TOO QUICK TO DIE
PART NINETEEN:
Chuck arrived swiftly and he and Tim were soon embroiled in the more technical
details of completing the procedures. Bud followed after John to search the grounds,
but both returned, a bit sweaty, more than nonplussed at not finding any sign of
Rachel’s whereabouts, and Dee had arrived with almost a frantic entrance as Cort’s.
There was a bank of monitors on one wall of the room adjacent to the warp room
itself. Suddenly every screen went black. Every eye in the room stared at them,
wondering what had happened. Then he was there. Sid. His smiling face filling every
screen.
"Evenin', folks," he said congenially, tipping the brim of the black hat he was wearing.
Cort recognized the hat immediately, sucking in a long breath. "John," he murmured.
"He's got on John's hat."
"John?" Caroline repeated, startled. "Biebe?"
"He calls Herod 'John', Caroline," Maximus said quietly.
Cort had stood, fists clenched, teeth clamped, mouth squared. He could think of nothing
worse than Sid and Herod combined. "Where...is...she?" he demanded, his voice level,
deadly.
"Tut, tut, my dusty reverend. Are you not up on your scripture? Have you back-slidden
so far since you opted out of the Church?"
"I'm in no mood for your games, Sid."
"And do you think that really matters?" Sid smiled. "What matters, what always only
matters, is the mood I happen to be in. And I'm in the mood for a game."
"Why? Why would you take Rachel?"
"Ah, now we've come back to scripture again, my pitiful parched parson. Have you not
heard of 'an eye for an eye'?"
Maximus visibly tensed.
Sid's smile widened, though with no merriment behind it. "I see our pig-brained pagan
knows what I'm talking about," he purred.
"WHAT?" Cort shouted, taking two steps toward the screen he was staring at.
"My wife, my child were taken from me," Sid continued, his brows now lowered. Then he paused, smiled again. "I needed...replacements.
Cort squeezed his eyes tight for a brief moment, then looked at Sid. "You want Rachel?"
Sid's head tipped to the side. "The broom-pusher? No, not really. She just happens to,
well, contain at the moment what I want."
Cort's knees suddenly felt weak. "Hope? You...you...want Hope?"
"Hope is it now? How quaint. Yes, I want the child. I'm...owed...a child."
Maximus was gritting his teeth. "You cannot take another man's child."
"Why ever not, my good General? You did."
"I had nothing to do with Brianna's death."
"So you say. But I beg to differ with you. You had everything to do with it."
Cort spoke up again. "Why John's hat? Why are you wearing that?"
"Keeps the desert dust off my lovely hair," Sid smiled.
"Keeps...? What do you mean?"
"You more than anyone should recall what a dusty, dusty place Redemption is, my
pathetic priestlet."
"Redem...? You...you're...?"
"A bit slow there on the uptake, aren't you?" Sid smirked.
"The movie? You've sent them into the...movie?" He turned, looking frantically at Terry
and the others.
“How could you do that?” Deidre cried. Terry looked so angry, she was sure he would
explode, but he said nothing. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“I swear to God, Sid, I’ll rip your throat out if it’s the last thing I do,” Bud threatened.
Sid touched his fingertips together, looking beatific. "As Mark Twain once said, 'It takes
your enemy and your friend, working together, to hurt you to the heart; the one to slander
you and the other to get the news to you.' I'm being both...sort of. I've done the deed and
now I'm getting the news to you. It's my invitation to the games."
"Games? This is a game to you?"
"Everything is a game to me, Cort. Do you not know that by now? 'Intelligence and
war are games, perhaps the only meaningful games left.' I believe someone called
William Burroughs wrote that. He was right. This is a game of war, of intelligence.
Too bad I don't have any opponents up to the job." He shook his head. "But enough
of this idle chit chat. I've got a Wells Fargo strongbox with $123,000 inside that I need
to have moved to the saloon. Ta for now!" He turned slightly, then, as if noticing Cort
had not moved, frowned slightly and urged impatiently, "'Come, Watson, come! The
game is afoot.'" Then he saluted and the screens went black.
Cort sagged into a chair. "She's in Redemption." He could hardly believe it. It had
never crossed his mind. Then his head snapped up, his eyes finding Terry. "You've got to
get me back into The Quick and the Dead!"
........................
She tried be unobtrusive as she went from building to building, peering into the windows, listening to those whom she encountered as they talked, ignoring her or looking at her as
though she were just another part of the scenery…for which she was thankful, but it was
not helpful either. She couldn’t exactly go up to anyone and ask them if they had seen her preacher-man, as he wouldn’t come in until later…
Rachel made it to the saloon and hesitated, wondering if Sid would be so crass as to already
put him where his first entrance would play out, part of her wistful for the last time she had
been here. She finally plunged in to find an empty barroom…and the smell and memories
of the last hours before their fateful ride out of town hit her full bore. She startled at the
sounds of footsteps and laughter upstairs, but no one appeared, and Rachel found herself trembling. Did she dare go up to that one bedroom where he had convalesced? She’d need
a place to stay if this was what Sid planned for her. But did she really want to be so close to
the violence that would ensue?
Well, that was going to be a little hard to escape anyway, she reminded herself. Turning on
her heel, she stomped out of the barroom and continued her way, finding herself in front of
the apothecary once more. A tiny seed of possibility planted itself: perhaps she could get in
good with the apothecary? That way if anyone asked, she’d say she was newly employed?
She saw the heads of people on the porch of the building across the way turn and so
she looked in the direction they did. Clomping slowly through the middle of the town
on a sweating horse, hat pulled low but not so low that the rider could not inspect the
place herself, rode Ellen, eyes narrowed with suspicion and calculating wariness. None
of the residents of Redemption made any bones about their curiosity of the new arrival,
but Rachel pulled her reboso tighter around her face, to avoid being seen.
So it begins, she thought.
The mad scramble to pull all old files of the first retrieval from “Quick” was cacophonous
and disorganized as Tim and Chuck laid in the last wires and flipped the final switches,
running tests as Terry oversaw, the three of them talking and shouting as if in a tailspin.
Bud grabbed Cort by the sleeve and launched the two of them down the hallway –
“clothing,” was all he would explain, but Cort didn’t argue. Caroline and Maximus ran
after them, too.
Deidre was following as well but Terry dashed into the hallway and caught her by the arm.
“No,” he said.
Deidre frowned deeply, angry that he would tell her so. She tried to throw off his grip, but
he would not let go. “Why not? She’s my friend, too!”
“I need you here,” Terry replied, simply.
“Doing what?” Deidre challenged, borderline contemptuous, daring him to say it was
because he didn’t want her to come to harm. She was as frustrated as Bud, wanted as
much revenge as he did. At this point, getting shot at was the least of her worries.
“If Bud and Maximus and Caroline are not able to get them both out, then I’ll send you in,
but for now, I want…I need you manning the controls with me,” Terry said, and something
in the tilt in his chin and set of his eyes told her he was not wanting her to challenge that.
“I’m not going in, either, and I have as much reason, if not more, to destroy Sid.”
“I should think the baby pretty much evens it out for everyone, Terry,” Deidre retorted,
but even with those words, felt deflated. How many people were needed to go in,
anyway? “How could my staying here possibly help? I don’t know how to use that
damn thing,” she added, grudgingly.
Terry gave her a small grin of relief. “About time you learned, Nolia. Know your enemy,
right? We start with the computer.”
Bud led them to the storage room at some far corner of the main building, pulling out boxes
and flinging aside clothes on the rack to find the various items one would need to inhabit an
1880s western town. Cort said he would have to return to the blue house for his own, but he stayed several minutes advising them on what was appropriate, until Maximus was fitted out
in a finely-tailored three-piece suit with cravat and a top-hat that rivaled any elegance
Herod had favored. Bud chose simpler threads, with the purpose of blending in and moving about more freely, without expectations – pants, boots, shirt, vest, long duster, suspenders,
and a weather beaten hat. And a gunbelt.
“Guns are elsewhere, I’ll get them next. Don’t worry,” Bud told Cort, “I’m not likely to
enter into that contest. Just want to look the part, okay?”
"I, too, will require a gunbelt," Maximus said grimly.
When Bud cocked an eyebrow, obviously thinking Maximus would not know a thing about
guns, Caroline chimed in. "He's as quick a draw as Cort."
Both men looked at her in some surprise. "It's true. Hank taught him and he took to it
like the proverbial duck to water. I guarantee you he'll be able to handle himself against anybody there in town." She sized up Maximus' outfit. "But they need to be...elegant
guns. Expensive. Silver and ivory with a well-tooled leather belt to match his," she
grinned, "…style. Oh," she added," and I'll be wanting a derringer myself." She thought
a moment. "And money. We'll have to have period currency. His Lordship, Maximillian Meri...um...um...Merifield, and his Lady Caroline need...funds!" She swept into a deep
curtsy despite her modern attire. Then she laughed. "Sorry about the 'field' but when I
couldn't think of how to make Meridius sound English, all I could see was your wheat
field!"
Caroline had chosen what Bud informed her was a dress Rachel had nearly worn into the
movie, but had opted against it, complaining it was much fancier than she had imagined
she would need for her purposes. It was the height of fashion for the time period, a bell-
like bustled skirt of black taffeta with ruche trim and bright blue grosgrain ribbons and
bows, with a matching bodice that fit snugly over a corset (something she would have to
have Deidre help with) and, to top it all off, a jaunty little hat of black felt and blue parrot feathers that would sit perched on top of her head.
She went into the dressing area and tried it on. Perfect! Poking her head out from behind
the curtain she announced. "Wig. I need a wig. Can't have my short do in the 1880's."
She eyed Bud. "You got a wig on you, Mister?"
Bud’s eyebrows went up, as did Cort’s, as they both tried to think of tactful ways of
scorning that idea. Maximus just gave her a look, which caused Caroline to giggle.
“Just kidding!” she laughed and left the room to find Deidre to help her into the more…complicated aspects of the dress. That corset looked like a real torture device.
....................................
Sid sat back in one of the burgundy brocade chairs in his dining room. Well, officially they
were Herod's chairs, but he'd taken over the Hackman role. It was only...appropriate.
Herod had instigated the quick-draw game. Now it was Sid's game. He put his feet up on
the polished mahogany surface of a table. Only this time there'd be none of that ridiculous
sun shining through a bullet hole crap.
"If you build it, they will come," he smiled. Well, he'd built it, built the structure of the
game. Now the lab rats had to figure out a way to come. He hoped they were smart enough.
If they weren't, he'd just have to warp back to NanoCorp and drop...hints. Of course, he
mused contentedly, the playing field was definitely not level. Once they got in, and, damn
the lot of them, they'd better get in, he'd arranged it so they couldn't get out. Not until
the movie had entirely run its course. Then, if things worked out nicely, they'd all be dead
and the old coffin maker would have plenty of customers. Maximus with a gun! What an amusing concept. The fellow might be a worthy opponent if only he weren't so
technologically barbaric.
It was a convenient thing that the people in a movie, like Horace the barkeep and Shouting
Wolf or Spotted Pig, whatever the guy's name was, were not aware of the continuous loop
of the movie they didn't know they were in. Each time for them was as the first. So, for
them, it would all play out, no matter how rearranged, as though that were the way it was supposed to go. Good thing. He could let more of them live through it that way. Not that
that mattered.
He straightened his wide silk cravat, reinserting his stickpin. Herod didn't have such bad
taste in clothing. He was, truth be told, the only truly civilized man in this shithole that
passed itself off as a town.
...................
She found the apothecary and its owner blissfully unaware that it was part of a movie,
an “other” dimension that ran again and again in perpetuity, a little bubble of a world
whose boundaries were just as defined as any others. The owner was also blissfully
unaware of her for several moments as she stood just inside the doorway, letting her
eyes get adjusted to the dim lights. It was as she remembered it, a long narrow room
with shelves and cases on either side, filled with every reagent bottle and packing
material and bins of goods necessary to act as the local pharmacy. He looked up as she
cleared her throat, something she did more to steady her nerves than get his attention,
but he gave her a neutral smile and gestured for her to come closer.
“Veo que usted está esperando!” He asked when he came from behind the counter. Rachel pushed back the reboso, searching for a way to answer what was obviously a statement…
or a question….in Spanish…but she had only taken German in college!
“I…don’t…” she stammered and the apothecary gave a slight bow.
“Pardon me, miss. So many of my customers tend to be Mexican, unless I know them, I
just…well, what can I do for you? Did the Doc send you over for a remedy?”
“Yes!” Rachel hastily agreed…yeah, that’s the ticket! ”He did. I have a bit of problem
with indigestion. But…” and here she wavered, wondering if she would get away with what
she was thinking. “I’m also in need of some place to stay. See, all the rooms at the…” she paused, mouth twitching at the irony of the statement she was going to make, “at the inn
have been taken, and…and…”
The apothecary gave a rude snort, but nodded in sympathy. “I don’t doubt it, little missus. Herod’s got the whole place in an unfit way, every rat fool of a gunfighter itching to show
him up this year. Doc don’t look forward to the holes he’ll have to tend. But you, what are
you doin’ here in your condition? The town, I mean. Its not fittin’ for you to be around.
Don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”
“My…my husband’s one of those rat fools…ran off and left me…said he wanted to be a
part of it…the competition,” Rachel lied. “I think I should at least be nearby to get his belongings when they’re done.”
“You poor lamb! A missus like you should have a private room, not among those tramps
they got there in that saloon, not with what some of ‘em do when they get in…well, never
mind. Follow me. I got a room you could use.”
He took her up a private staircase to a second story, then to a small room that held a
sturdy iron bed with a worn but comfortable looking quilt on it; a chest of drawers with
a lamp, a washbasin and pitcher beside it. Curtains of a good solid material adorned
the window, which she untied and let fall to cover the bright light shining in after the
owner left. She realized the room was at the back of the building. Good. She might get
some sleep tonight. Or not. With festivities like Dios de los Muertos going on, in a town
like this, no place was sacred or immune.
Rachel lay out on the bed, grunting somewhat. She’d been feeling awful gravid, something
she had not thought possible considering how big she had already become and the speed
with which Hope had grown. She wondered how far along she was now. The morning
before he was killed, Henri had said he thought at thirty-four weeks. Damn, it felt like it!
Hope lay heavy in the bottom portion of her belly, having squirmed until it seemed as if she
were going to stretch the womb beyond its elasticity.
Sighing, Rachel settled into the goose-down pillow. So startled and angry had she been
at finding Sid standing over her, the actual effects of his warp had succumbed to the fight-
or-flight instinct. But now, it all came rushing back, coupled with the fact that even though
it was daylight outside, Rachel’s body was saying it was night-time back home.
Back home. Back home, Cort might be trying to figure out if he could warp in…probably frantic. But warping was so dangerous for him! Would Terry or others come? Or maybe
Sid won’t let Cort or any of the others know where she was at all. No. In her state of
mind, she knew that Sid was too vain, too much the attention seeker to pass up a chance
to torture Cort with the knowledge that Rachel was where he couldn’t reach her. That
much was certain
But…if Cort wouldn’t, or couldn’t come…what would happen in the movie then? If Cort
didn’t come, who would be the one to…?
Despite her fatigue, Rachel found herself staring wide-eyed at the wall, faced with a
realization that dry-iced her heart immediately, that spelled everything out for her as if
written in blotchy, tear-stained letters across the faded paint of the wood: what if she had
to watch a Cort that knows nothing about her, or the two of them? No memories of a
green dress or a glass of water or nursing a broken hand to health…no memory of starlit
pines or lime-tree leaves, or news of Hope….
What if Sid had brought her to Redemption, to relive the unknowing again and again, all
for the sake of his amusement? Had that been the reason for all the warping?
Hurting anew with fresh wounds of fear, Rachel rolled onto her side and clutched the other pillow close, quietly wept herself into an uneasy sleep, knowing that she was, like all the
others in Redemption, effectively trapped.
............................
“Everything apples?” Terry asked Bud, glancing between the console where Chuck and
Tim sat typing commands into the computer and the three who stood ready to enter the
warp chamber, dressed in as full a regalia of period clothing as they could be. Cort had returned to the blue house to dress, and now stood, subdued in action, but very much
bristling with readiness for his turn.
“Apples, Terry,” Bud replied, off handedly. “Sure you don’t want to come along?”
“No. I’m manning things here. So, you’ve got your comlinks and your equipment. Before
you three go anywhere, check to make sure the comlinks work. Bud has the laptop in his
satchel if you need to set up a point of return, but keep it hidden until then! This is a
bit different than Gladiator,” Terry added, nodding to Maximus, “you’ll be stationary in
your location, so there will be an easier time of keeping track of you, but that’s not to say
there isn’t enough space there to lose a one of you, so don’t just keep in touch with me,
keep in touch with each other. Now is there anything I’m missing?”
“An atom bomb? Enola Gay?” Bud suggested.
“You’ve been hanging out with Nolia too long,” Terry retorted and Deidre and Bud shared grins. “Since we don’t even know at what point Rachel was warped in, we’re sending you
into the very beginning. Not a happy prospect, I know, Cort,” he said to the grim-faced preacher. “My apologies, mate. But if you’re lucky, if we’re lucky, you won’t have to
go through the whole thing.”
The warp was set to deposit Bud, Maximus and Caroline in the big stable. There was plenty
of room inside it and of all the buildings on the single street, it was least likely to be occupied.
Before going into the warp room, Maximus walked up and put a hand on Cort's shoulder.
"I promise you I will be there in the saloon when you make your entry after dark." He had
a very intense look in his eyes, trying to communicate much he left unsaid. Turning, he
took Caroline's hand, looking back just as the door began to seal itself closed. "I promise,"
he said once more.
ON TO PART 20
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