Gridlock and Other Stories Part 17

"Perhaps you would prefer walking to Nuevo Tubac without your boots?"

Beckwith raised one eyebrow. "Has His Imperial Majesty, Moctezuma VII, decided to abrogate his sworn oath given in the Second Treaty of Hermosillo? Or is this the Duke of Sonora's idea? Is it now the policy of the Empire to hara.s.s doctors of the service wherever found?"

"His Majesty does what he wishes,Sen?r , and My Lord, the Duke, is his strong right arm."

"Then I guess I'd better give you my boots and start walking, for I will not answer. I a.s.sure you, by the way, that my response will be the same when the California border guards ask me about you when I cross back over next fall. I am but a harmless medic trying to get on with his job."At this last, the captain's eyes dropped to the polished-by-use wooden stock of the automatic rifle in its scabbard beneath Beckwith's right knee. Beckwith followed his gaze, and shrugged.

"Even a doctor must oftentimes defend himself in the wilds. All my instruments are on my pack animals, and would bring a goodly price on the black market in Mexico City."

At the mention of the pack animals, the captain holstered his needle gun and gave orders to a burly noncom. Thesargento leaned forward and took Beckwith's lead rope from him. A few more quick orders in the local patois -- a corrupt version of Spanglish -- and the doctor found himself disarmed. The patrol formed around him and the whole party clattered off in a southeasterly direction.

Beckwith took the opportunity to study the men around him as he rode among them. Everything about them -- their lean, watchful look; their dusty, sweat stained uniforms and dirty sombreros; the straight-backed way they sat their horses -- told him that they were regulars. That, too, confirmed Vargas's initial report. The insignia they wore identified them as the Second Hermosillo Dragoons, one of the Duke of Sonora's best regiments.

The men themselves were a varied lot. As Beckwith had already noted, the captain was a mustachioed young dandy of nearly pure Hidalgo stock. His troops, however, ran the gamut of humanity. Several pairs of blue eyes stared from out of reddened, sunburned faces above blond beards; indicating that their owners were descended from the vast wave of refugees that had swept down from the north eighty years before. Other members of the patrol sported Indio and Negroid features, and one was Caucasian-Oriental mix. All looked as though they knew their business.

It was late afternoon when they entered the pueblo of Nuevo Tubac in the Gila River valley. The town sat on one bank of the stream whose position was marked by a darker-green swath cut through the yellow-green of the desert vegetation. He took in the signs of the Sonoran occupation with experienced eyes, while appearing to have no interest beyond finishing the long dirty joke that he had been spinning for his companions. He did not like what he saw. If the main street of this little hamlet contained a representative sampling of the Imperials' strength, they must number at least four troops of cavalry and an unknown number of support personnel. That was a big chunk of manpower for Juan Pablo Andros, the Duke of Sonora, to send this far north -- especially considering the other claimants-of-the-moment for his throne.

Obviously, the fact that hehad sent them north was convincing evidence that he had some overwhelming reason for doing so. Beckwith cursed the fates that had prevented Vargas from finishing his report. Whatever had happened, it had been no mechanical failure. A clear carrier wave had ridden the satellite channels for almost three minutes after Vargas's voice link had been silenced.

The patrol did not stop at the village square as Beckwith had expected, but rode through the inner defense wall and into the courtyard of the hacienda belonging to Don Ynicente Galway,Patron de la Pueblo . Beckwith had spent many an enjoyable evening in that great rambling structure, playing chess and arguing philosophy with his host. He hoped the old pepperpot had not objected too strenuously to Juan Pablo's henchmen taking over his home. Beckwith had too few true friends in this world as it was.

He would hate to lose two in the same month.

The captain led him through the fortified outer door and into the gloomy interior of the hacienda, stopping only when he arrived at the door of Galway's study. He knocked briskly and waited for a m.u.f.fled order to enter. Inside, sitting behind Galway's desk -- a prized pre-war antique -- was a General of the Imperial Mexican Army in full regalia. His chest was covered with more medals than Beckwith had ever seen before in one spot. More important was the fact that the general was Moctezuma's man (not Juan Pablo's), and that he was commanding Sonoran troops.After the Captain had finished his report, the general, a rotund, mustachioed man with hard eyes, waved dismissal and the Sonoran officer spun briskly on his heel and marched out.

The general leaned back in the squeaky swivel chair and regarded Beckwith for a moment in silence. The doctor stood his ground, coolly returning the stare.

"I am General Miguel Stefan Trujillo of theMilitar de Mexico ," he said, finally, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the polished surface of the desk. "You are the traveling doctor for this village?"

"Si, Sen?r General."

"I would have expected an older man."

Beckwith shrugged. "Riding circuit requires the stamina of youth, General. Do not fear. I began my training at age twelve. That was twenty-five years ago. I a.s.sure you that I am highly skilled in my craft."

"Why is it that none of your patients informed us that you were due at this time?"

Beckwith shrugged. "Probably because none of them knew it themselves. I am late this year. Got hung up fighting an outbreak of blue plague up in the Navajo Nation last fall and I've been rushing to catch up ever since."

"La peste!" The general crossed himself with his right hand and made the sign of the Mushroom Cloud with his left. Beckwith wondered what the Archbishop of Mexico City would think of such an overt appeal to paganism in one of His Majesty's highest-ranking officers, a comment he carefully refrained from making aloud.

"There is no danger, General. I've been vaccinated and if it hadn't taken, I would have been dead six months ago."

Trujillo's expression quickly turned to anger, obviously fueled by the thought that he had made a fool of himself before this stranger.

"Be that as it may,Sen?r Medico , I find myself wondering at the timing of your current visit."

"If you will pardon me for saying so, General Trujillo, it is I who should be wondering at your presence, not vice versa."

"My presence here does not concern you."

"It concerns me if it interferes with my work. I got the impression from Captain Rodriguez that I am to consider myself your prisoner."

"His Imperial Majesty would never imprison a representative of the Public Health Service, Doctor.

You are our honored guest."

"Will I be allowed to practice my craft freely?"

"Certainly. I will even a.s.sign an officer to a.s.sist you."

"Will I be allowed to leave when I am finished in this village?"

"I'm afraid not," Trujillo said. "You will to remain as our guest until we complete our work here."

"How long will that take?""As long as it takes."

"I was forced to lecture your junior officer concerning Mexico's obligations under the treaty. Must I do the same for you, General?"

"His Majesty has authorized me to take special measures on my current mission, Doctor. If you are inconvenienced, your service may pet.i.tion His Majesty for compensation. Now, then, if you will excuse me, I have much to do."

Beckwith turned to leave.

Trujillo glanced up from his paperwork. "One thing more, Doctor. I would be honored to have you for my guest at dinner this evening. Senora Galway sets an excellent table and I am always interested in tales of far-off places."

Beckwith blinked, seemed about to refuse, and then relented. "I would be delighted."

He turned to leave once more, his expression dour. He was well out in the hall, following a uniformed flunky toward the stairs that led to the hacienda living quarters, before he allowed himself the barest hint of a smile.

Phase One had gone as planned!

Beckwith followed the aide to the upper part of the house and found himself in the same bedroom he had occupied on his last visit. He busied himself unpacking the leather satchel he found in the room.

He noted signs of a hurried search of his belongings as he did so. A few quick glances inside the case a.s.sured him that the seals on the false bottom that hid his "special equipment" were unbroken. He placed his clothes on the pegs set into the adobe walls for the purpose. He had just finished laying out his shaving kit when there came a quiet knock on his door.

He opened it to find Esperanza Galway standing in the hall with a load of linen. She curtsied politely and brushed past him, all the while keeping her eyes averted as was considered prim and proper for a young lady hereabouts. She placed the linen on the feather bed and turned to face him as he closed the door.

"It is good to see you again, Doctor Darol."

"And you, too, Espe. By the Great G.o.ds of Fission, you are sprouting up like a weed! It won't be long before the young grandees will be beating the doors down."

Espe blushed as Beckwith nodded approvingly. Gone was the gangly little girl whose arm he had set five years ago. In her place was a blossoming young woman of nearly fifteen summers. Espe was one of those lucky people who seemed to have extracted just the right characteristics from her mixed bag of ancestors. She was fast becoming a beautiful young woman.

"How is your father?" Beckwith asked.

"Safe, as far as I know," Espe said. "He left for Taos to buy breeding stock last month and has not returned."

"And your mother?""Very angry at theMexicanos for tracking mud all through her house."

"Did that potion I left help her tuberculosis?"

"She is much improved."

"What of my other patients?"

"Carmen had her baby, a strong, young boy with healthy lungs that can be heard all over the pueblo. And Aldo Finessa's arm has regenerated as good as new. Other than that, not much has happened except for the Sonorans."

"What of old Manuel Vargas? Does he still suffer from shortness of breath?"

"You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" Beckwith asked. "I just got here, remember?"

"The Sonorans killed Manuel Vargas. They say he was a spy. They found him with a machine.

Some say that it was a radio."

"Radio? Where would old Manuel get a radio? And for whom would he spy? And what would he spy on out here in the middle of all this desolation?"

"I do not know. All I do know is that the fat Generalissimo was most unhappy. It is said in the village that he had two of his own men shot when he learned that they had killed Vargas."

"Nice people," Beckwith muttered. "Why'd they come to the Gila Valley, Espe? This is poor land, barely able to support the people who live on it. Surely old Moctezuma can't want to add this place to his Empire."

"I do not know, Doctor Darol. They have four horse troops andlos inginieros with them."

"Engineers? Any power machinery?"

Espe nodded. Two large steam wagons with drilling attachments. Also, things like a prospector's metal detector."

"Metal detectors, huh? Did you see any radiation counters?"

Espe nodded. "Yes, a few. In the twenty days since they arrived, they have set off many explosions near the old charcoal ovens east of town. What does it mean?"

Beckwith shrugged. "That they're on a treasure hunt, I suppose. I wonder what they are looking for. Maybe I'll ask the General at dinner tonight."

"The ancients were a pack of G.o.d d.a.m.ned fools!"

General Trujillo wiped at his plate with a crust of coa.r.s.e bread, soaking up the last of the pinto beans while daring his double handful of a.s.sembled subordinates and unwilling guests to disagree with his comment. He was not disappointed when a priest across from Beckwith crossed himself and muttered a silent prayer."Ah, our padre thinks otherwise," the General growled, his speech slurred by too much wine.

"Our Lord looks not well on those who blaspheme the dead, Miguel Trujillo."

The general turned to Beckwith. "What say you, Medico? Our ancestors blew up the world in a fit of pique. Should we regard them as near demiG.o.ds on that account?"

Beckwith wiped his mouth on his sleeve and belched politely before answering. Esperanza Galway peered at him with alert eyes from the chair next to the priest's. Her mother, La Donna Alicia Galway, maintained a stony silence from the foot of the table.

"The ancients were neither fools nor demiG.o.ds, General. They were men like us, with all the weaknesses and strengths to which mere mortal flesh is heir. If they had a fatal flaw, it was that they weren't wise enough to extricate themselves when they fell into one of the universe's traps."

"Trap?" the General muttered. "What are you talking about, Medico?"

"Why, the trap of nuclear weapons, General. What else would I be talking about?"

The priest folded his hands in a prayerful gesture, "It is refreshing to meet a medical man who is also an adherent of the teachings of the church, Doctor Beckwith."

"You misunderstand, Padre. Whether nuclear weapons are the sp.a.w.n of the devil is a point that I happily leave to you clerics. No, the trap to which I refer is the obvious fact that they are too d.a.m.ned easy to build."

"You're crazy!" the captain of ordnance who was Trujillo's second in command said from Beckwith's right. "The Manhattan Project was one of the most complex ever undertaken. How can you call what they did easy?"

"I do so, Capitan Villela, because the men who invented the bomb accomplished their feat with the aid of mechanical calculators and vacuum tube technology. They knew nothing of semiconductors, lasers, magnetic containment devices, or dozens of other machines available to pre-Catastrophe civilization. In outlook, they were closer to the engineers of Queen Victoria's time than they were to the hi-tech warriors of The Catastrophe. That they were able to succeed with their relatively primitive technology is an indication of the ease of the their task."

"Your point, Medico?"

"Why, that nuclear weapons were invented too early. Humanity was not ready for them. Had the task been significantly more difficult, it would have taken longer. That would have given us more time to mature as a species and to develop countervailing technologies. As it was, the weapons of ma.s.s destruction were introduced into a world woefully unprepared to deal with their consequences."

"They were more prepared than are we," the priest argued.

"Not necessarily, Padre."

Captain Villela blinked. "Surely, Sen?r Doctor, you are not suggesting that we are more advanced than the ancients?"

Beckwith shrugged. "Not in all ways, certainly. Not even in most. But in some."

"What ways, Doctor Darol?" Espe asked."Many ways, Espe. If Aldo Finessa had been mauled by that javelina boar a hundred years ago, the most advanced hospital the ancients possessed could have done little more than amputate his arm. Yet, it was not a difficult matter for me to achieve full regeneration. Or cancer, the most dread disease of the ancient world. I can cure it as easily as the common cold. We have come a long way since the days of The Catastrophe, and not only in the field of medicine. Of course, we have an advantage that previous generations did not."

"Advantage?"

"A very great advantage if you think about it. Post-Catastrophe civilization is the first ever blessed with the sure knowledge of what was once possible. Sometimes, while searching for the old secrets, we uncover new ones.

"Our ancestors built a civilization of factories and a.s.sembly lines, of ma.s.sive industries and even larger bureaucracies to control them. We, on the other hand, are a world of cottage industries and master craftsmen, where each machine is the work of a single individual or a few dozen people at most.

We are a society that specializes in prototypes rather than ma.s.s production.

"We are also more efficient than they were ... of necessity. They left us too poor to do things their way. In the long run, who is to say which is the better road to travel?"

"Then you are not one who believes the race is in its twilight, Medico?" the General asked.

"Not at all. As I see it, our situation is somewhat akin to that of Europe after the fall of the Roman Empire."

"Roman Empire?"

"You might say an earlierEstados Unidos , General. A culture that in its time ruled much of the world."

"The city of Romulus and Remus, Julius Caesar, and Benito Mussolini," Espe said, nodding.

Beckwith beamed like a proud parent. "You've seen the collection of ancient books in your office, General? Ynicente Galway was a scholar of some renown in his youth. I am predicting that his daughter will surpa.s.s even his accomplishments someday."