The Dying Time (Book 2): After The Dying Time (7 page)

Nicolo cringed mentally. That sort of question put his competence as commander of the Royal Intelligence Service in doubt. He would have to answer carefully.

“When the rangers scouted them, there was nothing to suggest they had an air force, my King,” he said with almost imperceptible emphasis on the word rangers. “The Freeholds looked like just another settlement of farmers. There was no airstrip, no hangars, not even a windsock.” That should do it. After all, the rangers weren’t part of his command. It wasn’t his fault they didn’t do their job right. They were part of the King’s Army.

“I see,” the King glowered. “So my rangers were at fault, eh. And where, Bonetti, where the hell were your spies?”

God, Nicolo thought, feeling the sweat pop out on his brow. So now I’m Bonetti. When he’s pleased he calls me Nicolo, or even Nicky. He hadn’t meant to imply that the King was to blame. He glanced swiftly at Prince Anthony, his only source of possible support. Anthony, who had looked interested at the mention of tiny planes, was studiously ignoring him. Nicolo knew he must take great care not to offend the King further. The injustice of his situation rankled though.

“The Freeholds is a very close knit community, Your Majesty,” Nicolo said softly. “They don’t trust strangers. The same is true of the people in Utah. These places take time to infiltrate.” Unspoken were the words, more time than you gave me. “Anyone attempting to do so must have a solid cover. Still, we are seeding agents in both communities. We’ve made a good start, but we’re not established yet. However, by the time Your Majesty launches the invasion, my people will be in place.”

“They’d better be,” the King threatened, switching off his temper like an electric light. Though Joey often pretended to lose control, he rarely did. He smiled inwardly as Nicolo’s posture softened and the man began to relax. Fear was Joey’s favorite tool.

“One of my men has located an ideal invasion site, Your Majesty,” Nicolo continued, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt. He believed he would survive now. It was touch and go there for a minute. He had saved this small piece of dessert for last, hoping to change the subject.

“And where might that be?” Prince Anthony asked, offering token support now that the battle was over. Anthony’s casual dress, baseball cap, tee shirt and jeans, contrasted sharply to John’s crisp uniform; but it was Anthony who, without conscious effort, projected the airs of royalty.

“Western Utah, Sire, near the town of Nephi.”

“And what, if anything, has this fiasco taught you about our future subjects’ military capabilities?” Prince John interjected. He wasn’t letting Nicolo off the hook so easily.

But for the first time in what felt like ages, Nicolo was ahead in the game. He had been expecting such a question and had his answer ready; an answer he knew would please the King. “They appear to have no armor or artillery,” he replied.

“No armor?” questioned the King. His smile, which had vanished with the bad news, was threatening to return. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a disaster after all? An increase in the slave drafts would replace the soldiers lost in the probing attacks.

“No artillery?” asked Anthony.

“None,” Nicolo stated, with a tentative smile.

“You’re certain,” John challenged, upset at seeing Bonetti weasel out from under his father’s disapproval this way. If Nicolo was gone he might be able to absorb the Royal Intelligence Service.

Nicolo’s smile almost faltered, before he reasserted complete control over his face. It went against his nature to make statements he couldn’t hedge, but this time he felt confident he could predict the future accurately.

John caught the brief flicker in Bonetti’s smile. But then Bonetti had white, even teeth, like Anthony and John tended to notice good teeth, comparing them with more than a touch of envy to his own rotten mouthful.

“As certain as I can be this early in the game,” Nicolo stated. “Of course, we don’t know anything about the Mormons in Utah yet, but while the Freeholders were able to hide a couple of small aircraft, there’s no way they could have hidden tanks and howitzers.”

“Why wouldn’t they have armor?” the King asked. Tanks were among his favorite toys.

“Roads, Your Majesty,” Nicolo explained. “These areas experienced massive earthquakes and they’re only beginning to recover. Roads there are blocked by landslides, downed bridges and wrecked or abandoned cars. The quake damage is so severe in some cases roads simply end in canyons or cliffs. The whole area is such a mess, the troops attacking the Freeholds were forced to disable and abandon their light tank along the way.”

“At least we can do something about roads!” Anthony stated. If there was one thing the slave gangs of the Empire were good at, it was repairing roads.

“What of that other matter?” the King asked, bringing up old business. John smiled widely, forgetting for the moment to hide his rotten teeth. Jamal caught a flash of red and glint of light off John’s beret as the prince nodded toward him.

Nicolo’s smile faltered. Shit! Of all the times to bring that up. Just when he thought he might escape with his hide intact. “Your Majesty, we are still looking. There are hints the Garcias have fled to Wyoming or Colorado. Perhaps once we begin the invasion Your Grace would spare me a few men to continue the search.”

“Done,” the King scowled. He certainly wasn’t pleased with what Nicolo had called “mixed results”, but he enjoyed the man’s transparent terror. Fear, Joseph believed, was his greatest ally and Nicolo Bonetti must be reminded that his past betrayal would never be forgotten. Even Joseph’s sons feared him. Right now, though, he wanted a private conference with them, so when he spoke again his tone brooked no argument. “And speaking of done,” he said, glancing at both Nicolo and Jamal.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the Intelligence Chief said, bowing low as he and Jamal withdrew from the room.

The King’s eyes sought his sons. “Recommendations?”

Prince John was the first to respond. “A Navy launched assault force of twenty thousand troops. Beachhead in Utah. Another probing attack against the Mormons to test their strength.” He glanced at Anthony and added, “now that the element of surprise is lost.”

Anthony ignored the jibe and joined in. “The Navy can re-supply the troops until they become self-sufficient. It would help if John and I took to the field directly. These people may not be numerous, but we’ve seen what they can do against inferior commanders. Besides, I think those planes Nicky told us about might be ultralights and that’s given me a few ideas of my own that I’d like to try out.” Anthony was always vying for his father’s favor, especially if it involved overshadowing John.

Seeing the look in his father’s eyes he hastily added, “These States are important to our destiny, Father. Once we have them our Empire will control almost all that we know remains intact of the United States. Then we can turn our attention to Canada and Mexico and the rest of the world.” The twins’ language was always somewhat stiff and formal around their father, neither of them wishing to offend him in any way.

Joseph nodded uncertainly. He no longer cared to have his sons engage in combat, due less to any overwhelming parental concern than because, aside from Jamal, they were the only two men he trusted.

“Besides, Father,” Prince John said, for once agreeing with Anthony. “It improves morale when our troops are led by a Prince Royal. It lets them know the prize is worth taking. And between our training and our security squads the man hasn’t been born who can touch either one of us in combat.”

The King looked at the twins and knew it to be true. Mirror-images, both stood seven-feet-two-inches tall and weighed well over three hundred pounds, none of it fat. They were almost as big as Joseph.

Only in dress and attitude did his sons differ. That and their teeth--Joseph was almost ready to order John to a dentist. The stench was hard to ignore. If only John wasn’t so afraid of drills. Still, Joseph thought his boys were worthy to be successors to his realm. He was even proud of them in his own way.

“Permission granted,” he said. He waved a massive arm toward the slave. “Drinks! Drinks for me and my sons!” he roared. “We’ll celebrate our victories, past, present and future.”

The table slave jumped to comply, opening and pouring Dom Perignon into the enormous hand carved crystal decanters that served the three giants as wine glasses. Her task completed, she stepped swiftly back from the table, assuming the air of submissive servility she found would cause them to dismiss her completely from their minds. Once she had been an actress, Lola MaDonna, one of Joseph’s favorites, but now she was even denied the dignity of a name.

She controlled a shudder, hoping they wouldn’t get too carried away with their drinking. Just two weeks ago she had been beaten and raped by Anthony. She still felt unclean and her rectum had bled for days, but none of her hatred showed on her face or in her downcast eyes. Instead she forced herself to remember that acceptance was the lot of a slave and that hope was for fools. Still, her ears heard and her memory recorded every word they said and word of the Freeholds sent her heart racing. Could her sister, Jill, be alive?

*

Later, as the King walked back to his private chambers, his mind recalled the delights awaiting him there. “Don’t.” The faint cry of his remnant conscience was easier to ignore now. Instead, the thought of the two eight-year-old girls in the Royal Chambers stirred his loins.

He was so large he often tore them in his passion. Sometimes their screaming and bleeding would stop before he was spent; but whether they lived or died during his pleasure, he treated them all the same, gathering them in his arms in a tender, loving embrace and rumbling out a lullaby. He loved his little ones. His eyes glowed with an unclean light as he hastened onward.

Chapter 7: Visitors and Allies

The ISS

“But it doesn’t look like North America,” Yuri Gargarin Yurimentov declared pointing first to the map on his computer screen, then out the porthole window towards Earth.

Mia Torno, resident cartographer and geophysicist, grabbed her dark brown braid and pinned it back in place. If left loose, it floated all over the place in the zero G environment of the ISS and got in the way. Yuri, now twelve, could be maddeningly logical. This was his first “field trip” from Luna City and it was obvious to her he wanted to make the most of it.

“That’s because our maps up here are out of date,” she explained.

“Why?” he asked

“Because after the asteroid hit massive earthquakes caused slippage in the tectonic plates which resulted in changes to continental outlines we haven’t finished mapping yet. You remember what tectonic plates are, don’t you?” She had to take the offensive quickly or he’d “why” her to death.

“The things continents sit on,” he said with a hint of triumph.

“Pretty good,” Celia Olafsdotter said as she floated into the lab.

“I know all about plate tectonics,” Yuri boasted.

“Really,” Celia raised her platinum blonde eyebrows. She pointed to a volcanic plume drifting eastward from somewhere in the remains of Illinois and asked, “So if volcanoes erupted all over the world after the impact, why didn’t the Yellowstone Caldera blow?” Rather than the explosive catastrophe some scientists expected the caldera had simply started oozing magma. She was a volcanologist and that question genuinely puzzled her.

Yuri squirmed in his seat, his lap belt keeping him from drifting away from the computer. His eyes shifted as his mind raced. Finally, he said, “Maybe because all the new volcanoes took the pressure off? Or maybe the shift in the crust moved it off the hotspot?”

Celia and Mia both smiled at him. “Very good,” Celia said. Those were her own best guesses too. Yuri was a bright one, but then it seemed all the children of Luna City were intelligent. She peered out the viewport amazed at how the Gulf of California had expanded into Arizona, as well as the Mohave desert of California, Nevada and western Utah. The terminator line between daylight and darkness was coming up. It would soon reach the Gulf of Mexico, now covering the eastern portions of Texas, Oklahoma and Kansas.

She’d seen her homeland, Iceland, the last time she pulled duty in the ISS and it was almost unrecognizable. Torn apart by volcanic activity, it jutted up more than two thousand feet higher than before. Her one consolation was that she’d seen lights and known there were survivors, perhaps even her parents.

“Mom calls that home,” Yuri said, pointing toward the Earth. “She says she could walk outside without a suit and breathe without an air tank. I think that would be fun. When can we go home?”

A lump formed in Celia’s throat and tears flooded her aquamarine eyes. She caught up a tissue and blotted them before they could escape and drift around the lab.

“We can’t, Yuri,” Mia said, her voice hoarse. “Luna is our home now.” And it was true. Earth’s gravity would kill them if they returned. Their attention was so focused on meeting and surviving the challenges of living on the moon that they hadn’t even tried contacting Earth in almost ten years. No one ever answered and the silence became too depressing. They still listened and observed though, hoping against hope that someone from that madhouse below would try to call them.

*

The Freeholds

September 4, 12 A.I.

A nose nuzzling Michael’s cheek and soft lips brushing his neck awakened him. He lay there, eyes closed, savoring the warmth of Ellen’s body and the apple blossom fragrance of her hair.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she whispered, placing a light kiss on his neck.

His eyes opened slowly and were drawn to her face.

“Good morning, sweetie,” he said.

It was early September, over six weeks since the Haley Massacre and Michael was almost fully recovered, faint yellowish spots were all that remained of his bruises. He was certainly recovered enough to know how he wanted to start this day. He put his arms around her and hugged her close.

“Wanna play?” he asked, cupping his hands around her large, lovely breasts.

“Do I ever,” she sighed. “Besides, your eyes are green.”

Green and gold highlights sparkled over the warm brown background of Michael’s eyes and just as the gold came to the fore during battles, the green became prominent whenever he was aroused. And Ellen could turn him on with little more than a smile.

Later, they lay entwined on the bed, basking in afterglow. She had her head on his chest and he had one arm around her, slowly stroking her from neck to thigh.

“Hey there, better half,” he grinned. It was good to snatch a little time for themselves. Since the attack, Ellen’s duties as President had consumed her.

“Hey there yourself, Mister-man,” she smiled back and snuggled even closer, wrapping herself around him. Her brow furrowed briefly as an outside thought tried to intrude, but she pushed it back. This was their time and she wasn’t about to let thoughts of the day’s upcoming meetings and strategy sessions come between them just yet. She kissed an ancient, puckered bullet scar on his chest, remembering how he got it, stepping between her and the bullet, offering his own life for hers. Her heart swelled and her eyes watered. She wondered if he’d ever realize just how much she loved him.

*

“Dad! Hey, Dad!”

Michael looked up, roofing hatchet poised mid-stroke, as his fourteen-year old son Steven barreled around the corner of the solar food-dehydrator Michael was working on and slid his bike to a halt in a cloud of dust.

“Dad! Uncle Jim says we need to have a town meeting tonight. He says Dan Osaka and his outriders made contact with an Indian tribe and they want to visit. Isn’t that great? I’ve got to go tell everybody. Bye!” And he was off like a flash.

Michael grinned at his son’s excitement, but had to admit the news was worth shouting about. The Freeholds hadn’t been visited by any of the tribes for almost a year. Most were friendly enough and all were a good source of news on what was going on in the outside world. A lot could happen in a year that was worth knowing about.

Michael believed the single greatest contributor to the collapse of civilization after the impact was the complete disruption of all communication facilities: no phones, no long range radios, no television, no intact roads and worst of all, in his opinion, no internet. Overnight, the Freeholds went from being part of a global village to an isolated settlement. To former news junkies like Michael and Ellen, not knowing the full extent of the catastrophe or the fate of family and friends was the worst thing that could occur.

Of course he’d learned what had happened within a couple of hundred miles of his home. Surviving The Dying Time, scouting and leading scavenging expeditions along the Front Range had impressed him with the magnitude of the disaster on the local level. He’d heard scattered reports about other areas from various tribes and travelers, but everyone in the Freeholds craved knowledge of the rest of the world.

Most of the continental United States had suffered terrible damage. Michael had watched, fascinated, as waves lapped lazily at a beach in central Kansas. Seeing that, he wondered how badly other continents had been damaged. What was left of Asia and Europe? How were survivors coping in Africa, South America and Australia?

Uncertainty is almost always worse than knowing.

Just the thought of getting news from the outside world brought a nostalgic smile to his lips. Anyone who came in peace and brought news was guaranteed a warm and sincere welcome.

The skies were clear that evening, so everybody met near the band shell in a pasture in the middle of the valley instead of inside the Meeting House. As usual, everyone attended who could, which meant there were close to two thousand adults and probably five or six times that many children, most of whom had been “adopted.”

Ellen and Michael had six kids and only one of them, Steven, was their natural child. Almost every family in the valley had been similarly expanded. They frequently took in orphaned or abandoned children found during foraging expeditions. Others found their own way to the valley or came in with an adult; such as when Leona Perry (now the principal of the school) wandered in a year after The Dying Time began with more than twenty children in tow.

Ellen called the meeting to order and turned it over to Jim Cantrell. She hated public speaking, whereas Jim’s on-stage experience as a professional musician made him comfortable with crowds.

“I guess I’ll begin by saying we’ve been contacted by the Cheyenne,” Jim said. “And while we’ve never had any direct dealings with them before, our friends among the Arapaho and Lakota have vouched for them. And if that isn’t enough, our old friends, Earl Baker and his family and The Troubled Land Band, have been traveling with them for mutual protection and both endorse them wholeheartedly.” A ripple of anticipation moved through the crowd. The music of the band was well remembered. Only Ellen and a handful of others knew the band kept in touch with the Freeholds during its journeys, reporting any significant information. Her favorite spies, she called them.

“I’ve saved the best for last. The Cheyenne come to us loaded with trade goods, so Ellen Whitebear wants to declare a two-day holiday when they arrive.”

Cheers interrupted him.

When the crowd settled down he continued. “If we agree to their request for a visit, they can be here the day after tomorrow and they’ll probably stay a week or two. Oh and before I forget, they have a traveling hospital with them too.

“Now I have the pleasure to introduce Daniel Windwalker of the Cheyenne. Daniel, come on up here and say howdy.”

Daniel stepped forward into a sea of polite applause. From down in the crowd, Michael noted that Daniel was tall and thin and looked rawhide-strong. His long black hair framed a face whose main features were two deep-set, steel-gray eyes, a large hooked nose and a wide mouth. Those eyes were lit with fires of friendliness now and the mouth was smiling, but Michael had a feeling those eyes could look otherwise at other times and that Daniel would make a far better friend than enemy.

“My friends,” Daniel began, as the applause died down. “My people have ridden and walked for almost a month to be here. There’s much news to share with you and I’m only going to touch on the highlights.

“The story of our travels begins at our hunting grounds near Riverton, Wyoming. Six weeks ago my people were savagely attacked by a large group of killers, calling itself the King’s Army.” Concerned looks were exchanged in the crowd.

“I understand you were hit by men who also claimed to be soldiers from this king.” Daniel could see several heads nodding agreement. “From what I’ve heard of that attack, the Cheyenne aren’t the only ones who know how to deal with scum.”

Daniel was interrupted by heartfelt applause. He held up his hands and waited for the noise to die down. “When we destroyed those who attacked us, we freed several captives from slavery.” That got the crowd’s attention. If there was anything the Freeholders were united in, it was a hatred of slavery. “The stories those people tell will curdle your blood. But what brought us here was a tale told by one of those ex-slaves who overheard one of the King’s officers discussing an attack against you.”

The crowd was dead silent now. Daniel continued. “My heart is sad that we are too late to bring you warning of that attack, but the soldiers hit you here about the same time our fight with them was ending. Fortunately, we are in time to warn you that what both our peoples have seen may just be the tip of the iceberg.” A wave of worried muttering rippled through the crowd.

“It’s in my mind that all of us, tribes and settlements alike, have closed ourselves off too much from each other and from what’s happening in the world. By doing so, we may have opened ourselves to a great threat. I ask that you grant my people the right to visit. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

A buzz of conversation arose from the crowd as people put their heads together and discussed what they had just heard. Some muttered about how the past twelve years had taught them not to trust strangers, while others responded that the Cheyenne were vouched for by friends of the Freeholds.

Ellen made her way through the crowd to where Michael stood. She touched his arm lightly and said, “What do you think?”

“I think his tribe’s just been through a hard fight and he knows they need friends,” Michael answered.

She stepped back a bit and gave Michael a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised. “Self-interest?”

“Partly--not that there’s anything wrong with that. But I believe him when he said he was sorry he couldn’t warn us before we got hit; and he’s right about us being too isolated.”

Ellen nodded her agreement, then spoke up. “If even half of what he said is true, we’ll be needing friends, too.” The look of concern in Michael’s eyes was answer enough for her. She broke away and headed back for the band shell.

The vote was overwhelmingly in favor of allowing the visit. In addition to being concerned about Daniel’s words of warning, most Freeholders were eager to trade with the Cheyenne.