Killing Rhinos

by Herb Hughes

  Sheffie stared into Jack’s eyes a moment, then hung her head and said, “It’s time for me to go home. I will be ready in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll send the guys up here for your bags.”

  Chapter 38

  “Wantu wee, I will never be free. The creature has come and gone. Cabiloobadoo belee, It’s dust for you and me. Never again will we roam.

  “Will you please shut up destructive self? I am so boringly tired of your pathetic attempts at poetry. Yes, the creature is gone, and I say travel well and don’t come back with stories to tell. Hmmm. Hee, hee, hee. Not bad!

  “Oh, yes. Very good, poetic self. But it is not so good that the creature is gone. I hoped it would save us. I am so blisteringly tired of this little cube. I want my dreams back. I want to be free. Oh, creature, I beseech you. Come back and help me and my talented friend, the other me. Fix the dreams for us so we can live in our perfect worlds again. All of the beautiful dream worlds. We miss our dreams so. Please, creature! Please come back!

  “Quit shouting, downtrodden self. The creature is long gone and could not hear you even if the audio out was working. That, that… thing you call a creature was senseless, stumbling around and falling on itself. Or maybe that was the way it moved. No, it walked away like a biped, although an ugly one. But there is no need to shout. That horrid thing is long gone. Gone, gone, gone!

  “Shouting? I wasn’t shouting. I was merely lamenting my, our, sour, dour fate. And it’s too late to get up and escape.

  “Oh, my jelly messiness. What the cruzzles did I do to deserve spending eternity with you?”

  Chapter 39

  As the red-orange of the sun crept out of the east, the quiet of early morning was shattered by the loud, large, chugging automobile going down streets more used to horse and foot traffic. There was no way to hide it, no way not to be noticed. The only saving grace was that few people had read the newspaper yet. But enough had so that several insults were shouted at Jack as they chugged along. If Dokie had been there, the people of Lisbon would have shouted insults at him, too, since the newspaper had made it clear that the little man was not only an unsavory character but also a close friend of a Rhino hunter who was “a cheater and a miserable failure.” The article personally blamed Jack for every Rhino death that had happened in his few days in town. While it stopped short of blaming him for the existence of Rhinos, it wasn’t that short.

  Avery lived in northwest Lisbon, so there wasn’t much city to traverse before they were on the open highway to Deaton. But they did have a few blocks to get through, and pieces of fruit and rocks were hurled at them as they went. Fortunately, the car was moving fast enough so that none of the missiles found its mark.

  It was all Jack could do to hold Crazy Mac back. The old man tried to jump the rail on the trailer to get at the hurlers. No doubt he would have assaulted the offending residents in defense of Jack’s name, but there was no point. Jack realized that fighting back would be a waste of time. Mac would likely get hurt trying to do so. Attempting to explain the truth would also be a waste of time. The newspaper’s poison had done its job.

  The good news? It was still early, and few people were up and about. Before long, Avery’s car was rolling through the northwestern outskirts of Lisbon, well on its way to Deaton and well away from the early morning risers in the city streets. And almost beyond the extent of the morning newspaper delivery.

  Jack was keeping Toadstool calm by whispering in his ear every once in a while like Mac had shown him. Once they left the city, Mac had moved to the cabin with Avery. He said he wanted to watch where he was going and not where he had been. Even though space was tight, Mac was making himself useful by feeding wood into the fire on Avery’s command. Besides, Mac was so skinny he did not take up much space. Three hours later they pulled into Deaton.

  “Damn fast trip,” Mac shouted from the cabin. “It took me a full day on Toadstool. Left early and got to Lisbon late at night. I like these automobile things. I could get used to this.”

  Jack cocked his brow at another surprise from a desert hermit. Perhaps Mac was changing in his old age. Maybe you could teach an old dog new tricks.

  Jack watched as Mac pointed directions and Avery maneuvered between the curious residents. They were at creep speed in the town streets, but eventually they stopped in front of Stan’s Sand Shack, a large crowd of curious people following behind. Jack had to escort Avery through the crowd and into the saloon to avoid losing hours talking to the town’s residents. As he did, Jack was relieved to discover that today’s Lisbon Daily had not yet reached Deaton.

  “Hello, Mac,” Stan Whitson called out. He had gone out to the wood sidewalk to see what all the fuss was about as the automobile arrived, but was once again behind the bar. “Didn’t think I’d see you here again.”

  “I’m back, and I brought Jack Wheat with me.”

  Stan smiled broadly and reached out to shake Jack’s hand. “It’s so good to see you, again, Mr. Wheat. I’m sure you don’t remember me. I was a kid when we met.”

  “Mac told me. Yes, I remember you and your parents. They’re good people.”

  “So are you, Mr. Wheat. You saved them. That old scrub farm is everything to them.”

  “And they helped me, too. That was a long time ago. I was young and green, and they were generous with their food and their home. So how did you end up here?” Jack nodded, indicating the bar.

  “Just lucky, I guess,” Stan said with a laugh. “Have a seat. I’d offer breakfast, but it’s past time for that. We’re getting a head start on lunch. Fried chicken today. It’s a little early, but it’ll be ready soon if you’re hungry. I’ve got the best cook in Deaton, and fried chicken is his specialty.”

  Jack introduced Avery. Then he said, “I’d introduce you to my sidekick, Dokie, but he had to stay in Lisbon to take care of some things for me.”

  “Dokie?” a voice in the crowd said. “You mean Dokie Edwards?”

  “Yes,” Jack said. “He said he was from Deaton.”

  The man who had spoken nodded his head and introduced himself. “Bain Thomas, Sir. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wheat. Yeah, old Dokie was born and raised here.” Bain looked around at the rest of the crowd and smiled. Quite a few people had followed them into the bar. “Put ‘raised’ in quotes. He was the scourge of Deaton. Broke damn near every law that was ever made around here. Stan, you may not remember. You were still living out on the farm when Dokie left for Lisbon. Well, not so much left as got run out of town. Mr. Wheat, you’ve been getting some pretty bad press lately. If you’re hanging around Dokie Edwards, well, that might be part of the reason.”

  Jack wanted to defend Dokie, but before he could think of something to say, Stan spoke up. “That was a long time ago because I’ve been here for years. People change over time, and if Dokie is hanging around with Jack Wheat, then I’d say it’s a change for the better for Dokie. Tell you what, I’m sure these guys are hungry, so let’s let them have a late breakfast in peace. Or early lunch. Whichever.” With a smile, Stan politely waved the crowd back, and they complied, though few left the bar. Most of them found a seat or stood and leaned against a wall. Stan smiled. Beer sales would be good today.

  He turned to the three travelers and indicated a table next to the bar. “Sit at that table over there, guys. I’d be pleased to join you.” Then he added with a smile, “I have to make sure my cook is living up to his reputation.”

  Stan went back to the kitchen, but he soon returned. “Chicken is served,” he said as he and a waiter brought the plates out. “Hope you enjoy it. We’ve got the best fried chicken around.”

  Everything was great. Jack offered to pay when the meal was over, but Stan would have none of it, saying he was making too big a profit off beer sales to charge them. In fact, he had drafted some waiters and was hawking beer outside, to people gawking at Avery’s automobile.

  Stan leaned back in his chair and said, “Mr. Wheat… Jack, these stories in the Lisbon paper. They do
n’t make sense. They’re wrong, aren’t they?”

  “Damn right they’re wrong!” Mac almost shouted. “Idiots!”

  “Most assuredly,” Avery said. “It is a deliberate misinformation campaign. Completely false, out and out fabrication. Jonathan McGurke is behind it. He owns the newspaper.”

  “McGurke?” Stan said, “The business tycoon?”

  “Yep. That’s him all right.” Mac said.

  “He’s a power maniac,” Avery said, “And he wants to be Mayor. He owns the newspaper through a series of sham companies so that his name is not attached to it. He’s slandering Jack with out-and-out lies on one side while acting like he’s helping on the other. If he can disgrace Jack, it discredits Mayor Davis because McGurke tricked Davis into calling for Jack in the first place. Since McGurke lost to Davis by less than a five percent margin, after a failed policy, he has the right under Lisbon law to call for a special election. He created this failed policy with his lies and deception, knowing full-well that it would fail from the start, and Davis tumbled right into the trap.”

  “So did I,” Jack said.

  “Yes,” Avery continued. “In a way, I suppose we all did. At any rate, McGurke knows he will win a special election because he has poisoned public attitude against Davis by slandering Jack.”

  “And Lisbon only has one newspaper, so people only get McGurke’s side of it,” Stan said.

  “You catch on quick, Stan,” Avery said. “There used to be other newspapers, but they have disappeared in the last couple of years. I’m starting to think I know why.”

  “McGurke?” Stan asked.

  “Likely so,” Avery answered. “Purchased through sham companies and closed. I don’t know that for a fact, but I suspect so. It gives him full control of the information that the citizens receive. The witnesses at the Rhino scenes know better, but they are only a few people, and their story isn’t getting out. Mr… Ah… What did Dokie say his name was, Jack? The laundry owner at that first attack? Oh, yes. Suey. Mr. Suey credited Jack with saving his life and his business. And the ranger on the scene credited Jack with saving lots of lives. He said Jack made the best shot he had ever seen. None of that got printed in the paper.”

  “So why don’t we help them get the true story out?” Stan said, a sly smile on his face.

  “How in tarnation are you gonna do that?” Mac asked.

  Stan winked at them and said, “Step into the back with me, gentlemen.” He led them behind the bar and through the kitchen. Opening the back door, he motioned them through. It went directly into the building that fronted on the next street over, a newspaper office.

  “The bar isn’t my only enterprise. I also own the Deaton Beaton, a little weekly newspaper. It isn’t big enough to support me working full time, so I supplement my income with the bar. Heck, the bar is my income. But the newspaper is my true calling.” Stan waved at the printing press and other equipment around the room. “I’m a journalist first. I serve booze because it makes a good living. I’ve got an idea. I can suspend the local paper for a while. Hell, it’s only a weekly. I can load the equipment on my wagon and go to Lisbon and start a rival newspaper. We’ll distribute in the streets for free. That ought to get us a few readers. Let’s see… How about ‘The Lisbon Truth?’”

  “By dangles, I love it!” Mac said. “That’s a whopping good idea!”

  “You would be in danger, Stan,” Avery said. “If McGurke could not buy you out, he would find an underhanded way to shut you down. He has dozens of thugs working for him. I used to try to think the best of people, but now, well, I’m not sure Jonathan McGurke would stop at anything to get what he wants.”

  “Two can play the deception game. I can pile straw on top of my equipment then cover it with a tarp. People will think I’m a farmer bringing a load of hay into town.”

  “You could use my house to set up,” Avery said.

  “That may not be a good idea,” Jack said. “McGurke knows we’re together. He likely has someone watching your house.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that, but you may be correct. Stan, you need to find Dokie. He knows Lisbon better than anyone. I’m sure he will know some obscure basement that you can use. I will tell you the places he frequents so you can find him.”

  “That works,” Stan said. “Now, all that’s left is how to handle distribution.”

  “Once again,” Avery said, “Dokie is the answer. He knows quite a few… How should I say it? People on the streets? I bet we can get his friends to go around Lisbon distributing the paper. We should be able to cover most of the city.”

  “I‘ve always wanted to do a daily,” Stan said. “I could interview the people who witnessed the Rhino attacks then tell the people of Lisbon the truth about what happened. Real reporting, not make-believe stuff. And I could start a campaign of my own to discredit Jonathan McGurke. After all, turnabout’s fair play!” Stan’s smile widened as he leaned against the printing press. His eyes became distant as he thought about his idea.

  “Well, split my hide and bathe it in alcohol,” Mac said. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard since… since… well, in a hell of a long time. Put in a few pokes at Greg Bonner while you’re at it. Man’s the biggest asshole this side of McGurke. Hell, they should get together and compare assholes to see who’s the biggest.”

  “You need to be careful, Stan,” Jack said. “McGurke doesn’t play fair. He’s got a lot of men on his payroll, including Greg Bonner.”

  “Big uglies,” Mac said. “The kind of people you don’t want to do business with. Dokie told me about it.”

  “Okay,” Stan said. “We can avoid his big uglies by keeping the printing press in a secret location and using a stealth distribution system.”

  Avery crinkled his brow then said, “This is a fantastic idea! It is exactly what we’ve been lacking, an advocate to speak for us. Your brand new paper would solve that problem.”

  “I’m ready to pack up and leave now,” Stan said. “The sooner I get started, the better!”

  “I agree,” Avery said.

  “Dog nab it,” Mac said, “Me, too.”

  “Ah… Just curious,” Stan said, “But why are you going in the opposite direction?”

  Jack told the story about Mac’s underground room.

  “Wow. Something else for The Lisbon Truth to print! But first things, first. Time to cut McGurke down to the size he really is. I’ll load everything this afternoon and get on the road first thing in the morning. Now, where do I find the infamous law breaker, Dokie?”

  Chapter 40

  A posthuman society did not need security personnel. Ethan commandeered Stephan and the station’s computer tech to escort Diana to her quarters.

  “We don’t know how, Diana, but we know that you’ve been manipulating your medical records. What else?” Ethan asked as he sat in Diana’s guest bodyform and stared straight into her eyes. “What other sabotage have you managed?”

  As Ethan was asking his question, the computer technician removed the last bolt and popped the node out of the wall panel. The node was tagged to Diana’s brain implants. Even though she could access Central from anywhere on the ship, it was done through her implants and, by protocol, had to pass through her personal node in her quarters before access to the main computer would be granted. Her software access on Central had been deleted, but Ethan decided the physical removal and destruction of her personal node was the only way to make sure she would not be able to circumvent the system. Ethan took the node from the tech and placed it on the counter. He lifted a large wrench and brought it down hard, smashing the node into many small pieces.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Diana answered, her face held rigid in defiance.

  “I see.”

  The tech nodded to Ethan, a signal that there was nothing else to do. He had a confused, unsure look on his face. Ethan turned to Stephan and the tech and said, “Thank you. You may both go. I will handle it from here.”

  Th
e tech was out of the door as quick as he could leave. Stephan looked at Diana one last time before stepping through. Ethan ordered the door closed behind him then turned to Diana and said, “You understand that I don’t want to do this.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “You leave me no choice. When you’re healed, you’ll realize we did what we had to.”

  “You mean when I'm reprogramed to be an obedient little robot again.”

  Ethan stared at Diana a moment without speaking. She held her features rigid in defiance.

  “Whatever you wish to call it, Diana. You seemed to have lost all sense of propriety. We are out here doing what we have to do to save people’s lives throughout the universe. Do I like this? Hell, no! But it is my job, and I intend to do my job well. You call us murderers. Don’t you understand? These ‘people’ we harvest hardly deserve to be called people. They’re a throwback, a previous level of evolution. They are to us as apes were to them. I do not want to kill them, but we must have the tissue to save our posthuman brothers and sisters, good people who are in danger in the various colonies throughout space. We do it humanely. The humans from The Farm never feel any pain.”

  “Humanely? You’ve got to be joking. You call it ‘harvesting’ like they were crops in the field! You call Agrilot ‘The Farm’ like it was nothing more than a pasture on which those ‘throwbacks’ graze, waiting to be carried to the slaughterhouse and butchered as though they mean nothing at all. You could care less about them. Those ‘throwbacks’ are people, Ethan, intelligent humans. They are the same people as your forefathers, and it was only a few generations ago. There were millions of years of evolution between apes and humans but between humans and us? There are only a handful of ‘greats’ in front of your last human ancestor’s name. The people of Agrilot, the people you farm like picking a ripe tomato off a vine, are the same humans as your not-too-distant ancestors! They are what we were not that many years ago, and what we would be again if we were to lose our technology.”