by Tonia Brown
“As the ICE machine removes heat from one source,” Lelanea said, “it passes that heat into another. The original design shunted the heat into the ground via a contact cable.”
“Looking back on it,” the doc said, “I suppose it was another reason those poor folks became so upset with me. As I said, the machine froze everything above ground, and scorched everything below. What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking it was what they wanted,” Lelanea reminded him.
“I suppose so. I don’t know how the Utes are dealing with the output of their current operation, but I’ll admit I am a tad eager to find out.”
“Can I also venture, sir,” Boon said, “that this hot and cold stuff has something to do with the Sleipnir’s engine?”
“Why, yes it does. You’re cleverer than you think, my friend. You always were. And still are. Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Yes, sir,” Boon said with a grin.
“As you suggested, the ICE machine is a smaller, much simpler version of the Sleipnir’s heart, a High-Temperature Superconductive Thermal-Voltaic Mass.”
Dodger caught the meaning of some of it, but not all. He glanced at Boon, who looked as though the doc had begun babbling in a completely different language. “Remember the belt that keeps Duncan the right size?”
“Yeah,” Boon said. “You said it worked by transferring sunlight into energy.”
“This is a lot like that. Only instead of just light, the Sleipnir transforms heat into energy. Is that right, Doc?”
“Correct,” the professor said. “The engine pulls heat from an input source, and, through a series of transformers, it turns some of it into electricity, which operates the lights and Mr. Torque and so forth, while it passes the rest of the heat into the boilers, which in turn creates the steam that runs the locomotion. Easy as that.”
“I wouldn’t say it was easy,” Dodger said, “but I will say it certainly is brilliant. I knew we weren’t running on coal, though you did a heck of a job trying to make it seem that way.”
“I find that a layer of coal dust here and there feeds the curious mind.”
“It sure does,” Boon said. “You fooled the heck out of me.”
“And me,” Dodger said. “I can understand why Rex wants the line so badly now.”
“Yes. The potential applications for such a thing are astronomical.”
“Just the weapons alone you could create with it boggle the mind,” Boon added.
“Weapons?” the doc asked. He patted his hands together. “Oh, deary me. I forgot about such things.”
Dodger shook his head at the naivety of the man. Trust the doc to forget that something so fantastic could be employed to harm folks. “Do you mind if I ask what you use for an input source?”
Before the doc could answer, Lelanea coughed, almost too loudly. “I hate to interrupt, but you did tell Jones that you would be right behind him. We don’t want to leave him with the impression that you aren’t coming at all. Do we?”
The doc slumped in his seat again. “Of course not.”
“Ched should be back with the Rhino at any moment.”
“I suppose we must go and deal with those poor creatures,” the doc said. He turned to his niece and said, in almost a whisper, “I recommend that you remain here. Feng is probably ready for a break from his watch over that young lady, and you know how the natives feel about you.”
“I don’t mind,” Lelanea said. “Perhaps Boon and I can set up the portable forge and cast some ammo while you two deal with this issue?”
Boon jawed the air for a moment as if shocked by the suggestion. “Well, I would love to, but I, um, I think Dodger needs me.”
Lelanea stared at the spirit, but made no retort.
The tension between the pair was hot enough to cast ammo all on its own. Dodger couldn’t fault the spirit for wanting to stretch his legs after remaining aboard for the last few days. Nor could he blame Lelanea for wanting some quality time with her long-lost lover. Someone had to step in and take a side. Otherwise, the two would spend the next hour staring one another down, daring the other to speak first.
“He needs ammunition more than a partner right now,” Feng said, shattering the quiet moment with an unexpected entrance.
Where the man had appeared merely tired before, Feng was now well past the point of exhaustion. He trembled in his stance, leaning against the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping his thin body tethered to the earth. Nonetheless, he grinned, happy as always.
“Lelanea, come help an old man,” Feng said as he waved her over.
She rushed to his side, helping to guide him into the laboratory cab and onto one of the benches.
“Are you all right?” Boon asked.
“Me?” Feng asked. “Sure. Never better.”
“You don’t look better. You look on Ched’s side of things.”
Dodger was thinking the same thing. Feng looked like a man who’d run his last mile, eaten his last meal, and danced his last dance. A man sorely in need of a dirt nap. In other words, he looked like he was ready to go six feet deep, and not come back up for air.
“He’ll be fine,” the doc said. “It comes from being such an old fart.”
“Takes one to know one,” Feng said.
The pair laughed.
Dodger noticed that, despite the laughter, the doc patted his hands together again in that nervous way that suggested there was far more going on here than either man was letting on.
“Besides, Boon,” Feng said, “I told you to stay close to the train until we know exactly where your body is.”
“I know,” Boon whined. “I’ve never felt so cooped up in all my existence.”
“Then get out for a bit.”
The spirit gasped. “Can I?”
“Sure. I said stay close, not stay aboard. Lelanea had a good idea. You and she should set up the portable forge and work up some ammo.”
“Are you sure?” Lelanea asked. “I can take over watching Sarah if you need-”
“Naw,” Feng said. “I’ll be okay. And that kid is sleeping like a rock. I don’t think she’ll be up anytime soon. I will say that the faster we get this done and get on our way, the better things will be all around.”
“I reckon that means we should get a move on,” Dodger said.
“And I reckon it’s my turn for an adventure with Mr. Dodger,” the doc said with an excited clap.
Dodger shook his head with a chuckle at the doc’s words. The slang sounded like a foreign word when the doc said it. Even when the man tried to speak lazy, he sounded like he was giving a lecture.
“I think not,” Lelanea said. “No adventures. I forbid it.”
“Don’t be like that. It’s my turn. You had one, and Feng had one and even Ched had one. I want an adventure.”
“Whosh havin’ an adventure?” Ched asked as he stepped into the cab.
“We are,” the doc said.
“Adventure, eh?” Ched sucked a breath through his teeth as if weighing the idea. “Shoundsh borin’. I’d rather shtay here, if you don’t mind.”
“You’ll come with us and like it.”
“I’ll come, but I can’t promish anything more than a vague interesht.”
“That is settled, then. Lelanea, help me find the other boxes so we can get this over with.”
“Come on Ched,” Dodger said. “Let’s get ready to head back.”
Lelanea caught Dodger’s attention before he made it to the door. “Keep an eye on Uncle. You know he gets into trouble so easily.”
“I promise I’ll do my best,” Dodger said. He took one last look at Feng, relaxed on the bench with his eyes closed. Dodger whispered, “Will he be all right?”
“He’ll be fine,” Feng said. “Now get out of here. Those beefalo need your help.”
“Buffalo,” Dodger corrected him.
“Tomato, tomahto.” Feng raised a thin arm and waved at Dodger. “Go away. You have an adventure to chase down
.”
Dodger gave Lelanea a wink before he set out to find that supposed adventure.
****
back to toc
****
Chapter Five
Government Greetings
In which Dodger runs into another agent
The second trip to the reservation took a bit longer than the first, thanks to the doc’s distaste for his own invention. As he put it, the Rhino may have been designed to reach impressive speeds, but that didn’t mean it had to do anything of the sort.
“Can’t we go a touch fashter, shir?” Ched asked from behind the wheel.
“No, thank you,” the doc said. “This is quite fast enough for me.”
“But I can walk fashter than thish.”
“If you wish to get out and walk, then feel free. Dodger and I will remain aboard.”
Ched glanced up at the mirror, begging with his sallow eyes for Dodger to intervene.
Dodger shrugged. What could he say? The doc was the boss, bottom line. What the man said went. Even if it only went about ten miles an hour.
“It’ll be nightfall before we get there at thish rate,” Ched said.
“Will you stop complaining?” the doc asked. “If I wanted constant complaints, I would’ve invited that idiot Torque. Now stop going on about it, or I’ll cut your rations to a single bottle a week.”
“Is Feng going to be all right?” Dodger asked, rushing to change the subject.
“He will be well soon enough,” the doc said. “All he needs is some proper rest.”
“Are you certain? He seems out of sorts.”
“He’sh shufferin’,” Ched said. “Any shucker can shee that.”
“Chester!” the doc shouted.
“Suffering from what?” Dodger asked.
Ched glanced into the rearview mirror, but said nothing more on the matter.
“Doc?” Dodger asked. “What is wrong with him?”
The doc chewed his lower lip.
“Sir,” Dodger said. “Please don’t keep me in the dark on this.”
“I realize you hate secrets,” the doc said, “but this really is Feng’s personal business.”
Dodger nodded. The doc had a point. No need prying into another’s business. If Feng wanted everyone to know, he would tell them.
“Since that is the case,” the doc continued, “you must promise me you won’t tell him I said anything.”
“Of course,” Dodger said.
The doc turned in his seat to face Dodger. “You’re right. He’s not well.”
“Has it got something to do with the TAP?”
“Yes.”
“He said it changed folks who used it.”
“He’s correct. I’m afraid it has wrecked his metabolism. His physical makeup is dependant upon the thing.”
“Which means?”
The doc looked away. “He’s running out of time.”
“Is his age catching up with him or something like that?”
“In a way.” The doc raised his eyes to Dodger again. “To put it simply, he’s … well … I’m afraid he is dying.”
Dodger exploded in a flurry of questions. “Dying? How? Why? Can’t we do anything for him?”
True to form, the doc answered every question in order. “Yes. He is fading from time itself. He can’t maintain a single continuous timeline on his own. And no, not without the TAP.”
“Then we can rescue him if we fix the TAP?”
“Yes. And I would love nothing better than to do just that, yet I can’t help the sinking feeling that this will not turn out very well.”
“Don’t worry, Doc,” Ched said. “Thingsh might not be ash bad ash all that. Feng alwaysh shaysh, ‘Look on the shunny shide.’”
“I wish there were a sunny side,” the doc said. “But I predict a number of dark days ahead before we see the sun again.”
As they fell into a reserved silence, each man no doubt wondering what he could do to help the situation, Ched began to whistle a tune that agreed with Feng’s outlook on the matter.
They arrived at the reservation border just after noon. Jones had predicted that there might be a handful of excited folks waiting to greet the doc. Instead, there awaited an easy fifty or more natives, all eager to meet the man who sold them the magic ICE machine.
“Lasht time, it wash all arrowsh and shouting,” Ched said as he parked the Rhino. “Now you’re shuddenly mishter popular.”
“Oh dear,” the doc said. “I was hoping I could slip in unnoticed.”
“I think you lost that chance when we brought the Rhino,” Dodger said.
“I suppose so. Ah, well. Better get this over with.”
“Are you ready, sir?
“As they say, I was born ready.” The doc grinned. Smugness didn’t suit him, but he sure seemed to enjoy trying it on every now and again.
“Ish that show?” Ched asked. “Caush I wash born jusht a weak little baby. I couldn’t imagine being born ready for anything more than mother’sh milk.”
The doc gave a long sigh. “It’s a figure of speech, you mush-mouthed moron.”
The three of them climbed out of the Rhino and faced the welcoming throng of natives. The crowd plied him with foreign greetings, and again, Dodger had some difficulty with full translation, but he was able to make out good wishes and words of praise. Among the crowd, Dodger spotted Jones, who pushed through the crowd to meet the new arrivals.
“Sorry about the attention!” Jones shouted over the noise. “I’m afraid word got around that you were back. Everyone was excited to meet you.”
“Not at all!” the doc yelled as he shook hands and agreed to the occasional hug. “I’m delighted to meet all of them. Family of yours?”
Jones laughed. “Some, but not all. We are just one of many tribes across the reservation. Once word gets around about the buffalo, I am afraid this crowd will grow much, much larger.”
“Oh my. I don’t know if I can handle all of that attention.”
“Then let’s get you on your way. Come, the chief is waiting. As are the Sisters.”
“Ched,” Dodger said, motioning the tall driver down to his level. “Stay with the Rhino. If you see the doc wandering around without me, go after him. Then you two get back to the train and get the hell out of here. Understood?”
“Aye, Sharge,” Ched said, and turned to weave his lazy way back to the carriage already crawling with excited children and surrounded by awestruck adults.
Dodger guided the doc in between himself and Jones. As they moved along, he kept an eye out for anything that looked like trouble, which was hard, considering the sheer number of folks that had turned out for the event. Once they were deep into the crowd, Dodger began to wonder if this wasn’t a mistake. Too many variables were at play here. Too many folks. Too much distraction. Too much noise. He was just about to suggest a retreat, when the doc looked back over his shoulder and smiled at Dodger.
“Isn’t this marvelous?” that smile asked.
The man’s honest joy killed Dodger’s worry.
It was hard for Dodger to shake the role of a hired gun. He naturally thought of everyone as the enemy. Assumed that every hand hid a weapon and that every tongue shared a lie. But the doc’s genuine delight relaxed the deep-seated assassin in Dodger. Not to the point of indifference, mind you, but just enough to enjoy the moment. Or rather, enjoy the doc enjoying the moment. These folks weren’t out to hurt the doc. Quite the opposite.
At least for now.
The crowd thinned without warning, and Dodger stepped out of the throng to find himself standing in an open ring a good couple of hundred yards across, surrounded by the attending natives. In the center of the open space, there sat a large teepee, most likely a point of gatherings for the tribe. At the edge of the crowd waited a handful of natives, probably various officials, one of whom was surely the chief. Just which one, Dodger would have to wait and find out. Ute tribes weren’t known for extravagant headdresses like those of the Si
oux, and sometimes it was hard to tell who was in charge.
Much to Dodger’s surprise, there also waited another white man. He stood about Dodger’s height, with dark hair and an average build. Dodger also made note that the man was unarmed.
“Professor Dittmeyer,” Jones said, “this is Chief Atchee.” Jones motioned to the middlemost native, a man easily as old as the doc himself, if not older.
The chief grinned wide and nodded to the doc.
The professor put his hand out in traditional English greeting. “We’ve met before. I remember you from last time. I hope you won’t hold all of that nonsense against me.”
Taking the doc’s hand, the native said a few words in his tongue, which Jones translated. “It is my honor to see you again.”
“The honor is all mine,” the doc said, giving the man’s hand a few quick pumps.
Jones ran through the other natives present, giving names and positions that Dodger mentally logged. Through Jones’s translations, each gave a short speech of appreciation, to which the doc nodded and beamed but said nothing, as if overwhelmed to the point of speechlessness—a state Dodger didn’t think possible for the professor. When Jones came to the last of the line, he hesitated, as if unsure what to say. Which was just fine, because Dodger was unsure what to think about the white amongst the natives.
“Critchlow,” the man said with a warm smile as he stuck out his hand in greeting. “John J. Critchlow, at your service. I am the current agent.”
All manner of warning signals went off in Dodger’s mind. “Did you say agent?”
“I did. I’m here on behalf of the Utah Indian Agency.”
“Ah. Of course. An agent.”
“Yes. And you are?”
“Rodger Dodger.”
“That’s an unusual name.”
“Really? Sounds normal enough to me.”
“Now that you mention it, I’m sure that I’ve heard it before.” Critchlow raised his eyebrows as an idea came to him. “I say, speaking of agents, you couldn’t be the same Dodger that worked for the-”
“No,” Dodger said over the man. How long would it take to outlive his hard-earned legacy? “I’m the professor’s bodyguard. Where he goes, I go.”
“Bodyguard? Why would a man so beloved need a bodyguard?”
