Blackened lenses in thin wire frames concealed his eyes. She could see the scar that ran from one temple to the other. He sat in a heavy wheeled chair; evidence of the damage that had been done to his legs. His final handicap wasn’t obvious until he brought his hands up to rest his chin on them. White gloves covered unmoving fingers. She’d heard they were carved from teak to replace the hands that had been destroyed by his flawed Masterpiece.
“…and that is why, my dear General March, you will not be moving your command post.”
The general, his desk opposite David Abrams’ and slightly askew to it, hid the heat in his voice well. The look on his face, on the other hand, displayed his fury at being ordered about.
“I appreciate your candor, Mister Abrams. All of your points are relevant, and I will take them under consideration. However, I will not have you mistake your position here. You have graciously allowed the Expeditionary Force to use your grounds and facilities. In addition, you have put the defenses of your grounds at our disposal, which has assisted more than once with defenses against sallies in this area. This, as you might imagine, allows you some largesse when it comes to requests, be they of non-essential personnel, supplies, or other considerations. This does not allow you to command my troops, nor to dictate essential personnel.
“Finally, while the American Expeditionary Force appreciates your contributions, we will not tolerate any further losses to that thing you keep chained in the back of your Mechanical garage. Am I making myself clear?”
“As the finest crystal, my dear General March, and far be it for me to argue with you. There are, however, three items you seem to be forgetting.”
General March’s voice was controlled, but his clenched fists and hunched shoulders made his anger clear. “They are?”
“First, ‘that thing’, as you call it, is, as you said, chained in the back of my Mechanical laboratory. If you have placed no men or material within reach, it cannot possibly harm them.”
March’s reply was limited to a noncommittal grunt.
“Since you allow me that point, my second point is that your Mechanical Men are, at best, two generations obsolete.”
“Now see here!” For the first time, some of General March’s rage leaked into his voice. Where he couldn’t take umbrage at his host’s requests, he certainly could defend the honor of his unit.
“I am serious, General March. Will you tell me that one for one, our Mechanical Men are the equal of their Central Powers counterparts?”
“Just because Pershing was overwhelmed…”
“General, General, General. Pershing was not ‘overwhelmed’. It is true the Central Powers have a greater number of Mechanical Men, as they did at the time. However, they were not concentrated at that battle. In fact, Pershing had his opponents outnumbered two to one. Am I correct?”
“Yes.” The word was clipped and reluctant. Leigh shrunk back into herself, trying not to be noticed. For his part, the General seemed to have become so preoccupied with David that he had forgotten the existence of his visitors.
“At the end of the day, more than half of the Central Powers’ Men were still fully operational. How many did our forces eventually reconsolidate with?”
“That information is classified ‘Need to Know Only’.”
“Fine. I wager it was no more than one in five. As well, it is no great secret that my manor is the last Expeditionary Force repair facility left on the Continent. If it falls, it is simply a matter of time until England submits or is crushed beneath the heel of the Hun. Am I wrong on any point so far?”
March remained silent. Living in Pennsylvania, Leigh had heard the war was going badly, but had no idea the situation was this dire. Outside, the guns sounded once more, and she felt her blood run cold as she realized that they might not be firing to train the crews, but at actual enemies within range of the long guns. She felt faint, and reached for the folding fan secreted within her left tool belt. It eluded her faltering grasp, and Abrams launched into his diatribe once more.
“So. My Masterpiece has been chained, so any Mechanicals failing are doing so out of disrepair. Your Mechanicals are hopelessly outclassed by those of your enemies, and your only hope is that my Masterpiece outclasses them by an even greater factor, and that my heir possesses the skill to produce more like it. My final point is this; I have devoted my lands, my name, my fortune, and now my heir to your cause, when I might have easily joined with the Hun instead.”
“Treason!”
“Hardly! I simply point out to you that repaying my loyalty and sacrifice with dismissal when I offer you my finest work is ill done.”
“Fine,” the words ground out of March like he was chewing on ground glass. “Your heir will be given a position on my maintenance crew, and be allowed to work with that monstrosity in the back of your laboratory. Damn Pershing to Hell for getting himself killed.”
Sebastian’s sharply indrawn breath brought the general’s attention back to his visitors. The general scowled, but did not apologize for his profanity. Leigh’s fan, brought out to fend off her incipient faint, now became a feeble defense against the heat that once again rushed toward her face.
“Cole! I thought you were ordered to the front with the latest batch of Men and supplies.”
Sebastian’s response was instant, crisp and certain. “Yes, Sir! Apologies, Sir, but the Quartermaster directed me to bring her to you.”
“I hear my heir has arrived, then?”
“Cole is hardly your heir, Abrams. He’s no more a brilliant engineer than I am a charming hostess. You rea…”
General March’s voice cut off in mid-word, his mouth hanging open. His head swiveled back from David to Leigh like it was on bearings, his eyes lining up on her like some horrid inset cannon. Those eyes narrowed, sweeping her up and down. Behind her fluttering fan she hid a curse; she finally was confronted by a man who wasn’t distracted by her endowments just when she desperately needed a distraction.
March’s voice was flat and cold, “You must be joking. Your son’s name was Leigh.”
“My heir’s name is Leigh, but I have never said I have a son.”
The rage the general had been containing spilled out all at once. “You expect me to let this woman, this trollop, this Negress to command my maintenance crews?”
“Am I to take that to mean you will be relinquishing command of the 54th Massachusetts, then? Detaching them from your forces? Sending them home, perhaps?”
At the mention of the all-black unit, March’s face paled. Leigh understood his response; the unit struck fear in anyone who knew its story. No one could identify the source of the alchemical potion the solders had imbibed before the battle of Fort Wagner, but the effects had been as dramatic as they were frightening. Soldiers who lived through that day still talked of how the men of the 54th had charged through rifle and cannon fire, grape shot and chain. Their courage had been inspiring, but the rest of the story transmuted triumph to horror. The soldiers of the unit lost limbs and heads and never stopped their advance. It was almost as if each man had become a self-directed Mechanical Man.
The unit remained the most dangerous in the Union. The only losses since that fateful day had been a few burned to ash, and the remaining men were still in the regiment to this day. They were fierce, implacable, and terrifying. Hearing that they were somewhere in the area made Leigh feel faint once more.
March’s voice was full of his own poorly contained dread. “Those… men are an entirely different story. They are the fiercest patriots and finest soldiers I would wish to have in my army. They are, however, a blunt instrument. Sherman barely stopped them from burning down the entire state of Georgia when they were sent there to pacify it.”
“Pshaw. I still say he simply recognized their reasons, and in doing so was able to reason with them. At any rate, what is your objection to her?”
“A few select Black men, much like their White counterparts, might be suited to the rigors of command. A woman,
however, can never be so suited.”
“So you will be reneging on your word to me then?”
March looked apoplectic. He half rose from his chair, leaning forward and preparing to deliver a blistering harangue to the cripple opposite him. Before he could speak, Sebastian’s voice rang through the room.
“Incoming!”
Leigh felt Sebastian’s weight carry her to the floor. A moment later an explosion rocked the room, scattering glass and shrapnel everywhere.
***
The roar of her hovering Engines loud in her ears, Cap examined the wreckage of her wings. The right had been sheared off completely; only a portion of the leather remained. Sabotage had done for the other wing, the corroded leather strap still smoked faintly. The fabric was still attached, but the wing had been torn and broken in too many places to effect repairs.
The corroded leather told Cap a tale of betrayal, one she had unwittingly been complicit in. She had been so careful to check each and every part the Sephardic bastard had machined for her, to test each and every batch of alloy he mixed. Cap had known David Abrams lusted after her work from the moment he saw the partial designs. She had known, and kept the secret of how the parts fit together from him for just that reason. Cap thought she’d been so clever in keeping the secret of her Engines.
She had been. She just hadn’t been nearly as careful or as clever with her wings. They were, after all, just cut down versions of Orville’s design. She’d shared them with David, much as she’d shared herself with him; as a consolation for not sharing the design of her Engines or the secret recipe for the mix of fuel that powered them. Now, it seemed, that attempted kindness had come back to destroy her.
Suspicious, she checked her parachute. It took a full minute of careful digging for her to find the shattered glass vial within the tightly packed cloth. Her fingers burned from touching the cloth, her face burned with shame, and most of all her heart blazed with impotent fury at the man who had killed her.
A glance at the gauge showed her fuel burning fast. Her Engines, her finest creations, her Masterwork, were hungry beasts at the best of times. Hovering as they were now made them even more voracious. A quick mental calculation told her they would drink the last of their fuel long before she reached the ground at any survivable rate. Ever conscientious, she did the calculations again, by hand, on a scrap of wing. The cold, hard Physics of her predicament stared back up at her. She was going to die.
For a moment, grief threatened to overtake her. Kay was barely weaned. The baby’s father alternated between trying to steal her away and refusing to acknowledge her existence. Without Capricious, Kay would be an orphan alone in a country not her own. Cap left no great wealth to see the child through to adulthood. She wept for her daughter, a destitute orphan. She knew that existence well; it had been her own after her grandmother passed.
Cap’s parents had left her with old Gramma Jones. Gramma Jones had passed and left her with the Sisters of Saint Francis. The Sisters had kept her until she was eighteen, when she had, by dint of much studying and the androgyny of her name, been offered a scholarship to study at a college in New England. Through all of it, since Gramma died, she had been alone, and it had suited her fine until she came to Europe to university.
Europe, where she had been struck with the idea for her Engines. Where she had sought and found a metallurgist and machinist of surpassing skill to smelt and forge her parts. Where she had been seduced by that same machinist’s protestations of undying ardor. Where she had formed their daughter even as he formed the parts. Where she came to realize, inch by inch, that the man she had trusted had seduced her in order to take credit for her greatest work.
She had been such a fool. Letting whimsy take her, Cap ran her calculations again, replacing her own weight with that of all the things she loved. Kay. Her Engines. Cap smiled sadly as she realized that the list began with one and ended with the other.
At that moment inspiration struck. Cap felt her smile widen, baring teeth. Her brows drew down, her eyes narrowed, and her heart sang with evil glee as mayhem and destruction filled her mind.
***
Leigh’s ears were ringing, she was bleeding from small cuts on her hands and face, and her whole body ached from striking the floor when Sebastian tackled her. Sebastian rolled her over, and she blinked in the light now coming through the gaping hole where the outer wall had been. His mouth moved, but she heard nothing. Shaking her head, she reached up and pulled her emergency hearing protectors out of her ears.
“Miss Abrams, are you injured?”
“I don’t think so. Just aching and horribly scratched up. Did a Mechanical have a catastrophic failure?”
“I’m not certain. Let me check on the others.”
While Sebastian went to help the general and David, Leigh took stock of her equipment. One by one, she opened her pouches, pockets and sleeves, removing the tools and powders, parts and potions. Each one she checked briefly for damage and returned to its pocket. The familiar ritual soothed her; as she worked the world seemed to narrow down to her and her tools. When she finished, she looked up to find Sebastian and the general staring at her, the same strange look mirrored on both faces. Shamed that she had been so completely engrossed, she attempted to explain.
“I’m so sorry, gentlemen. I’m afraid my tools are rather fragile, and if they’re broken, I’d be completely useless to you. Please, is there anything I can do to help?”
The general’s voice was still angry, but that anger was now chained, the way a man would do when life and death were on the line. “Miss Abrams, most of my technicians only carry one belt, and that one is rarely full until they’ve been working for a few years. Your father has equipped you well.”
“Oh, no, Sir. My original training was in Logic Pathways, but I’m afraid I cross-qualified in Power Systems, Motor Linkages, and Control Systems. I think the nuns will be quite upset with my hubris. Of course, the degrees I entered the service with meant I was pre-qualified as a Surgeon, Apothecary, and Communications Mechanic. I should have done Armorer as well, but I’m afraid I never received the paperwork for my degree in Metallurgy.”
Leigh felt the blush on her face, but a part of her had taken control and wouldn’t let her shut her mouth.
“Please, Sir, I know I’m required to have additional room on my tool belt for useful salvage parts, but I was only issued two belts. Might I have another?”
General March’s face had taken on a menacing, fey expression as she spoke. She knew she’d done something wrong, but didn’t know what. For a moment her military training warred with her earlier schooling. In the end, the years of schooling won out; her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze dropped to the floor. It was all she could do to keep from crying, to keep from asking what she had done wrong.
“Cole, go find out what happened to the wall. Report back as soon as you know anything. Abrams, I don’t know how you got her all of those tools, but we need those for the war effort. I…”
David interrupted the general. Leigh knew it would only stoke his anger, but took small comfort from the fact that it might redirect it to her father. “General March, I have never given my offspring tools.”
“So where did she get them?”
A longsuffering sigh preceded David’s answer, and a quick glance showed his wooden fingers gliding against one another. “Exactly where she said. She has four advanced degrees. The final sheepskin arrived at the manor after you had left for Army training, my dear. There is a reason my daughter has an androgynous name, General. Between her name and a letter from myself indicating that my heir has a physical condition which makes her unable to attend classes in person, she was able to take her courses by correspondence.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” March’s reply was skeptical. As he spoke, he pulled gear from his desk; a canteen, a bulky personal crystal device, a revolver.
“For an ordinary student, it would not be possible. However, as you might imagine
, my influence is not insignificant at institutions of higher learning. That and a substantial donation, exceptions were made. Now she is here, and exactly what she says she is.”
“Please, Sir, I know I’m terribly forward, and I know I must have done something wrong, but I just want to help.”
“I highly advise you allow her to assist you, general. I sent her to the Americas when the war threatened to break out. Around the time she completed her final degree, I realized what the Hun were up to and recalled her.”
“You’ve divined the Central Powers strategy, and you’ve yet to inform me?” The general’s tone made it clear his exasperation was wearing at his control.
“No, only the part that I care about.”
“And that would be?”
“Hadn’t I mentioned it earlier? This is the last functioning Expeditionary Force Mechanical base on the Continent. Given that they’ve obviously reverse-engineered the DaVincis, I expect…”
Sebastian dashed back into the room, interrupting whatever wisdom David was about to impart about the Central Powers DaVinci war machines. “General! The tower reports two hundred Prussian Blitzmen and one Bertha Command Mechanical are approaching from the south. They will be here in less than an hour. What do we do, Sir?”
March’s head swiveled back to the senior Abrams. “How quickly can she work?”
“You just saw her break down seven issue tool kits, clean them, and repack them in under two minutes. Pray it is fast enough to make a difference in the upcoming battle.”
The General belted his revolver and headed for the door as he spoke. “Cole! Escort Lieutenant Abrams to the Garage. Make sure they know she is in charge of repairs. Take command of the Men as she repairs them. Defend the Garage and prepare to move to support me at my command. Unless I call for you, you hold that Garage. Understood?”
The Strange Fate of Capricious Jones Page 2
