bad road to the dead river - 26. barbary coast

by nick nelson

part twenty-six of thirty-two

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“so these friends of yours, who don’t have good looks, what do they have? what do they do?” joanie asked. “big ticket is a strong woman - she picks things up - stuff the marks bring, and challenge her to pick them up. and she’ll fight - fight anything , men, women, animals, anything.” anything? joanie thought. aloud, she said, “and your other friend?” “that’s judy - flabby judy. she’s a fat lady. really fat.” “yes, but what does she do?” “i told you, she’s a fat lady. people pay to look at her.” “why?” joanie persisted. “because she’s so fat.” “they pay to look at her just because she’s so fat?” joanie had a vague memory of reading about such things in the history books she had read in the library back in the heartland, but she never thought they would still exist in the thirty-third century. “that doesn’t sound very edifying,” joanie told ruby. “it’s not an edifying world. especially in the big city, or on the barbary coast.” joanie did not know what to say to that. she took another sip of her cold tea, and asked. “so tell me again what you want from me?” “see, when we get to the city - if we make it to the city - we have to deal mostly with agents, and even if we run into a working crew on the road we have to deal with some kind of boss. now what they are always looking for is good looking young ladies such as yourself. they will at least look at you and hear you out, and when they do, you can tell them you have some pals - like me and ticket and judy - and maybe they could look at us too. that’s all.” “would that work?” joanie asked. “it’s worth a try. of course” - ruby looked straight at joanie - ““we would just be trusting you to speak up for us. the world is filled with schmucks and backstabbers and judas iscariots who would ride with us and then let us down when we got to the city. but i don’t think that’s you. just looking at you, i don’t think you are that kind of person at all. you wouldn’t let a pal down, would you?’” “i don’t think so.” “i know you wouldn’t. say - can you drive a truck? an old-fashioned truck that you have to drive?” slightly bewildered by the change of subject, joanie said, “yes, i can drive a truck. i’m from the heartland, almost everybody in the heartland can drive a truck.” “that’s good,” ruby said. “better and better.” she finished off her coffee and stood up. “well, kid, think about what i said, and i will probably see you around. how much longer did you say you could stay here?” “about two weeks.” “then i will see you again for sure.” and ruby left joanie with her thoughts. that was all kind of interesting, joanie mused . but scarier the more she thought about it - especially ruby’s casual “if we get to the city”. and all that about the agent’s liking her “good looks”. what was she supposed to do with her “good looks”? just get looked at? joanie was innocent, but she was not that innocent. 27. bsd road

bad road to the dead river - 22. the phone

by nick nelson

part twenty-two of thirty-two

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the lawyer, anne greenleaf, and her client, rutherford b hayes, returned to the interrogation room much sooner than taft had anticipated. “so soon?” he asked pleasantly. “yes,” greenleaf said. “i think we might be able to clear this up pretty quickly.” “how so?” taft asked. “just how sure is this - officer -“ she nodded towards grundy - “that mr hayes here is the man he encountered previously and acted in what the officer regarded as a suspicious manner?” “i am not at all sure,” grundy answered, before taft could get a word in. “in fact, the more i think about it, the more i think he wasn’t the guy i saw at all.” “well, then, i guess there s nothing more to say, is there? i think we can all go home now, or go about our business, can’t we?” taft knew when he was beaten. he managed not to look at grundy, whom he felt like beating with a stick. “well then,” greenleaf said, “imy client and i bid you a good evening.” “there is just one thing,” taft said. “and what is that?” taft addressed rutherford b hayes. “don’t you want your phone back?” “um - oh yeah, sure.” greenleaf stared at taft. “well - why don’t you just give it back to him?” “i was not sure how cooperative mr hayes was going to be, or ” - taft glanced at grundy - “how easily the situation would be resolved. so i sent his phone to be copied. which i have the authority to do, under regulation -“ “whatever,” greenleaf interrupted him. “do you want to wait around for it?” she asked rutherford b hayes. “um - i am not sure;” “we can have it sent to you ,” taft said. “if you don’t want to wait.” “uh - that might be best, ” rutherford b hayes said. “what is your address?” “send it to me,” greenleaf said. “to the legal assistance office, to my attention - anne greenleaf.” taft was astonished, and showed it. “are you sure?” “positive.” * when greenleaf and rutherford b hayes were gone and the door closed behind them, taft turned to grundy. “grundy, what have you done?” “i don’t know - you tell me.” “how weird was that - having the phone sent to her?” “who knows?” grundy seemed amused by the whole thing. “maybe they are old pals. maybe they fell in love in room 24 and can’t wait to find a motel and get serious. i don’t care. do you?” “but - the whole thing is crazy. crazy from start to finish. and we let him slip through our fingers. the captain isn’t going to like it when i make my report. he will want answers from both of us.” grundy stood up. “we can sort it out with the captain tomorrow. right now, my mom is probably worrying about me. good night, lieutenant.” * a few minutes after grundy left, a tech returned with rutherford b hayes’s phone. “that was easy,” she told taft. “what was easy about it?” “there was nothing on it. no stored data, not a single phone number stored, no texts or e-mails.” “like it was brand new? was it registered?” “it was registered to mr kenneth kangaroo, of carlsbad new mexico. but no mr kangaroo is listed as living in carlsbad new mexico at this point in time.” the tech laughed. “we could try to trace him. do you want us to?” “let me think about it,” taft said. “leave the phone with me.” 23. the slip

bad road to the dead river - 21. must be awkward

by nick nelson

part twenty-one of thirty-two

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when he returned to the interrogation room and was introduced to his lawyer, the man calling himself rutherford b hayes requested to consult with the lawyer in a private room. taft had no choice but to agree. “it’s not getting any earlier here,” grundy told taft, when the lawyer and the man had left. “can i go home?” taft hesitated. “no, the lawyer might want to ask you about your identification. you better stay.” “but i already told you, i am not sure about him.” “tell her whatever you want. it might just drag things out if she wants to talk to you.” “can she ask him anything?” corelli put in. “this is not a courtroom.” “i don’t really know,” taft admitted. “but i just want to move things along. the captain won’t like it if we get bogged down in a lot of back and fort.” “then why not just let the guy go, and move on?” corelli asked. “i think we are too far along to do that.” “but can i go home?” corelli asked. “what do you need me for?” “yes, you can go home. i will call the front desk to send a replacement for you.” “thank you.” “wait. before you leave, have a copy made of this.” taft handed corelli rutherford b hayes’s phone. “and everything on it?” “of course. why else would i have it copied?” “you want me to wait for it?” “no, no, just tell them to do it double quick and send it back to me.” * the room in which the lawyer, anne greenleaf, and rutherford b hayes found themselves was the size of a closet, with two hard chairs and a small table, and had a single small high window. it was much closer to rutherford’s idea of an interrogation room than the large windowed room he had been brought to by taft. “all right, let’s get started,” greenleaf said. she switched her phone to record and put it on the small table. “i am anne greenleaf, an attorney for imperial city legal assistance. my id number is 78-628-h-52. and i am speaking with mr rutherford b hayes -“ “excuse me. that is not my real name.” “ah. all right.” greenleaf showed no surprise. she switched off the phone. “why don’t you tell me your real name and then we can start over.” “i don’t have a real name. or any name.” “well, that must be awkward. “ “yes, it can be sometimes.” “I tell you what, why don’t i turn the recorder back on and you can tell me about how and why the secret service picked you up. then we can go back later, and sort of fill in the blanks.” “all right.” the man no longer calling himself “rutherford b hayes” or anything else briefly recounted his encounter with taft and grundy. “and that’s it?” greenleaf asked when he had finished. “you have no idea why they picked you up? none at all?” “no, i do not.” “tell me… rutherford .. you don’t mind if i still call you rutherford…?” “it’s as good a name as any.” “do you suffer from … blackouts… do you suddenly sort of wake up and not know where you are?” “no, i don’t think so. it is just that i don’t know my name or who i an or where i came from.” “you must get through the days somehow. you don’t even look like a bum. much. ” “somehow is right. and i am not a bum. or a psycho or a criminal or a fake or a bad person. i am not any of those things.” “you don’t have to convince me. i am sure you are not.” 22. the phone

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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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 - 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