1889: Journey To The Moon (The Far Journey Chronicles) (7 page)

“Uh. Yes ma’am. It’s just that. Oh, to hell with it. Your breasts are fine things, ma’am. Let’s leave that for the moment. I just found out that a column of soldiers is coming up the Denver Road. They are meaning to take possession of this place. They are going to commandeer Dr. Merkam’s ship.”

“Where did you hear this?”

Billy looked down at her breasts again, then back up.

This man has been too long without a woman
, she concluded
. I will have to remedy that.

“Billy?”

“Sorry. Can’t stop...staring. Damn, ma’am, but you’re a right pretty lass.”

“Thank you. The news, Billy.”

“The circuit rider judge in town. He’s a friend of mine. Well, really he’s a friend of my old gal’s father. He passed the column yesterday and spoke with the company commander. Fellow by the name of Custer. I think he may be the fellow that nearly wiped out the Indians up north. Anyway, the judge says he’s to grab the ship and all the plans, the whole shooting match, by force if necessary.”

“When are they to arrive?”

“The judge came looking for me and found me in a bar a little bit ago. Don’t know how he knew I was working here, since I never told him. Said they were probably no more than an hour or so behind him. Depends on how long it took him to find me, but I’d say could be an hour, could be five minutes.”

Ekka whirled away and grabbed her leather vest from a chair. She donned it in an instant and cinched it tight, hiding her breasts away from Billy’s prying eyes. “We must warn Judah,” she stated. “We’ll need the robots. Especially the big one.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Billy turned to the door, but Ekka grabbed his arm.

As he turned back, her face was suddenly there before his, very close. She kissed him full on the lips. “Get your guns, Billy Gostman. Hopefully we will not be required to kill anyone this night.”

[ 10 ]

All of the Merkam compound lights were out when George Armstrong Custer’s column turned off of Wasatch Avenue. By the last report, the place was normally lit up like New York City.

“Damn,” Custer said.

“Why, sir? What’s the matter?”

“They knew we were coming. The place is blacker than a New Orleans crypt.”

“What are your orders, Sir?”

“Proceed with caution. And be ready for anything.” George slid his cavalry saber from the scabbard and said, “Follow me.” He started his horse forward at a walk.

One of his lieutenants several horses back in the column turned to his partner in line and said, “I don’t like that pompous glory-hound, but the man’s not lacking in bold courage, is he?”

His partner said, “If he’d been at the Little Big Horn instead of sneaking off to see his wife and leaving his brother Tom in charge of the Seventh, our boys might not have been wiped out. He’s that kind of leader.”

“Yep. Yellow Hair was lucky his patron saint was Ulysses Grant or he wouldn’t be wearing a uniform right now. After his brother was killed, he sure took it to the Sioux and Cheyenne, though. Killed whole villages of them across Wyoming and Montana.”

“He started that even before the Little Big Horn, though. First the Washita, then the big raid on the Powder River where he killed all those women and children.”

“There were warriors there, too.”

“I know. We found tracks of one that escaped, but that was it. We killed all the rest of them, and even their horses and dogs. That whole area smelled like blood and smoke when we finished. I couldn’t get it out of my clothes for a week after. I finally got rid of the smell when I washed my uniform in one of the sulfur pools along the Yellowstone River.”

“I remember. And we made you sleep a hundred yards from the camp for a week after that.”

“Shh, we’re close to the gates.”

[ 11 ]

The Sioux warrior called Two Hats ghosted through the town’s dark areas near the column and was so close he heard the two men’s conversation. Two Hats knew the story of the Powder River well, for he was the sole Lakota to escape, leaving his murdered wife and three young children wrapped in elk skins in front of their painted tepee. He was called Tall Hat then, because of the black stovepipe hat he took from a whiskey peddler when he was only twelve summers. He had worn the hat ever since, even while escaping at the Powder River. Tall Hat was almost insane with grief and rage, and he followed the Seventh Calvary after that, focused on killing the leader of the charge, the one the Cheyenne named Son of the Morning Star and the whites called George Custer.

Tall Hat was at the forefront, along with Crazy Horse, at the Battle of the Greasy Grass, the place soldiers called Little Big Horn. He raced on foot into the midst of the soldiers crowded together on the small hill, and he killed blue coats left and right with his long knife and short lance. He reached the man he thought was Yellow Hair and the man swung his saber in a quick arc, cutting off the front half of the Sioux’s stovepipe hat brim. Tall Hat felt the air on his face as the blade missed his nose by a whisker. In an instant Tall Hat used his lance to pin the bluecoat officer to the ground. He recognized the writhing man as George Custer’s brother. Tall hat was furious. He cut out Tom Custer’s heart, then used the man’s own saber to stake the bloody organ to the ground.

Rain-in-the-Face dismounted beside him and asked if he could take Tom Custer’s scalp because this Custer humiliated him at the Pine Springs Agency by holding him down and rubbing dirt in his hair like he was a naughty child. Tall Hat nodded at Rain-in-the-Face, then stooped to take Tom Custer’s grey hat. He cut off the crown and slid the remaining portion, consisting of the brim, over the black stovepipe so the new brim replaced the severed portion.

Gall, the muscular Hunkpapa Sioux chief rode up to the two warriors and saw the hats. Without a moment’s hesitation, Gall said, “You are Two Hats. Tall Hat is no more.”

Two Hats asked him if anyone killed Yellow Hair, and Gall said one of the women in his camp had been spying on the cavalry troop since yesterday and saw Yellow Hair and the Crow scout Curly leaving before dawn from their camp. She crept close enough to hear Yellow Hair say he was going to see someone named Libbie, and his brother would head the Seventh until he returned.

Two Hats sheathed his knife and said, “I go to find him.”

Rain-in-the-Face gave him the reins to his pony and said, “My heart is with you, my brother. I thank you for the scalp.” He held up Tom Custer’s scalp and ululated the Sioux war cry. Two Hats rode through the afternoon, passing over hills and down gullies of tall grass marked here and there with bright swatches of blood, dead horses, and the pale, naked corpses of soldiers.

He trailed Custer for months and could never quite catch Yellow Hair alone. At last, after the Seventh decimated their final village and all the northern tribes surrendered, Two Hats followed the newly promoted General to San Francisco. By then Two Hats was a human skeleton, barefoot and draped in rags. The only piece of attire still serviceable was his hat. He stole clothes from back yard drying lines and a pair of ill-fitting shoes off the feet of a drunk in an alley. He wandered through the city at night and hid by day in fetid ditches and piles of refuse.

His fortune changed one night when he leaned against an alley wall, too weak to go further, and an Oriental man came out a door to toss a pan of dirty water on the cobblestones. He looked at Two hats and said, “You rooka rikee skereton. You needa eat.” He made eating motions with his hand. “Come, come.”

Two Hats followed him inside, where the smells of cooking food almost overwhelmed him. The Oriental man sat him at a small table and brought plates and bowls of food for him. Two Hats could only nibble at the incredible array because his stomach had shrunk. The man patted him on the shoulder and said, “You stay here. Eat here, workee here, sreep here, okay?” The Oriental man nodded, then walked to another area of the kitchen. In the two minutes of quiet, Two Hats fell asleep in the chair, his head against the wall.

The man’s name was Qui-Dak-Nan, originally from the Ryukyu Islands of Japan and he spoke fluent Japanese, French, and Italian, but pidgin English. He was also head cook at the restaurant where he now employed Two Hats. It was the Fior D’Italia, the finest Italian restaurant in North America, and the pride of San Francisco. Two Hats gained weight, and learned to speak broken English under Qui-Dak-Nan’s tutelage, and the chef learned a few phrases in Lakota in return. They liked each other, and soon Qui-Dak-Nan taught Two Hats the art of cooking, specializing in Italian, French, and Oriental cuisine infused with American elements from both the land and the bountiful sea a stone’s throw from the restaurant.

Two Hats proved adept. He also took his friend on excursions into the countryside around the Bay area and showed the chef a bounty of delicious native plants. Soon they were using the herbs and plants in their meals, to the raves of the populace. Two Hats bought white man’s clothes and wore them around town, but he kept his hat and braids, and made new moccasins.

In their spare time, and only in absolute privacy away from the eyes of whites, Qui-Dak-Nan showed Two Hats a series of moves and stances he called
Kara-te
. Two Hats was not only a superior student, but a true warrior who desired to learn and practice more and more, like a man dying of thirst in the desert desires water. Qui-Dak-Nan enjoyed teaching as much as Two Hats enjoyed learning, and they spent many, many hours moving through
katas
and refining techniques. Two Hats’ experience with the Sioux lance and knife, as well as the bow and arrow, fell naturally into place as his mentor introduced these weapons into their training. His advancement was enough for Qui-Dak-Nan to pat his shoulder and say, “You best student Qui-Dak eva teach. Best in Ryukyu, best in Carifornia, best in Europe, best anywhere in hoe pranet. You best Qui-Dak eva see.”

Two Hats was pleased and enjoyed the days with Qui-Dak-Nan and the city of San Francisco, but he never forgot that Custer was nearby in the Presidio. He waited for his chance with a patience born to those of the Lakota. When he learned that Custer had left the city two days earlier, leading his troops into Colorado, Two Hats waited until midnight and left the restaurant. He retrieved his knife and short lance from the hiding cache on the hillside and mounted his horse to give chase. Following the trail was easy. Yellow Hair’s two enormous Studebaker Steam Freighter Wagons, with their man-tall vulcanized wheels, left deep grooves in the earth. They carried something heavy. Two Hats gained steadily on the column day after day, not having to hurry because of the trail.

A thin, luminous sliver of moon crept above the mountains and provided little light when Two Hats spotted the Seventh on the outskirts of Colorado Springs. Their Drum and Bugle Corps was at the rear of the column, ready to march and play when ordered. The two huge Steam Freighters loomed like small moving hills ahead of the band. Two Hats saw that the freighters had large, plow-like frontal attachments protruding from under the drivers’ high seats and extending a good eight feet beyond that. The cavalry and infantry marched and cantered ahead of the freighters.

Two Hats circled to the side among the low hills and trotted his mount to pass the Seventh. None of the military men saw him, and he dismounted in town to better engage Custer on foot. He ghosted through the shadows, keeping Custer in sight as the soldiers marched toward the large compound with the enormous gates. He saw Custer raise his hand and the column stopped.

[ 12 ]

Some instinct made Two Hats turn his attention from the cavalry to the walled compound. The gates opened on soundless hinges. Even in the dark, Two Hats saw the huge figure emerge, and it froze his heart. Behind it were more of the things, smaller, but still larger than any man. The very last ones through the gate were humans: a tall woman and a young man who moved easily in the dark. The things and the humans stood at the gate entrance, silent as monoliths. A red light, like an ember in a dying fire, glowed in the head of the gigantic creature standing beside the tall woman.

Custer hissed encouragement to his men, “This is our return to glory, boys! Our Seventh will be playing Garryowen while we soar in the air above the White House! We will take this ship and become the new lords of the skies. And I will name her Libbie, in honor of my wife!” The men hurrahed in muffled tones, for they all adored Libbie. Custer touched his spurs lightly to his horse and said, “To a trot, men!”

A thin, ruby beam of light, no thicker than a child’s finger, emanated from the silent giant’s head and danced across Custer and his men, moving back and forth, stopping for only an instant on each soldier’s chest before going to the next man.

Two Hats hurried through the shadows, advancing ahead of Custer and his men to find a place where he could attack the General from the front. He wanted Yellow Hair to see the man who killed him.

There was movement at the gate and the robots started forward at a smooth mechanical gait. The gigantic one led them. The woman and man kept pace and Two Hats saw the glint of weapons in their hands. He heard the General pull his saber, raising it to point the way, and yell, “Take it to them, boys! Ropes! Ropes!” They charged, with the horsemen whirling lassoes over their heads as the columns split to attack the robots from left and right.