Death-Bringer

by Patrick Tilley

  Finally, one day in early April, when the crew had assembled for the usual morning parade alongside the wagon-train, McDonnell strode along the ranks behind the duty officer with a noticeable gleam in his eye. When the DO completed his formal inspection of the battalion and passed control over to McDonnell, it was clear to old hands like Bad News Logan that something was up.

  Somethin’ good for a change. Ol’ Big D was practically burstin’ …

  McDonnell braced himself. ‘Wagon-train-n-n-n EASY!’ he boomed.

  The battalion stood at ease with a thunderous stamp of boots, the palms of their hands crossed in the small of their backs.

  ‘Okay, hear this!’ he said, in the same foghorn voice. ‘I have been reliably informed that The Lady has a new commander and he will shortly be arriving with his team of execs!’

  The announcement provoked a subdued murmur.

  ‘And as soon as they’re settled in – and we’ve shown them the ropes –’

  A ripple of laughter.

  ‘– they’ll be taking The Lady out for a shakedown supply run to Abilene, San Angelo and Brady!’

  This news raised an audible groan. Abilene, San Angelo and Brady were way-stations to the south-west of Fort Worth in the Home State of Texas. Territory under the total control of the Federation where there was no chance of a fire-fight.

  ‘And then we’re goin’ north – to hunt Mute!’

  The battalion responded with an exultant shout, punching the air with their fists. ‘HO!’

  McDonnell caught sight of an approaching wheelie. It was a four-car enclosed model: the type used by hire-wires. He called The Lady’s crew to attention. ‘Wagon-train-n-n-n READY!’

  Close on a thousand pairs of boots came together with a synchronised thud. The Trail Boss made a smart about-turn, his brass-topped drill stick braced stiffly under his left arm, and parallel to the ground.

  The wheelie whined to a halt in front of him. The doors on both sides opened and disgorged the team of executive officers who were to take charge of The Lady from Louisiana. There was an audible gasp from the veteran crewmen as they glimpsed the bushy white moustache of the officer with the yellow commander’s rank bars on his lower sleeve.

  It was Hartmann, their old commander. Buffalo Bill – back in uniform and back in charge, and eight of the twelve smiling faces around him belonged to the executive officers who had served with him up to the moment the Provos had come aboard to arrest them all.

  Buck McDonnell’s right hand snapped into line with the brim of his stetson, fingers and thumb aligned in a perfect drill manual salute. ‘Eight Battalion, Trail Blazer Division, mustered aboard The Lady from Louisiana, ready for your inspection, SAH!’

  ‘Thank you, Mr McDonnell.’ Hartmann returned the salute, as did the twelve execs lined up in two staggered rows behind him. The formal greetings over, Hartmann exchanged a warm handshake with his Trail Boss.

  ‘Welcome back, sir.’

  ‘It feels good, Buck. When did you hear we were on our way?’

  ‘Last night, sir. Had quite a job keeping it from the boys.’

  ‘Well, they look happy enough,’ observed Hartmann, ‘I thought they might be a bit leery about serving under a two-time loser.’

  ‘Sir! Are you kidding?!’ McDonnell turned towards the men lined up in three ranks in front of The Lady. ‘Okay, you clapped-out, time-serving bunch of slack-assed mothers! Let’s hear it for the commander!’

  The six hundred veterans that formed the core of The Lady’s crew cut loose with the time-honoured chant: ‘Buffalo Bill! Buffalo Bill! Just say the word and we’ll kill, kill, kill! Give us a rifle, helmet and pack, and we’ll follow you to hell and back!’

  ‘Are we ready and able?! Are we fit to show?!’ demanded McD.

  Everyone, including the execs behind Hartmann, joined in the traditional response: ‘You bet your ass! Let’s GO – GO – GO!’

  Hartmann, noticeably moved by the warmth of his reception, signalled McDonnell to stand the men down.

  ‘Wagon-train-n-n-n EASY!’

  The nine hundred men and women making up the crew of The Lady were mustered in individual groups in front of the cars to which they were assigned: medical staff in front of the blood wagon, ‘fire-men’ in front of the power cars, and so on. As Hartmann led his team of execs along the ranks, each squad or section leader called his individual group to attention. The wagon-master paused to exchange a few words when he encountered a familiar face and the veteran execs did the same. Those drafted in as replacements would each get the customary one-on-one interview with Hartmann, and the executive officer in charge of their particular specialization, once they were on board.

  When the inspection and greetings were over, Hartmann sought out his deputy, Lt.Commander Jim Cooper. ‘Mount up, will you Coop? I have to place a call to a friend of mine …’

  The first two video-phone booths had plasfilm notice strips stuck diagonally across their screens bearing the words ‘LINE FAULT – VID-COMMSERV NOTIFIED’. It meant a service engineer was on his way. Sometime between now and the millenium …

  The third booth he found was working. Hartmann inserted his newly-returned ID-card, keyed his way through the on-screen call menus, entered the state-code for Colorado (09) followed by the three-digit code for the Pueblo way-station (012) and the x-listed number he had memorized.

  The Amtrak logo on the screen was replaced by the head and shoulders of Major Jerri Hiller, one of Mary-Ann’s junior battalion comanders. Hartmann noticed her hair was considerably longer than when he had last seen her. He also couldn’t decide whether she was surprised to see him or annoyed – or both.

  ‘Is Colonel Anderssen available?’

  ‘One moment, Commander …’ Hiller moved out of view of the tv camera mounted immediately above the screen carrying his image.

  There were muted voices off then Colonel Marie Anderssen moved quickly into the empty seat. ‘Bill!’ She too was surprised, but the pleasure at his call was evident in the broad smile that came beaming across the ether. ‘Christo! You’re wearing active duty OD’s!’

  OD was the abbreviation for the olive-drab, military-style fatigues he was wearing.

  ‘Yeah. They let me out of detention yesterday morning. Plus Coop and the rest of the guys. All charges have been dropped. We’ve been re-instated – and we’ll be rolling The Lady up the ramp at 0700 hours tomorrow.’

  Mary-Ann interlaced her fingers and squeezed her hands together. ‘Oh, Bill, that’s wonderful! It’s the best news I’ve had all year!’

  ‘You and me both.’

  ‘I tried to get permission to see you …’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Your message got through to me. Thanks. It helped a lot.’

  ‘Is there any chance of you heading this way?’

  ‘Can’t say. We’re warming up with a home state supply run. After that I’m not sure what they’ve got lined up for us. The hire-wire from CINC-TRAIN in charge of the welcome-back party hinted we might be given another special assignment.’

  Mary-Ann looked concerned. ‘Oh, gosh, I hope it’s not –!’

  Hartmann cut in. ‘Honey – we just have to take what comes.’ He smiled. ‘You’re looking great. This picture quality’s very good.’

  ‘It is now it’s tuned in properly. VID-COMM had no end of problems trying to set up the link with Santa Fe.’

  ‘How long have you been on-line?’

  ‘Not long.’ Mary-Ann smiled back at him. ‘You’re the first personal call I’ve had. Up to now they’ve either been test transmissions from VID-COMM or from HQP-DIV. How did you get my number?’

  ‘Through a friend. Amazing as it seems, I still have a few.’

  ‘I’m one of them.’

  ‘Oh, you’re more than just a friend. You’re something special. Let’s hope the next time we meet there won’t be a piece of glass and an ocean of red grass between us.’

  Mary-Ann smiled wistfully as she recalled the comfortable intimacy of their past
encounters. ‘Amen to that.’ Then, on a more cheerful note she added: ‘I’m so pleased for you, Bill. Every night I’ve prayed that somebody somewhere along the line would have the good sense to realize you were innocent.’

  ‘Well, as you can see, your prayers have been answered …’

  ‘And not only that, you’re back in charge of The Lady. How does it feel?’

  ‘Like coming back from the dead,’ said Hartmann.

  * * *

  Wallis and Malone rose from their chairs as Commander-General Karlstrom entered his wood-panelled office. As the metal door of his personal elevator closed behind him, a matching section of wood descended over it, sealing it from view. Karlstrom skirted his desk and advanced, right hand extended.

  As senior operatives, holding the military rank of Commander, Wallis and Malone had earned the right to warm handshakes and use of their given names in meetings with the Operational Director. This relaxed atmosphere (enjoyed by everyone with more than four years successful service) did not permit them to address Karlstrom as ‘Ben’, but they weren’t required to include the word ‘sir’ every time they spoke, and there was none of the jumping to attention or parade ground saluting required from wet-backs fresh out of Rio Lobo.

  ‘Don …’

  ‘Morning, sir …’

  Karlstrom turned to greet Malone. ‘Matt! Glad you could make it. Hope it wasn’t a problem calling you in at such short notice.’

  ‘No, sir. I managed to cover it. Took off with four of the boys to check our southern flank.’ He smiled. ‘With so much air activity in our sector, I thought we might have a wagon-train on our trail. Provided I’m back by dawn tomorrow, there shouldn’t be any problem.’

  ‘We’ve got enough as it is,’ said Karlstrom. ‘This particular operation has become so complex I felt we should talk it over face to face.’ Karlstrom waved them into their seats and settled into the high-backed chair behind his desk. ‘Don, uhh, before you give us your sit-rep, where is Mr Brickman at this moment in time?’

  ‘Still on the wagon-train, awaiting the outcome of this meeting. If he gets a green on the next phase of the operation he intends to head west with his three horses towards the junction of the North and South Platte Rivers in the hope of catching up with Cadillac and, uhh …?’ Wallis’ eyes questioned Malone.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be there. I don’t know how good he is at following trails but I reckon it’ll take him at least four days. Karstrom nodded, then turned back to Wallis. ‘Run us through what happened on the train.’

  ‘From when Brickman first came on the air?’

  ‘Yes. I want Matt to have the whole picture so that he knows exactly what we’re up against.’

  Malone looked puzzled. ‘Am I on the wrong track, sir? I was under the impression Brickman and his kin sister were working for us.’

  ‘It’s not quite that simple, Matt. In theory, yes, they are. Unfortunately, in practice, some doubt has arisen over the question of who is manipulating who. Let Don say his piece and you’ll understand what I’m getting at.’

  Wallis gave a crisp, coherent account of the rescue operation that had been triggered by the telepathic contact between Brickman and Roz: an operation which Karlstrom had approved over his direct radio link with the task-force. He then gave a brief résumé of the surgical treatment Clearwater had received and her present state of health, described Steve’s arrival on board, played back the tapes of his conversations with Roz, and concluded by describing her terrifying demonstration of mind-control.

  ‘Don’t ask me how she does it. All I can tell you is it works, and she can turn it on just like that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘When you imagine what she could have dreamed up, you may think that sitting on top of a rock tower is not all that bad –’

  Malone held up his hands. ‘I didn’t say anything, Don.’

  ‘No, but I can see your face. I’m telling you it was absolutely horrendous. And when Jake fell off that fucking …’ He tried to shake the memory away. ‘I hope and pray I never have to go through anything like that again.’

  ‘How is he now,’ asked Karlstrom.

  ‘Jake? Having trouble sleeping.’

  Malone grunted. ‘He’ll get over it. Sounds like he got what he had coming.’

  ‘He always did tend to run off at the mouth,’ agreed Wallis. ‘I don’t think he’ll do it again while she’s around.’ He turned to Karlstrom. ‘The question is – if she was able to take control of our minds then, is she in control of them now?’

  Malone laughed. ‘How the hell can she be? You’re not on the wagon-train.’

  ‘Why should that make any difference? The telepathic link between Roz and her kin-brother works just as well even when they’re thousands of miles apart?’ He appealed to Karlstrom. ‘Right, sir?’

  ‘It would appear so, yes. But with all due respect, Don, I think you’re over-reacting. It was obviously a bad experience but you asked for a demonstration and you got it. Technically she may have taken control of your mind but she did not actually make you do anything rash or foolish. As I understand it, apart from Nevill, none of you budged from that table.’

  ‘That’s true, but –’

  ‘What she did was induce what psychologists call a positive hallucination. Which you all shared. That’s the interesting bit. Mass hypnosis is not unknown. You appear to have experienced a sophisticated “instant” version, and a very effective one too. If she can warp someone’s perception to that degree and at that speed, I have a feeling she really could neutralize Mr Snow.

  ‘But that’s not really mind control – at least not the kind that worries me. Roz has no reason to turn against the Federation. Her rival for Steve’s affections is now wired to a life-support system – and at her mercy.

  ‘Brickman may still be mixed up over the two of them but he’s not going to jump ship if we’ve got Clearwater and Roz in Grand Central. It would be absolutely pointless. He is a natural undercover agent. He’s almost impossible to read but there is one thing I do know about him. He’s hungry for power. And this is where the power is. No …’ Karlstrom paused reflectively. ‘He and Roz will come through for us. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘So we don’t need to worry about her, uhh –?’

  Karlstrom smiled, apparently satisfied with his reasoning. ‘Don – if she was planning to betray us, would she have shown us what she could do?’

  Wallis conceded reluctantly. ‘No, I suppose not.’

  Malone caught Karlstrom’s eye. ‘Excuse me asking, but this guy Brickman – is he all right in the head? I mean, does he still know where the edges are? It’s no secret he’s been bouncing beaver and you’ve just hinted he’s been jacking up his kin-sister.’

  ‘They’re not related, Matt. But that’s classified, okay?’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  ‘Okay, let’s get down to the real business – setting up this attack by the M’Call Mutes on Red River. I’ve got approval for the idea from the Oval Office. It could be a good way of finishing off the M’Calls but what we have to do is figure out how to get our two remaining targets on board a wagon-train and safely under lock and key without losing the whole shebang.’

  ‘Sir, I’m not saying it can’t be done, but do we have to bring these other two in?’ asked Malone. ‘You’ve got Clearwater. Why don’t we just close down the file by putting three triples through their heads?’

  Wallis nodded in agreement.

  Karlstrom responded with a thin-lipped smile. ‘That might take care of Cadillac but from what I’ve heard about Mr Snow, you could find the bullets coming back at you.’

  ‘Sir – with respect – nobody’s that fireproof.’

  ‘Don’t count on it. I know it’s tempting, Matt, but there are other factors to be taken into consideration. High-level strategic objectives that I’m not at liberty to disclose at this moment but which I’ll bring you in on as soon as I’m given clearance to do so. Brickman’s idea seems unnecessarily complex but it could give
us the set-piece engagement we’re looking for.’

  ‘Ahh … I didn’t know that.

  ‘And there’s something else,’ continued Karlstrom. ‘I’m not prepared to jeopardize the relationship you’ve built up with the Mutes in your sector. From past experience, we know that some mutes are able to communicate over long distances. As wordsmiths, Mr. Snow and Cadillac may have that capability.

  ‘Yeah. Don’t ask me how. It just does.’

  ‘Exactly. As we speak, the M’Calls may be organizing a Welcome Home party. Could make things very awkward if we suddenly lost him overboard. If you followed that up by the on-site removal of their wordsmith – hell! That would really shake the shit loose.’

  Malone grimaced ruefully. ‘You’re right, sir. I hadn’t figured it that way. Guess I was just tryin’ to cut a few corners.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that. Just for the record, I sent Brickman out with a dead-or-alive option on these two. But since then I’ve acquired a better overview. Believe me. Icing Cadillac and Mr Snow at this point in the game would cause more problems than it would solve. Especially for you.’

  When Wallis and Malone had left for the airfield, Karlstrom remained in the office he used for meetings with his operatives. Slumped in his upholstered swivel chair, his left elbow resting on the padded arm, he reflected on what he had heard, pulling slowly at his nose, lips and chin with thumb and forefinger as he did so.

  He had maintained an up-beat mood throughout their discussions but that had been a front. Don Wallis’ account of Roz Brickman’s hallucinatory powers filled him with alarm. Despite the soothing assurances he’d laid on Wallis, this was mind control – of a pretty spectacular kind. The kind that could plunge them all into deep shit.