Jerome looked down as well. “You are correct. I do not know the way to do this. I am alone in this world.”
“The rube has a point.”
“I do need your help, but I will go on alone if I must. One way or the other I will seek to find Cammarry and discover what I can about Khin.” Jerome flexed his hands against each other, and cracked his knuckles. “I would probably do better with you than without you, but I am doing this. A powerful force is human cooperation. I was trying to tap into that with those people. I will seek cooperation where I can find it, or go alone if I must. But I will do this. How can I not, I love Cammarry.”
“Cooperation is a force for construction or destruction,” Bigelow said. “I am willing to work with you, but you must do it my way.”
Jerome hesitated before he answered. “Like you said, no guarantees, but I will try it your way. For now. However, when I feel it is best to do it my way, I will. So do I get out or not?” Jerome stared at Bigelow.
“Anika, you and your associates take us into Seron.” Bigelow shook his head. The horses started up at their pace and the troika rolled along. “No guarantees, that is right, I know that for sure. But trust me rube, if I think it best you go on alone, that will happen. That is a promise. However, despite your ineptitude we did learn some things from those farmers.”
“Like what?”
“If you be quiet I will tell you. You can often learn more by observing than by asking direct questions. They were armed, that says danger is higher than it once was. It used to be very rare to see two farmers both carrying high powered weapons. They also think the Kurent brought back the water, but we both know that is not true.” Bigelow eyed Jerome slyly. “But we could never prove it. Heck, I am not absolutely sure you did it as you claim. Now I believe you did it, because of things you said. You had to have been inside Terraforming, but how to prove that to some farmers, or ranchers? Also that cute girl, I am nearly certain she is a kept one of triplets, or quadruplets. Sometimes they were called the chosen sibling. She said, ‘Mister Tate Willman has arrived’ for what that is worth.”
“Is that significant? Is he like the Ferryman?” Jerome asked.
“I am not familiar with the name, but he could be working with the Ferryman, that could mean a comrade or partner. The appellation ‘mister’ is very uncommon. Strange they would use that. From what I recall, it was a title used by the members of the insurrection. It was troubling to me to hear that girl saying that, as well as about her lost sisters. Notice how upset her parents were of their own family history. It bodes ill that someone is using that title. Whoever this Mister Tate Willman is, I doubt it can be good news.” Bigelow licked his lips.
“Could he be part of a government program? Police or security or something?” Jerome asked.
Bigelow huffed and then spit. His face showed so much distaste for Jerome’s idea, that no further discussion took place.
They rolled along and passed two other groups of people. Both those groups were on foot without carts, or pack animals. Each group retreated into the trees off the road as the troika approached. They did not hide so much as just get a distance away and watch. One person held a weapon at the ready, but not aimed. Then, after the troika with Jerome and Bigelow passed those groups of people got back on the road and continued walking away from Seron.
The road came close to the river, just outside of Seron. The land around the town was cultivated, just as Jerome remembered, but much more lush and green. The river’s water level was far higher and the water more clear and flowing faster than he remembered. The whirring sound of the plumbing pipes was absent, although the equipment was in place and looked ready to use.
“It will be getting on to dusk before long. We did not make the best time on the road,” Bigelow commented as the troika rolled up and across the triangular shaped bridge which spanned where the river divided to become two branches. The combined river flowed out form its source upstream in the town. Jerome recalled the night he and Cammarry had approached that apartment complex. He shoved aside the thoughts of what had happened near to the pond. Instead, he ran through all the things he had tried when he alone had sought a way to reenter Terraforming. None of his efforts had been fruitful.
As the troika rolled down toward the bridge’s end, again, as he had when he had walked over the bridge that time with Cammarry, Jerome thought of mythological trolls, and wondered if there were some truth behind those ancient legends.
“Rube? Hey rube! Again you have that faraway look.
Jerome looked at the bridge as then horses tramped over it. The sounds of their feet clopping struck a cod in Jerome’s memory. He recited, “Trip, trap, trip, trap, went the bridge. Hearing that noise, the troll came out. He lived under the bridge. His eyes as big as saucers, and his nose was long as a poker, and his claws as sharp as razors. ‘Now I am coming to gobble you up,’ roared the troll. But the largest goat replied, ‘Well, come along! I have two spears. I will poke your eyeballs out at your ears; I have feet like curling-stones, I will crush you to bits, both body and bones.’”
Bigelow looked long and hard at Jerome. “I think I prefer your faraway look, or your scientifically preposterous ideas. What in all of Beta are you talking about?”
“It is part of a literary genre called a nursery rhyme, or fairytale. It is many hundreds of years old and was told to children.”
“To children? What kind of thing is that to tell a child?” Bigelow looked up at the sky tube. “Terrifying children with stories of monsters and instilling fear? No wonder the old world killed itself off.”
“It is a morality tale about the danger of greed and using violence to achieve your ends,” Jerome snapped back.
“But the goat is violent as well. Poking out eyes, and stomping and breaking bones.” Bigelow shook his head. “Our carousels have fantastic creatures, and anyone, a child or an adult, anyone, can ride them safely and have an enjoyable experience. Not be terrified. Not to be looking at who can be most violent. The most violent person does not mean the best or more moral person. The carousel is for edification and soothing. That is what the world needs. Not gruesome horror tales from the dark recesses of a sick and twisted mind.” Bigelow upturned his bottle and noisy swallowed a great quantity of drink.
Jerome was about to give his retort, but remembered Cammarry and her violent shooting of the central memory cores. He looked away from Bigelow and watched as the troika rolled down off the bridge and along an alternate road than the one he and Cammarry had followed. Seron looked much different in the light of the sky tube than it had in the darkness. Jerome could remember some flashes of images of when he had wandered around seeking a way to reenter the places behind the permalloy wall. That time of searching was a blur of conflicting ideas, images, and jumbled memories. His emotions had run rampant, and his frustration with losing Cammarry blinded his recollections.
Finally he did turn to Bigelow, “If I had been stronger, I might have been able to save Khin, or whoever that man was. I was not even strong enough to prevent Cammarry from being dragged away by the white automacubes. It is better to be violent and save people, than to see people die because of impotence.”
Bigelow squeezed his fingers tightly on the reins. His knuckles showed white. “Rube, I am willing to ignore your comment because I know you have suffered much. But imply that I am impotent again, and you are on your own. I will leave you alone with your old quotes, weird ideas, and strange stories.”
Jerome coughed. “I was referring to my own failures, not yours.”
“Sure you were. That was obvious.”
“He who searches for evil, must first look at his own reflection, his own failures, and his own violence,” Jerome recited.
A strained silence followed as the horses walked along pulling the troika. The combined river was to their right, with its small, two meter wide foot bridges spanning it at regular intervals. People were walking across those bridges and there was a general hubbub of activity. Few loo
ked to the troika, and none seemed to be aware of Jerome. He looked down at his brown clothing and realized his apparel did not stand out at all. That was totally different from his previous time in Seron, or his sojourn through Habitat Alpha’s Wolf City.
The apartment complex at the end of the habitat, against the wall, was visible with its ten story height. In contrast to that large complex, many of the other buildings in Seron looked to have been built and designed with the same plan: a single story structure with four windows across the front with a door at the center. Trees and gardens were around the structures, and the water which had been restored had obviously done wonders for those plants. Some were flowering, while others were leafy and vibrant. A few were just dead sticks, without life or potential. The drought had been tough on everything, and not all foliage had survived long enough to see the return of sufficient water.
Across the river, Jerome spied what he thought was the clothing maker’s building, as the fence and piles of bolts of fabric looked familiar, but it was too far away to be certain. The foliage was much more dense, and that obscured some of his view as well.
Bigelow drove the horses around a corner and followed the streets which were laid out in a regular gird pattern, with the river flowing through the center. Twice they saw automacubes, a green one and a yellow one, roll across the bridges.
“Here we are,” Bigelow announced.
“The Listening Ear?” Jerome asked as he looked at the building in front of them and read its sign.
Initially Jerome thought it was not too different from the other buildings in Seron. It was made from spun permalloy, and had the same configuration of windows and central door. However, when he looked closer he could see that the windows were all so darkly tinted that nothing was visible inside. Also some other materials, what Jerome thought might be some kind of wood made from biologicals, had been fashioned into a veranda of sorts around the front of the building. Painted across the top of that was the sign with bright lettering, “Listening Ear.”
“Yes, this is my sister’s place. At least I call her my sister,” Bigelow chuckled at some private joke. “Here we will spend the night and hopefully find some clues about what to do next.”
Several young people stepped out from the opposite side of the Listening Ear. They were teenagers, and reminded Jerome of the youth he and Cammarry had encountered the night they had arrived. “May we tend to your horses?”
“Are you employed by Colleen?” Bigelow asked. He raised an eyebrow at them.
“Well, sir, not officially.” The one teenager looked at the other and then to the door of the Listening Ear. Both were dressed in shirts and shorts, with booted feet. One was considerably taller than the other was. The shorter one kept speaking. “We do the best with horses. We are very careful to treat them well.”
“So you will do what with them?” Bigelow asked.
“Only give them the best water, and feed. We have a place just around the corner.” The smaller teenager continued. The larger of the two walked up toward the horses. Anika snorted and tossed her head. As the teenager raised his hand, he grabbed the bridle and pulled down hard on it.
“Hey stop that!” Bigelow cried out as the horse’s head was yanked.
“No, old man. You will stop right where you are.” A voice came from behind them.
Jerome turned and saw another teen, this one pointing a handgun at them.
The large teen again yanked Anika’s head down. “These are just what we need.” He smiled a wicked grin as he looked over the three horses. He licked his lips and sneered. Then turned to the shorter of his friends. “A good catch this time. Very good indeed.”
“Gentlemen,” Bigelow said smoothly. “There seems to be some misunderstanding.”
“No mis-anything, old man,” replied the teen with the handgun. “We need to leave Seron, and your wagon is our new ride out of here.”
Jerome looked down at the armed teen, and then back at the other two. The tall one had both of his hands wrapped around Anika’s bridle and was trying to slow her head from tossing back and forth. Arabella and Agnes were fidgeting in their harness.
“These are just thieves,” Jerome stated. “The most peaceable way, if you encounter a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is. He will then in shame steal out of your company.”
“You shut up!” the armed teenager said roughly. “I am not a thief. I am an entrepreneur, acquiring my needs. These are my business partners, Teddy, and Weston.”
“You tell them Justin!” the large teenager named Teddy said with a crocked smile. He again yanked on the horse’s bridle, savagely jerking the bit into Anika’s mouth.
“So, Justin, you plan to buy this wagon?” Jerome asked as he inched his hand toward the holstered Willie blaster at his side. “Your name means upright and just, does it not?”
“Touch that thing on your belt, and you die!” the armed teen shook the handgun. “And yes, I am just. I am just going to take this wagon so my business can flourish. Or I can just use this and put a hole in your head! I can just do what I want, for I am in control.”
Teddy and Weston giggled at their leader’s joke.
“That rusty antique is over a hundred years old,” Jerome said. “I wonder if you can even operate it. Crude chemical explosives can be unstable and explode in your own face.”
“I said shut up!” Justin stepped forward and pointed the handgun right at Jerome.
“Go Anika!” Bigelow commanded and snapped the reins.
The black horse leap as high up as the harness would allow. She kicked out her front legs. The large teenager, Teddy, was lifted up as his fingers were pinched in the bridle. Both hands were locked against the side of the horse’s head. He screamed in fear and pain as his feet left the ground. Agnes, and Arabella followed Anika’s lead so all three horses dashed forward. The horses’ hooves were dropping around Teddy’s flailing legs, striking then numerous times. The other teen, Weston, dove out of the way as the troika bolted past him.
“Stop!” Justin yelled. He tried to aim the handgun. His eyes were wide with fear.
Jerome vaulted up out of the troika and over the edge. He landed just as the handgun went off.
Bang!
The shot went wild, and then Jerome came up from the crouch and punched Justin’s arm knocking the gun upward. His arm ached from the blow, and his hand clenched. The old revolver fired again.
Bang! The shot went into the sky.
Jerome swung his other fist in a roundhouse. He struck Justin square in the jaw. The teen’s head snapped sideways, and the handgun dropped from his numbed fingers to the street. He staggered back. Jerome closed with him and landed a hard jab into his midsection. Justin let out a groan and dropped to his knees.
Jerome punched again, and smashed Justin’s nose into a bloody mess. The teenager cried in agony and grabbed at his face. Blood seeping between his fingers.
“Bigelow?” Jerome yelled and looked over.
The troika had stopped about a dozen yards away. Teddy was crying hysterically. His legs were broken in multiple places, and were stretched out between the horse’s legs. Bigelow was loosening the bridle to release Teddy’s swollen hands. The third teen, Weston, was nowhere in sight.
Jerome picked up the old revolver. Its metal was pitted with rust. He turned it from side to side, and understood the basic operations of the gun. Pushing the cylinder latch he tipped it to the side, and carefully let the cylinder fall open. It moved in a jerky manner, but did open. The smell of gunpowder was strong. Jerome unloaded the bullets, and empty shell casings. He then slid all of it into a side pocket of his brown pants.
Justin was slumped on the ground whimpering.
“Bigelow! How do you summon the authorities?” Jerome called out loader than the crying from the two injured teens. He also pushed Justin to the side and searched him for other weapons. The blood was running bright red over the teen’s hands and down his arms as he squeezed his shattered nose.
&n
bsp; “Summon the authorities?” a woman’s voice asked in a mocking tone.
Jerome looked over and saw a rotund woman with medium-length blonde hair holding a long gun on the third teenager. Weston had both his hands in the air. Jerome answered her. “Yes, the local police or security forces.”
Bigelow roughly pulled Teddy out from beneath the horses. His crushed legs were flopping on the pavement in strange, unnaturally bent ways. Teddy was moaning, groaning, and crying out from the pain. Bigelow dropped him roughly down and looked at the woman. “Colleen! Glad to see you my dear sister.”
“And it is good to see you Bigelow, but much as I hate to admit it, especially in front of strangers, I am your sister,” Colleen laughed. Her curly hair bounced as she did, but the gun she had pointed at the teenager never wavered.
“This one is injured, but not life threatening. How badly hurt is that one?” Jerome asked. “When the authorities arrive, will the emergency medical staff come first or the police?”
The Colony Ship Conestoga : The Complete Series: All Eight Books Page 83
