Eden's Hammer (4 page)

Adrian finally spoke again. “Tomorrow, two of you will go out and get the information on what we’re going to be dealing with. Any volunteers to be first?”

March 3, morning

John and Isaac left before daybreak, promising to be back as quickly as possible—which was most likely in a few days—with the information. The other three were a little let down that they hadn’t been the first to go, but they knew their turns would come soon enough. Waiting was a skill soldiers develop, so they waited the way soldiers usually waited: bitching and crabbing amongst themselves. A soldier that didn’t bitch about a soldier’s life was a soldier with low morale.

Adrian walked the village to get an idea of the new structures and people, reviewing the terrain and building placements for defensive purposes. Roman walked with him. As they passed yet another new cabin, Adrian said, “Looking at this place It’s hard to believe I was only gone a year. It’s three times bigger, and I see so many faces I don’t recognize.”

Roman replied, “It could have been ten times, maybe twenty times bigger, but we’ve been extremely picky who we let in on a permanent basis. There are still many just looking for an easier ride, people who would be anything but an asset. Some of the grid survivors are just plain loony, also. As it is, we’ve still grown too big too fast. What was a tribe is a small town now. We’ve gone from the original handful to over two hundred. It’s unwieldy, but we let in people who have skills we need. I don’t know which I am prouder to have here: the doctor or the shoemaker. It’s unbelievable how fast we wear out shoes now, walking everywhere we go, working in the fields, going out hunting. We’re going to have to change our setup soon, though. Tribal meetings don’t work well anymore, and the majority of the villagers are new. The newcomers have been patient with me running things, but it can’t last much longer. We need to be better organized.”

Roman stopped and bent down to retie one of his shoe laces that had begun to come loose. He straightened up and resumed after a short pause, reminding himself of where he was in his talk.

“Thinking about that, I invited two new families in—old friends of mine. Perry was a lawyer, best one I ever knew, smart as hell and extraordinarily honest for any man, much less a lawyer. I asked him to come and write us a new constitution and a new set of laws. He’s been here a bit over six months and says they are almost ready to publish. The proposed laws are written in plain language that anyone can understand, but that didn’t make them easy to write. It’s amazing how hard it is to write a simple declarative sentence that can’t be twisted to suit anyone’s needs, tortured into a meaning it was never intended to have. There’s nothing more diabolical than the human mind when it is in trouble. But if anyone can do it, Perry can. He’s borrowing a lot from the old Constitution, but he’s plugging the holes in it. The new one won’t be warped into what the old one was turned into. We’re intent on Learning from our past mistakes, so that this one will be much clearer, simpler, and harder to ruin. Along with the constitution, he’s writing an instruction manual on how to follow it, getting into more detail on the thought process and philosophy behind it and using concrete examples. It’s sort of like the Federalist Papers, but his are officially binding because they are referred to in the constitution itself as such. Then the instructions refer back to the constitution, making a loop that’s going to be damn hard to break. I’m looking forward to reading it from corner to corner when he’s finished. It’s a hell of an undertaking.

“When the new constitution and laws are published, they’ll be distributed to each resident of voting age to study. By the way, voting age—at Perry’s suggestion—has been set at sixteen. In this brave new world, you’re an adult at sixteen, like it or not. A few years from now, we’ll begin having elections as the first appointed office holder’s age or die. I’m appointing the first office holders to make sure this gets off to a solid start, the way we want it to go.”

“The new constitution will be the law; anyone who disagrees can pack up and leave—and damned fast, too. I started this village, and I intend to put into place a solid system before I let go control. Perry has also created a code of laws that is fair and simple. There will be only a few criminal laws; they are written in plain English, and they have teeth. There are three forms of punishment: community service or reparation, banishment, and death. We’ll have no prisons or jails; however, in preparation for future growth down the generations, imprisonment is provided for, as well. Perry will be our judge, and all trials will be by peer jury. The jury sets the punishment if they find the person guilty. Perry’s also working on a new set of contract laws, which, it turns out, is more complex. Those, too, will be in plain English—well, as simple as possible, given the intricacy of commerce—and will be impartial between trading partners. I don’t expect to see those for a year or two, but they are codified into the new constitution by reference.

“The other old friend I was talking about is Tim. I asked him to come and be our town marshal, so to speak. We’ll come up with a different name for it, I think, but his job will be to keep the peace on a day-to-day basis and bring charges against individuals as necessary. Indictments will be by a system similar to a grand jury. I asked Tim to come because he is extraordinarily level-headed and has integrity that people intuitively respond to. He’ll be fair and he has no ties in the village, other than being an old friend of Matthew’s, Perry’s, and mine. By the way, Tim’s hobby is long distance shooting. He has a fifty-caliber rifle that he can pick strawberries with at a half mile or more.”

Adrian had only been partially listening to Roman. His focus was on keeping the village alive. Roman’s plans for the future were good and necessary, but there was a higher priority on Adrian’s mind at the moment. Adrian said, “This place is hopeless against a large band of determined raiders, Roman. We could give them hell for a day, maybe, but there are too many weak spots they could break through, and not near enough time to fortify those spots. Once this particular raider band is dealt with, we need to make those fortifications and then some. But for now, we’re obviously going to have to take it to the enemy and keep them away from this place.”

Roman just nodded. He understood what was driving Adrian’s thoughts and wasn’t the least bit put off by his long, rambling speech being ignored. He also knew Adrian well enough to know that he had absorbed the important parts of what Roman had said; the boy could absorb information like a sponge and store it for future reference while doing something else entirely. It was one of the many reasons he had wanted Adrian to come home. Adrian wouldn’t be distracted from the mission of defeating the raiders by anything in Heaven or on Earth.

March 3, mid morning

They arrived at Matthew’s blacksmith shop and entered. Matthew was holding a sawed-off over-under shotgun that had been modified with a slide action from a pump shotgun.

Matthew shouted, “Adrian! You’re a sore for sighted eyes! What got hold of you and where did you get that sorry haircut? Come over here and sit in the barber chair and let me fix that. On top of everything else, I’m the town barber now, too!”

After they shook with strong grips, Adrian asked, “Barber? How in the hell did you pick that trade up?”

“Aw, you know I’ve got two growing boys, and I was cutting their hair outside one day when someone walked by and asked how much I’d take for a haircut. Word spread, and next thing you know, I’m getting extra corn and bullets for something that simple. Cutting hair is easy. Sit down, I can’t stand looking at you; it looks like rats have been nesting in your hair.”

“I cut it myself with a bowie knife back in the mountains,” Adrian said as he sat down in the barber chair.

“Yeah, that would explain it.” Matthew started snipping. “This’ll only take a couple of minutes, and then maybe you’ll stop scaring defenseless women and children.”

Roman took a chair and watched with a smile. “There was a reason I brought you here this morning, Adrian,” he said.

Adrian asked Matt, “What’s that rig you were holding? Never saw an over under shotgun with a pump on it before.”

“It’s my newest invention. I just got it perfected, and I’m ready to give it a field trial. It’s a wild boar gun. You know how hard those pigs are to kill? Well, this little beauty will stop them dead in their tracks. It’s black powder and shoots a .779 caliber bullet that weighs a ton. It’s a sabot round. The slug is bimetallic with a hardened iron center made of three flechettes surrounded by soft lead, giving it both deep penetration and wide expansion. “

Matthew adjusted the tilt of Adrian’s head with finger pressure, then continued talking.

“It’s fast loading because it’s a breach loader—the rounds are placed in and the powder inserted behind it after breaking it open. The black power is a pre-measured quantity wrapped in wax paper. Once the powder is inserted, you tear a small hole in the end to expose the powder to the sparking device. I have a small piece of sharpened steel on a chain attached to the side of the action for tearing the paper. The paper-wrapped charge is sort of like the ones used during the Civil War, but loaded from the other end. This baby is fast loading, no ramrods, and extremely reliable. I went black powder because I’ve learned how to make it and it’s renewable, as they used to say. Saves those precious tailor-made factory loads for more important things, and it will bring even more trade in for black powder and bullets.”

Matthew adjusted Adrian’s head in the other direction.

“The pump is actually an electric generator. Remember those old shake‘em flashlights? Like that. The electric charge goes into two capacitors buried in the stock. I made the capacitors with foil and cardboard and wire. Then I covered the capacitors in melted plastic so they’re watertight.

They should last for decades. Pump the slide action to charge the capacitors, one capacitor for each barrel. There’s a switch to alternate the charging path for each barrel. When you pull one of the triggers, it releases the capacitor charge into a little sparking device I replaced the firing pin with, and
boom
! That big old heavy slug will go right through the thickest gristle of the biggest boar and penetrate deep, taking out their innards, making a big hole in the pig. Big hole, deep penetration, acres of internal damage, and ol pig drops in its tracks. I think I can convert one shotgun a week. It should be a good trade item.”

Adrian asked, “Why the electric stuff?”

“Because I can’t make mercury fulminate caps. This way, I don’t need to. This has a tremendously faster lock time, too—almost instantaneous.”

Adrian asked, “Shot it yet?

“Many times. Works great on the range now I’m going hunting and try it in the field. I shot it into a couple of pig carcasses to see how the round would penetrate and develop. It worked great, blew a hole all the way through. As the lead part expands, the steel flechettes keep going, but on diverging paths. I aided this by making the slug a hollow point, with the hole in the tip ending at the points of the steel flechettes. The holes coming out of the pig were from the flechettes—those babies do travel. The lead all stayed inside, blowing up everything in the chest cavity. I shot it at various distances, and it has a rainbow trajectory. It’s not a long-range gun. Shoot it over fifty yards, and you have to really start elevating the barrel. I was hoping for some rain so I could try it out wet, but it should work just fine. I want to put it to the real test before I trade any off, so I’m going to douse it with water and shoot it on the range again and then go hunting.”

“There you go—you look nearly human again,” Matt said to Adrian proudly.

Adrian stood. While brushing himself off, he asked, “How’s the family?”

“Outstanding! The boys are growing like weeds, and their mama’s as sassy as ever. Those boys are smart. Homeschooling is definitely the way to go; education is just too important to trust a stranger with. You guys get going, now; I got to close up shop and get to the range and then into the woods with my new gun. Good seeing you, Adrian. By the way, when are we going after those raiders?”

“Soon. We need good intel first, and two scouts left this morning. Soon as we can make a solid plan and round up enough men, we’ll be on our way.”

“Count me in, son, I’ll be there.”

“Already did, Matt. I knew I couldn’t keep you away if I tried. Not that I would want to, you understand.”

Roman said, “Matt, how about you round up Tim and Perry and the three of you come over for dinner tonight? I’d like Adrian to get to know you guys better.”

Matt smiled. “Done deal. See you around eight.”

March 3, noon

As Roman and Adrian completed their tour of the village and headed back home, they encountered Linda and her young son, Scott. Roman said, “Linda! Just who I wanted to see. This is my nephew, Adrian; you’ve probably heard me mention him.”

Adrian said, “Hello, Linda, Roman mentioned you last night, I’m happy to meet you.” Adrian was a bit surprised Roman hadn’t told him how pretty she was.

Linda replied, “Happy to meet you, too! Is it true you have baby bears all over the mountains? Just kidding; those rumors and stories about you are entertaining as all get out, though. Seems to be all anyone talks about sometimes.”

Adrian was momentarily non-plussed and Roman jumped in with a grin. “Linda, how about you and Scott come over for dinner tonight? Sarah’s making fried chicken, and it’s going to be something special. I swear I think she killed half our chickens in honor of Adrian’s homecoming. Plus, it will give Adrian a chance to pick your brains about those raiders. Matt, Tim, and Perry will be there, too. What do you say, can you make it?”

“Absolutely. We look forward to it,” she replied.

CHAPTER 4

March 3, evening

T
hat evening, Matt, Tim, Perry,
Linda, Scott, Roman, Sarah, and Adrian were seated around the kitchen table.

Linda gently chided her son, “Scott, please slow down. I know it’s a lot better than my cooking, but show some respect and don’t shovel it in like that.” Turning to Adrian, who was smiling at Scott in male camaraderie to help ease the boy’s embarrassment, she asked, “Adrian, I heard a lot of wild stories about you over the past year—what’s the true story?”

Adrian replied, “I left here after my wife died and headed for the mountains in Colorado. I took it on myself to live a stone age life, to keep my mind occupied as a distraction from grieving. That’s a hard row to hoe, but it helped. Say, Roman, I forgot to ask—did those people from Palo Duro Canyon show up?”

“Sure did—nice folks. They’re turning into good farmers. That redheaded boy is one hell of a hunter, too. Glad you sent them to us.”

Adrian looked back at Linda. “When I got into the mountains, I got cross-ways with a group of cannibals. They ticked me off some, so I decided to take them to school. I went to war with them, stone age style. That lasted for quite a while, with me slowly picking them off. But then they took hostages from a nearby village, so my war with them ended at that point. I went to the village and they were just about to launch a frontal attack on the cannibals.”