the curiously named Avenida Roosevelt. I don’t know for which Roosevelt it was named or why. Steel hulks of former
automobiles lined the curbs. We swung around toward the Plaza de Armas. The 400
year old bronze fountain still stood but it long since had run dry. We waited
for more than an hour after dark for any sign of disturbance below. In the
moonlight all remained peaceful.
“It’s the fog,” said Maggie.
“What fog? It’s clear as can be.”
“Precisely. The fog in Panama
It sounded reasonable to me. Everything below looked
peaceful so we decided to chance a landing in the Miraflores south of Centro.
This was formerly the wealthy resort district where we hoped our pickings would
be easy. For once we had made a good choice. Resupply went smoothly. Maggie
stayed aboard this time. I quickly found a heating oil tank. While I topped the
tanks, Charlene and Chester
“We can be in Chile
“Are we looking for people?” Maggie asked.
“I am. No reflection on present company intended.”
“Hmph. I doubt that. The Chileans weren’t at the UN were
they? I mean after the climate change.”
“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. The US Quebec and Tibet
I thought of those missile tracks again and hoped Quebec South Dakota
I tried to get my mind off the calamity in back of us by considering
what lay ahead. “I don’t suppose any of you speak Spanish.”
“I do a little,” answered Maggie. “Joelle used to encourage
language study in case we ever expanded out of Rushmore or had to flee for some
reason. The Southern Hemisphere must have intrigued her. She even talked about
teaching some kids Afrikaans but she couldn’t find any textbooks.”
“Interesting woman.”
“Yes, she was. But I’m beginning now to think I idolized her
just because I didn’t like Selena.”
“Honest appraisal. You’re an interesting woman too.”
“I don’t want to have sex right now, Aeneas.”
“Who said anything about that?”
“I know when I’m being buttered up and why.. I don’t think
we should go straight to Chile
It took me a moment to adjust to the change of subject.
“Take Nearer into
the Andes ? Why? To put it mildly that is very
dangerous, especially at night. Even in daylight we would have to pick our way
through the peaks very carefully. That is if we even can maintain the altitude
to do it. What are you looking for? Living space on the cooler upper slopes? We
could have done that in the Rockies .”
“Maybe we should have. But right now I’m playing a hunch.
Trust me.”
For no good reason I decided to trust her.
Even by starlight the landscape was breathtaking. We passed
above gorges and flew by sheer cliffs. There were valleys, hills, and mountains
of every shape possible. The upper slopes were rich in vegetation. The view and
the occasional need to dodge a mountain kept me awake during the next several
hours. My eyes complained at the lack of sleep.
A gentle glow over the mountains ahead presaged a new dawn.
Just at the edge of my perception below was a frantic scurrying on the
mountainside. I grabbed the binoculars in hopes of seeing people. There were no
people. There were lizards. A cloudbank up ahead worried me enough to throttle
back.
“Go on through it,” Maggie ordered.
“We could fly into a mountain. I’d rather go around it.
South looks pretty clear.”
“This is the way!” Maggie insisted as she studied her Atlas.
“Maggie, we don’t have good charts except for North America , and even those are hopelessly out of date.
That Rand McNally you are looking at
was never intended for this purpose. I wouldn’t trust our navigation skills
that much even if it were. It’s not as though we have GPS. This is verging on
suicide.”
“Go straight through the cloud. Do it!” When this elicited
no response she added, “Please.”
Do most men have a hard time arguing with women about directions?
HIRISAWA: Yes.
AENEAS CUSTER: I apologize to the court for failing to make
that question sound rhetorical.
Anyhow, against all common sense we entered the cloud. For
the next hour we were blind and flew only by compass. I expected to smash on
something at any moment. At one point a darkness loomed on our right. It looked
suspiciously like a rock outcrop. At another point I heard a scrape very much
like that of a tree brushing the bottom of the gondola. Then the cloud abruptly
ended and we emerged into morning sunlight. We floated high over a valley. In
contrast to the desiccated region behind us, below us was a jungle oasis.
Straight ahead was a steep acclivity. An overgrown but still discernible road switched
back and forth across the face of it.
“Go for altitude! Head toward that cone-shaped peak.” Maggie
commanded.
Nearer once more
made me proud as she ascended gracefully. For vision’s sake, we circled so as
to approach Maggie’s proposed destination from the direction of the rising sun.
To my amazement, next to the conical peak was a mountaintop city. Even from
this distance one could see the masonry buildings were sizable. Stone retaining
walls formed terraces on the surrounding slopes. Spring water flowed through an
aqueduct. Smoke from fires arose from the city.
“Incredible. An active, living town this close to the equator.
You knew it was here. Where are we?” I asked.
“Machu Picchu
“Gesundheit.”
“Not funny. This is a very old and very special place.”
Maggie gave me a brief run down. Machu Picchu Connecticut
At that time the city was extraordinarily well preserved.
Little was missing except for the thatched roofs. The site had many oddities,
not least of which was the startling inconvenience of the location. Also, digs
of the graves revealed a ten-to-one female to male ratio. This suggests
priestesses in some sun or moon cult.
In an arena in the midst of the city stood a large rock
called the Intihuatana stone. This means “hitching post of the sun.” Similar
stones at other Inca centers were used ritually to “hitch” the sun at the
winter solstice to stop its slide north and to pull it back to the south. The
stone and the area surrounding it are arranged so they can be used as a very
accurate astronomical calculator.
It was clear upon our arrival that Machu Picchu
“How did you know?” I asked Maggie.
“I just asked myself where I would go if I lived in Peru
Thatch roofs were back in place. The terraces below the city
were actively cultivated agricultural plots irrigated by spring water. Peasants
could be seen working with hand tools. We later learned the denizens relied primarily
on root crops: yams, potatoes, onions, and such. The existence of a social
hierarchy was visible even from the air. One section of the city had the grimy
crowded look of worker housing. The opposite end was neat and included a large
decorated structure.
“The castle,” pointed out Maggie. “That’s where we’ll find
the head honchos.”
We definitely caught the attention of the citizenry as we
approached from the direction of the sun. They stood at attention and stared.
“Hover over the hitching stone,” Maggie ordered.
“There are a lot of flowers around the stone, aren’t there?”
I observed.
“So there are. What is the date?”
“I don’t know. Early December sometime.”
“So in the Southern Hemisphere we are near the summer
solstice. Maybe they celebrate that too.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“We may as well talk to them. You can ask all the questions
you like,” I said.
“That’s my plan. Let me do the talking.”
“Easy. I don’t speak Spanish.”
“I hope they do.”
I worked the tilt rotors to hold our position over the
Intihuatana stone. Chester
We had drawn a crowd and it was growing larger. Workers from
the agricultural terraces ran into the city. None came closer to us than five
meters or so. In fact, the front rank edged backwards as I moved toward them.
Most of the locals were women. They wore simple brown clothing woven from some
broad fiber. Jewelry of colorful stones and crystals added the only individual
fashion statements. The people looked much like pictures I had seen of Peruvian
mountain dwellers: a mixture of local Native American and Spanish stock with
the former predominant.
The hitching stone made a convenient anchor for the primary
rope. I tied three other ropes and secured the ship more firmly. The rest of
the crew then slid to the ground. The crowd parted as four men in capes of
wildly colored plumage marched toward us. They must have been excruciatingly
hot in their heavy garments, but they looked impressive. They were followed by
six women carrying a single litter. Maggie greeted the men. I have no idea what
she said, but Maggie stepped into the litter as though it were her proper due.
She motioned Charlene, Chester
The caped men led the way toward the castle. Maggie was
carried behind them. The rest of the Nearer
crew followed at the litter carriers’ heels. The crowd watched our procession
and avoided all physical contact with us.
The walls of the castle were freshly and brightly painted
with rather scary looking squarish faces. A painting of the sun, which also had
a face, graced over the main entrance. The walls themselves were beautifully crafted.
They were made of huge mortarless granite blocks fitted expertly together. Each
block must have weighed tons.
According to Maggie, the Inca had neither iron tools nor the
wheel. It is hard to imagine how they did it. More impressively still, they did
it on top of a mountain.
Every door and window in the castle had a trapezoidal shape
with a massive lintel forming the small base at the top. While not as effective
at transferring weight as a true arch, it is nonetheless superior to the simple
vertical pillar and horizontal lintel that characterized Egyptian and Greek
architecture in the ancient Mediterranean world. Plainly this design has stood
the test of time.
Maggie stepped off the litter at the entrance to the castle.
We followed the caped men into a sizable room furnished with a set of four
raised large chairs against the far wall. On the wall was a sun symbol about a
meter in diameter that appeared to be molded gold. My eyes were not yet
adjusted to the light, however. It might have been just painted wood. We passed
through a dining hall with a table of intricately carved mahogany. It was large
enough to seat ten or twelve.
A hallway led to a room comfortably outfitted with carpets
and pillows stuffed with feathers. The window in the room was too narrow for
escape. It barely admitted enough light by which to see. This apparently was to
be our guestroom and our holding cell. Maggie examined the room, and nodded at
the men. She looked sternly at us. “Stay put and keep your mouths shut,” Maggie
warned.
Maggie then exited with the men. A few minutes later a young
local woman brought us a platter with sliced yams, potatoes, and a pitcher of
water. The woman nodded and left.
Hours passed. The lack of toilet facilities engendered a
growing unpleasantness. I used the narrow window opening and hoped no one was
below. A grateful Chester
My ingenuity must have made Charlene happy. After some
relieved sighs on the pot, she made love to Chester
Some time around midnight Maggie returned to us. She carried
a lamp with a candle but it scarcely illuminated more than her hand. Maggie shushed
us as we all began to ask questions at once. We all shut up. Maggie started to
talk, but then stopped. She stood there pensively.
I broke the silence again. “Well, I’m glad you can talk to
them.”
She sighed and then responded, “Actually, that worked out
well. They speak Quechua…”
“What?”
“Quechua. As an everyday language, that is. It’s a Native
American tongue. They remember Spanish as a language of power and government.
The bigwigs use it among themselves so they thought it was appropriate that I
use it.”
She paused again and then continued to me rather than the
others.
“Look, some things are going to happen in a couple of weeks
that you won’t like. But we’re not in a position to stop them so there is no
sense raising a fuss. Maybe next year I will be able to do more about it. Just
don’t try to interfere with anything.”
“You’re advising me to do nothing. Okay, that’s easy.”
“Not as easy as you may think.”
“You underestimate my capacity for lassitude. What worries me
is your ‘next year’? Are we staying that long?”
“I am. This is my home – or as close a place to it as I am
going to find. Besides, you might say I have an opportunity for a lucrative
career path. I am a ‘Messenger from the Sun,’ you see.”
“You are? Hmm. Fancy that. Are we?”
“No, you three are my servants.”
“Ah. So how did you swing your celestial status?”
“Politics. I didn’t give them much choice really. This is a
theocracy, but the priests rely on a secular aristocracy that owns the houses
and farmland. They also lend money.”
“Business leaders and bankers.”
“Something like that. They run the economy and pay the
taxes. Only superstition prevents them from dispensing with the priestly rulers
altogether.”
“So keeping that superstition alive is important to the
current rulers.”
“Essential. That is why some of the priests didn’t like
being upstaged by us. They obviously were planning something nasty in order to
express publicly their dominance over these visitors from the sky. I headed
them off by announcing in front of them and the leading aristocracy that I was
the Messenger from the Sun. A lot of servants heard me too.”
“Why the would the priests buy that on your say-so?”
“Oh, most of them didn’t. It is hard to find more dedicated
atheists than in a theocracy, but that makes them open to negotiation. The
minority who take their religion seriously, who believe that they themselves
understand what the gods want, are far more dangerous. They will kill you in
order to save your soul.”
“That sounds a bit harsh. I’m sure there are kind priests.”
“True, but they do harm by giving the other sort a good
name.”
“I’m glad you aren’t cynical. You know Selena called you a
cultist.”
“That is why I understand.”
“But if the majority of the priests didn’t believe you, why
did they allow you to act the part of Messenger From the Sun? What gave them no
choice?”
“As I said, the secular aristocracy. True, the priests could
have denounced me as a liar, but that surely would raise a question about the
veracity of the priests themselves. That is just the sort of doubt they can’t
afford to encourage. It was easier for them to go along with me so long as I
didn’t seem to be undermining their rule. Also, a few of them were
superstitious enough to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I was telling the truth.”
“Why do I get the feeling they may live to regret backing
you up?”
Because they will. The adult priesthood rotates authority in
a somewhat disorderly fashion. Four of them sit on the Council, one for each
season. The current season’s representative has primacy; he is chief for three
months. The four representatives are chosen by lot from the priestly order at
the time of the summer solstice.”
“That’s in a couple of weeks.”
“Right. I intend to bully them unto making a fifth chair
that is permanent. The chair will be occupied by…”
“…the sun’s personal messenger?”
“Yes.”
“Is it a problem for them that you are a woman?”
“Yes and no. Yes, they don’t like it. No, in a way it suits
their mythology. This is a very religious city and women perform almost all the
rites, except at the highest level. Somehow the male priests set things up so
they are in overall charge.” Maggie paused, shook her head and continued, “They
use sacrifice and, I suspect, simple male infanticide to maintain a surplus of women.
About a third of the women in the city are ‘Maidens of the Sun.’ They don’t
have children. They’re virgins.”
“Really?” asked Chester
“Don’t even think about it!” said Maggie.
“I don’t mind,” chirped Charlene, true to her own religion.
“He can make love to whomever he pleases.”
“I don’t care if you mind or not. These people would mind
and would kill the girl and Chester Chester
“Will I get the chance?”
“No. In fact all of you have to be isolated for now. It’s
for your own good. We can’t have you walking around fumbling and belching and
smelling like ordinary people after the priests accepted my quasi-divine
status. Even though you are only my servants, it just won’t do. Sorry. It won’t
be for long.”
“Uh-huh. Let me guess. A couple of weeks. So what exactly is
happening on the solstice?”
“Well, our timing was propitious that way. They perform a
sort of reverse hitching ceremony to stop the sun’s scorching southward
movement and send it away back north. They offer sacrifices of course.”
“Of course. Let me make another guess. Does this have
something to do with what I’m not going to like?”
“You are just full of insight today. Four male babies will
be sacrificed to begin with, one for each solstice and equinox.”
“Uh-huh. Is that a traditional Inca thing?”
“No, Inca society was destroyed hundreds of years ago. Even
though there plainly was an intention to resurrect a large part of it by the
settlers of this place, the founding fathers or mothers weren’t university
archaeologists – or if they were they still didn’t just ape the old customs.
These guys made a lot of stuff up themselves as they went along. The customs
differ a lot from what the textbooks say about pre-Columbians.”
“The phrase ‘to begin with’ when you mentioned those four
babies did not escape my attention. Who or what gets sacrificed next?”
“You and Chester
“I thought so. You’re right. I don’t like it.”
“Me neither,” said Chester
“As a Messenger of the Sun, couldn’t you tell them no?”
“I’m afraid not. I guess they didn’t like the way I bullied
them into accepting the Messenger line, so the Autumn priest bullied me back.
He announced to everyone that I had been sent by the sun for the precise reason
of enhancing the sacrifices. He let on that the sun had spoken to him about it
already so my arrival was no surprise to him. In truth, I’m sure he just wanted
to deprive me of my servants. I don’t want to stretch my credibility by arguing
too much with the priestly class about this sort of thing.”
“Stretch it. I am not ‘a sort of thing.’”
“No, but don’t worry. I think I figured out a way to satisfy
them and you too. We even can save those four kids. Remember them?”
“What have you got in mind?”
“The traditional way they perform sacrifices is by cutting
the victim’s heart out on the hitching stone.”
“I never have been a slave to tradition.”
“Good, because I think I can convince them to send the lot
of you directly back to the sun in Nearer.”
“With my heart in place?”
“Assuming you really have one, yes.”
“Okay. I can live with that.”
“This is very important. If I can do this for you, when we
cut you loose, you must fly directly into the sun. I’m trusting you to obey me
on this. I don’t want to explain why you are going in some other direction.”
“Okay, it’s a deal.
“Cool.”
“Why do they want to sacrifice Chester
“She would hardly qualify,” remarked Chester
“Don’t try to be witty, Chester
“But really,” I persisted. “What have they got against
males? The guys in charge are men after all.”
She smiled sourly. “Funny how they managed to work that,
isn’t it?”
“Well, I must say this is all very far removed from the
dream of egalitarian free love that got you banished from Dakota.”
“I didn’t make the rules here, Aeneas. Maybe I can change
them somewhat, though.”
“If not, you’ll still be Messenger of the Sun.”
“Precisely.”
“What about me?” asked Charlene who suddenly realized that
Maggie’s rescue plan made no mention of her.
“They want you for a breeder.”
“Hey!”
“Of course I’d have to perform some ceremonial mumbo-jumbo
in order to make you fully mortal. That would explain your human
imperfections.”
“Hey!”
“Don’t worry. I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. Just play
along with me. There is a chance I can get you sent along with Chester
“A chance?”
“I’ll work on it.”
“Okay, I’ll trust you. Slightly more than I trust the jungle
around this mountain anyway. I don’t think I would survive long if I fled here
on foot.”
The room was a boring place for the next two weeks. Our
hosts fed us well enough, but I don’t ever want to see another yam. They
provided only enough water for drinking, which made Charlene and Chester Chester
On the day of the solstice we were brought hot water, soaps,
a very dull razor, and perfumes. We got the idea and cleaned up. Shortly
thereafter Sun Maidens armed with lances escorted us outside. I do not know if
the warrior women were traditional or if Maggie already had introduced them as
a reform.
We were led along a path strewn with wildly colored plants
and flowers. Revelers lined the walkway. On a newly constructed timber platform
next to the hitching stone stood Maggie wearing a dress made entirely of
feathers. It looked somehow familiar. I remembered a woman on a burlesque stage
in New York
Wooden steps led to the gondola of Nearer. Sun Maidens carried four wailing babies up the steps and
placed them in the craft. They descended back down the stairs slowly. Our armed
Maiden escorts prodded us with lance tips. Chester
I turned in my seat to smile at Chester
As soon as I felt it safe for Maggie, I turned Nearer
east toward the Amazon basin. This was the easiest path out of the mountains. I
planned to make for Argentina Tierra Del Fuego probably was lovely.
“What are we supposed to do with these bawling brats?” asked
Chester
“I don’t know. What do we have to feed them?”
“They loaded us with sweet potatoes. I think the white stuff
in the clay pots is goat’s milk.
“Better use that first before it goes bad.”
“Use it how? I don’t think they can drink out of clay jars.”
“I don’t know. Oh, there is an eyedropper in the med kit.
Use that.”
“An eyedropper? These are kids, not pet mice.”
“It will be tedious, but at least you’ll get some in their
mouths. If you try just pouring the milk out of the jar you will probably drown
them. Then mash some sweet potatoes and see if you can get them to eat.”
“What about you, Aeneas? Are you going to help?”
“I’m driving,” I shamelessly excused myself.
“Want to trade jobs?”
“No.”
I was pleased when the Andes
were behind us. As so often on this trip, my pleasure was premature. Buffeting
winds kicked up over the Amazon watershed. The environment below looked quite
arid, but the sheer size of the drainage area was enough to create real rivers.
Despite climbing to the maximum altitude consistent with easy breathing, we
were battered harder by the wind with every kilometer we advanced. Severe gusts
raised dust that obscured the ground. We shook and rattled onward. Keeping the
ship on course and in one piece through the afternoon, evening and night was an
arduous task. Often the ship’s fabric deformed and threatened to tear. High
blown dust particles stung my eyes.
At daybreak the winds at last began to ease and I fell
asleep at the wheel. Chester Chester
“Where are we going now?” Chester
“That depends on where we are.”
“Don’t you know?”
“No. Well, sort of. This time we must be over the Atlantic . We can’t be too far out even if we had a big
tail wind. We’ll go southwest, I guess. I hope we spot some land before our
fuel runs out.”
Arguably, this heading was foolish. It might have been more
sensible to fly due west for the nearest land and sources of supply, but I
didn’t want to face those winds again. We flew through another night over
water. We had a good tail wind, so as the gauge descended near empty I
throttled back to a minimum and let the ship be carried southwest.
I saw no need to communicate my concern to Chester
I was reflecting on life and death just after sunrise when a
hint of a form manifested on the southern horizon. It might have been a cloud
or it might have been land. I gambled and throttled the engine. The form got
larger and began to solidify. Ahead of us most definitely was land. It was an
island or peninsula by the looks of it.
The land was an island, a big one. Our craft glided over dry
ground. Rugged rocks outcropped from white quartz beaches. A hilly terrain
followed. Subtropical flora flourished. We passed over grassland filled with
moving sheep. A black and white dog herded them energetically. I was ecstatic.
The island was occupied and civilized enough to support sheep farming!
After a time, the opposing shoreline came into view. A small
village was situated by an inlet. The houses were well kept and whitewashed. A
banner fluttered on a flagpole in front of one of them. It was the Union Jack,
something of an anachronism, even before the heat. We were in the Falklands . A quick look at my map told me that the
village must be Port Howard. Much as I was tempted to land immediately, I had
grander plans.
I expended our last fuel reserves by accelerating across the
channel between West and East Falkland Islands .
We were going to the capital city of Stanley Mount Usborne
“Good afternoon gentlemen. You really can’t park that
machine here.”
“Where should we park it?”
Something about my accent gave him pause. He looked at us
carefully. Our clean-up back in Machu
Picchu
“Not in town,” he answered slowly. “Shouldn’t you be at the
army barracks at Goose Green?”
“Should we? Okay, I’ll be happy to go there. We don’t mean
to be any trouble. We’re a little low on fuel. If we could buy some we can go
somewhere less obtrusive. Almost any petroleum product will do. Alcohol will
work too.”
The officer’s suspicions were deepening. I supposed our
arrest was imminent, but we hadn’t done anything seriously wrong so this did
not concern me greatly. How bad could a parking violation be? After that was
cleared up I was willing to bet I would be a minor celebrity on the islands.
There surely wasn’t another airship there. I could open a charter passenger
service between islands or even to the mainland.
“Aren’t you from the west island?” the policeman asked.
“I’ve heard rumors about a secret project there. If you have compromised it you
may be in serious trouble. The paint job is in pretty bad taste, isn’t it?”
This last observation struck me as an odd and somewhat
snippy irrelevancy. I had grown fond of Nearer.
“The paint job? That was the work of previous owners, but I
wouldn’t change it for the world. And no, we are not from West Falkland
Island
“I see.” Then came the expected and overdue statement, “I’m
afraid it would be best to take you and your machine into custody until we
straighten this all out. It will be returned to you if it is your rightful
property, or if you are the rightful operators.”
“It is and we are, and we certainly want to cooperate with
you.”
One of the babies chose this moment to fuss. The others
joined him.
“Are those babies?”
“Yes. We picked them up in Machu Picchu
“Machu Picchu
“Well, South
Dakota Quebec
“South Dakota
“The real one?”
“Not a tarted up copy? Stay right there! We know who you
are!”
He blew a piercing whistle that set the babies screaming
louder.
“I’ll inform the Royal
Palace
I had been right about my celebrity status. I was wrong
about the rest of it.
The police officer ran up the steps of the building in front
of us. We had chosen correctly. An old plaque on the building said “Government
House.” Apparently it had been elevated to the status of a royal palace.
I already liked this place. It had an easy-going feel to it.
Despite having placed us in custody, our arresting officer had just left us
alone with an obvious means of escape. Clearly, he had little experience with
true lawbreakers. This bespoke well of the citizenry. Fortunately for the man’s
career, we were nearly out of fuel and I had no wish to leave anyway.
A number of townspeople began to gather on the sidewalk next
to us. The officer emerged from the Palace and started shouting orders to the
bystanders. He knew most of them personally.
“Freddie! You, Bob and Alice take those babies over to Mae’s
place. Jack, call the army base. Tell them to send some men to take away this
thing.” He waved at Nearer as though
Jack might think he meant some other thing.
Several minutes later, two more men exited the Royal Palace
The one with lieutenant’s bars spoke up.
“Gentlemen, I understand you are short on fuel. Can this
device make it as far as Goose Green?”
“I don’t know. Where is that?”
“At the isthmus. About 100 miles.”
“Yes, but not much more.”
The red shirts accompanied Chester Stanley
“Please come with me, gentlemen,” said the lieutenant
politely to Chester
My first impression of the palace was that it was pleasantly
homey. The interior smelled of old wood. We climbed stairs to the second floor.
The handrail rattled on its hardware. In an odd replay of our arrival at Machu Picchu
“You will be sent for soon. You may wish to clean up,
gentlemen.”
She put an ironic emphasis on the “gentlemen” and nodded
toward a side door. Then she left. Behind the side door I found a bathroom with
hot and cold running water. The electric lights worked. This was true luxury. I
tried to tidy up as much as possible, but our long adventure had taken a toll
on me and my clothes. Even when scrubbed, shaved, and combed the image in the
mirror was neither handsome nor dapper. Chester
“Her Royal Majesty will see you now.”
“Her Royal Majesty?”
“Queen Anne.”
The Queen held court in a simply decorated room sizable
enough for a poorly attended town meeting. Queen Anne, wearing a tan business
suit, sat behind an executive desk. She was in her fifties and had left her gray
hair undyed. Her smile indicated a sense of humor. She reminded me of my sixth
grade English teacher. To her right, wearing shirtsleeves and seated at a
folding table, were two middle-aged men. I guessed they were her advisers. I
also guessed she ignored their advice more often than she accepted it. The
elaborate rituals of Royal protocol obviously had not followed revival of
monarchy on these shores. If anything, the atmosphere of Anne’s Court was less
deferential than Joelle’s, or Selena’s for that matter. I instantly liked Anne.
“Wait outside,” the Queen ordered the red shirts. They
nodded and left.
She briefly assessed Chester
“Aeneas Custer, I presume.”
“Yes, ma’am … um … Your Majesty. Um…”
“Either address will do. I’m a distant cousin several times
removed, from the last real monarch in the UK
“Yes, ma’am. I wasn’t aware I was famous.”
“Infamous.”
“How bad is the damage?”
“Don’t you know? The damage is horrific. In case you really
don’t know, your attack was quite successful. You vaporized Montreal ,
Boston , New York ,
St. John Quebec Quebec Quebec
“They would kill me.”
“That is not a reason. Executing you may be appropriate.”
“It is not appropriate because I did not launch those
missiles. I had no authority in South
Dakota Quebec
“Blaming your victims will not get you far. And where is Selena?
There is a price on her head too. Did you drop her off someplace? Machu Picchu
“Uh, no. That was Maggie.”
“Maggie?”
“A subversive. Messenger from the Sun.”
“Try to be coherent, Mr. Custer.”
“Sorry. Maggie was just a passenger. We left Selena back at Beautiful Rushmore Cave
“Mr. Custer, I suggest you come up with another line of
defense. Clearly you had something to do with it. There was a nuclear threat to
Quebec
“All right. I suppose you could interpret my note as a
threat, but it wasn’t really. Still, writing it was rude of me. I admit it. It
was a petulant thing to do. But I was just posturing. I never seriously
intended to cause any harm. In fact, I meant to deter a war by what I wrote.”
“Didn’t work out, did it? You launched the missiles, Mr.
Custer.”
“No ma’am. I mean yes, I know they were launched. I saw them
in back of us. But I didn’t launch them. I never killed anyone, Your Majesty,
and I never helped Selena kill anyone. I am an innocent man and I throw myself
on the mercy of the Court. I ask for asylum.”
“Ah. Well, that puts us in a very awkward position, young
man. I’m not convinced our public would approve. The trials have been broadcast
over short wave for the past few weeks, you know.”
“Trials?”
“Yes. Dakotan prisoners brought back to Quebec
“The statements of the prisoners about you conflicted
wildly. Some said you were a nobody and that Selena gave all the orders. Others
thought you were Selena’s lover and she at least consulted you about the war.
They surmised she saved you by sending you away. This story has a romantic
appeal, but for that very reason it is not convincing. Still others said that
you ordered the launch and then saved yourself by fleeing the scene. Then there
are the cultists. They describe you as a mythic avenger of the prophet Joelle.
The cultists sound chillingly satisfied about the destruction both in Dakota
and Quebec
“I am not a secret agent.”
“Quebec
“Your Majesty, Selena despised me and threw me out of South Dakota
“Well, actually it is if she is underage and a close
relation, but it is not a war crime.”
“Nevertheless I’m relieved you believe me.”
“Don’t be too relieved. I believe you are not a Quebecois
agent, Mr. Custer. I said nothing about the rest of it. However, I have an open
mind. I am not about to risk the safety of my people for one refugee whether he
is guilty or not.
“Quebec Quebec La Salle alone could do us
real damage were she to turn up off shore.
“Then there are those damned missiles of yours. Who controls
them now? Quebecois? Dakotans? Canadians? Anybody? We have no way to know. We
surely don’t want to offend anybody who commands them. Protecting you would be
very offensive in many quarters.
“One more thing troubles me, Custer, and it should trouble
you if you have any conscience at all. Even if you are not guilty precisely as
charged, you are far from innocent in a broader sense. You are deeply involved
in this whole sorry affair. Simply setting you free is not possible, even if
you have been truthful in every word you have spoken to me tonight.”
“I don’t know what to say, Your Majesty.”
“Too bad words didn’t fail you with Boris Fontaine. So, the
question remains. What are we to do with you? We have little time to make a
decision. Your airship was not a very discreet means of arrival. By now news
about your arrival is all over the islands. The story will get back to North America soon enough.”
“I apologize for my indiscretion.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t help. Perhaps we can buy ourselves
a little more time, though. We can’t stop rumors, but we don’t need to confirm
your identity publicly quite yet. Your airship is unmistakable, but your
personal appearance is not especially striking. The public does not have a clear
idea of what you look like. Aeneas Custer could have gotten off at an earlier
stop; you could be someone else. So, for now, reveal your name to no one.”
“Yes, ma’am. Who should I be?”
“Well now. Let us think about this. Your vowels are about as
gratingly North American as can be imagined. There is no sense trying to hide
that, so we might as well confuse matters instead. Why don’t you be Chester
“I can be Chester
“What about me?” asked Chester
“You are obviously too young and blond to be Aeneas, so
nobody cares about you. But I suppose you need a name anyway. Ah, how about
John Hancock?”
“You are joking.”
“No, that is much too unlikely a name to seem fake.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” She smiled at the two of us. “Don’t leave town.”
We exited. A guard outside the door of the audience room
pointed the way down the hall that led back to our room. He did not escort us.
At the door to the room we were met by a lovely aroma. I opened the door with
high hopes and was not disappointed. Inside on a small table was the most
wonderful sight we had seen in the last 15,000 kilometers: a hot meal of mutton
and potatoes and fish. It was beyond delicious.
After the feast I lingered in a long shower. No one bothered
us for the rest of the night. A bookshelf contained the complete works of
Dickens. I actually began A Tale of Two
Cities, which I had escaped reading in school by buying summary
notes. Once I peeked into the hall and found it was empty. Palace security was
relaxed. Of course, escape was not a real option. There was nowhere to go. I
went back to my book. I nodded off by page 40 and slept deeply on the couch.
The next day after morning tea, a red shirt arrived.
“Her Majesty will see you.”
We returned to the Queen’s reception room.
“Good morning Mr. Custer,” she greeted me pleasantly. “We
believe we have solved our problem. You will be shot trying to escape.”
“I’m not happy with that solution, ma’am.”
“I think you will be. Chester !”
the Queen called to Chester
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You have two choices. You can be sent to Quebec
where you will be executed, or you can live under your false identity on South Georgia Island
where you never will reveal to anyone that you are from South Dakota
“South Georgia sounds
nice.”
“Fine. We are done with you now.”
It took Chester
“Now you. Many people saw a dark-haired, bearded man and a
blond man arrive in that airship, so I’m going to ask you to shave your beard
and dye your hair.”
“Do I surmise
correctly that you plan to shoot an imaginary person and say it was me? I mean
I. I mean Aeneas Custer.”
“Inelegantly stated, but you have the idea. The real Chester , now Mr. Hancock, will be secreted to South Georgia . We need some of your clothing and some of
your blood.”
“Blood, Your Majesty?”
“We need to identify the late Mr. Aeneas Custer convincingly
to Quebec
“Thank you very much. I can’t begin to express my gratitude.
But…”
“Yes, Mr. Custer?”
“Well, foolish though it may be to question such a good
thing, why are doing this for me?”
“Might it not be a simple display of generosity on my part?”
“Yes, I suppose it might be. But it isn’t, is it?”
“No, actually. We have a job for you.”
This made me feel more comfortable as self-interest was a
motive I understood better.
“I am at your service, ma’am.”
“Yes, you are. As that police officer carelessly told you
when you arrived, there is a project on the western island. It is of national,
perhaps of global, significance.
“We have a very comfortable life in these islands, Mr.
Custer. We have not been affected much by the world’s crises. Climate change
arguably has benefited us. Due to a policy of strict isolation at a crucial
time, we were spared the worst of the world’s plagues. Our population declined
only modestly. Stanley
All of this good
fortune burdens us with responsibility. We need to re-engage the world beyond
our beaches if humanity ever is to recover. This is especially true now that
you and your Dakotan friends have set everything back so enormously. It is our
duty to spread civilization and the rule of law once again.”
“A noble goal, Your Majesty.”
“Please do not be so nauseatingly obsequious. We both know
you couldn’t care less about civilization, or about our plans for empire.
However, you are going to help, and thus repair a small part of the damage you
have done.”
“How can I help?”
“Let me first state the problem. As sparse as the world
population is, there are very few places we can colonize without a fight from
the natives. This is definitely true of Argentina Argentina
“The aid, I presume, would involve a military presence.”
“Yes, Mr. Custer. While we could force the issue in at least
a few places, I have no wish to wage an endless low level war against
guerrillas.”
“Understandable. It sounds as though you found someplace more
congenial to plant the flag.”
“Quite right. Several months ago we launched a secret
expedition from Fox Bay East to the Southern Continent.”
“Australia
“Antarctica . Already we
have a secret base on Adelaide Island just off the Antarctic
Peninsula . The old Rothera Point research station proved quite
salvageable. As soon as the colony is more firmly established and properly
defended we shall go public with the information.”
“Why would you want to occupy that desolate place?”
“Except for our colonists it is deserted, but it is not
desolate. In fact it is quite pleasant much of the year. Grasses have spread.
Sheep and goats are doing well. Fisheries should do spectacularly well. Our
colony will soon not only sustain itself but will build an export trade. It is
through settlements such as this that a global economy and civilization slowly
will re-emerge.”
“This has something to do with my job?”
“We mean to secure the continent further by establishing a
second colony on Ross
Island
“Because I always can be exposed as a war criminal,” I said.
“There is no need to state the obvious.”
“My apologies. If I may ask, what are the conditions that
far south in the Antarctic? Has the ice retreated?”
“The conditions are cold. The sea ice at the periphery has
diminished substantially, but the interior ice pack seems stable. You can talk
to our geologists about all that.”
“The airship will need a hanger if the weather is still very
harsh,” I said..” I’m amazed it has survived what I put it through. We have
been very lucky.”
“You must make do with what you find. We will supply you
with what materials and manpower your airship can carry. The rest is up to you.
Our interview is over.”
HIRISAWA: Mr. Custer, I must ask you. Did not your cover
identity strike you as exceedingly thin? Dozens of people knew precisely who
you were. She sent you back to the helm of the most identifiable craft on
earth.
AENEAS CUSTER:
Yes, sir. It also struck me that the thinness was intentional. The Queen is not
a stupid woman. I guessed she wanted to delay my interception by my enemies
rather than prevent it. That my cover identity was maintained so successfully
for so long no doubt was perturbing to her. Had my disguise held out for much
longer, it is likely Anne’s own red shirts would have arrested me as part of
some diplomatic maneuver. But what could I do? There was no alternative but to
go along with the Falkies.
HIRISAWA – I see. Are you nearing the end of your testimony?
AENEAS – Yes, sir.
After my makeover as a blond, I was sent back to Goose
Green. The airship was still there. Nearer
had been fitted with hinged plexiglass windows, but otherwise looked the same.
There was no time to worry about my future. That very day two soldiers
accompanied me on a flight to an outpost on the west island. The soldiers
disembarked and three civilians got on board. After topping of the tanks, the
four of us lifted off from West
Falkland Island
The civilians, a man and two women, were scientists. I
learned their names (Bob, Laura, and Abigail) but adopted a gruff style towards
them that discouraged personal questions. They talked among themselves and
discussed nothing remotely political. I found them refreshing. I hoped nothing
would go wrong with the engines because, despite my cover as an airship
specialist, a mechanical genius I was not.
The flight over the Drake Passage
started out pleasantly enough. Sea gulls took an unusual interest in us. One
was almost tame. It flew inside, landed on the steering wheel, and then took
cover behind some baggage when the trip turned harrowing. A front moved up from
the South. What we hit was not a storm. It was just the Antarctic puffing in
our direction. It was an unnerving omen of what lay ahead. We fought winds the
rest of the way. For the first time in my life I experienced bone-chilling
cold. We closed the gondola tight, but this scarcely helped. Ice formed on the
aluminum struts and on my eyebrows. My companions seemed unconcerned.
The Antarctic Peninsula, much of which is north of the Antarctic Circle , is a spectacularly beautiful place. The
mountains, an extension of the Andes , are
majestic in height. They are mostly white with gray granite outcrops. We
floated over deep fjords that lacked only fishing villages to be carbon copies
of those in Norway
A medley of colors bordered the beaches. There are no trees
on this continent, but in the summer flowering plants cover flourish in the
lower elevations. As Queen Anne had mentioned, grasses have a firmer hold than
they did a century ago. On the beaches seals played and sunned themselves.
Penguins bodysurfed ashore and then swam back out to catch another wave. Large
dark shapes could be seen beneath the surface further out at sea. The occasional
spout identified them as whales. Marine life was rich beyond imagination. The
new colonies would not starve. Fish, krill, and kelp abounded in quantities
beyond any possible demand.
We arrived over Adelaide
Island
Two dozen people assembled by the runway building to watch Nearer
as we drew closer. The winds were blustery, so even with all our directional thrust
we needed help to land. Not without difficulty, several Rotherans caught our
ropes and helped guide us to a mooring mast that evidently had been erected
just for us. The airship’s nose locked onto the mast.
I opened a Plexiglas window, swung over the side, and
dropped several feet to the ground. There was a mound of snow on the ground
next to where I fell. I removed a glove, reached out, and touch snow for the
first time in my life.
“There is more where that came from,” said a man wearing an
unfastened parka and sunglasses. “My name is Professor Watersby and I am the
Chief Administrator here.”
“Pleasure.”
“You are the optimist.”
Abbie had unrolled a rope ladder and was descending to the
surface. Bob and Laura prepared to follow.
“Let us go inside and plan your flight to the south,”
Watersby continued. “I need to tell you that I don’t approve. It is a foolish
dispersion of resources that we can ill afford. The Peninsula
is more than enough to colonize and it is infinitely better suited to
habitation. This is where we should be investing manpower and money. Besides,
your blimp probably will not even make it to McMurdo.”
“I don’t make those decisions.”
“Nor do I. However, consider yourself warned.”
“So considered.”
“Right. So, come along then. We shall determine how to send
you on your way, while disrupting our station here as little as possible.”
This greeting, including as it did a prognostication of our
imminent demise, struck me as rude. My first snowball ever struck the Rothera
Administrator on the back of the neck. He turned and stared in disbelief.
Laura, the meteorologist member of the Nearer crew, unleashed supporting
fire with a snowball that struck Watersby square on the forehead.
With enormous dignity the Administrator said, “Get them.”
The islanders scrambled for the nearest snow patches. The
four of us newcomers did the same. The barrage and counter-barrage lasted the
better part of an hour. The exchange ended when someone of high intelligence
and good will shouted “Tea!”
The battle had been good for all of us. We entered a large
structure. It was ramshackle on the outside, but quite homey on the inside. A
few of the station personnel began clinking and clattering in the kitchen,
while the rest of us settled down in the adjacent dining room. I hung my heavy
jacket on back of the chair. The refreshments were not long in coming. We
chattered, drank tea, ate muffins, drank wine, and then drank more tea. I let
my guard down and joined in the conviviality.
It was all very enjoyable until Laura suddenly pointed her
finger at me. My lapse in gruffness now had consequences. Laura took a verbal
crowbar to my cover. “Are you who you say you are, Chester?” she asked with the
knowing smile one so often sees on guests at cocktail parties who are intent on
generating an effect by means of some indiscretion.
“Are any of us?”
“I shan’t be offput by that nonsense either. You are from South Dakota
“We all have to be from somewhere.”
“South Dakota South
Dakota to the Falklands . Nor were
you just some aerial chauffeur, were you? It makes you Aeneas’ Martin Bormann,
doesn’t it?”
The tea party had turned extremely dangerous for me, even
though Laura had an essential fact wrong.
“That is a disagreeable comparison if I ever heard one,” I
objected. “It’s not fair either. I’m not a Nazi or even a common criminal.”
“I never used the word common.”
“Look … We all know the terrible things that happened up
north. I wish I could change them, but I can’t. I didn’t make those things
happen. I didn’t hurt anyone. I’m not giving you an ‘I was only following
orders’ excuse. I didn’t follow any orders. I didn’t give any either. I’m sorry
for the people in Quebec Black Hills .”
“Yes, I suppose you lost friends and family.”
“Probably. I honestly don’t know. I don’t want to know
either. I take it you had suspicions about me from the start. Why are you
bringing this matter up now?”
“Because I’m tired of tip-toeing around the subject. Don’t
worry, Chester
“There was no ‘it’ with which to get away.”
“Yes, there was, but I believe you were not a key player,
because no one arrested you. Instead, the authorities in Stanley
“That makes him von Braun,” interjected Abigail
mischievously.
Laura smiled.
“So, it seems you are not a big enough fish, Chester
“I’m not so sure.”
Laura swiftly aimed her index finger and mock shot me. She
giggled when I jumped.
“Relax. Now if you were that horrible Aeneas it would be
different. There was a man who deserved to die. You spent a lot of time with
him. What was he like?”
“Over-rated. But, you know, he wasn’t as evil-minded as
everyone seems to think. I’m sure he didn’t mean for things to turn out the way
they did.”
“True. He meant to destroy Quebec City
“I really don’t think so.”
“Then you are wrong. He fooled you. Pathological liars are
good at that.”
“Pathological? That doesn’t sound right to me. I’ll admit he
did lie to me more than once though.”
Laura twirled my recently dyed blond curls with a finger.
Everyone in the room was listening carefully. Laura had achieved her desired
effect.
“You worry me, Chester Quebec
“Is that what you want to do?”
Laura laughed. “Oh, no! Don’t take my teasing to heart. If
we are going to make it down here, Chester
“No. Joelle didn’t believe in them for anyone except
herself.”
“My, you must tell us about Joelle one day too. Anyway, if
we are to make it down here, we all have to hang together.”
“‘Or we shall hang separately.’ Yes, I’ve read my Ben
Franklin.” I said.
“Actually, only you are at any risk of hanging, my dear
boy.”
“How reassuring.”
“But we might all freeze to death or something equally
dreadful. My point is that none of us here want to hurt you. We need you. That
is all I’m trying to say. This place can be a fresh start for you. You can
count on us.” Laura asked the room at large, “Can’t he?”
All murmured assent, a couple of voices reluctantly it
seemed to me..
“All of us will keep your big secret,” Laura added with a
wink. “Someday, when tempers cool enough for you to go public safely, you
should write about all that sex in South
Dakota
“An ancient movie buff! A woman after my own heart. About
all that sex though … love really wasn’t so free after Selena took charge.”
“Love is never free at any time. Anyone who thinks so simply
hasn’t received the bill yet. Anyhow, my intention simply is to say you can
count on us. Can we count on you?”
Absolutely. I made a promise to the Queen.”
“Really? Personally?”
“Yes. Besides, I had better do right by the Falklands . I have
no place else safe to go.”
Watersby raised a wineglass. “That sounds like a fine reason
for loyalty.”
“Here, here!” chimed in the others.
“Here, here,” I answered. No doubt the alcohol assisted the
general mood of camaraderie. From that moment on Adelaide Island Chester might do so one day, but the odds
were that he would just settle into an obscure life on South
Georgia .
In preparation for our flight to McMurdo, the geologists and
climatologists at Rothera filled me in on the polar conditions. As the Queen
had said, the continent’s interior ice cap appeared stable. There had been a
retreat of the ice shelves, but little additional melting. This is why the
ocean rise in the past century has been modest. Sea ice displaces the same
volume as liquid water. Only ice resting on land adds to the ocean when it
melts.
There does not seem much risk of a sudden polar disaster
despite fears voiced at the turn of the century that the West Antarctic ice
sheet might one-day slide into the ocean. As best we can tell, it is firmly
held in place by the shape of the crustal base which forms an enormous bowl.
This shape is created by the weight of the ice itself. Our scientists say it
will take hundreds if not thousands of years for higher global temperatures to
affect the land ice substantially. However, the continental fringes, in
particular the Peninsula , are far more livable
than they once were.
All too soon it was time for Nearer to go. The flight to McMurdo was cold. Very cold. Three
hours out from Rothera our fuel line froze. At Adelaide Island Transantarctic Mountains
At the best of times I am a mediocre mechanic. At 15 degrees
below zero C with thick gloves (without which I would have lost my hands) I
didn’t rise to the level of mediocrity. My companions were no better. The first
settlers sent to McMurdo should have been electricians, plumbers, and practical
mechanics instead of three theoretical scientists and a political refugee.
For once I had grounds to criticize the Le Pens; they had
too much confidence in the reliability of their machine. It was not well
configured for repairs, especially by novices. There was no obvious way to get
at the line without causing additional damage that we couldn’t repair with the
tools and parts at hand.
After persistent and fruitless fumbling, at last I had an
inspiration. I snipped a length of bare #12 ground wire from a spool in Nearer’s inadequate repair kit. I
removed a glove and my coat, rolled up my sleeve, and reached into the fuel
tank. My hand and arm went numb in the cold kerosene but I managed to snake the
wire into the fuel line. After poking and twisting the wire repeatedly in an
attempt to clear the blockage, I withdrew my arm from the tank. My fingers no
longer obeyed my commands but they gripped onto the wire by themselves. With
high hopes, but little confidence, I cranked the turbine again. It roared to
life.
Bob took the controls as I covered myself with blankets and
stuck my hand between my thighs. Life returned to my hand slowly. It tingled
painfully.
The engine gave us no further trouble on the trip but we
were far from safe. The Antarctic is not a forgiving environment. We had failed
to take the simple precaution of properly insulating the gondola. Our new
Plexiglas windows proved extremely leaky, and the leaks nearly killed us. Wind
chill factors are to be taken seriously in those latitudes. We hung blankets
over the windows, but these helped only a little. Wind whistled around the
edges and through the fabric itself. We reached Ross Island
We approached our destination.
“That’s it?” Bob asked.
“It has to be.”
“How depressing.”
From the air, McMurdo Station had all the charm of some late
19th century coal town. Uninteresting industrial buildings sprawled
at odd angles over gray dirt and gravel.
“Well, it’s large enough,” he added.
“They told me about 1,200 people used to live here in the
summer. About 250 stayed the winter.”
“It won’t always be so bleak,” chirped our botanist Abigail
optimistically. “Our hybrid grasses should take hold here. They may even
survive in some of the inland dry valleys.”
“It is dark here a very long time each year,” I objected.
“That isn’t the problem. Moisture is the problem. Don’t let
the ice fool you. This is a very dry place. I think there will be just enough
water, though.”
“If you say so.”
We descended slowly. We passed over Hut Point Peninsula McMurdo Sound .
The port is usually ice-free during the summer months.
“Where do we set down?” Bob asked.
“I don’t know. Any chance of getting Nearer under cover?”
“Not unless we deflate the airbag. There are some helicopter
hangers to the south, but they are not big enough for this thing.”
“Okay, let’s try landing in the open area with all the big
containers below that hill.”
“Observation Hill?”
“Whatever. Maybe we can secure the ship to one of the
containers.”
Bob went over the side and down a rope ladder while I tried
to hold the ship steady. He tied us down. I wasn’t happy with these
arrangements but they would have to do. The rest of us disembarked.
Once we were on the ground the town didn’t seem so bad. Only
the absence of other people made it strange. All abandoned towns are
unsettling, but the well-preserved ones are the spookiest. The sounds are
wrong. A living community is dominated by clanks, rumbles, and background
voices. McMurdo was filled with rustles, creaks, and whistles of wind.
We explored methodically. Most of the buildings needed
little in the way of repair. In one building a bar named Southern Exposure was still well stocked with excellent ancient
brands of wine, beer, and whiskey. A much larger building nearby sported the
number 155. It contained a cafeteria with a working kitchen and recreational
areas. We found a firehouse with equipment that, flat tires aside, looked
almost new. In a multi-bay garage we found trucks and snow cats in excellent
condition.
We decided to occupy an administrative building called the
Chalet. There we laid out plans to bring life back to McMurdo. In addition, we
each claimed homestead rights to one structure. I claimed the building
containing Southern Exposure. It was
a business with a future.
Our work was cut out for us. The last occupants of the
station had done a very responsible job of winterizing everything before they
left, so remarkably little of the mechanical systems needed replacing.
Naturally, they needed servicing. Every switch and valve needed to be tested.
Every door, window and shingle needed to be checked. It was slow, tedious, but
satisfying work. My proudest moment came after servicing a snow cat. Bob had
bet me that we couldn’t get it started. I took the bet but secretly agreed with
him. Yet, after lubrication, refueling, and recharging, the machine roared
healthily.
The big fuel tanks outside of town were full, but we didn’t
want to squander the contents. They would be hard to replace. Fortunately, a
source of power was readily available. Strong winds, called katabatic winds for
some reason probably known by the meteorologist on our team, blow constantly
from the interior. Wind turbine generators, with their attendant batteries and
control equipment, had been shipped to the station toward the end of its
previous occupation. We found several stored in crates in a warehouse near the
helicopter hanger. We assembled two and were rewarded with electric power. We
soon learned why they had been left in storage. The winds often blow so hard
that they tear the windmills apart. We used them anyway even though we had to
fix them repeatedly. They helped conserve our fuel.
The environment on Ross
Island , as the Queen had warned, was
far less hospitable than along the Peninsula; but the resources were as
abundant as on Adelaide
Island
A sail-powered wooden ship arrived in April bringing
supplies and more settlers. Among these were practical artisans of the sort we
desperately needed. Our first dog teams arrived at this time as well. Southern Exposure turned a profit for me
that month and for every month thereafter.
When it came, the winter came hard. Snowfall was relatively
modest, but the temperature plummeted. The winds blew so fiercely that dustings
of snow built up on interior carpets. Weather-tight as we tried to make the
doors and windows, the particles found their way through. Sometimes air
movement could be felt at the surface of apparently solid walls. The sea froze
over and locked us out of any outside relief. It was dark. In June there was no
sun at all. If you could stand the cold, however, the frequent aurora australis displays were
breathtaking.
During the dark months, we still needed to hunt, work, and
maintain our machinery. It was easy to make a painful error. After re-bolting a
damaged wind turbine on a fairly balmy –20 degree Celsius night, Bob lost a
finger to frostbite. He was lucky. On the same repair job I touched steel with
an exposed bit of wrist. A patch of skin was torn off. It never did heal
properly.
Despite all our difficulties, I was truly happy. Our
adversary, the weather, was ruthless but not malicious. More satisfying still,
we prevailed. Our colony hung on. In the Spring a ship arrived carrying more
supplies and more settlers including fishermen, butchers and furriers. McMurdo
rapidly became self-sustaining. Before the end of the summer we were exporting,
and I ordered imports of wine and liquor.
Within a remarkably few years, hundreds came to live in our
improbable place. They found their way here from the Falklands, from South
America, from Australia , and
from Africa . Antarctica
never will be a crowded continent. However, our settlements contribute to the
world economy. Trading vessels from as far away as Alaska
and Greenland turn up in our port.
We were a small part of a worldwide recrudescence. Nothing
could undo the tragedy of Quebec Adelaide Island Canada , though still under-populated, in an
ironic role reversal made a protectorate of Quebec Celestial Empire . Functioning city states have appeared at
Hobart and Capetown.
HIRISAWA: Are you arguing that the destruction of Quebec
AENEAS CUSTER: No, your honor. I merely wish to declare that
I am not hostile to civilization in Quebec
My happy life in Antarctica ended with the arrival of a
trading boat from Alaska
Sure enough, that evening six sailors entered and took a
table. All were dressed in parkas. One left as I approached the table. The
others placed orders. Although I made an effort to chat with them, they were
disappointingly laconic. The five men had some questions about McMurdo, about
its export goods, and about the local prostitutes, but they had little to say
about their travels or about Alaska
“Hello, Aeneas.”
“Hello, Selena.”
She closed the door and locked it.
“You seem to have
survived your death rather nicely,” she observed.
“I work out.”
“I see. Miss me?”
“It seems a lot of people missed you. How did you get out of
South Dakota
“By ultralight airplane. I had one hidden in an escape
tunnel in case of emergency. It was a fast little thing. Even if the French had
seen me fly away, they probably couldn’t have caught me.”
“You made it to Alaska
“Saskatchewan Vancouver
“A what?”
“Head shop. You know, pot and bongs and such. If you really
need to make a living, it is best to supply people’s vices. As you should well
know,” she added with a wave at the liquor bottles on the shelf behind the bar.
“If you were making a living, why did you leave?”
“Things change. There was a big political push by one party
to make pot illegal, if you can imagine that. All the publicity made me rather
more high profile than I wanted. Reporters asked me my opinion about the new
law. What did they think my opinion was? Anyway a couple of them whom I had
blown off started following me. I worried somehow one guessed who I was and was
working up a big exposé. It was time to go. I packed a few bags, gave my
shadows the slip, and checked out the docks. There was an Alaskan boat down
there. One of the sailors said they were going to McMurdo. I bought a ride.
Here I am.”
“Here you are.”
“Nice bar.”
“Thanks.”
“Make a good profit?”
“I get by.”
“I thought so. That is why I took the liberty of writing up
a bill of sale. You are going to sell me Southern
Exposure for one pound.”
“Of flesh?”
“Falkland currency.”
“I think not.”
“Then I’ll expose you.”
“You show them mine and I’ll show them yours.”
“Haven’t you learned not to play chicken with me?”
She had a point.
“Assuming just for the moment that I were to cave in to your
blackmail, where do you suggest I go with my one pound?”
“New
Zealand
“I hope the exchange rate is favorable. That’s 3,000
kilometers away, you know. Should I swim?”
“I advise against it.”
“Would you help me steal Nearer?”
I asked more seriously.
“Don’t be so dramatic. Take the boat I came in. Don’t steal
it either. It is stopping in New Zealand
on the way back to Alaska
“Very generous. They actually wrote you a ticket? And you
bought round trip?”
“It was cheaper. Don’t ask me why.”
Selena had cornered me. Murder was an option and I
considered it, but somehow I didn’t have the heart for it. I also could have
gone to the authorities and hoped for the best. My expectation, though, was
that the Queen would express dismay that she had been taken in by my clever
disguise. She would express remorse that her guards evidently had shot the
wrong man. She then would arrest me and ship me off to Quebec City
If I had chosen to accept this, I could have dragged Selena
down with me, but my instinct for self-preservation was stronger than my
instinct for revenge. Selena had judged me correctly. I sold her the bar. She
paid me the pound out of my own cash register. I packed my bags and headed for
the dock.
HIRISAWA: Excuse me, Mr. Custer. You have sworn that you
didn’t know Selena’s current whereabouts. Are you telling us now that she is
tending bar in McMurdo?
PROUDFOOT: If I may interrupt, your
Honor, I was told by the ABI that this information about Selena was given to
them on the first day of Mr. Custer’s arrest.
HIRISAWA: By Mr. Custer?
PROUDFOOT: Yes. The information wasn’t
made public because the agency didn’t want to tip off Selena. Instead, the
State Department informed the Canadians, and the Canadians immediately shipped
out their own agents to arrest her. She was gone from Antarctica
when they arrived. She had sold the bar for considerably more than one pound.
The best guess is that she bought a ride on a fishing boat to New Zealand or Australia
My understanding is that Canadian
agents followed up in both places, but didn’t get very far. Those are big
countries and there isn’t much central authority in either one of them. The few
denizens interviewed were unhelpful. In fact they were profoundly disinterested
in the whole affair.
HIRISAWA: So no one knows where she is.
PROSECUTOR: Yes, sir. For all we know
she could be in South Africa
or Tierra Del Fuego . On this one occasion the
defendant was telling the truth.
HIRISAWA: I understand. Go on, Mr.
Custer.
AENEAS CUSTER: Well, your honors, you
know the rest. The captain of the Alaskan ship told me he had a lucrative
contract offer and was returning to Vancouver Alaska Juneau
HIRISAWA: Is that the whole of your
defense?
AENEAS CUSTER: Yes, sir. That is what
happened.
HIRISAWA: Then sit down as you agreed.
END OF DEFENSE TESTIMONY, TRANSCRIPT
OF ALASKA
The Prosecutor, Alexander Proudfoot,
stood up to present his case. The impatient judges disallowed many of his
witnesses, but in his closing argument he made an impassioned plea for justice
for the victims of the missile strikes.
It didn’t take the Court long to come
back with a verdict of guilty. Each judge made a brief statement. Judge Wilson
chided Aeneas as she would have chided a juvenile delinquent. Hirisawa made
clever jokes while concurring in the verdict. Maggio expressed disapproval of the
prosecution’s presentation, but briefly reviewed the law regarding accessories
as crucial to his concurrence with the guilty verdict. Any other verdict would
have been a cause for war, as each of the judges well knew.
The prosecution was given a chance to
present some of its evidence for the sentencing part of the hearing. The panel,
however, rushed and generally curtailed the victim testimonies. The defense
made no further arguments and no plea for mercy.
An element of the Republic of Alaska
Aeneas Custer was sentenced to be
released on a tiny rocky islet outside the Sitka Sound. The Republic of Alaska
then offered use of the islet to the warship La Salle , now with the
Canadian Royal Navy, for gunnery practice. The CRN accepted the offer.
Aeneas was held in the largely empty
jail while the La
Salle made the arduous journey around the Horn. Aeneas didn’t
mind the wait. He read extensively and agreed to several interviews with
reporters. Eventually the day came when he was escorted to the docks.
The hold of the wooden hulled boat in
which he was transported was dark. The air was still. Aeneas felt neither cold
nor hot. He once had read about sensory deprivation tanks. The smell of fish
and the pain in his buttocks on the hard bench prevented a full parallel
experience, but Aeneas did lose all sense of time. That was fine with him. He
was in no hurry. He felt no relief when the hatch above opened and bright white
light surged in. Two burly men entered the hold.
Four large hands grabbed both his arms
and pushed him roughly out of the hatch. He babbled to them about sensory
deprivation. His eyes had not yet adjusted to the light before he bodily was
lifted over the side and dropped. Aeneas stumbled as he landed. His right foot
splashed in a few inches of salt water. His left foot twisted painfully on a
rock. He fell forward. Sharp edged rocks bit into his hands but he avoided
hitting the ground with his face.
“You wanted to be king of South Dakota
The deck hand placed the end of a long
pole at the water’s edge and pushed. The boat slowly backed away from the
shore.
Aeneas’ vision cleared. The rocky
outcrop on which he knelt was no more than 5 meters wide by 10 long. In the far
distance he could see an irregularity in the horizon that might possibly be
land. It just as easily could be a cloud. Swimming that distance surely was out
of the question.
Aeneas climbed to the top of the
highest rock and sat down. He watched the puttering boat depart. The sea breeze
was mild and pleasant. Aeneas smiled.
On the deck of the La Salle a full admiral
handed the binoculars to the female ensign standing next to him. Her hair was
dark but red roots were beginning to peek through.
“That’s it there,” he said.
She tweaked the focus. “I see it.” It
was a tiny islet with an oddly shaped rock near the southern end. “After this
can we discuss my rank?” she asked.
“No, anything more would draw too much
attention to you. Be satisfied you are an officer. Be satisfied with your very
large bonus too. Be satisfied you aren’t on the island with your brother. I
still say you just should have come to us at the beginning.”
“No, it all was too fresh then.
Emotions ran too high. Your people would have locked me up, or worse. I made a
better deal by staying free and waiting.”
“You are sure you still remember the
control room locations and all of the codes?”
“I’ll never forget them,” replied the Ensign
formerly known as Selena.
"Finish your job,” he told her.
The ensign turned to the gun crew and
without hesitation shouted, “Fire!”
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