“I picture a world where we humans finally see ourselves as more similar than different, where we have come together to work on common goals.” Fatemeh pushed the sheet aside and Ramon couldn’t help but feel his eyes drawn to the luscious curve of her buttocks or the smooth, brown skin of her back as she stepped over to her bag. She bent down and retrieved the copy of Jules Verne’s From the Earth to the Moon she had been carrying and turned around. Ramon’s breath caught as he took in the sight of her holding the book. She was bare to him, physically and emotionally, and he couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. “I see a world where humans are working together toward a common goal. Maybe it’s reaching for the moon and the stars. Maybe it’s working to fix all the problems of the world—all the hunger and the sickness, ending all the wars.”
“Is it even possible?” Ramon looked down at his hands, his voice soft, barely audible.
She set the book down and returned to the bed. Lifting the sheets, she crawled in and pulled Ramon close. “That’s what you need to answer for yourself.”
“If I do that, will your parents give us permission to marry?” Ramon looked up, hopeful.
“I have a confession to make.” Fatemeh’s cheeks flushed pink. “My parents are Mohammedan. They have disowned me. I don’t think their permission could ever be obtained.”
Ramon’s eyebrows came together. “Then what’s preventing us from getting married now?”
“I need to know your answer to my question…and I would like to meet your mother and get her approval.”
Ramon nodded and sighed. “And until that happens…”
“I think it might be best if we had separate rooms again.” She reached over and kissed him on the forehead. “I love you, but I need to know if you really are the person I can spend the rest of my life with. I love the way your body feels, Ramon, but I don’t want to let those fleeting pleasures dictate a commitment.”
Ramon inclined his head and frowned. He saw the wisdom of her words, even if he didn’t completely like it. “Then I suppose I should go get my things together.”
“Not just this instant, my friend.” She sought his mouth and kissed him deeply.
<< >>
The Czar had given General Alexander Gorloff and his recruits from America a wing of the Mikhailovsky Castle to use while they planned their invasion of America. The castle served as the army’s main engineering school and seemed a good base from which to plot out a whole new kind of warfare.
Sharing the wing was a Navy Captain, Stepan Osipovich Makarov. He had already made a name for himself advocating new military technologies. The admiralty decided he should command the first airship to invade America. Makarov divided his time between Mikhailovsky Castle and St. Petersburg University. At the university, he studied aeronautics with Dmitri Mendeleev. At Mikhailovsky Castle, he did his best to formulate a new kind of naval strategy that operated from the air rather than the ocean. Like all of Gorloff’s men, he was guided in his endeavors by the alien, Legion.
Gorloff stood in a room of Mikhailovsky Castle, studying a map of North America. He was flanked by Makarov and one of the Russians from America, Peter Berestetski. They had decided that Denver was their primary objective. From there, they could capture the United States Mint and effectively cut off the western United States from the eastern half. The question was, how to get there?
“I suggest we take a northern route.” Makarov pointed to the Bering Strait and indicated a path along the Aleutian Islands. “We could drop some men in Alaska, go back out to sea and follow the Canadian coast, then come ashore again near Seattle.” He pointed to a logging camp in Washington Territory that was growing into a thriving town.
Gorloff nodded. “Yes. Seattle is the largest town in the northwestern United States. It would be a good place to deploy troops either northward into Alaska or southward to San Francisco or Denver. The town would be easy to take and control.” He walked over to a table, retrieved a cigar from a box, and offered another to the captain.
Makarov declined the cigar and turned back to the map, indicating a southeasterly course from Seattle to Denver. “From Puget Sound, we could make a fairly easy crossing of the Rockies in Montana Territory and then drop down to Colorado. There is very little population in those northern territories. We would be unhindered in our advance.”
Berestetski’s attention had been on the map the whole time. He shook his head. “That route will be time consuming. Why not bring the airship ashore at San Francisco? Much of the American Navy’s Pacific Fleet is stationed there. We could attack them and destroy their ships, cutting off support from the west. Then we could take a more direct course overland to Denver.”
Gorloff frowned and lit the cigar as Makarov gave voice to his thoughts. “Once we get to Denver, the navy won’t be our biggest threat. We’ll have to worry about the army already stationed there and in the surrounding areas. We can’t afford to waste munitions in a coastal battle that’s not necessary to our objective. Also, that will be a hazardous place to cross the Rockies, they are at their highest on the straight line path.” He pointed to another mountain range in California. “Not to mention the Sierra Nevadas.”
“Agreed.” Gorloff took a puff of the cigar. “San Francisco should be our target after we’ve secured Denver.” The general chewed on the cigar, concerned about Peter Berestetski’s inexperience. The general also found he had a difficult time trusting the man who called himself by the Anglicized form of Piotr and did not use a patronymic.
“Be tolerant,” cautioned Legion from the back of Gorloff’s mind. “If you are successful in your invasion, young Peter represents the future.”
What do you mean? Gorloff thought his question silently while continuing to smoke the cigar.
“He is both American and Russian. He is a vision of the new empire you hope to create.” Even though Legion’s voice was not audible, Gorloff felt the alien was irritated at having to explain something it felt was trivial.
I am more worried about his naiveté. Gorloff’s lips pursed around the cigar.
“His suggestion is not without merit,” countered Legion. “If the airship comes ashore near Seattle as proposed and takes the city, there is a ninety-two percent chance the army in Denver will be alerted before your arrival. If you attack San Francisco first, there is a thirty-four percent chance you would succeed in cutting off military lines of communication long enough to arrive at Denver before anyone expected you. The high mountain crossing is not without risk, but it is possible.”
Gorloff looked from Berestetski to Makorov, then took a few steps away from the map. So, does this mean you think we should follow young Berestetski’s advice?
“Not at all,” said Legion. “Even though it is quite likely the army in Denver will be alerted if you take Seattle first, it is unlikely enough people will understand your intention and form a defense in time. More than likely, they will assume you plan to attack a target further east.”
The general’s silent conversation with Legion was cut short by an insistent rapping on the door. Gorloff removed the cigar from his mouth. “Come in,” he called.
A man in the uniform of an imperial courier stepped through the door and saluted the general. “I have a message from the Czar.”
Gorloff placed the cigar in his mouth, returned the salute, and held out his hand. The courier promptly handed over the letter, then spun on his heel and left. Gorloff read the message silently.
“What does it say?” asked the impetuous Berestetski.
“The Czar would like to review the two airships under construction.” Gorloff spoke around the cigar. I hope Mendeleev is making good progress, he thought.
“We believe the Czar will be suitably impressed,” said Legion.
The general frowned and hoped Legion was correct.
<< >>
Ramon woke with the sunrise. He looked over and saw Fatemeh lying in bed, still asleep. He couldn’t help but think how beautiful she was and how lucky he was
to have found a woman who loved him in return. He was determined to do everything in his power to make their relationship a permanent one.
Quietly, he pushed the sheets back and climbed out of bed. He slipped on his clothes and left the room. He missed the Castillos’ rooming house in Mesilla where he could just slip downstairs for a quick breakfast. Fortunately, there was a small café just a few doors away from the hotel. At the street corner, a boy was selling newspapers. Ramon bought one of the papers and slipped into the café.
A waitress came by and poured him a cup of coffee while he stared at the headlines. He was somewhat surprised the paper contained no news of the Stockton’s successful mission, stopping pirates off the coast of California. Beyond that, he really didn’t pay attention to the headlines. Instead, it occurred to him Fatemeh recently revealed a side of herself he hadn’t noticed before. She joined the Stockton’s crew without telling him. She had concealed the fact her parents were Mohammedan and she really didn’t talk to them anymore. Even though he still reveled in the glow of the previous night, he found himself wondering what else she hadn’t told him. He was somewhat disappointed Fatemeh wanted separate rooms again, but she had made it clear further intimacy was not out of the question and he actually liked the idea of having some space to think things through before he finally committed to the relationship.
Ramon’s thoughts were interrupted when the waitress came by and took his order. He mumbled something about eggs over easy and sausage—an extravagance he couldn’t have afforded before the Stockton, but didn’t seem so bad with money in his pocket.
Thoughts of money brought his attention back to the reason he bought the newspaper in the first place. Before the waitress retreated to the kitchen, he borrowed a pencil, then turned to the want ads at the back of the paper. He circled a couple of job ads that looked promising.
Soon, his breakfast arrived and as Ramon ate his eggs and sausage he looked at the newspaper’s headlines again. There were stories of armed robberies and bar fights. It reminded him of his days as Sheriff of Socorro and contrasted so much from what he had seen during his brief underwater voyage aboard the Legado.
No wonder Fatemeh wondered who they would be during the quiet times.
A different article caught Ramon’s attention. A company called Star Oil had just opened a refinery in the nearby town of Newhall and they were looking for new employees. In the last year he had seen example after example of how machines were making a new future—everything from wonders like M.K. Maravilla’s clockwork lobo and Onofre Cisneros’s submersible to more mundane things like locomotives and steamships. Oil was the future. The Star Oil refinery held not only the promise of steady work, but it was a place where he could see the future being built. He folded up the paper, finished his breakfast, and strode back to the hotel room.
Ramon found Fatemeh sitting on the bed, mostly dressed. “Could you help me with the clasps on the back of my dress?”
“It’ll be my pleasure, corazón.” Ramon sat down behind her and felt a renewed thrill being so close to her and couldn’t help caressing her back just as he finished doing up the clasps. “I think I may have found a place to look for work.”
Fatemeh looked at him expectantly.
“Star Oil has a new refinery up in the town of Newhall, just north of Los Angeles. They’re looking for workers.” Ramon’s smile betrayed a certain pride at his discovery.
Fatemeh frowned. “Is an oil refinery really all that different from Mr. Dalton and his mines? Instead of digging into the Earth, these people draw out the Earth’s blood through their wells.”
Ramon looked into Fatemeh’s eyes. “Corazón, you’ve asked me to look to the future. In the last year, we have seen many marvels, you and I. Almost all of them need oil to run. Oil may not be the future all by itself, but it certainly is part of the future. Is there really a better place to work, while answering your question about who we are during the quiet times?”
Fatemeh swallowed and then blinked. A moment later, her eyes met Ramon’s again, but she stayed silent.
“Besides, Newhall is a small, quiet town. I suspect you’d have an easier time working as a curandera there than you would in the heart of the city.” Ramon took her hand.
She was silent for a long time and Ramon wondered what was going on in her mind. Finally she nodded. “All right. Let’s go see if you can find a job in Newhall.”
<< >>
General Alexander Gorloff rode in a gilded carriage with Czar Alexander II along the waterfront in St. Petersburg. The carriage stopped in front of a building that rivaled the Winter Palace in size. General Gorloff knew it had been built to construct warships, but had been given over to Dmitri Mendeleev and the airship project. Two soldiers standing guard by the main door snapped to attention as the carriage approached. Professor Mendeleev appeared from inside just as the carriage pulled to a stop. As a guard opened the carriage door, the professor bowed low. General Gorloff noted that even though Mendeleev wore fine clothes, they appeared rumpled and disheveled, as though he had been working in them for many hours.
The Czar approached the scientist and held out his hand, indicating he should rise. Mendeleev seemed to hesitate for a moment, then stood.
“You honor us with your presence,” said Mendeleev.
“General Gorloff has told me spectacular things about this project,” said the Czar. “I am naturally curious.”
Mendeleev led the way into the giant building. As they crossed the threshold, the Czar of all the Russias gasped at the sight before him. He stood facing two mighty, cigar-shaped vessels. Each vessel was longer than the biggest warship in the Czar’s navy. The vessel to the Czar’s left was covered with a light-colored fabric. On the bottom, at the bow, was painted a great owl, its wings and talons outstretched, as though ready to strike at its prey. At the back of the airship were great tail fins. The Russian flag had been painted prominently and proudly.
A cacophony of sound from hammers, torches, and men shouting assaulted the Czar’s ears. However, silence quickly fell starting at the front of the building and working its way to the rear, as though some unheard signal had been relayed along the building’s length.
The Czar took a few steps toward the nearly completed airship and pointed to a compartment that hung from the bottom of the hull, enclosed in glass. “What is the purpose of that structure?” he asked.
“That is the airship’s bridge, where the captain and his officers direct its flight,” explained Mendeleev.
“And those hatches behind the bridge?” The Czar pointed to a series of doorways that lined the bottom of the airship.
“From the air, we can use them to drop bombs,” said General Gorloff. “When the airship comes near the ground, they can be used to deploy our troops rapidly.”
The Czar nodded approvingly and walked between the two airships. The workers who surrounded each of the airships stood at attention. As they walked, Alexander Gorloff could just discern a slight faltering in the emperor’s step, as though his knees felt weak at the grand sight before him. The Czar’s eyes darted between the nearly completed airship and the one on the right that did not yet have its outer skin. A bare skeleton of steel girders enclosed great, flaccid bags. Underneath the bags were two decks that spanned the length of the vessel. Crew quarters, a great mess hall, and storage areas could all be seen through the superstructure.
The Czar’s eyebrows came together. “This whole structure will be lighter than air?”
Mendeleev nodded. “It will be, Your Majesty, once the bags inside are filled with hydrogen gas.”
“They will be like balloons, floating on the wind,” said the emperor. “How will their flight be directed?”
“By steam engines,” said the professor. He pointed to the nearly completed airship. Two engines were visible. They hung from the side with propellers facing aft.
“How will you shovel coal out to those engines when the ship is in the air?”
“We don’t. These
steam engines burn oil fed into the burner from a pipeline. Given the explosive nature of hydrogen gas, it is best if the engines are kept well separate from the interior of the ship.”
The Czar pursed his lips. “You have thought this out well.”
The professor bowed. “You do me great honor, Your Majesty…”
Czar Alexander held up his hand. “However, couldn’t the explosive nature of hydrogen be a weakness in the design?”
“No doubt it would be,” interjected Gorloff, “if the enemy had airships of their own, or ordnance that could fire skyward at these ships. However they do not.”
The emperor nodded, seemingly satisfied by the answer. “It seems these engines must use a lot of oil to run.”
Gorloff looked briefly toward Mendeleev just as an answer formed in the back of his mind. “We have enough oil for the invasion. We will have more than enough to replace it once we own Alaska and California again.”
Czar Alexander folded his arms and a grin slowly appeared. His eyes roved slowly from one airship to the other. “The future of the Russian Empire looks very bright, gentlemen. You have done well.” He strode from the building with General Gorloff following close behind.
<< >>
A month later, Ramon walked to work from the rooming house in Newhall to the Star Oil Refinery. Spring was coming early to the mountains around Los Angeles and wildflowers bloomed beside the road. Once again, Ramon had a room across the hall from Fatemeh, and he made a point to meet her for dinner and spend time with her each day. The day before, they sent a telegram to Eduardo and Alicia, asking them to bring Fatemeh’s wagon out to California as soon as the weather permitted.
True to his word, Bryan Burke had provided a stellar reference for Ramon. The former sheriff now found he had a comfortable job as a clerk, processing shipment orders from the refinery. Ramon stopped off at the refinery’s mailroom and picked up a sheaf of papers, then went to his small office.
Owl Dance Page 17
