bad road to the dead river - 6. indications

by nick nelson

part six of thirty-two

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“now, what if i were to tell you,” mr wilson continued, as the fire sparked and cracked, and shadows quivered gently on the walls of his cozy study, “ that there are indications, just indications, mind you, that no one has as yet been so bold as to consider decisive, that mr bryan’s theories, so derided at the time, may have some basis in reality… eh, what would you say to that?” “i would say i found it most interesting, sir,” the professor replied. “interesting, no doubt. does it surprise you?” “i endeavor never to be surprised, sir. marcus donadius pronounced surprise to be the mark of an incurious mind, and i have always tried to be curious, if nothing else.” mr wilson nodded. “tell me, what do you think of mr bryan’s basic assumption - that the appearance of a force from - let us say, from outside what is quaintly referred to as human ken - would cause the disputatious tribes of mankind to draw together in solidarity against the outsider.” the professor considered this. “it would seem, at first glance, to be quite dubious. the history of the world in the last few centuries especially would seem to be against it. the native tribes of america did not unite against the europeans, neither did the barbarian kingdoms of africa, or the motley empires of asia. of course, the similarities may be far from exact. may i ask if you are at liberty to give a more detailed description of what you call ‘indications’ in this matter, and if so, are you inclined to do so?” “ for various reasons, i am not inclined to do so, “ mr wilson smiled. “but what do you mean by similarities that might be far from exact?” “the europeans did not arrive on other continents as a unified body. they were battling each other for the spoils, and in doing so sought - they sought - alliances with this or that native triibe or kingdom. would invaders from outer space, in present circumstances, have any interest in doing so? and could they be expected to derive any advantage in doing so? this last factor, especially, would seem to apply, whether they arrived in a body, or as competing bodies - bodies competing with each other.” “that is very good, young man, very good.” mr wilson shifted in his chair, as if he were about to sit up straight in it, but then relapsed into his habitual slouch. “that is a possibility i had not considered.” “and which is that, sir?” “that the invaders would come, not as one, but as entities warring with each other. what a thought!” “i did not mean to alarm you, sir,” the professor said. “am i to take your concern to indicate that there is some substance to these speculations?” mr wilson did not reply to the professor’s question, but shook his head and looked into the fire. “i wonder if i should broach this possibility with mr capone.” he sighed. “i suppose i must.” “i am sorry if ii disturbed you, sir,” the professor repeated humbly. “oh, no, not all. i brought you here because you would not be afraid to disturb me. unlike the lackeys and china figurines in the state department. ” mr wilson lapsed into silence. “do you have anything else you wish to discuss with me, sir?” the professor finally asked. “am i free to go? “what? why, are you in a hurry in to get back to your post? stay awhile, make yourself comfortable. my cook serves an excellent breakfast.” 7. moran

bad road to the dead river - 5. venus and mars

by nick nelson

part five of thirty-two

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“ - as surely as the farmer feeds us all, as surely as this great land of ours is covered with rolling fields of wheat, as surely as noah built the ark and little david smote goliath, as surely it is, my friends, that we are fast approaching a crisis not only in the history of our uniquely blessed nation , but in the history of mankind - “ mr bryan poured forth his eloquence under a cloudless blue sky. he held a little fan, that looked like a cabbage leaf, in his left hand, and occasionally waved it under his face, but did not really seem discomforted by the heat. a crowd of about twenty thousand people, mostly farm folk, and many with picnic baskets and blankets that they had spread out on the trampled grass, stretched to the horizons around the red white and blue bedecked grandstand. “it was not so long ago,” said “cowboy” grant, “that he could go on like this without a microphone.” “i am sure ,” “rebel” roussel replied. “let’s find some shade. he sounds like he can go on forever.” the two city slicker reporters were about thirty yards directly in front of the bandstand. they had come early to get such a good vantage, and had stood in the heat for hours. “there is no shade,” cowboy said. “how about a lemonade stand?” reb asked. “it’s not worth beating back through the crowd, and besides, he is getting ready for his big announcement - if he has one. i know his style.” “if you say so.” rebel took her fedora off and started fanning herself with it. “in the history of mankind,” mr bryan was repeating. “and what do we find today - the same dissensions, the same inability to just get along that has beset the tribes of men since the times of abraham and moses, of tilgath pileser and hammurabi the lawgiver. when, oh when, will there be finally be peace on earth?” “when the lord returns again!” a little woman in a huge straw hat, ten feet away from rebel and cowboy, shouted, but neither mr bryan nor the crowd paid her any mind. “my friends,” mr bryan continued, ” as you may know, in my humble capacity as secretary of state, representing our great president mr john dillinger, i am scheduled to fly to europe in two days to take part in yet another peace conference, in yet another attempt to dispel the dark clouds of war which are gathering over the earth yet again. i hope and pray that i, and my colleagues representing the other great nations of the world, may have some success, and i ask that you pray on our behalf. and yet - and yet - i must ask why, why at this stage of the world’s history, must we even have nations - why can not all mankind live together as one family?” “because the lord has not returned yet!” shouted the little woman in the big straw hat. “what would it take?” mr bryan resumed after a few seconds’ pause, “what would it take for the nations to stand shoulder to shoulder together? would it take a plague? would it take fire from the sky? would it take an invasion from a mighty army from beyond the earth - from venus or mars? i ask you, my dear friends, would not the nations come together in such a case? of course they would! why then, i ask you, can they not come together now? with this question, i leave you to prepare for my journey. i see many of you folks have brought picnic baskets with you, and i wish i could join you in emptying them, and in enjoying this beautiful summer day. thank you.” “i don’t know,” said a farmer in overalls a few feet in front of the two reporters, “ sounded like a bit of bolshevism to me, all that about the nations coming together.” another man, who might have been his brother, shook his head. “mr bryan isn’t as young or sharp as he used to be.” “that’s it? ” reb said to cowboy, “we came all the way down here in this heat to listen to that? what was all that about venus and mars at the end?” “probably something in the bible. come on, let’s get out of here, get to the lemonade stand before it runs out.” “ i could use something a little stronger than lemonade. you said you knew someplace in this dry land, where the desperate can find comfort?” “of course. just stick with me.” 6. indications

bad road to the dead river - 4. mr bryan's speech

by nick nelson

part four of thirty-two

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to begin at the beginning, click here

twenty-two years earlier. a gray morning in the city room of the chicago flame -oracle. macdonald “mac” mccarthy, the city editor, was writing a memo, staring at the pad through the curiously curved glasses that made his eyes look like a frog’s. mac was an old-fashioned newspaperman's old-fashioned newspaperman. he was one of those guys who look fifty-five years old when they are twenty-five, and look fifty-five when they are seventy-five. you wanted to see me, mac?” a voice above him said. “yes, i did, reb. just hang on a second here while i write a blistering memo to the home and garden department.” “make it good and blistering. don’t spare them on my account.” mac didn’t answer, but took his time finishing his memo and popping it into the pneumatic tube behind his desk. rebecca “rebel” roussel, ace reporter for the flame-oracle, watched him from under her trademark arched eyebrows, which were shaded by her jaunty blue panama hat. “is mrs johnson still mad at me?” reb asked, when mac was finished, mac looked up.“oh no, no, that’s ancient history, “ he assured reb, but without looking directly at her. but he never looked directly at anybody, unless he was really mad and giving them what he called “an old-fashioned what-for.” this happened about once every three years. “then what do you want? i’ve had a long morning, and i have a date wth a scotch and water at barney’s.” “you know that the secretary of state, mr bryan, is flying to paris on wednesday for a round of peace talks with - with - whoever… “ “with boss finnegan and the sultan of booboo. and you want me to cover it? when did i get transferred to the foreign desk?” “oh no, no, nothing like that. before he heads off to paris, mr bryan is going to make a speech on monday at the cattleman’s annual picnic down in the southern part of the, at booneville or toonerville or some such place. and i would you like you to cover it.” “um - that isn’t exactly my line of country, mac. what is he going to talk about, a new cure for worms in cows?” “well, as you know, reb, mr bryan is known for making really surprising speeches in the most surprising places. and there is a rumor going around, just a rumor, you know, that he might make some kind of big speech about war in europe at this farmer’s shindig. and since you are my best reporter, i would really appreciate it - “ “you don’t have to butter me up, mac, i am happy to go. what am i, some kind of prima donna reporter that only goes where i want to go? just have maisie get me a ticket to flopville and i will be on my way on monday morning. i will even wash my face before i go.” “you’re a brick, reb. i knew you would come through.” “now if you’ll excuse me, i’ll get my lunch.” * reb found clarence “cowboy” grant, the ace reporter for the vigilant, waiting for her at the bar at barney’s. clarence called himself “cowboy” and usually sported a cowboy hat like will rogers’s, even though he had never been west of east st louis in his life. “you’ll never guess where i am going on monday,” clarence greeted reb. reb guessed, then laughed. “poor mac. i bet he thought he - we - had some kind of scoop.” “let’s just hope there is some kind of story, not just some of mister bryan’s usual sasparilla.” “the train ride is nice and scenic,” said reb, as whitey, the bartender, put her scotch and water in front of her. 5. venus and mars

bad road to the dead river - 3. mr wilson

by nick nelson

part three of thirty-two

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a silent maid took the professor’s hat, coat, and scarf , and the butler escorted hm down the hall to mr wilson’s study. mr wilson was seated alone in an armchair in front of a roaring fire. he rose, drink in hand, when the professor entered the room. “it was good of you to come, young man,” he smiled at the professor. “it is good of you to have me, sir,” the professor replied. “hot chocolate is your beverage of preference, if i recall.” “a hot chocolate would be very nice ,sir.” “bring us a pot of hot chocolate, nash, and a plate of muffins and scones.” “very good, sir.” the butler withdrew and closed the door behind him. mr wilson pointed to another armchair and the professor perched himself on it. “a pretty fire, eh?” mr wilson said as they waited for the butler. “i built it myself.” “it is quite impressive, sir.” “there is nothing quite so primally satisfying as a good roaring fire on a cold night. wine, women, beefsteaks, power, vengeance - all very well in their way, but nothing beats a good fire.” “if you say so, sir.” mr wilson chuckled softly and leaned back in his chair and they waited in silence until the butler brought the hot chocolate and scones and muffins. when the butler had once again closed the door , mr wilson’s face assumed a graver expression. “now, to business. i summoned you here because i wanted your perspective on some rapidly developing events - events which, as you may guess, have not made their way into the newspapers and may never do so.” “yes, sir.” mr wilson put his fingertips together and stared into the fire. “now, you know - or think you know - if you read the newspapers - what is the newspaper’s name again, that you are employed by?” “the federal-democrat, sir.” “of course, the federal-democrat, a so-called left-leaning paper, somewhat partial to the interests of the russian and mongol empires. in any event, the press in all its shades is reporting an increase in tensions between the teutonic federation and the anglo-saxon alliance, with the alliance professing to champion the independence of the small states between the teutons and the russians, eh?” “quite so, sir, although the russians themselves are taking a detached view, at least for the present. or, at least, so the papers say.” “exactly. so the papers say. but what do you think?’ “it is hard to imagine that the detachment is anything - anything at all, really. it can hardly even be called a ruse. but i do not think, sir, with all due respect, that you summoned me here to say so.” mr wilson smiled. “quite so. tell me, do you remember, or since you may be too young to remember, the late mr bryan’s views on the invasion of earth by entities from other planets, which caused so much amusement among his contemporaries.” “i have read of them, sir, and found them … quite intriguing, at least from the perspective of theory.” “i thought you might have. now what if i were to tell you…” 4. mr bryan's speech

bad road to the dead river - 2. the professor

by nick nelson

part two of thirty-two

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dago red, as usual, was in no mood for small talk. he brought his little truck to an abrupt stop. tossed the three bundles of newspapers at the feet of the three boys, jumped back in his seat and drove off. a quick look at the ordinary sized headline - tensions mount - prez urges calm - showed that there would be no war, and no extra edition, at least until the afternoon. gus the greek, the oldest and strongest of the three boys, grabbed his bundle and hoisted it on his shoulder. “i’ll see you two kikes later.” he disappeared into the swirling snow. benny was left alone with the professor. benny would have liked to get going too, but he knew the professor always liked to talk for a while, and expound his views on the world situation, and benny, being naturally an easygoing sort, usually humored him. the professor was a couple of years younger than benny, small for his age, wore the thickest glasses in the world, and had strong opinions on a lot of subjects. whether he developed these opinions himself or was repeating what he heard from older people, was not something benny had ever wondered about. “well, prof, what do you think?” benny asked. “do you think we might get a war and some extras tomorrow?” the professor pulled his scarf away from his face. “ i think we better get a move on if we want to sell any papers before we are buried under five feet of snow.” “good thinking,” benny agreed readily. he headed uptown, to “his” spot in the sheltered entrance to the b train subway station. the professor was left at his own spot, on the corner in the wind and snow. but he did not have to wait long to sell his first paper. a long black limousine pulled up in front of him. the rear passenger side window rolled down anda familiar face looked out. “hello, kid.” “hello, lugg. what can i do for you today?” “mister w wants to see you. he is thirsting for your advice.” “what about these papers?” “i will give you the price of them all. “ “but - “ “i know, someone might complain to the paper if you ain’t here. we brought a ringer along, just like the last time.” another car pulled up behind the limo, and a voice shouted - “hey, kid, any time you want to sell a poor man a paper!” “sure, mister!” the professor hurried down to the car, ran around to the driver’s side, handed the driver a paper and collected his nickel . “sorry to keep you waiting, mister!” the professor backed off as the car roared away. when he got back to the limo, the “ringer”, a dwarf named grundy, was waiting to take the bundle of papers from him. the professor got in the back seat with lugg, and the limo moved smoothly away from the curb, turned around and headed bak out of town. “mister w must want my advice awful bad, to go to all this trouble.” the professor said to lugg. “maybe. who knows what he wants? just relax and enjoy the ride. the snow began to fall heavily, and the limo’s new high-powered windshield wipers were put to the test as they headed into the wind. 3. mr wilson

bad road to the dead river - 1. benny

by nick nelson

part one of thirty-two

to read prologue, click here

it looks awful cold out there, benny. and the sky is gray. you should check with mrs anderson to see if it going to snow.” “i’ll be all right, mom. it is either gong to snow or it isn’t. and mrs anderson probably isn’t up yet.” “she’s up. i can hear her.” benny laughed. “o k, maybe i will look in on her. this sure is good oatmeal, mom, the best ever. “ “make sure you tie your scarf nice and tight now, and i polished your crutch for you, so people can see it in the shadows as they drive by.” “aw, you didn’t have to do that. and most of my customers walk or take the trolley, they don’t drive, you know that.” “but you never know, some billionaire might be driving by and like your looks and give you a real job.” “selling the federal-democrat is a job, mom. maybe not the greatest job, but is a job.” “i want you to have a real job, in an office, where you wear a suit and tie and have a secretary.” “well, maybe someday.” benny finished his oatmeal and liked his spoon clean. he got up from the kitchen table and hobbled over to the low cupboard where he kept his jacket, cap, scarf and crutch. mrs bergdorf was looking out the window. “here comes the snow.” “then i guess i won’t have to bother mrs anderson,” benny said, as he wound his scarf around his neck, and adjusted his crutch under his left arm. “you could still ask her how much snow. and you should put on your gloves.” “i’ll think about it.” benny had gloves but only wore them when the temperature was below zero, because it was too hard to make change with them on. his mom rushed to open the door for him, and he went out into the landing and began clumping down the seven flights of stairs to the street. he paused before mrs anderson’s room on the second floor. there was a crack of light under the door. mrs anderson was the building’s resident witch. benny decided not to call on her. he could see for himself through the little window ion the landing that the snow was really starting to come down. and dago red, and not old sarge, would be on the truck today and he never waited even a second if a guy was a little late. the wind and snow hit benny in the face when he pushed the door open. he didn’t care. it promised to be a good morning to sell papers. war was in the air! it might even have been declared last night! there might even be an extra. he hurried down the street to the drop off spot on lexington. 2. the professor

bad road to the dead river - 0. prologue

by nick nelson

part zero of thirty-two

the space fleets and home fleets of the combined human empires had been wiped out. * it seemed just a matter of time before the humans were overrun. the only mystery was why the aliens had not simply blown the human headquarters to kingdom come and been done with it. the only explanation the humans could think of was that the aliens wanted to capture the last leaders or representatives of the human empires, to study for their own purposes. although the aliens, once they had made their real intentions known, had never shown any interest in capturing humans for any purposes, and had simply obliterated them. * the human armies had been reduced to two companies of infantry, which were attempting to protect the human headquarters. the headquarters was located in a valley somewhere east of suez, in the shadow of some mountains . the valley was enclosed on three sides by rivers, but these of course posed no obstacle to the alien armies. there were several castles on the plain, abandoned by humans centuries ago, and the aliens were quartered in them, and the only plan the humans had was to periodically attempt to attack and retake the castles. attempts which had not met with any success, or were expected to. morale among the human troops was low. * the time for recriminations among the humans had passed, and the representatives of the seven human empires were left to ponder what might have been, if they had met the alien threat in a different fashion. when the aliens had first appeared, the first instinct of each of the various human empires had been to attempt to align with the aliens, to gain advantage over their historic rivals. chancellor hitler of the teutonic empire, mr capone of the american empire, and ms x of the olduvai empire had been the most forthright - or at least the most obvious - in pressing their claims on the aliens, but the others - general khan of the golden horde, prince saladin of baghdad, ms nan of the pacific empire, and lady chiang of the middle kingdom - had also made their advances in less obvious or more subtle fashion. * but the efforts of all were thwarted - by the rise of the popular movement led by the lovely and charismatic joanie smith . joanie had, seemingly, come out of nowhere, to the consternation of the oligarchs and their lackeys. * 1. benny