1899- Journey to Mars Read online

  The horses neighed and bucked and sunfished, throwing the two riders in arm-flailing arcs over the horse’s heads. The men dropped their pistols and hit the road in rolling somersaults to come to their feet in fighting stances facing Guthrie. The horses trotted off thirty yards, shivering and snorting, ready to bolt away at the next sudden sound. Guthrie created an analogue of the men’s movements, and filed it in his internal memory, noting that they showed fine training, and that it would bode well to research who the trainer was.

  Guthrie started toward the two men, but saw something in their eyes. He turned as the Westinghouse punched at his head. Guthrie slipped the punch and the Westinghouse immediately spun 360 degrees and slammed a spinning backfist into the smaller robot’s head.

  Guthrie landed twelve feet away, then scrambled to stand as the larger robot charged. The violet-eyed men moved closer. The Westinghouse came at Guthrie with powerful punches and flashing kicks that had the smaller robot constantly backing and sliding left and right, but still taking damage, even from glancing blows.

  One of the men yelled, “Kill it, Titan!”

  Guthrie logged the name, Titan, just as the big robot feinted with a left and brought up a high, powerful kick that caught Guthrie on the left shoulder. The smaller robot flew backwards and rolled to the side as Titan stomped at him. Guthrie’s shoulder was marginal now, and he logged the damage to the cables and gears, surmising that 74 per cent of function was currently lost. His left visionary orb assembly was also damaged to 31 per cent effectiveness, with occasional bright flashes of red lines and spots that rendered the orb nonfunctional.

  Guthrie’s calculations told him that another sixty-five seconds of this combat would leave him inert. And, he...felt...a funny thread of...something. He then understood that he did not want to be inert.

  He backed to the edge of the dropoff to the river, and monitored every tiny movement of the Titan through his remaining eye as it charged. His memory banks searched through every corner and found what he needed: one of the fighting disciplines Ekka had secretly taught him. Guthrie applied the information in a nanosecond to the charging robot’s momentum, inertia, and previous fighting characteristics, then he waited.

  The Titan came fast, leaning forward for maximum impact, cocked its right arm and shot a straight right for Guthrie’s head. Guthrie ducked just enough for the blow to pass above him, and at the same time drove his stiffened fingers into the armpit of the Titan with all the mechanical power he could generate with his arms, legs, and back.

  The Titan’s interior shoulder joint gears and cables tore apart with a squeal of metal on metal. Guthrie continued his forward motion to circle behind the larger robot in a fluid, acrobatic move, leaping high above the Titan and catching it around the head with his legs in a sissor-lock. Guthrie twisted hard, spinning his body so he came down in front of the Titan’s body, using the torque and momentum of his smaller body to fling the larger robot in a somersault off the thirty-foot bluff.

  The Titan crashed head first in an awkward fall, and sparks and a puff of white smoke lifted from its neck and head.

  The violet-eyed ones were only two feet away as Guthrie continued his fluid attack and closed with them. Even damaged as he was, Guthrie’s surprising speed and new style of fighting surprised the orange-hairs before they could react. Two quick moves and both dropped over the bluff to crash onto the Titan. Guthrie stood at the bluff edge above them, holding the two radium pistols he snatched from their holsters as the men were dispatched. As he watched, all three figures moved slightly.

  Guthrie staggered several steps, then readjusted his internal cognitative-relays and micro-gyros to counterbalance the internal damage until he could be recharged and repaired. Guthrie calculated he had to hurry, and sped across the bridge to rejoin Billy and the others, equating the variables to a qualitative sum that indicated he would have enough energy at this pace to last four-point-six miles before he would automatically shut down into sleep mode until recharging could be accomplished. If Billy and the others were four-point-seven miles away, Guthrie calculated the odds weighed heavily that he would never see them again.

  Three-point-six miles down the road, Guthrie rounded a curve and saw the horseless carriage sitting motionless on the road. They had waited for him. From somewhere deep inside, Guthrie noted an odd surge of energy because of this. Dakota waved, and Guthrie waved back. He reached the vehicle a minute later and said, “The pursuers are temporarily incapacitated. I would suggest we proceed at the carriage’s maximum capacity.”

  Pat said, “You didn’t kill them?”

  “I terminate life only as the very last reasonable action.”

  Billy pushed the lever all the way forward on the carriage and they accelerated along the road. “You pick up anything interesting about who they were?”

  “I did not talk to them. They were not typical of this area, or of many humans I have encountered. Their skin was extremely pale, and their orange hair was long and straight. The eyes were violet, a rare color, but that was not all. Facial structure, hair, and other identifiers showed odd parameters within each of the humans. They were identical.”

  “You mean twins.” Said Pat.

  “No, Master Garrett. They were not twins. They were identical.”

  “Well, hell, Guthrie, that’s what twins are.”

  “I beg to correct you, sir, and I comprehend you are talking of monozygotic twins, but these two men were singletons, neither monozybotic or dizygotic twins.”

  Pat looked at Ekka, who was grinning, and said, “Oh, you think its funny that you can see my brain pan crumbling while I listen to a talking tin can?”

  Ekka laughed, “He does the same thing to us all the time. It’s nice not to be on the receiving end.”

  Guthrie said, “Sir, I have no tin in my construction. I hope that clarifies my makeup to your satisfaction.”

  “You bet. Clear as granite.” Guthrie’s head jiggled a little, but before he could speak, Pat continued, “Can you explain to me, in simpler terms, what you’re saying?”

  Ekka said, “Guthrie, please talk like Pat is a five year old child.” Pat frowned at her.

  “Certainly,” Guthrie said, “Twins are either monozygotic—which means they are the result of a single fertilized egg splitting into two and both growing to birth term; these are called identical twins—or they are dizygotic, which is the result of two eggs fertilized by two different sperm cells, with both occurring at the same time. These are called fraternal twins.”

  “I understand that some twins look alike and others don’t. What’s this singleton you’re talking about?”

  “A singleton is a single egg fertilized by a single sperm cell and brought to term.”

  “I’m still not clear on what you’re sayin’ about the situation, then.”

  Guthrie said, “My father Tesla gave me magnification ability in my ocular functions. To the power of one-hundred-twenty. It allows me to focus on minute details when needed. I did this with the two men travelling with Titan.”

  “How?”

  “I measured the differences in their irises, the colored portions of their eyes.” Guthrie read Pat’s body and head movements indicating he did not understand. “Let me explain this way: Like a snowflake, every iris is absolutely unique. A subject's left and right iris is as different from each other as they are from any other individual's. It has been calculated that the chance of finding two randomly formed identical irises is on an order of one in ten to the seventy-eighth power, or in simpler terms, one in one quinquavigin-tillion.”

  Pat looked at Ekka and raised his eyebrows. Ekka said, “It is a lot, Pat.”

  “I gathered,” Pat said.

  Guthrie continued, “It is one followed by seventy-eight zeros, if that is easier to cognitate, Master Garrett.”

  “My cognitating is fine, and stop calling me Master Garrett. Pat’ll do fine.”

  “I will do so, Pat.”

  Ekka said, “So you scanned th
eir irises.”

  “Yes, and their left irises were identical, as were their right irises. They are singletons, yet they are identical human beings.”

  “Clones,” Ekka said, “I’ve read about such experiments, but not with humans.”

  “So what you’re tellin’ me,” Pat said, “Is these clone folks are duplicate humans.”

  “Exactly,” Guthrie said.

  “Why in the blue blazes didn’t you say that in the first place?”

  “What would be the fun in that, Pat?” Guthrie said.

  Ekka and Billy burst out laughing. Pat followed.

  Billy asked Guthrie, “What about the Westinghouse, anything unusual?”

  “The men called it Titan. Titan appeared externally to be a third generation assembly model, so it was typical in construction and design. But the attack mode it used was unusual, and almost rendered me nonfunctional. Titan attacked me with a most impressive martial fighting style, one that I could not defend against for any length of time. I will research it when we arrive at the Argent.”

  “Show me some of the movements,” Ekka said. Guthrie stood in the vehicle and demonstrated several kicks, blows and blocking maneuvers from the fight.

  Guthrie said, “The blows and kicks were powerful, like none I have been trained for, or found in reading research. The damage from each blow was substantial.”

  Ekka said, “The Koreans have a long history of scientific fighting. I observed them using a form called Taekkyeon in some tribal battles. It was quite effective, and the movements themselves were beautiful. But from the damage to you, Guthrie, I think it might be more like the new style they were developing for combat when I left. I believe they called it Dae Kwando. It was far more punishing and brutal, using hard strikes and kicks to break bones and render opponents unable to continue, even after a single blow. It was developed to end matters in an instant, rather than using lots of tripping and throwing to get an opponent on the ground, as is used in Taekkyeon.”

  Pat said, “You were in Korea? Fighting?”

  “I wasn’t always Billy’s wife,” she said as she leaned forward, hugged Billy’s neck and playfully bit his earlobe.

  “Yikes!” Billy said.

  Pat said, “You two are a pair to draw to, yessir.”

  Billy asked Guthrie, “Are you all right?”

  “I am functional, although I have several significant indentations and loose cabling that will need repairs. My left shoulder assembly will need restructure, the rotating gears and brachial cables are damaged, but I can return to full function when repairs are completed, and after I recharge.”

  Billy said, “How’d you best the Titan?”

  “I used maneuvers that Miss Ekka recently taught me.”

  “What did she teach you?”

  “Several styles of fighting she acquired in the orient.”

  Pat looked at Ekka, “Several styles? In the orient?” Ekka started to speak and Pat held up his hand, “I know, I know. You weren’t always Billy’s wife.”

  Billy said, “How did they work?”

  “They were satisfactory.”

  “Wow, Guthrie, your descriptions are so vivid.”

  “I could describe to you the stances and strike names, as well as their impact and effect on the Titan–“

  Billy laughed, “I was joshing you, Guthrie. Satisfactory is fine.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And quit calling me sir. I’m Billy. I would prefer you use that when you talk to me.”

  “Yes, Billy, I will do so.”

  “Good, now let’s get to the Argent and see if Eddie’s got things cleaned up out there.”

  Guthrie tapped Billy on the shoulder, “It may not be significant, and that is why I did not mention it previously, but may I add one more thing observed about the orange-haired men?”

  “Sure, Guthrie, go ahead.”

  “They had fangs.”

  [ 4 ]

  Guthrie pulled the horseless carriage up in front of the Gostman home—a rustic, unpainted but solid-looking pier and beam affair with a many-gabled roof and a broad front porch. A rocking chair sat on the porch and a briarwood pipe lay on the windowsill next to it, a box of matches close at hand.

  “Lunch, darlin’, if you please” Billy said to Ekka. “We’ve got big men here to feed.”

  “If you gentlemen will care to disembark,” Ekka said as she stepped out of the car and made a slow swoop with her arm, “lunch will be served promptly.”

  “I am powerful hungry,” Pat admitted as he got out.

  “Dad,” Dakota said, “Guthrie and I are gonna run to the Argent and see how Eddie is comin’ getting it all loaded.”

  “Fine, son,” Billy replied. “But hurry back or you’ll miss your meal. If you stay long, send Guthrie back. Those...unsavory characters may decide to show up without their robot, and Guthrie may be needed.”

  “Yes sir,” Dakota said and took Guthrie by the hand. He led the robot to the side of the house where the two disappeared.

  “The Argent?” Pat asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  [ 5 ]

  Ekka disappeared into the kitchen and there was the sound of a match being struck, followed by the sound of pouring water.

  “You have in-doors plumbing?” Pat asked.

  “Only the best,” Billy said. “We even have an W.C. and a claw tub big enough for...”

  “Two?” Pat asked, and Billy slightly flushed.

  “Um. Let me show you around. I figured you’d want to see the library.”

  “Library? I never knew you to be much of a reader, Billy.”

  “Fact is, you never really knew me all that well. Mostly, you were chasin’ me. That is, when you weren’t drinkin’ with me.”

  Pat followed Billy from the main hall with the long, broad staircase, through a set of double doors and into a spacious room lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves.

  “Married life suits you,” Pat said and nodded, taking in the scene.

  “That it does.”

  Pat stepped to the shelves opposite and ran his fingers along the spines while Billy looked out the window to the front porch to see if the two strange interlopers had happened along.

  “Hmm,” Pat mused, and began calling out some of the titles as he moved his finger along, pausing occasionally. “Jules Verne’s From the Earth to the Moon.”

  “Fiction,” Billy said, and chuckled. “None on that shelf is real.”

  “Cooper’s Leatherstocking Tales, Kipling’s Captains Courageous, Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin...hmm. Rousseau. Shouldn’t that be in philosophy?”

  “Maybe so, but it’s still fiction,” Billy replied.

  “Yeah. I see your point. Where do you keep your scientific stuff?”

  Billy pointed. “That whole wall, although most of my engineering, metallurgical, and applied science is out in the workshop I built next to the Argent.”

  “There you go with ‘the Argent’ again. I’ll have to see this thing.”

  Billy continued to gaze out the window.

  “Bunch of medical texts here. Say, isn’t that—?”

  Billy turned to see Pat shiver. He recognized the book in the man’s calloused hand. “Yeah,” Billy said. “The Cell and Regeneration, by Jonathan Conklin, M.D. You don’t know how difficult it is to come by that book.”

  “He was a madman, wasn’t he?”

  “The worst kind. We all knew something was wrong with him, but no one pegged him until it was far too late. I know who he was, although the rest of the world hasn’t figured it out. It was something you said that tipped me off.”

  “Something I said. Hmph. I don’t recollect saying anything about the bird.”

  “It was before the Arcadia left Earth. In fact we were at that hotel in San Antonio—you, me, Ekka and Two Hats—and you mentioned something about a prostitute being cut up in Colorado Springs. It wasn’t until Ekka and Tesla and I were staying at Avi’s home in Ceylon with his family after
the return that I figured it out.”

  “You figured out what?” Pat asked.

  “Conklin. He was Jack the Ripper. The London Whitechapel murders ceased about the time he joined our merry band.”

  “Well I’ll be a mummy’s uncle.”

  “I’ve had time to think,” Billy said as he looked out the window again. There was a long pause, then he said, “Looks like we got company comin’. Are you loaded?”

  “I’m always loaded,” Pat replied.

  [ 6 ]

  When the two tall, orange-haired singleton men passed Billy’s gate they saw their quarry standing out in front of the house, posed to draw and shoot.

  “What do you think, Cort?” one asked the other.

  His twin looked at him and they both stopped a hundred yards from Billy Gostman and Pat Garrett. “I don’t know, Cort. I don’t expect it matters much what they do, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  Ekka came out onto the porch, but neither Billy nor Pat took their eyes off the strangers.

  “Go on back in the house, honey,” Billy said. “I’ll be in directly.”

  Ekka turned and went back into the house.

  Billy raised his voice, “State your business.”

  “Apprehending,” one of the two beings named Cort replied.

  “Who are you wanting to apprehend?” Pat Garrett’s voice boomed across the yard.

  “Him,” the other stranger said.

  Pat said to Billy, “Sounds reasonable.”

  “What are your names?” Billy asked.

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I like to know the names of the people I kill.”

  The two laughed as they dismounted.

  “Cort,” one of the two said.

  “Cort,” the other intoned.

  Pat whispered again, “Looks like we got two Corts here. What are the odds?”

  The two men named ‘Cort’ stepped together in tandem toward the waiting men.

  “That’s close enough,” Billy called.