There were more nods and murmurs of agreement.
“This young country of America has shown it is fragile and weak.” Gorloff returned to the podium. “The War Between the States was just a sample of the divisiveness this country is capable of. Such disarray must be reined in by the strong hand of the Russian Empire. I have a plan and will present it to the Czar.” He stepped around the podium and addressed the people in an intimate tone. “I need a half dozen volunteers to travel with me to Russia. People who know this area and are capable of leading Russian forces to drive men like George Call off our land.”
Seconds ticked by while those assembled looked on in silence. For a moment, the general was afraid the people in the room would turn on him for presenting his plan. Perhaps this Legion was only part of his imagination after all.
Then one of the young men raised a hand. “How do you propose to invade America with only a half dozen men?” he asked.
“I need you as advisors. I need you to help me…” He considered his words carefully. These men would carry Legion with them back to Russia, allowing him to build popular support for his plan. “I need you to help me spread the word among our people about how we can accomplish our goals. I need Russians passionate about America. If successful, we will return with the might of the Russian army.”
The young man nodded. “I am with you, General Gorloff.”
Soon another young man stood, volunteering to go with the general. A moment later, several more stood.
The general smiled as he listened to Legion’s report about which of the men assembled would be most effective helping him when he returned to Russia and which would, in fact, make the best generals.
One of the older men stood. “God bless you, General Gorloff. My people are descended from the Tartars of Central Russia. My grandfather used to tell me stories of how the holy men could assume the form of owls to drive out evil.” The old man swallowed, as though afraid to continue, but finally gathered resolve. “I can see owls driving the evil out of this land.”
Gorloff nodded somberly. He wasn’t certain about owls, but Legion had shown him how Russia could build mighty ships that traveled by air. There was nothing in America that could stop such power. The general picked the men who would accompany him back to Russia.
<< >>
Fatemeh paced back and forth on the porch of a hotel in the small town of Magdalena. The town rested in mountainous country thirty-five miles west of Socorro. Duncan and Billy had ridden ahead the day before to find out where Ramon was being held. They figured if she was spotted, people like Randolph Dalton and Bishop Ramirez would know something was up. Dark clouds were forming in the brilliant blue sky and the chill air was turning downright cold. Fatemeh thought she smelled moisture on the breeze.
As the sun settled on the horizon, Duncan and Billy rode up to the hotel. They climbed off their horses and hitched them to the post in front of the porch. “He’s all right,” said Duncan. “He’s being held at the sheriff’s office. I was able to get in and talk to him.”
“The thing I didn’t like were the people who watched you go in and talk to him,” said Billy.
“I didn’t see anyone watching me.” Duncan’s eyebrows came together, apparently perplexed.
“I think they were miners.” Billy shook his head, then looked into Fatemeh’s eyes. “They wore dirty clothes and no hats. They were sitting on benches across the street.”
“What’s strange about miners in Socorro?” Duncan’s gaze narrowed further.
“What would miners be doing out on the street in the middle of the day?” Billy shot back.
“I see your point,” said Fatemeh. “I gather we’ll need to move fast.”
Billy nodded. “There’s no way we can get back there before morning. Let’s get some grub and rest up. We’ll ride out tomorrow afternoon.”
Fatemeh swallowed hard, then gathered her resolve and nodded.
Snow flurries gently wafted around them as Duncan, Billy and Fatemeh rode into Socorro the next day. It was ten o’clock at night when they arrived. With no moonlight, the streets were mostly dark. A few gaslights cast a ghostly glow over the streets. They rode past the light of a boisterous saloon on the town square. Billy looked at the saloon and nodded, seemingly satisfied. The sheriff’s office was on a road that led away from the town square, a short distance from the saloon.
They hitched their horses a few doors down from the sheriff’s office, then made their way back to the side of the building and huddled in the shadows.
“What do we do now?” asked Fatemeh.
“We wait.” Billy removed his gun from his holster, held it by the barrel, and crouched quietly near a window. He seemed to be listening. The only thing Fatemeh heard was the noise from the saloon.
After about half an hour, there was shouting from the direction of the saloon and some loud noises. Fatemeh could just make out Billy’s smile. He jumped to his feet and smashed the window of the sheriff’s office. Fatemeh nodded when she understood Billy’s plan. Anyone hearing the sound of glass breaking would attribute it to the fight at the saloon. Carefully, Billy reached through the broken window, found the latch, then lifted the window. He climbed through. Fatemeh and Duncan followed, being careful not to cut themselves on the broken glass.
The office was dark. Luther Duncan retrieved a box of matches from his pocket and lit one of the oil lamps. Holding it up, he caught his breath. The jail cell was empty.
“He was here yesterday,” said Duncan. “Where did he go?”
“They took him somewhere.” Billy looked over at Fatemeh. “But where?”
Fatemeh looked down at one of the desks. She picked up a scrap of paper and shuddered. “It has one word. ‘Mine’.”
“If that’s related to Ramon at all, it could mean anything.” Duncan stepped around and held the lantern closer to the paper. “It could be Dalton saying Ramon ‘is mine.’ It could mean take him to a mine.”
“I think it’s both,” said Fatemeh. “We need to go to Dalton’s mine.” She thought about the miners scattered on the ground after the explosion in the dynamite shack.
“Makes sense to me. A mine’s a good place to have an accident. Especially one where you don’t want people identifying the body,” said Billy.
“I hope you’re right.” Duncan blew out the flame and started to set the lantern down, but Fatemeh stopped him.
“Bring the lantern along, we may need it.” Fatemeh took a second lantern from one of the other desks.
As they left through the front door, Fatemeh hoped they had guessed right. The ride to Dalton’s mine would take time. If Ramon had been taken somewhere else, he could be dead by the time they found him—if they found him. However, they didn’t dare split up. If they did find Ramon, they would need to be together to have any hope of rescuing him and there wasn’t time to seek out and recruit other people who might be friendly to Ramon.
An hour later, Fatemeh, Duncan, and Billy rode up to the entrance of the Dalton mine. Two horses were already hitched nearby. The remains of the destroyed dynamite shack had been cleared away. A light dusting of snow was beginning to settle on the ground. Billy climbed off his horse, took one of the lanterns and lit it. He looked around for a moment, then pointed at some footprints. “Two horses, three men,” he said.
“Where did they go?” asked Fatemeh.
Billy looked over to the mine entrance. “In there.”
Fatemeh and Duncan each lit their lanterns and followed Billy into the mine. Billy followed the fresh tracks several yards into the cave before the ground became too rocky to see footprints. He held up his hand and stood quietly, barely breathing, apparently listening.
As they stood there, Fatemeh thought she heard something. There was a crack followed by a wet thud. A voice cried out. Fatemeh pushed ahead of Billy and followed the sound. About a hundred yards further into the mine, they came to a junction. Two tunnels led in different directions.
“Which way do we go?” a
sked Duncan in a whisper.
“Hey, what’s that owl doing here?” Billy pointed to a burrowing owl, perched on a mine cart.
“He probably came in out of the cold to hunt,” said Fatemeh. “Lots of bugs and mice in here, I’m sure.” She whistled lightly at the owl. The owl danced from one foot to the other, then looked toward one of the tunnels. It looked back at Fatemeh, chirped and then flew off in the opposite direction. She turned her head to Duncan. “You just need to ask directions.” She moved toward the tunnel the owl had glanced at.
“You mean to tell me that owl told you which direction to go?” Duncan sounded incredulous.
“No, the owl just chirped and looked this way. He didn’t like something down here. My best guess is people and noise.” She proceeded down the tunnel.
After a short distance, she caught sight of a soft glow. Then she heard harsh words, “Get up, Morales, or have you had enough?”
“I think he’s had enough,” said another voice. “Boss doesn’t want him dead until he gets a chance to talk to him, tomorrow.”
Fatemeh ran ahead. The tunnel opened into a small chamber. She gasped at the sight that met her. Two large miners hovered over a figure huddled on the dirt floor of the mine. There was blood in a small pool near the figure’s head. A pair of broken and twisted glasses sat some distance away. “Get away from him!” called Fatemeh.
The two men whirled. A slow grin formed on one of their faces. “Well, what do we have here?”
“A whole lotta trouble.” Billy appeared at Fatemeh’s side, his gun drawn. Duncan came up behind them a moment later.
“What I see is one skinny boy who’ll probably piss himself if that gun makes a loud bang, a city slicker, and a pretty woman ripe for plucking.” The miner took a step forward. “Young man, hand me that gun before you hurt yourself.”
Billy’s gaze was like steel. “Don’t come any closer, asshole.”
“What’d you call me?” said the miner, with a sneer.
“I called you an asshole,” said Billy. “But I shoulda called you dead, cuz that’s what you’ll be if you don’t stop.”
The miner took another step. There was a blast and blood splattered from the miner’s gut as he fell backward.
“No!” Fatemeh whirled on Billy. “We didn’t come here to kill.”
He aimed his gun at the other miner and turned his icy gaze toward Fatemeh. “It was him or me, and it was clear they aimed to kill your friend, if he ain’t already dead.” Billy looked back at the other miner. “Get away from Morales, now.”
The second miner held up his hands and backed toward the wall.
Fatemeh darted into the chamber and knelt down next to Ramon. One eye was swollen shut and a trail of blood came from his nose and mouth. His good eye fluttered open. “Am I dreaming?” he muttered.
“We need to get out of here.” Fatemeh helped Ramon to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily. She looked up at Duncan. “Give me a hand!”
Duncan rushed to their side. Together, the three moved toward Billy.
“Take my horse,” said Billy. “If they catch you, they can’t call you a horse thief and hang you.”
“What about you?” asked Fatemeh.
“I think there’s another horse I can use.” His grin sent a chill up Fatemeh’s spine.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said through gritted teeth.
“They’ve already got reason to hang me.” Billy’s gaze remained fixed on the miner. “Now, get outta here.”
“Whatever you do, don’t kill the other miner.” Fatemeh moved forward again.
“Why not?” Billy’s icy tone had become one of genuine curiosity.
“Because all life is sacred, even the bottom feeders.” With that, she and Duncan helped Ramon to the mine’s entrance. With a little help, Ramon was able to climb onto Billy’s horse. The three rode away from the mine without waiting for Kid Antrim.
“So, where are we going now?” asked Duncan.
Fatemeh looked over at Ramon, slumped over Billy’s horse. “What we need is a place for Ramon to rest and recover. I think I know just the place.” She pulled on the reins, turning the horse southward toward Palomas Hot Springs.
Chapter Seven
The Folly of Liberation
Alexander Gorloff watched as the California coastline receded into the distance. He was bound for Russia aboard a steamship, along with the six volunteers from Windsor. The general pulled his coat tight to guard against the chill, autumn air. Winter would be fully upon them by the time they reached the Imperial Palace at St. Petersburg. He nodded to himself, pleased at the prospect of a stronger Russian Empire in the new year.
Gorloff felt Legion, restless in the back of his mind. The general tried to shrug off the sensation, but when it wouldn’t go away, he moved toward the ship’s bow and looked off into the gray-green expanse of the ocean. When the general focused his attention on the alien, he could make out words. “We are not entirely sanguine about your thoughts of world domination.”
“I thought you agreed the empire’s invasion of the United States was a ‘noble experiment.’ You hoped that by taking action, you could stabilize the human race and avert the catastrophe that would result if two major powers were allowed to develop on this planet.” Gorloff spoke aloud, finding it easier to focus his thoughts than if he remained silent.
“Correction: it is a noble experiment to bring stability to the human race and hopefully avert a catastrophe that could result.” Although Legion spoke in the general’s mind, he thought he detected a certain irritability in the words. “While it is highly probable the human race will destroy itself along with most life on this planet if no action is taken, it is hardly a foregone conclusion.”
The general lit a cigar, tossed the match overboard, and took a puff. “I still do not understand the problem.”
“You promised to introduce us to the great minds of the human race,” said Legion. Behind the statement, the general thought he caught a second set of words. The alien was examining the effects of nicotine on his body and brain. Gorloff liked what he heard about nicotine improving the efficiency of something called neurotransmitters, but didn’t like the information about the smoke’s effects on his lungs and heart.
The general closed his eyes and returned his focus to the primary conversation. “I will be introducing you to great minds. I’ll be introducing you to generals, strategists and even the Czar himself.”
“We have shown you that you will need machines to accomplish the task of stabilizing the human race. Your thoughts do not contain specific plans of meeting with the scientists and engineers that could bring your plan to fruition.”
Gorloff smoked the cigar in silence while looking out at the ocean. “I still do not understand. The generals and strategists who we will speak to will instruct the scientists and engineers to build the things we need.”
“Perhaps that is true,” said Legion. “However, to assure the success of this plan, we feel it is important to communicate with key scientists and engineers directly.” Legion paused as though thinking. When Legion first entered Gorloff’s mind, the general sensed he heard most of the alien’s thoughts. As time went by, he began to suspect Legion was becoming better able to select which thoughts he heard and which were hidden. “It is evident humans place little value on scientific inquiry. It is one thing that places your species in danger.”
Gorloff shook his head, still confused. “Of course we value science. Discussions of scientific discovery are in vogue among the elite. We build universities and fund experiments…”
“It is a good beginning, but as you say, their work is discussed by the elite. They are not elite themselves. Scientists are not leaders in your society.”
“They rarely seem interested.”
“It would be interesting to find out why that is so.”
“Are you doing all right, General Gorloff?”
The general whirled, startled by the strange voice that interrupted his conv
ersation with the alien. He faced the ship’s captain, whose brow was furrowed in apparent concern.
“You look agitated.” The captain placed his hands behind his back and moved up next to the general.
“I’m doing fine,” said Gorloff. “Just running through a…speech I have to give when we get home.”
The captain nodded as though he understood, but the concerned look never quite left his face. “If you do need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” He looked out over the ocean. “I’m hoping for a smooth crossing.”
“So am I.” Gorloff tossed the remains of his cigar overboard and made his way back to his cabin.
<< >>
Fatemeh, Ramon and Luther Duncan arrived in Palomas Hot Springs just as the sun was setting. Eduardo and Alicia Morales were sitting together on the porch. As the horses approached, Eduardo shot to his feet and rushed toward them. Alicia followed close behind.
“Búho! What happened?” called Eduardo as he came alongside the horse.
“I think Randolph Dalton wanted to send a message to anyone who might think about interfering with his mining operation.” Duncan lifted his bowler hat, nodded to Alicia, and introduced himself. “I write for the Mesilla News.”
Eduardo eased Ramon off the horse while Alicia took the reins and led it back to the stables. Duncan and Fatemeh followed her. Once the horses were tended, the three went inside. They found Eduardo cleaning Ramon’s cuts and scrapes with iodine. Ramon winced each time the cloth was applied, but hardly moved otherwise.
“How is he doing?” asked Fatemeh. She sat at the table on the other side of Ramon from Eduardo.
“They beat him badly,” said Eduardo, “but I don’t think they broke any bones. He’ll be good as new with a few days resting up and visiting the hot springs.”
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