1899- Journey to Mars Page 2

  Please depart immediately for the Tamil province. Upon your arrival you will proceed to the village of Mavelitural upon the Palk Strait in the northern province. It is an island, and therefore you will need to arrange transport from Ceylon.

  Engage a room at any of the town’s regal hostelry. You will be contacted there.

  Affectionately,

  Sawai Madho Singh II

  Maharajah of Jaipur

  Jaipur, India

  Telegram in coded shifting cypher intercepted by the U.S. Secret Service

  Dated January 15, 1898

  XJDF DITF NDIE BNND EIWO NADN

  BDEI AZIE OPEY TRNQ ANWT QUEB

  RUWX ZIIV APPU QZAI UNMW QIRR

  IE

  Direct translation:

  loca tion ofar cadi akno wnby

  avan ishr athm andu mave litu

  ralt amil ceyl onin stru ctio

  ns

  Translation:

  Location of Arcadia known by

  Avinash Rathmandu, Mavelitural,

  Tamil, Ceylon. Instructions?

  Letter from President William McKinley to Pat Garrett

  December 20, 1898

  Mr. Pat Garrett

  Sheriff, Lincoln County

  New Mexico Territory

  Dear Mr. Garrett,

  The country is in need of your assistance. You are summoned to report to the Governor’s Office in Santa Fe on January 4, 1899, at approximately 4:15 p.m., at which time you shall be prepared to file a full report with regard to your knowledge of the events surrounding the space ship Arcadia, which engaged in hostile activities with federal troops in 1889 both in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and in San Antonio, Texas.

  Further, please be prepared to embark upon a journey to meet with one William Gostman aka “Billy The Kid” whom at this time is suspected to be living in Waco, Texas.

  The secrecy of this meeting and these events is of utmost importance. I cannot express the gravity of this sentiment.

  I will see you in Santa Fe.

  Respectfully,

  William McKinley

  President

  Letter from Pat Garrett to Billy Gostman

  January 3, 1899

  Billy Gostman

  General Delivery

  Waco, Texas

  Dear Billy,

  What the hell have you done this time? I am about to board a train to Santa Fe to meet with the President of the United States to file a report on YOU. Also—and this is supposed to be secret—I believe I am supposed to thereafter come to Texas and get your ass. Somehow he knows your true identity.

  How is Ekka and that strapping boy of yours? I miss your people, Billy, and I am very happy to be the boy’s Godfather. But your job is to stay alive so that boy never has to come to me as my Godson. If you get yourself killed over all that old Arcadia bullshit, I am going to dig your skinny ass up out of the ground and beat you with a chain.

  That being said, I suppose I will see you soon enough. If I am coming to arrest you, I will try to send word ahead. If I have to come at you with a gun, my shots will miss. All of them! I may have federal regulators with me, so make sure your irons are loaded and that you shoot them, not me. Those you don’t get, I will shoot them myself. All that being said, I have no idea of what is going to happen. Likely I will be alone. Regardless, I’m a comin’.

  Your friend,

  Pat

  P.S. You should destroy this letter after you read it, for reasons obvious.

  PART I:

  THE MISSION

  (January 10, 1899)

  [ 1 ]

  Pat Garrett stepped off of the train in Waco, Texas at lunchtime. A trainload of the new Tesla robots was busily being offloaded onto the wharves of the Brazos River docks for transshipment to points south and west. They were ugly contraptions, yet they looked more sophisticated than those Pat seen employed in law enforcement in New Mexico. Garrett’s lips twisted in disgust at the sight of the phalanx of automatons. A puff of steam rose up as each robot was switched on in turn and ordered up and into the hold of the dirigible that hung mere feet above the waters of the river.

  “Now, to find Billy,” he whispered to himself. Pat ran the points of his mustache between his fingers with one hand while fishing in his coat pocket for a cigar with the other.

  Before Pat could begin his long walk, a young boy pulled on his coattail. Garrett glowered at the tyke for a moment, until he recognized the boy from his likeness to an old friend.

  “Dakota?” he asked the kid.

  “Yes, sir, godfather.”

  Pat reached and hefted the boy into the air and hugged him. “You know, I once got the drop on your dad. I had him dead to rights and could have put a bullet through him. But something told me I maybe shouldn’t do that. Now, I know why.”

  Billy Gostman stepped into view.

  “I don’t see any regulators, Pat,” Billy said.

  “I talked the President into letting me come by myself. He doesn’t want you shot. You’re the most valuable person in the United States of America.”

  Ekka Gagarin Gostman stepped up beside Billy.

  “Ekka!” Garrett said, and put the boy down. He took her in his long arms and gave her a hard squeeze. She pecked his cheek with a kiss.

  “Makin’ time with a fellow’s wife right in front of him. You always were slick with the women, Pat,” Billy said. There was a huge smile on his face.

  Ten feet away, one of the robots being unloaded ceased walking and turned toward Billy.

  “Recognition,” it stated. The stevedore slapped the robot’s iron frame and pointed to the deck of the dirigible. The robot’s head swiveled back and the robot began walking again.

  Billy frowned. He turned to Ekka. “Say, you don’t think—”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Let’s take Mr. Garrett home and feed him proper.”

  “Your accent has changed, Ekka,” Garrett said. “A little Texas is snuck into it.”

  Billy lit a match and held it up for Garret, who lit his cigar with it. “Best you smoke while we walk,” Billy said. “The Missus doesn’t allow smoking in the house.”

  “Fine by me,” Garrett said. “Lead on.”

  Dakota Gostman led his godfather by the hand while Billy walked to Pat Garrett’s other side. Puffs of smoke from Garrett’s cigar twirled behind them.

  “How far is it?” Garrett asked. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “Bullshit,” Billy said. “Your mother was a rattlesnake, Pat, and your father was a thunderstorm. You’re a force of nature and bullets can’t stop you, to say the least for time.”

  “They can stop me, but they have to be properly aimed first.”

  Pat Garrett noticed Billy serruptiously look over his shoulder, then scan the thinning crowd ahead. He whispered to Ekka, “What’s got him so nervous?”

  “Spies,” she leaned in slightly and whispered back. Pat looked down at Dakota, who nodded and likewise whispered, “Spies.”

  “I suppose this will be the usual misadventure with you folks,” Pat said.

  Dakota looked ahead as if also inspecting the environment, then he nodded knowingly.

  “Dakota,” Billy said. “Run on ahead and make sure Guthrie’s got the carriage started.”

  “Yes sir!” Dakota released Pat’s hand and shot ahead and around the corner past a five and dime store.

  “Carriage? Start?” Pat asked. Then, “Ah! You’ve got one of those new-fangled horseless jobbers.”

  “That we do.” Ekka said.

  “I’ve wanted to try the reins of one of them things,” Pat said.

  “No need to,” Billy replied, and spat. “They don’t have reins, anyway. Besides, that’s what we’ve got Guthrie for.”

  “Who’s Guthrie?”

  “Oh, you’ll meet him,” Ekka replied.

  They turned the corner in time to hear what Pat Garrett took to be a gunshot. Pat ducked and his hand went to his sidearm. Before it was out its holster, B
illy laid a hand on Pat’s hand.

  “It’s just a backfire from the thing.” Billy gestured to the automobile twenty feet away.

  Pat straightened in disbelief. “Well I’ll be damned. I don’t think I could have one after all. If they do that, I’m liable to shoot it without thinking.”

  “Oh, they do that a lot,” Ekka said.

  The motor sputtered and came to life. A cloud of smoke erupted from behind the contraption. Pat took off his hat and waved the smoke away.

  “Where’d your hair go, Pat?” Billy asked.

  “Fellow wears a hat enough, he starts losing his hair. I notice you don’t wear a hat anymore, Billy.”

  “My momma didn’t raise no fool,” Billy replied.

  “Guthrie,” Dakota called. “Come meet my godfather, Pat Garrett. He’s a real sheriff!”

  The figure stepped to the street from inside the vehicle. This time Pat Garrett’s hand was faster than greased lightning. The gun was in his hand with a rock steady bead on the unmoving figure.

  “A robot,” Pat said, his voice hard.

  “You don’t like robots, do you?” Ekka asked.

  The robot was human height and wore human clothing, including a pair of corduroy trousers, a shirt and vest, and even a bowler hat. It’s skin, however, was riveted brass with silver fittings. Its face shone in the noonday sun.

  “I suppose I should have told you,” Billy said. He stepped forward and put his hand over the cocked pistol and pressed gently downward.

  “You could’ve.”

  “Oh. The Lincoln Posse Massacre. I forgot about that,” Billy said. “Damn. I’m sorry, Pat. I’ve been out of touch. My mind’s been in...the sky. But Guthrie here, he’s not one of them New Mexico law enforcement robots that Westingthouse—”

  “What is your number?” Pat barked at the automaton.

  “My number, kind sir, is G.U.3. My master refers to me as ‘Guthrie’.”

  “Guthrie is unarmed, Pat,” Billy said.

  Dakota looked at his godfather uncertainly. He was apparently attached to the robot.

  “What happened in Lincoln, Pat?” Ekka asked.

  “Two outlaws were rustling cattle. They were about to be hanged when one of...these came along and shot the members of the posse faster than you could say Jack Sprat.”

  “And the outlaws?” Billy asked.

  “Their horses flew at the gunfire and they hung. The robot stood and watched them die too.”

  “What happened to the robot?” Dakota asked.

  Guthrie stood both motionless and emotionless, the sun glinting off its face.

  “I was late following the posse. I had to ride hard to catch them, but by then it was too late. All those men were dead. I hit the damned thing with one shot right through the eye socket.”

  “Did they ever find out why he did it?” Dakota asked.

  “It,” Pat said. “It’s not a ‘he’ or a ‘she’ because it ain’t human, Dakota. It’s a robot. It has no sense of guilt or innocence. It has no...humanity at all. Don’t you forget it, son.”

  Billy stepped forward and tousled his son’s hair. He turned to Pat. “Relax, will you? This boy has got enough far-journey adventuring in his head already. He don’t need it so close to home. Besides, Guthrie here is Nikola’s prototype for the new generation of problem-solving robot. He defends this family. He doesn’t need to shoot, because he’s faster that either one of us. Why, just the other day...” Billy trailed off as he noticed Ekka shaking her head. “Nevermind. I’ll tell you later. For now, forget what happened in Lincoln. According to the papers, that was one of Westinghouse’s robots anyway, and everyone knows they’re...” Ekka shook her head at Billy again. Billy smiled. “My wife thinks somebody’s going to bring a civil suit against me again for speaking my mind. Let’s head home.”

  Billy ordered Guthrie back into the driver’s seat and Ekka and Dakota followed suit by taking the rear seat while Billy went around the vehicle and got in beside the robot. Pat stood on the cobblestone street for a moment, scratching his balding head. He replaced his hat and pursed his lips.

  “It’s a three mile walk,” Ekka said.

  “Alright,” Pat replied. “I’ve come this far. I suppose I can go the rest of the way, however it is I am to go.” He climbed inside.

  The robot driving the horseless carriage made for a great deal of gawking among the townspeople as they passed along the bustling streets. Billy ordered Guthrie to stop twice, once at the post office, the second time at the telegraphers. Each time, Dakota jumped down, looked up and down the sidewalk and across the street, then ran inside. He was back empty-handed each time.

  “Expecting a letter or a message?” Pat asked from the back seat.

  “Worried about someone,” Billy replied.

  “Who?”

  “Nobody you know. It’s from a foreign country, anyway. Not much I can do until I receive further word.”

  After making it past the outskirts of Waco and into the rolling pastureland beyond, Pat leaned forward. “We’re being followed.”

  “Of course we are,” Billy replied. “Tell him, Guthrie.”

  The automaton’s head swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees to regard Pat Garrett. The movement and awkward position were disconcerting.

  “There are two men on horseback. They are over the hill behind us. They are each heavily armed. Behind them, half a mile, walks a robot. It is a Westinghouse Burris-Mercedes Omni-5 model. It is in hostage acquisition mode.”

  “Are you prepared to defend this family?” Pat asked.

  “Non-sequitur interrogatory. I am a Tesla Guardian Ultra Three.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” They continued out of town and along the dusty road until the trail curved and descended into an area of many oaks and pecans, with lush grass and tall brush. A wooden bridge spanned the small, lively stream in the bottom of the draw and as the horseless carriage crossed it, Guthrie said, “I believe the mathematics favor this as a most appropriate location for me to neutralize our pursuers, Billy. Shall I disembark?”

  Billy said, “Yes, and we will slow our pace so you can hightail it to us when you finish.”

  “Most excellent.” Guthrie hopped from the vehicle and Billy slid over to drive. When Pat looked back to find the robot, it was gone.

  [ 2 ]

  The two men on horseback stopped as they approached the high-bluffed creek area and the dense trees. They wore brown bowler hats with brass goggles resting on the brim. The leather vests showed a line of bright brass buttons and silver metal liners on the mouths of the vest pockets. The gun belts were as wide as a man’s palm, and festooned with brads and straps of brass and polished steel. Both men carried black-barreled radium pistols, with the tube-shaped brass reservoir atop the barrel. These were the newest models, Guthrie noted, the ones that Hawken invented. Guthrie shifted through his memory banks to Hawken: Adolph Hawken, American, one-time protégée to both Alexander Graham Bell and James Clerk Maxwell, then traitor to both. It was said he practiced dark arts, was an inventive genius, and a megalomaniac.

  Guthrie studied the two men more closely. Their hair was bright orange, and reached the shoulders. The coats they wore were brown, plain, and stopped high on the waist, leaving room to draw their pistols. They wore black gloves that extended to the elbows, and intertwining patterns of brass and red lines circled the forearms from the back of the hand to just below the elbow. The brass was bright, as if fresh from the forge, and the red lines seemed to glow from an inner heat. The pants were black, as were the tall boots that reached to below the knees. They, too, had brass and red patterns like those on the forearms. The two men were identical in height, build, and both had skin as pale as that of a corpse. They also had piercing violet eyes.

  One of them signaled the Westinghouse robot far behind them to come forward. It increased its stride and steps-per-minute pace and stood beside them in fifteen seconds, covering the two hundred yards as fast as a galloping horse. It was as tall a
s the men sitting on horseback, and the steel and brass body was big, but proportionate in build to an eight-foot-tall man. The long arms were brass-scaled from the elbows to the ends of the fingers, which gave the forearms a snake-like appearance. The hands appeared to be as large as oversized skillets and they opened and closed with mechanical whirring noises. The legs were of similar metal, with brass scales beginning just below the knees and covering the bottom of the leg all the way to the ends of the feet.

  The man on the pinto said, “Go first. Catch them.”

  The robot said in a scratchy metallic voice, “Acknowledged.” It walked fast and disappeared around the corner.

  The two men followed, not wanting to be too far behind at the capture.

  [ 3 ]

  Guthrie watched from behind the dark green leaves and fog-gray trunk of a wild persimmon bush as the Westinghouse robot came down the trail. Guthrie calculated the robot’s speed. He crouched low to remain invisible to the Westinghouse and moved to a new position that would allow for the most correct angle of attack.

  The Westinghouse slowed as it reached the wooden bridge, continuing at a slow walk. Guthrie shot out from the brush behind the much taller mechanical man and closed very fast, crashing low into the bigger, heavier machine and knocking it through the railing, snapping the wooden rail with a splintering crack. The Westinghouse flailed its arms as it fell thirty feet to the shallow, rock bottom stream and crashed on the stones. The shallow water splashed outward in a wide white ring of spray and the Westinghouse lay unmoving in four inches of water.

  Guthrie peered over the side of the bridge and studied it for several seconds, then turned when the horses came around the bend. Guthrie trotted toward them and saw the men draw their pistols. He noted their facial features were identical, not merely as a twin would be, but identical. He logged the information for future reference.

  Guthrie made internal adjustments in his vocal box to the exact level of a screaming mountain lion and let out the noise at 130 decibels.