The Rise of Ransom City (61 page)

Light leapt from the earth to the sky and back again. A hole opened up in the world. I do not mean that metaphorically. That is what the Process did— what it does— I did not fully understand that until I saw it open in the middle of Harrow Cross. It strips away the world and reveals the energy that lies beneath. That is why it seems to make more energy than you put in, and that is why it has strange effects on gravity and other forces, and that is why its light casts ghostly shadows of men and women from other worlds, and finally that is why it is so very dangerous.

An area about the size of White Rock right in the middle of Harrow Cross vanished into bright light, like the world was a map and somebody was holding a candle behind it until the light burned through.

I do not know how many people died, and I do not care to offer an estimate. No more than would have died in the siege anyhow, I think, or I hope.

“Died” is not precisely the right word, but it is good enough. It would be more accurate to say that they ceased to exist. Small comfort to anyone, I know.

The Kingstown Engine was reported lost after the battle. Opinions differ on who can take credit for its destruction— I believe it was me. The radius of the devastation was so great that it could have reached even the subterranean levels where the Kingstown Engine hid. I believe that I thereby shortened the siege by days at least, probably weeks— and who knows, maybe without me the Station would have not have fallen to the siege at all. Then who knows where we would be.

“When I was a boy,” I said to the adjutant, as we turned our faces away from the light and crouched behind a motor-car, “I read the
Autobiography
of Mr. Baxter over and over. Do you know it?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, he talked a lot about great men and how history was like a woman and seizing the reins of history. I guess he was thinking of horses not women but he was an old man and maybe confused. Anyhow when I was a boy, I was red-hot for being like him. I mean that I wanted to be a big man and I wanted to leave my mark on history.”

“Sir,” she said.

“I guess I’ve done it now. What do you think?”

“How long will it— it keeps growing, sir. Will it—?”

“Stop?”

It was hard to estimate the rate at which the light was expanding— it was hard to look at it. But it seemed to be expanding slowly but steadily, at perhaps the speed of a man walking, a tourist taking in the sights of the Station.

The truth is that I was not sure when the light would stop expanding. It had already exceeded my wildest predictions. I was not sure it would ever stop.

The car’s windows burst, showering black glass on my shoulders.

“We’ll be okay,” I lied. “So long as we keep moving.”

“Sir.”

“What?”

“We should keep moving, sir. Now.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Yes.”

The adjutant and I ran through the avenues and corridors of the Station. She went first. We ran toward the appointed meeting-place. Arch Six, at noon.

Arch Six was one of the Station’s seven big entryways, big enough to encompass the biggest of the Engines. It was made of gray-black stone. It curved high up in the air over the tracks of the Line— tracks that ran east out of the city and once had run all the way out to Fountainhead and Gloriana and nearly all the way to the World’s Walls. The forces of the Republic had cut that line. On the arch above there were fortifications and barracks— in the shadows beneath it there were ware houses and machines and people running to and fro. Along the tracks an army of phantoms came marching in old-time clothes from the first settlement of the West and sometimes in chains, their faces turned up toward the light in the middle of the Station.

The adjutant pushed through the crowds holding one end of the suitcase and I followed behind her holding the other.

Someone touched my arm. I turned to see a woman in a black coat.

It was Adela. At first I didn’t recognize her.

I didn’t care about the scars— I had said that in my letters and it turned out to be true. I dropped my end of the suitcase and the adjutant cried out in surprise and aggravation.

Adela said my name— nothing else— we embraced for longer than the adjutant thought wise.

“You—,” Adela said, and I said, “I— we—”

The adjutant interrupted us, demanding to know where the contact was, where we were going, what the plan was to get us out of the Station and into the safe and welcoming arms of the Republic’s forces.

“This way,” Adela said. “Hurry.”

There was no time to say anything else.

I hefted my end of the suitcase. Adela led the way, the adjutant ran, I followed. We ran together down a narrow alley between two windowless buildings beneath Arch Six and into a small dark room where a man awaited us. He smiled to see us as we entered the room— he took off his hat and stretched out his arms in welcome.

“This man is working with the Republic,” Adela said. “He—”

“No,” I said. “I know this man. He once tried to shoot me. This is Gentleman Jim Dark, Agent of the Gun.”

Mr. Dark had shaved his famous mustaches, perhaps by way of disguise, but I recognized his face anyhow. He did not deny my accusation, but smiled again, kind of like I had asked him for an autograph. Adela made a noise of shock and outrage.

“Sorry, ladies,” Mr. Dark said.

“The Republic,” I said, “doesn’t know we’re here. Does it? It never did. I dare say it doesn’t even want us.”

Gentleman Jim Dark nodded, as if acknowledging that I’d made a fair point in debate.

“I told you one day we’d have a fair fight, Mr. Ransom. Well that day is here.”

The adjutant was well-disciplined. She did not waste her time crying out in shock or complaining about how she had been betrayed. She drew her gun and lifted it toward Mr. Dark without delay. She was not nearly fast enough— he shot her dead.

Then he smiled and shot Adela too.

I guess he shot her because now he had me and the suitcase he no longer needed her. I did not ask him why he did it.

I shall not describe how it looked as she fell, or how she lay there afterwards. I shall not say how I felt. I do not have the time or the words. It would cause me pain, and do you no good, and do her no honor.

Mr. Dark, having holstered his gun, was talking. I shall not record the whole long speech he gave me. Why should I? It was all gloating and posturing about his cleverness and how all the world might fall apart but the Gun would remain strong, or at least
he
would remain strong, to hell with the Gun, and how he was now the richest and most powerful man in the world so long as he held that suitcase in his hand.

“There are so few of us left, Professor— so few. These last few years have been bad. Soon there’ll be none of us at all outside of story-books and history-books. Well, I won’t have that— not me. I won’t go gently. I don’t know that I like this new century coming so much but I mean to have a place in it anyhow. Let’s see. Let’s have a look-see.”

He kept his gun holstered and he turned his back to me while he examined the contents of the suitcase. Perhaps he was hoping I would attack him, so that he could have the satisfaction of shooting me as I fought back. More likely he simply did not care what I did.

I did not attack him. I stood where I was, and watched him roughly handle the Apparatus’s delicate parts.

“Is that it?”

“Yes,” I said. “It is.”

“Doesn’t look like much. What do you think?”

He did not appear to be talking to me, but to himself.

“It is terrible,” I said.

He turned to me and raised an eyebrow.

“It is much more terrible than your bosses. Or the Line. Soon nobody will care about you at all. Then where will you be?”

He smiled at me. “Well now, Professor— I reckon we’ll adapt. Resourceful, that’s something I’ve often been called.”

I did not want to argue with him. I had not meant to speak out loud at all.

When he saw I would give him no more entertainment, he turned back to the Apparatus. He touched a finger to one of the magnetic cylinders, and spun it.

“Is that it? Well, I guess I’m not the scientific type. Nor are the bosses. So long as it works.”

He dug beneath the Apparatus, and pulled out the letters from Adela.

“What are these?”

I told him. He did not trust me at first, but scanned a few and found them boring. He glanced over at the place beside me where Adela lay, and a theatrical expression of sorrow appeared on his face, making me wish I could somehow kill him.

He shook his head. “Too bad. Too bad. You know, Professor Ransom, I’m not a cruel man— whatever you may have read in the newspapers. I’m a sporting man— ask anyone. I know what love is. Here, take them.”

I hesitated, and he shrugged and scattered them on the floor.

Beneath the letters, he found the money I had packed for my escape.

“Ah, now,” he said. “That’s something else. Professor, I’m no thief. Ask anyone— I’m a decent fellow. But I have a great many widows and orphans to support. I can’t in good conscience let this go. But nor can I— well, now, here’s a sporting notion— what say we share it? Partners?”

“Take it,” I said. “Take it all! It has done me no damn good.”

Jim Dark smirked and stroked his chin.

It seemed to me then that this ridiculous man was the agent of retribution for all the things I had done wrong in my life and all the good I had meant to do but I had not done.

From outside there was a thump and the light from the one high window shifted, illuminating a stack of rusty old tools. Now you know that I am not a religious man but I felt that that little shed was full of something bigger than both of us and that what ever it was it had worked out my fate. It was as if there was a plan to the world and it had nothing to do with my dreams and ambitions or the pride of men like Mr. Baxter or the machinations of Gun and Line or what ever the Folk might have in mind. Gentleman Jim Dark was a preposterous fraud and a bully and a crook and a small and mean man but perhaps he was what I deserved.

“Take it,” I said. “Take it and be done with it.”

He nodded, and stuffed it into his pockets. Then he stood.

“Now will you come with me quietly, Professor? Otherwise I’ll have to shoot you too— I had a hell of a time getting in here and I’ll have a hell of a time getting you out if you won’t come quietly.”

“No,” I said.

“No, you will not come quietly?”

I nodded.

He shrugged, and drew. I closed my eyes.

The next I knew he pushed past me, laughing and slapping me on the back.

“You’re a good sport, Ransom. It would be a waste to shoot you— I want to know what you’ll do next. See you again, I’ll bet.”

He stepped lightly over the adjutant and Adela, and out through the door, leaving it swinging open behind him.

I had been mistaken. He was not the agent of my punishment. He was the agent of my deliverance. He had given me my freedom. I did not know what to do with it and I did not especially want it.

I was wrong about the money, too. I could have done a lot of good with it, certainly more than Gentleman Jim Dark would have done. I do not believe what he said about the widows and orphans for a moment. That is what comes of doing business when you are not thinking straight.