Although he's as surprised as anyone to see Reverend Judge Jacob Olden and Captain Mark Daniels disappear entirely into an overcoat pocket, Doc goes on about his business. After all, this kind of extreme weirdness is becoming routine. He stuffs the pistol, coat, and Q-TIP into his backpack while retrieving the medical kit.
Doc approaches the wounded. The heat of the boilers is starting to become unbearable. Marshal Mathews is kneeling between them, next to his boy. He's crying and sweating.
Doc kneels down next to him. "Marshal, I am deeply sorry. He was a fine man who did his duty when called upon and there ain't no shame in that."
"YOU KILLED MY BOY!" the marshal screams. He whips a pistol out of his jacket and fires it right at Doc's head. The bullet zings past his ear, the concussion of the blast rings bangs his eardrums.
Thunderhorse reacts with his ax, but he swings too high and hits the iron stove with a resounding WHANG!
Doc smacks at the Marshal's arm with his flashlight and hits, but the marshal does not relinquish the gun. He instead uses it to pummel Doc some more, hitting him in the cheek with it. Doc tries to hit him again with the flashlight, but the marshal blocks with his arm.
A large, bloodstained fist ends the tussle by hitting the marshal in the temple. He staggers and falls to the ground, crying. Doc kicks the gun across the deck.
"Danke," Doc tells Thunderhorse. He takes the marshal's hat and drops a ten dollar coin in it. "[This is money for that boy's funeral. You put money in it, too, then take it to the others. Make sure everyone donates. Don't forget the Judge's coins on the floor, either.]" Doc turns to the boat's crew and passengers still sitting in the coal bin. "We're passing the hat for the boy's funeral. Please donate generously." He returns to Thunderhorse. "[If anyone else tries something funny, knock them out.]"
Thunderhorse is confused at Doc's request to drop his hard earned silver into a hat, but trusts Doc's judgment and does so. He takes the hat and his axe and goes to do his work.
He sets the medkit down, opens it up, and quickly goes to work. He has Earl put pressure on the gash in his arm. He ties a tourniquet around Pete's leg to slow the bleeding. The bullet went clean through. He pours some alcohol on the wound and gets to stitching him up, finishing it up with a makeshift splint to help mend the bones.
Earl does not have the luck to be unconscious while Doc works on him. Fortunately, Doc has some local anesthetic in the medkit. He produces the syringe.
Earl shrieks. "Don't you go stickin' me with no needles!" he cries.
"I'll be stitching you up, so I'm sticking you with a needle anyway. Now, you either feel it once now for this numbing serum, or you feel it thirty times while I sew."
Earl reluctantly offers his arm. He yelps as Doc slides the needle in. He keeps his eyes closed throughout the procedure, but offers Doc no more resistance. By the time Doc is done, Thunderhorse returns with a full hat. Doc directs him to give it to the marshal.
Doc turns to the crowd. "You had better stoke these boilers and turn this boat around and get this man some help NOW! And if any one of you tells a single soul what you have seen, WE WILL come back and track you down!"
Doc gathers up his mess and stuffs the medkit back into the bag, making sure not to leave anything too medically advanced behind. He leads Thunderhorse the way forward with his flashlight, backtracking their way to the ladder to the Pu.
Steve calls up to them as they climb down. "Did you get it? What happened? What took so long?"
"We've got the pen. Sorry about the delay, I had some sewing to do. Reparations had to be made."
"What about the pipe? Did you get that? And my watch?"
"Well, not exactly." Doc reaches the bottom of the ladder. He pulls out the overcoat. "They're in the inside pocket. I'm not sure when they are, though."
"Is this Judge Olden's coat? Did you- was he the one who..."
"No, no, that was a soldier. He was armed and shooting at us. Judge Olden is alive. He's in the pocket, too."
"What?!"
"And Captain Daniels. He went in after him."
Dr. Ritenrong takes off his glasses and rubs his forehead, frustrated. "Wonderful. Lets get the hell out of here, please."
Thunderhorse completes the decent. Steve whacks the cargo bay doors button, closing them up with a slow whirring. The three head back to the cockpit and take their seats.
"Did you boys have a nice time on that boat?" The Autopilot asks cheerfully.
"Shut up and fly," Doc answers, taking the seat behind him. Dr. Ritenrong takes the copilot's seat.
"Sure thing, fella," the Autopilot replies just as cheerfully. "Engaging launch thrusters." He flips some switches and the engines start to fire up.
"Keep it on turbos for now. Get some distance between us and that boat before you take off," Dr. Ritenrong orders.
"Sure thing, fella." The android intones the exact same words as before. The engines continue to fire up. The ship begins to rise from the water.
"HEY! I said get get away from the boat!" Steve yells.
"Sure thing, fella," the thing says again. The Pu continues to lift vertically.
"Damnit!" Dr. Ritenrong undoes his harness and tries to get to the pilot's controls, but the ship is already in take-off and he can't fight the G-forces. "Shit! Kill the fucking thrusters!" He has no choice but to strap himself back in.
"Sure thing, fella," the android says in the same notes once again. The Pu rises higher and starts moving forward towards the horizon. Dr. Ritenrong mashes buttons on his side of the console in frustration. He gives up, and switches a monitor on to the external camera.
The Chesapeake is burning and listing to starboard. "Well, I guess that explains that." Dr. Ritenrong sighs. "God, I need a drink."
The Pu shudders as it breaks the sound barrier, climbing higher and faster across the Earth as it rises into space.
Don't Rocket the Boat
Musings on the Training System
I don't like my training system. It is too complicated for a "quick" d20 system. Quick for me since I know the math and do it quickly, a bitch for anyone else. The hierarchical system leads to an extremely rapid advancement of bonuses, which makes low level characters too powerful. The answer, I thought, would be to advance difficulty ratings just as quick. But there's a limit in that, when rolling a d20, the entire point in the first place, becomes useless.
For example, the sort of quantum physics mathematics Dr. Ritenrong uses is very difficult. In very short order he's achieved a +34 to do it. Which means the highest non-critical success he can achieve is 19+34, a DC of 53. He will never (non-critically) fail any DC under 36.
However, in general math, his range is 16 to 35. He will almost guaranteed solve the math problem if it is a complex dimensional topography equation, but if its a relatively simple calculus problem he will potentially fail it.
While this makes for an interesting, sort of absent minded, totally focused on one thing character, it seems to be the only kind of character this system will produce (if hierarchies are employed).
Take jumping. The hierarchy goes:
Athletics 1 (+1) ->Jumping 1 (+2) ->Long Jump 1 (+3) -> Jumping the Crick 1(+4)
Lets say Doc puts some training into jumping the crick. 1 skill point buys 1+Str. Bonus (0), so 1 rank. Now it's Jumping the Crik 2 (+8). The crick jump is a DC 10. At +8, Doc will never fail this jump (unless it's a critical failure). What if he's making the jump in a heavy thunderstorm (DC+5) while carrying an 80lb backpack (DC+5)? Now the DC is 20, and Doc has a better chance of failing it; he has to roll at least a 12.
Now lets bump Doc's training a bit more; another rank in Crick Jumping gives him a +12. Now he has to roll 8 or better to succeed. Another bump gives him +16, he has to roll 4 or better. At 5 ranks in Crick Jumping he's got a +20, and will never fail this jump in these conditions.
The next time he jumps the crick, it's hailing grapefruits, the ground is covered in ice, he's carrying a backpack and Thunderhorse, who is also wearing a backpack. Lets make this a DC 40. Add another 5 training ranks to Crick Jumping and he's at +40 and cannot fail the jump.
Let's look at the hierarchy again:
Athletics 1 (+1) ->Jumping 1 (+2) ->Long Jump 1(+3) -> Jumping the Crik10 (+40)
We've never added any ranks to Long Jump or even Jump. He can make an incredible, superheroic leap across the crick, but has little chance of winning a high-school track meet.
We've spent 10 points in training him. If Doc learns nothing but crick jumping for two levels, he's got this outrageous bonus. Lets say Doc has an 18 strength. Each time he trains in a strength skill, he gets 5 ranks in it. He gets this +40 bonus by only spending two skill points. If he spent the entire two levels jumping the crick, he's got a bonus of +200. He can jump the crick while it's raining molten lead, the area is undergoing a 10.0 earthquake, the crick is flooding with lava, the banks of it have become entirely frictionless, he's suffering from radiation sickness, he's carrying a full-scale solid depleted-uranium sculpture of Orson Wells on horseback, and he does a 10-point backflip. At level 2. Yet he still can't get over the high-bars. What's his success-fail range, again? 202 - 219. No real point in rolling dice anymore, is there?
Now let's say that you can't put more ranks into training deeper into the hierarchy than you have higher up. Lets go back to level 1:
Str: 18 (+4)
Athletics 10 (+14) -> Jump 5 (+14) -> Long jump 5 (+19) -> Crick Jumping 5 (+24).
We've spent 5 skill points, and we had to put one into Athletics before we can advance anything else. At level two, we keep going:
Athletics 15 (+19), Jump 15 (+34), Long jump 10 (+34), Crick Jumping 10 (+44)
Now what if, instead, we just put all 10 skill points into athletics in the first place?
Athletics 50 (+54).
Athletics covers a broad range of skills including jumping, swimming, climbing, etc. At level 2, Doc can defeat any superheroic strength challenge (although he can't do much else). There's no point putting ranks into training deeper in the hierarchy, he'll get a much better score against a much larger range of situations if he doesn't.
If we remove the ability bonus to training ranks, we remove the superhero acceleration problem, but the problem of hierarchy devaluation remains the same.
Athletics 3 (+7), Jump 3 (+10), Long Jump 2 (+10), Crick Jump 2 (+12)
vs.
Athletics 10 (+14)
Lets go way back to the original scheme: No ability bonus to training and no restrictions on rank placement other than having at least 1 rank in a higher place on the hierarchy (still Str 18):
Athletics 1 (+5), Jump 1(+6), Long jump 1 (+7), Crick Jump 7 (+32).
vs.
Athletics 10 (+14)
Okay, that's better, probably why I did it that way in the first place. Still have the problem of imbalanced skill. Doc can still practically walk on air over the crick, but still has trouble with the pole vault. A little more reasonable, but still imbalanced system.
Oh, well, it was a fun experiment, but a revamping is definitely required. I'll be working on it, and I'll post more about it later.
Smoking Guns on the Water
There is a moment of tension as the militia men briefly consider disobeying orders. There is a primal sense of fear as the boys look upon the man who had beat them senseless only yesterday.
Doc drops his Maglite and steadies the gun in his hand as he shouts "Get down!" Thunderhorse, sensing the tension in the air, does not heed the warning and starts to charge.
Cody Mathews, a look of panic in his eyes, fires first. His unsteady hand pulls the rifle away from his shoulder before he shoots. The bullet rockets through the wood ceiling as the butt of the gun smashes into his shoulder, causing him to yelp in pain and drop his rifle entirely.
The sound of the blast causes Doc to duck down instinctively, but he keeps his aim steady and lets loose a round precisely into the knee of the middle man, Pete. He falls to the ground, fainting from the sudden shock.
As the man falls, Thunderhorse is upon Cody with his battleaxe, screaming as he jams the two pointed prongs at the tip into his gut.
The third man, Earl, manages to keep his rifle steady as he fires at Doc. The bullet slams into the Kevlar surrounding Doc's gut, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Earl steps back and begins reloading as quick as he can. Thunderhorse whacks him in the shoulder with his ax as he brings it back to deliver another blow to Cody.
Poor Cody Mathews stares off a thousand miles, his eyes glossed over as that vicious weapon sinks deep past his shoulder, ribs snapping, lungs tearing, and blood gushing. Thunderhorse peels him off his blade with his foot.
The blood curdling cry and the bruise on his stomach cause Doc to miss next shot. The bullet misses the last militiaman's knee and ricochets off the iron burner with a twang.
Doc realizes what has happened and shouts as loud as he can. "HALT!"
Earl drops his gun and puts his hands up. Thunderhorse turns to him, eyes blazing and covered in blood. The militia man wets himself.
Doc screams at him in German. "[I told you to get down! What the fuck was that?!]"
Thunderhorse replies, confused "[I got down here and killed this one. They had thunder slings. Now they don't.]"
"[I told you, Do No Harm!]"
"['Unless You Have To.' They were going to kill us. I thought we had to kill them back. Sorry, I guess.]"
Doc picks up the flashlight again. He yells at Judge Olden from afar. "For God's sakes we didn't want to hurt anybody! We're trying to save your lives!" He moves forward towards the carnage. Cody is for sure dead. No medical science of any era Doc is aware of can bring him back. The man he shot will be fine, although any doctor of this time will probably cut the leg off and kill him themselves. The man Thunderhorse is keeping at bay has a pretty nice flesh wound on his arm, but a few stitches should fix that up nicely.
Dr. Ritenrong chimes in on the I-Browse. "What was all that shooting, is everyone alright?"
Doc answers him. "We're fine. They're not. One dead, two wounded. You don't have any magic way to bring people back from the dead, do you? Any futuristic cures for a case of 'nearly-chopped-in-half-with-an-ax'? "
"Not with me, no. We can talk about that later. Just get the stuff and get back here."
Doc proceeds past and shines the light on the people in the back of the boat, hoping his stray bullet didn't hit anyone when it bounced off the cast iron burner. The people are black with soot, as they're sitting in the coal bin. They're fairly well dressed men and women. Judge Olden is among them, as well as Captain Daniels. Marshal Mathews is there too, his eyes red and swelling.
The Marshal moves forward slowly. Doc aims at him. He's not paying any attention. "You killed my boy," he cries softly. He pushes past him to kneel at the remains of his son.
"Shit," Doc mumbles.
Judge Olden steps forward as well, Captain Daniels behind him, hand on a holster. Doc levels his pistol. "Drop it. Hands behind your back." The captain leaves his gun holstered, but raises his hands and puts them behind his back, clasping his wrists.
Doc keeps the gun trained on him as he goes and grabs the pistol himself. It's a rather ornate piece of work.
The Judge complains. "Just what is all this about?! Here you come riding in on some screaming demon, shouting about how we're in danger and you're not here to hurt us and then you go and slaughter that poor Mathews boy like a pig?!"
"Me?! I come to save your ass from certain death and you order your men to kill us! That blood is on your hands! That boy shot first, and you're the one who told him to! Now if you wish to disagree any further, I guess I'll just let you get blown up."
"Son, what the hell are you talkin' about?"
Doc stares into the old man's eyes. This time that old stony face would not hide his inner fears. Doc can read him like a book.
"This boat is going down in ten minutes. I am a federal agent, a spy working directly for President Andrew Jackson. The Prussian Government has placed a very lethal bomb aboard this boat in order to cause chaos in an effort to hamstring the U.S. from it's westward expansion so that the Prussians can conquer France without us interfering."
"The Prussians?!"
"Yes. They know all about the fight over the Toledo Strip. They think if they can sink this ship and blame Ohio, they can incite the U.S. into all out civil war and we will not be able to help defend France."
"And that monster over there, your so called 'brother'? Is he a spy, too?"
"He's a Hessian mercenary sent to assist me."
"And your Uncle? I suppose he's Andrew Jackson himself in disguise."
"No, he's the Prussian agent sent to employ the bomb. I had to rescue him so I could interrogate him and find out where it is. Turns out you fools brought it right on board yourselves."
"Son, that is the biggest load of horse-shit I have ever heard in my entire life."
Doc lifts the gun to the Judge's face. "Just give me the everything you took from Dr. Ritenrong. Right now."
The Judge peels back his overcoat, revealing the inner pocket where a long, silver pen is clipped to the inside. He pulls it out slowly. Doc notices that the pen is longer than the pocket. He snatches it from the Judge's hand.
"There was a watch and a pipe, too. I need those as well," Doc orders.
"I suppose he hid the bomb in that old corncob pipe?" The Judge reaches back into the pocket. A look of confusion overcomes his face as he digs deeper into his pocket. The confused look becomes that of surprise as his arm disappears deep into the pocket, and terror as the rest of him suddenly follows, leaving nothing but the coat which drops to the ground, empty.
Before anyone can react, Captain Daniels picks up the coat. "Judge?!" He opens the coat and reaches into the pocket. He slips away into it, as well. The crowd gasps in horror. A woman screams.
Doc picks up the coat. Instinctively he shakes at the pocket. Some spare change falls out, but nothing else.
Fucking Lake Erie, Pt 3
Doc hangs the flintlock rifle back on his shoulder, opting to draw his .44; a much better solution for the tight spaces below.
"People of the steamship Chesapeake, we have come to help! You may be in danger!" he calls out.
There's still no reply. Taking a deep breath, Doc proceeds carefully down the stairs. The whole lower deck is tightly packed with various crates and cargo, not leaving much room to walk. The path leads straight between the boilers to the back, with no where else to go without climbing over stacks of boxes. Doc turns the corner slowly. Thunderhorse follows tight.
The lights are all extinguished. The back of the boat is a pool dark broken only by the red glow of coals from the vents in the burners. Doc shines his flashlight into the blackness.
Three men stand between the boilers, shoulder to shoulder, aiming rifles at them. One has a cloth tied around his head, holding his jaw shut. "Drop your weapons!" another demands.
"Holy shit, its the Shaw brothers!" the third exclaims, lowering his rifle a bit.
"What?! Kill them!" the familiar voice of Judge Olden calls from the back.
Fucking Lake Erie, Pt 2
"Hail steamship Chesapeake," Doc hollers over the external loudspeakers,"In the name of Pres. Andrew Jackson, Halt. You may be in danger!" He turns of the mic. "Professor, can you get the thermal camera and your tracer on this I-Browse?" he asks, handing the device over.
"No problem," replies Dr. Ritenrong. A few clicks later, he hands it back. "Done."
"Perfect. Thunderhorse, get out of those overalls and get your ax and helmet ready."
The Nord's face beams. "HAHA!" he laughs as he tears off his costume and runs over to Lightning.
"Steve, pack a saddle bag with the toolkit, pry-bar, rope, and two sticks of dynamite, 10 second fuses," Doc orders.
Doc curses the replicator for being an over-sized gum-ball machine as he digs through the crew cabin for something useful. In one utility compartment, he finds a water-resistant nylon satchel. He thanks fate for this as he shoves the medkit into it. He returns to the cargo bay and gets into his Jeep. He pulls out some road flares and a Maglite.
Thunderhorse is armored, armed, and ready. Dr. Ritenrong has prepared the saddle bag and is standing by the cargo bay controls. "Ready?" he asks.
Doc checks the I-Browse. All 15 people are below decks, now crowded around the portholes staring at the Pu. Doc nods to Steve. Steve hits the button.
The cargo bay doors fold open. Orange rays of sunlight beam into the cargo bay. Once the cargo bay doors stop, Thunderhorse begins climbing the hand-holds along what was the ceiling a moment ago, now a convenient ladder up to the top deck of the ship, near the bridge. Doc follows behind him, stopping in the middle to hand off the saddle bag from Dr. Ritenrong to Thunderhorse.
The deck of the Chesapeake is deserted. Doc checks the I-Browse again. The thermal image is taken from the side, so while it is easy to see if people are above, below, far, or near to them, it is difficult to tell if they are to the left or right. Everyone is below them, on the lower deck between the paddle wheels. Steve's Q-Net device tracer is blipping amidst the red glow of the warm bodies. It's difficult to tell if anyone is holding it, but it does not appear to be moving.
"Hail Chesapeake! We have come to warn you! You are in DANGER!" Doc yells. There is no response.
The bridge is empty. The ship's engine is disengaged, but the fire in the burners are still hot and the two boilers are still steaming away. Someone left here in a hurry, spilling a cup of coffee all over the place.
They proceed down the stairs to the next level. The sun has set at last. Doc turns on his flashlight and peers into the second deck windows. There's a pleasant little galley and a fully stocked bar, completely vacated. A table is set with food still steaming on the plates. The lanterns had not yet been lit. Drinks are left undrunk. A plate has been knocked to the floor with a hurried exit.
They proceed towards the bow to the stairs down to the lower deck. The stairs lead forward, away from the group of people at the back. Doc checks the thermal image.What looks like two people are moving cautiously forward, but disappear from his viewer as they step between the boilers, obscured by the white heat radiating from them.
Fucking Lake Erie
"Horses have iron feet?" The Autopilot inquires, confused.
"No, they have iron shoes. Just get the damned magnetic tiedowns, already. We've got to move quickly." The professor argues with android. He turns to Doc, frustrated. "I swear I have to reprogram that scrap pile one of these days. What we need is a real pilot. I had to clear his heuristic learning systems just to hold all the basic information about piloting the ship. Now he can't learn anything, anymore."
Doc watches the blipping dot, once again on the map. It's still moving. "They're going way off course. They should be hugging the coast, but they're going towards the middle of the lake. There's no weather systems anywhere near them." Doc gets up and scratches his head. "How does a ship like that just disappear?"
"Well, I'm hoping its something easy, like they decided to go to Canada instead. Second best is that they just sank, maybe due to methane gas bubbles rising from the bottom of the lake and creating an area of low buoyancy. But the worst case scenarios are the most likely."
"And those are...?"
"Someone either disassembled the Q-TIP improperly, disabling the anti-matter containment field and blowing the ship into sub-atomic particles with the resulting 800 kiloton blast. Or someone threw the thing into the water, shorting out the circuitry and turning the entire lake into a giant wormhole, flinging them and everything in it sometime near the ice age after the lake was formed."
"Great."
"We should know for certain if they expose the anti-matter."
"Well, history doesn't record any nuclear explosions in the middle of Lake Erie. I'm sure that would've been at least a footnote on the nautical records."
"That's a relief. What about other missing ships?"
"There's quite a few mysterious disappearances on Lake Erie. No others were recorded today, though."
"The surface tension of water has a strange effect on the wormhole. It's rather unpredictable. I haven't really tested it. The effect might be localized to the ship, or it could be intermittent depending on the water levels and a million other factors. It might explain some of the other disappearances."
"Wouldn't divers and swimmers and fish and things like that disappear, too?"
"I said it was unpredictable. Maybe they do. May be they have. Maybe every fisherman in Lake Erie is catching fish born ten thousand years ago. I don't know."
"Wonderful. We've got to get out there. Now."
The Autopilot returns. Thunderhorse is behind him. "Alrighty, sirs, the horses are secured. Y'all get strapped in and I'll light 'er up. Yeehaw!" his electronically tinged voice echoes through the cockpit.
The crew gets seated and ready. The Autopilot flicks switches and hits buttons. The engines rumble and whir to life. The trees around them begin to rustle with the wind of the turbines. They start to rise. The landing gear raises and shuts its self away. They rise above the trees, and they begin to move forward across the purple sky of the setting sun.
"Vectoring thrusters for lateral motion. Hang on to your hats!" The Autopilot warns them as the ship rapidly begins to accelerate. They can hear the engines roaring. The ship shudders with the unmistakable shock of a sonic boom. Doc is in the copilot's seat and watches the city of Toledo rush by beneath them. They're way too close to the ground, someone had to see them. At least they didn't hear them, not right away at least. He makes a note to check the records later for UFO sightings.
The trip is pretty short. Hardly five minutes later, they're over the lake. The Autopilot decelerates the ship as they approach the red blinking dot on the tracking screen. They can see the Chesapeake below them in the water. The boat is stopped, but is still steaming.
Doc switches on the thermal cameras as they descend into the water. The steam from the ship and the jetwash from the landing Pu clouds and distorts the view. All he can make out for certain are the white-hot boilers.
The Autopilot put the Pu gently into the water next to the Chesapeake. The crew unbuckles.
"Nice landing. Next time try to keep it under Mach One for such a short trip." Dr. Ritenrong tells the android.
"Will do," it says as it immediately forgets what it's been told.
With the engines off and looking beneath the steam, Doc can see that no one is on the deck of the ship. All the warm bodies are below decks. There's fifteen people on board, according to the computer. There seems to be a bustle of activity, but some of the people are looking at them through portholes. The landing must've scared the shit out of them.
"C'mon," leads Dr. Ritenrong. "We've got to go out the cargo bay."
R&R, Such as it Is
Doc has never had to stitch himself up before, but finds it surprisingly easy, after a few pain killers. The bullet had only grazed his shoulder, but the stress of the whole day had thrown him into shock. After that, he crawls into a bunk inset into the wall of the Pu crew area, slides the shutter closed, and falls asleep. He dreams of the total chaos of the day before. He's had some hectic ventures into the past before, but nothing quite like this.
Doc sleeps well into the morning. He is awakened by the smell of coffee, eggs, and something he can't quite recognize. He slides back the bunk door. Dr. Ritenrong is fixing up a meal on the utility table just outside.
"Good morning," the doctor greets him. "I hope you're feeling better."
Surprisingly, Doc has never felt better in his life. Must be those futuristic pain killers. "I'm okay. What are you cooking?"
"Local cuisine, you might say," he hands Doc a plate and a cup. "It's turtle eggs and snake meat. Beats the freeze dried crap we've got on board, at least. I never could stomach zero-g rations."
Doc takes a bite. It tastes kind of fishy, but it's palletable. Doc seasons it liberally with salt and pepper.
After eating, Doc heads up to the cockpit with a fresh cup of coffee and his I-Browse. The Autopilot greets him with an enthusiastic "Howdy!" and goes back to the business of monitoring the controls.
"What kind of sensors do we have on this thing?" Doc asks him.
"Well, she's got active and passive radar and radio for long range detection, communications, and terrain mapping, laser range finders, thermal, lowlight, UV, and X-Ray cameras, and a gamma burst alarm. Never found much sense in that, though, since it's only there to tell me that y'all just been lethally dosed. I guess you could use it to start planning your funerals."
"X-ray? Can we see through stuff, like buildings?"
"Sorry, it's a passive sensor. Unless there's an X-ray source on the other side of the building, we can't see through it."
"That's too bad. How far away can you detect someone approaching?"
"Well, from here on the ground in these trees, not so far. Radar's got about a 20 mile radius but poor resolution. I can tell you where all the river boats and buildings are and if there's any wagons coming down the road a few miles off. With thermal, I've got about 3 miles tops for a warm human body. I might be able to identify a group on horseback as far as five miles out. I can see further at night, though, probably three times as far."
He brings up the displays as he explains them. It's a messy array of colors and numbers that Doc can't really understand.
"Could we use the ship in the dark of night and fly in and lower ourselves down while it hovered, like a helicopter? And if so, is it quiet?"
"Hover, yes, quiet, hell no. Drop from ropes? Absolutely not. You'd drop alright, right into the huge jetwash put out by the vectored thrusters. Now, I could glide engines off over town and you jump out, but we don't have no parachutes. I'd have to go pretty fast, too, so that'd be one hell of a jump."
"Thanks," Doc says, slightly disheartened.
"No problem, buddy," replies the android.
Doc sits down in one of the passenger seats. He'll have to think of another plan. He enjoys his cup of coffee and reads his I-Browse. Dr. Ritenrong was right. The surveyors at Phillip's Corners came under fire a little more than an hour ago, and by tomorrow ten thousand Ohioans will be marching on Michigan. The Militia will put up a brief fight over the next couple weeks, resulting in three hundred casualties. Only around sixty of those are fatalities, mostly resulting from the medical practices of the day.
Doc checks out more future history. Automobile manufacturing gets started in Milwaukee rather than Detroit. Instead, Detroit is better known for dairy, beer, and beef products. Green Bay hosts a killer hockey team, while the Detroit Lions become a national favorite in football. Ohio State-Michigan rivalries are much more intense. Swat teams have to be called into downtown Columbus to stop riots when the Buckeyes win, and the National Guard steps in when they lose.
Doc checks the name Alyss Valia. No records are found. Doc goes back down to the crew quarters and shows Dr. Ritenrong.
"What? That's impossible!" he says in disbelief. "Let me see that!" He takes the I-Browse and goes into a bunk, shutting the door behind him. Mumbling can be heard from behind the plastic screen.
Doc takes some time to clean his gun. It's still in good condition. He disarms and inspects the three antique pistols he'd captured from the sheriff and marshal. Being a thorough archaeologist, he finds some good plastic bags, seals them up, and marks down some notes. Maybe he can deliver them to the Smithsonian later. Doc goes off to stow them in the cargo hold. The three horses are here, as well as Thunderhorse. He's resting on the hood of Doc's Wrangler, mug in hand.
"Ah, my friend awakes. Have some of this red stuff," he says offering a mug of wine. The last barrel of alcohol is messily opened and a portion of its contents are splashed about the floor.
"No thanks, maybe later."
"More for me." He chugs back a gulp.
"Did you understand anything the professor said last night about the future? Do you know why he brought us here?"
"Yes, he told me more after you went to sleep. He told me that he has seen Ragnarok, and that I have the power to save the world from it. He told me that we are fleas on a sleeping giant, a giant bigger than all the stars in the sky. We can sail the giant's blanket like a ship at sea and avoid the crushing blow of his hand. I don't know, though. It seems to me that we should fight this beast, like Thor against the frost giants. At least we will reach Valhalla."
"I'm sure you'll make it there. How many men have you conquered already? You did very well against those men in town."
"They were weak. Their thunder slings make them weak. They may keep them safe from far away, but up close, they have no power. They are not true warriors, like me and you."
"I am not a warrior, I'm a healer."
"You are a wizard. I saw you cast that spell at them. Very effective. You must work on your aim, though. You did not kill them, only frightened them away."
"I didn't want to kill them."
"But the strong one hit you with his thunder sling. If you had killed him you would not have been wounded. We must kill our enemies."
"Only when they are dangerous to us or our friends. Sometimes, an enemy is best kept alive. We are in a strange land, you and I. We can't be sure who is our enemy and who is our friend. All I know is that you are my friend, and that Dr. Ritenrong wants to be our friend too. I think we can trust him, even if we don't understand him."
"He is a confusing person. He controls a powerful magic, the powers of Odin, but I do not think he shares Odin's wisdom. You, though, you seem to have Odin's wisdom, and Baldur's love of life. But you wield Loki's fire and tongue. It is a strange thing indeed. I will trust in you, though, for I have seen your wisdom and strength. And I will trust in the dwarf, but only as long as you trust him."
"And I will trust in you, so long as you follow this one rule: Do No Harm; Unless You Have To."
"Agreed."
The two shake hands.
Doc spends the afternoon studying maps and satellite photos of the area. He stares in frustration at the blinking dot on the screen, signifying the location of Dr. Ritenrong's gear in the middle of town. There's no way to get to it without going through town, no way to go through town without being seen, no way of being seen without being recognized. The town is still under Michigan control. A thermal image video taken by the Younger Brother Pear as it passed over the area a few hours ago shows columns of troops being deployed around the city. The whole town looks to be locked down.
It takes Doc a moment to realize that the dot is moving. Slowly at first, it goes to the front of the church. It stops for a moment, then begins moving down the street, towards the river. He calls to the professor downstairs. "Steve! They're moving your stuff!"
Steven, messy and frustrated from confining himself to his bunk all day, comes up quickly and joins Doc at the display screen. "Shit! Where are they taking it?" The dot is moving straight towards the sheriffs office. "Why are they taking it there?"
"They're not," Doc responds. The dot moves past the jail house towards the docks. "They're putting it on the Chesapeake."
"How long before it's out of sensor range?"
The Autopilot answers. "I can only track it from here within twenty miles. The Pear won't pass over again for another four hours. I can drop a satellite to track it anywhere, then."
"How far can they get in four hours?"
"Not sure, certainly out of our range," the android replies.
"Drop the satellite as soon as possible," the professor commands.
They watch in silence for a while. The dot is loaded on the boat. Nothing happens for about half an hour.
Doc speaks. "If we're lucky, they'll stay put. We can get at the boat from the water in the night. "
No such luck, however. The boat starts moving north, towards the lake.
"Any chance we can use this thing as a submarine?" Doc asks.
"We can land the Pu in the water if we have to, but we can't hide her. The hull can stand five atmospheres of pressure, but there's no way to make her dive. I mean, we could just crash straight into the water, but if the hull doesn't get crushed in the impact we'll just float right back up again"
"Shit. Where are they going? Doc, see if you can find anything on Q-Net about the Chesapeake."
Doc goes off and studies with the I-Browse for a while. He spends almost an hour just trying to find the proper sites to explore, and another two digging up the information he needs. He returns to the cockpit with his findings. The tracking dot is gone from the screen.
Dr. Ritenrong explains. "We lost them an hour ago. It won't be long before we can get the satellite in place. They can't have gone very far. Did you find anything?"
"The manifest says they set out back to Detroit, but they'll never get there."
"What? Why?"
"No one knows. The ship just disappeared."
"Fucking Lake Erie."
