Riverworld Anthology - Tales of Riverworld Part 23

"Goes to show you can't believe everything you read," said Crockett with a faint smile. Then his features turned grim. "For all practical purposes, I died there. Santy Anna wasn't in a forgiving mood that day. His men murdered us quick enough."

"What?" exclaimed Bill. "Why?"

"Before they attacked, the General told his soldiers, 'No prisoners.' He meant what he said. So when we were brought before him, Santy Anna didn't even look up. He just repeated his command. d.a.m.ned Mex troopers bayoneted us right there. With my dyin' breath, I swore I'd get even with that cold-hearted b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And ever since Resurrection Day, I've been a-huntin' for him."

"What do you plan to do if you find him?" asked Mason. "The logistics of this place takes a lot of the sting out of revenge. Kill a man, and he's reborn elsewhere. Cut off his hand and it grows back."

"I've got me some ideas about that," said Crockett, his teeth flas.h.i.+ng in a nasty grin. "Locating the General is the problem. h.e.l.l of a lot of people living on this River."

"All of mankind up to around the year two thousand," said Bill Mason. "At least, that's what some people claim. Thirty or forty billion, give or take a few."

"Bigger numbers than I can handle," said Crockett. "Still, I'm a patient man. If it takes a thousand years of searching, I'll find him. That's a promise."

"Why bother?" asked Bowie, a bitter edge to his291.voice. "Bill's right. Revenge don't mean much anymore. It ain't worth the trouble."

Crockett sighed deeply and shook his head. "That don't sound like the Jim Bowie I knew. Folks said he killed six, seven men in duels back in Louisiana before heading west. Same man believed in rightin' wrongs and makin' the guilty pay for their misdeeds. He never worried whether they was headin' to heaven or h.e.l.l. Or if it was too much trouble."

Bowie shrugged. "Life is different now. The edge is gone. First time around, life meant something, 'cause you knew death lurked in the background. It kept you on your toes, if you catch my drift. I'm not complaining, but this sure ain't what I expected from the great Hereafter. d.a.m.ned place is boring."

"Is the problem with this world?" asked Socrates unexpectedly, "or perhaps with ourselves?"

"Huh?" said Bowie, scowling. "What do you mean by that?"

"Are you a man who makes things happen?" replied the philosopher, "or one who is satisfied to sit back and let events and circ.u.mstances manipulate him?"

Bowie hesitated, pondering his reply. "I always thought of myself as master of my own destiny," he finally stated. "No one ever told Jim Bowie what he could or couldn't do."

"Yet you find yourself bored on this world of endless opportunity," said Socrates with a mere glimmer of sarcasm in his voice. "How very strange."

"Endless opportunity?" repeated Isaac, catching them all by surprise. It was the first time anyone could remember the mystery man speaking other than in answer to a direct question. "I don't understand."292."For what reason has all mankind been re-created on this great River?" asked Socrates, his eyes glowing with excitement. "To strive toward perfection as we are told by the disciples of the Church of the Second Chance? A n.o.ble goal, but one I suspect out of the reach of most of us.

"Or are we here to finish that which we left undone when we died? Can any of us truly say that we perished with all of our dreams, our goals, our ambitions satisfied? Who among us has not some business left unfinished? Perhaps Crockett's quest for vengeance is not the most n.o.ble of enterprises, but it gives his life purpose."

"Carpe diem," said Bill Mason. "Seize the day."

"Exactly," said Socrates. "An excellent thought. We must be true to our own nature. The shortest way to live with honour is to be in reality what we appear to be." "That's the way I figure it," said Crockett. "Come on, Jim. You can sit around here growing fat or help me find Santy Anna and give him what he deserves."

Bowie sat for a moment, mulling over Socrates' words. The Greek philosopher had an uncanny knack of ferreting out the truth with a few simple questions. For months, Bowie had been feeling restless. Life in New Athens offered no challenge for a frontiersman. Crockett's appearance only served to underscore the emptiness of his own existence.

Searching for Santa Anna meant nothing to him. Unlike Crockett, he had no personal score to settle with the Mexican. His past had died at the Alamo. He was free of old grudges, old hates. Yet, thinking that, he suddenly realised he wanted to leave anyway.

In an instant of epiphany, Bowie realised that the reason for his departure didn't matter. It was the trip293.itself that counted, not the final destination. The meaning of life was in the living, not the ending. Perhaps that was why all mankind had been reborn on the banks of a seemingly endless river.

"Well," he said, a smile slowly forming on his lips, "I guess I could use a change of scenery."

With a whoop of excitement, Crockett grabbed Bowie by the shoulders. "Now that's more like it! The two of us, together again, lookin' for trouble."

"Hey," said Bill Mason. "Count me in. I'm no adventurer, but there's a few people on the River I'd like to find. Jack Ruby and Lee Harvey Oswald, for starters."

"Why not," said Crockett. "No reason we can't hunt for those fellas too. Whoever the h.e.l.l they are."

"I, too, would like to join your party," said Isaac unexpectedly. For the first time since Bowie met the man, there was a glimmer of hope in his haunted eyes. "My nightmares are driving me mad. Only one man can put those dreams to rest. He, too, must live somewhere along the River."

Bowie glanced over at Socrates. "What about you, my friend? Want to come along? Or are you satisfied to remain here?"

"In my old age," said the philosopher, a sarcastic edge to his voice, ' 'the good citizens of Athens voted to put me to death for corrupting the youth of that city. Too many of those same people were resurrected in this community.

"Lately they again grumble about my endless questions. They think I mock the G.o.ds. Unfortunately, they are right. One taste of hemlock is enough. Better that I travel with you than risk a second sentence. If I die, let it be because of my own stupidity, not another's.294."Besides," he added. "I have asked many people, 'What is justice?' In all my years, I have yet to receive a satisfactory reply. Perhaps somewhere on the River is an answer to my question."

"Then it's settled," said Crockett. "Tomorrow we'll build us a canoe and head out."

"Wait a minute," said Bowie, raising his hands for silence. "I agreed to help you find the General, but I ain't planning to commit suicide. How many times you die already, searchin' on your own?"

"Seven," answered Crockett. "Or maybe eight. I lost count a while back."

"I figured as much," said Bowie, his mind racing. Crockett hadn't changed much since his days on the frontier. He had grand ideas but little patience for details. "Only way we'll accomplish anything is by staying alive. Maybe death ain't permanent anymore, but it'll scatter our party to the four winds. So we gotta make plans, big plans. Travelling by canoe ain't the answer. We'll need a boat, a good one, and a crew to sail her."

"A boat?" said Crockett. "And crew? Why?"

"I've learned quite a bit from some of the other folk translated here during the past few years. Not all the people on the River are as friendly as the citizens of New Athens. Take those cannibal friends of yours, for example. The five of us don't stand much of a chance on our own. There's strength in numbers. That's why a crew is important."

"The Spartans," interrupted Bill Mason excitedly. "Ever since they defeated those Viking raiders last year, they've been looking for new worlds to conquer."

"My thoughts exactly," said Bowie. "I watched them in action. They're tough, disciplined fighters who know295.how to fight as a unit. Precisely the type of men we want."

"And anxious for adventure," said Socrates. "Let me talk to Lysander of Sparta tomorrow. He was the admiral of their fleet and knows the finest sailors. Though I suspect that insufferable bore will insist we take him along as well."

"What about a s.h.i.+p?" asked Crockett. "Or you got that all planned too."

"Maybe," said Bowie, smiling. "Just maybe I do."

The next morning, Bowie, Crockett, and Mason walked down-River a mile to the next grailstone. "That's where Thorberg Scafhogg lives," said Bowie, as they strolled along the beach. "We sometimes get together for a few drinks."

Seeing the disapproving look that crossed Crockett's face, Bowie raised his hands in protest. "I know what you're thinking, and it ain't like that. No more drunken binges for me. I learned my lesson at the Alamo. d.a.m.ned near broke all my ribs when I fell off the ramparts. Ended doin' more damage to myself than the Mexicans."

Bowie's face grew solemn. "Besides, in those days I didn't care much if I lived or died. Not after the cholera took my wife and baby girl. Liquor helped me forget. All that's changed since the resurrection. Life's different knowing that Maria is alive somewhere out there. I've mended my ways." The Texan smiled. "Maybe I should think about joining the Church of the Second Chance."296.

"Yeah," said Crockett, arching his eyebrows. "What do you think of those preacher folks? Hold much to their theory of us being re-created so we can all strive toward sainthood?" Davy laughed. "Hard to imagine old Andy Jackson, the devil himself, with a halo."

"Having a second chance at life strikes me as a fine idea," said Bowie. "Not to mention a third, fourth, and who knows how many more tries. But, people is people. No matter how many times they're reborn, they ain't gonna change much. At least, that's the way I see it."

"Who's this Thorberg you mentioned?" asked Crockett, changing the subject. "And what's he to us?"

"Around twelve months ago," replied Bill Mason, "a fleet of six Viking s.h.i.+ps came sailing down the River. Commanded by Olaf Tryggvason, a Norwegian king from the tenth century, they were looking to establish an empire in this territory. The raiders had conquered two other valleys, and they figured we'd be no more trouble. None of them counted on the Spartans."

"Must have been about a thousand Nors.e.m.e.n looking for plunder on those boats," said Bowie, continuing the tale. "They never encountered any organised opposition before. Stormed ash.o.r.e, not expecting any resistance. Three thousand Greeks, combat-hardened veterans of years of intercity warfare, met them on the beaches. The sands ran red with blood."

"The Vikings fought heroically," said Mason, "but without much discipline. They battled as individuals. The Spartans, raised and trained in groups, worked in unison. Individually, they didn't match up against their opponents. But collectively they overwhelmed them.

"By the time King Olaf fell, most of his followers were dead. The remaining few, mostly artisans and297.craftsmen who kept the s.h.i.+ps in good condition, surrendered. Lysander of Sparta offered them a choice. Join our community, freely sharing their knowledge of science and engineering, or perish by the sword. In a world where death means nothing, mercy no longer exists. The Norwegians, to a man, chose to live. Thorberg Scafhogg was one of that bunch."

"Their boats?" asked Crockett.

"Burned during the battle," replied Mason. "Fortunately, afterward, we were able to save most of the rivets and bolts."

On Riverworld, where minerals were almost non-existent, iron was more valued than gold. Without it, modern technology could not exist. Wars were fought for metal.

"Where'd they get the ore?" asked Crockett. "Can't dig for it. Gra.s.s is too darned tough."

"You know those firestarters that sometimes appear in the grails? Rumour has it that an American named Edison tried all sorts of experiments to discover their secrets. Got killed a couple of times, but he kept on trying. Never did find out how they worked. But what he did learn was equally important.

"Edison discovered that if you place a burned-out firestarter in a grail, most of the housing gets cooked off, leaving a small amount of iron and copper. Not much, but considering that everyone in the valley started out with one firestarter and usually got another every six months or so, that accounted for a good amount of material in a few years.

"The Vikings used the metal to make rivets and bolts, along with a few axes. Those went to the best fighters and a few s.h.i.+pwrights. Scafhogg, their most famous craftsman, got one. He uses it still.298."Nors.e.m.e.n dislike saws, preferring axes for cutting wood. Wait till you see Thorberg use his blade. The man's a genius with it."

"Ain't his only talent," said Bowie. The Texan pulled a long knife out of a dragonfish scabbard. The burnished steel blade blazed in the morning suns.h.i.+ne.

"He made it for me usin' a picture I drew," Bowie continued. "Same way Rezin designed the original. Not perfectly balanced, but it's sure better than a hornfish sword. Only Bowie knife on the whole river, I suspect."

"I'll say," replied Crockett. "You think maybe this Thorberg could make me a rifle?"

"Probably," said Bowie. "We even cooked up some gunpowder for explosives a while back. But what you planning to use for ammunition? Wooden bullets?"

"d.a.m.n," said Crockett. "Ain't proper for a man to be without a gun. I miss my Betsy."

"There's Scafhogg now," interrupted Mason, pointing to a figure in the distance. "That's a t.i.tle given him by King Olaf in the tenth century," he added as an afterthought. "It means, 'Smoothing Stroke,' referring to his s.h.i.+pbuilding skills."

A hundred feet away, a squat, heavyset man stood beside a long wood workbench, busily chopping into a slab of oak with a glittering steel axe. Powerful muscles rippled in his arms and shoulders as he worked. A long blond braid tossed to and fro across his back with each motion.

"Ho, Thorberg," cried Bowie as they drew closer.

The Norseman paused and looked up. The harsh, angular lines of his face softened when he spotted the Texan. "Ho, Bowie," he called in return. "Welcome to you and your friends."

They spent the next ten minutes on introductions and idle299.gossip. Thorberg spoke Esperanto with a thick accent, and oftentimes it was difficult to make out what he said. However, the master builder possessed a keen mind and quick wit. He expressed pleasure in meeting Crockett, and even submitted to listening to a verse of the sharpshooter's theme song. Bowie agonised through the rendition. He wondered idly if this miracle picture device called television ever featured a show on his life. Mentally, he promised to put that question to Bill Mason once they were alone.

The serenade over, Thorberg showed them his latest project, a ma.s.sive oak chair he was constructing for one of the villagers. As he spoke, he slashed at the wood backboard with his axe, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g it away with the precision of a fine surgeon.

"And what brings you to my humble home?" he asked, brus.h.i.+ng a tiny sliver of wood from his hair. "Not merely the desire to show Crockett examples of my work, I suspect."

"We want you to build a boat," said Bowie, seeing no reason to equivocate. "A longboat, like the ones you constructed for King Olaf and his men. We're planning a trip downstream."

The Norseman didn't seem the least bit surprised. "Follow me," he said.

Turning, he headed away from the River and into the forest. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. Five minutes of brisk walking brought them to the base of a huge oak tree, towering well over a hundred feet into the air.

"Here is the keel for your s.h.i.+p," he declared proudly. "I knew from the day we met that someday you would ask this task from me. It was in your eyes. Sooner or later, all true men must challenge the great River."300."Mighty big tree," said Davy Crockett. "Gonna be an awfully long boat."

"On Earth, for King Olaf, I built one twice the size," said Thorberg. "A mighty dragon s.h.i.+p he named Long Serpent."

The Viking waved his hands at the surrounding forest. "The G.o.ds sensed your plans long ago. They provided us with many fine oaks for the planks and arches of the vessel."

Bowie nodded. Not that he believed in the Norse deities, but he found it highly unusual that both bamboo and oak thrived in the valleys. It was as if the unseen masters of this world challenged men to build boats and explore the River. The Texan wondered if he would ever know the truth. Or if he really wanted to.

"And what do you require in return?" he asked Thorberg, pus.h.i.+ng the speculation from his mind. No use contemplating questions without answers.

"To sail with you," answered Thorberg immediately, not surprising any of them. "You need a master helmsman to steer your s.h.i.+p. I am that man.

"After all," he added, "none of you has any experience guiding a longboat on this River. I already piloted such a vessel for King Olaf's fleet."

"You're hired," said Bowie with a laugh. "How long will it take to construct this marvel?"

"With the help of the other s.h.i.+pwrights," said Thorberg after a short pause, "three months. Add to that another two weeks to train the crew. In a little more than a hundred days, we can set sail."

Bowie turned to Crockett. "Your revenge hold till then?"

"You betcha," replied the frontiersman., "I don't mind setting a spell, knowing the reward is waiting at the end."

"Then it's decided," declared Bowie. "Thorberg, you301.a.s.semble your friends and start working. Any a.s.sistance you need, let me know. In the meanwhile, we'll recruit a crew and gather our supplies."

Enthusiasm for the project welled up within the Texan, filling him with excitement. For the first time since Resurrection Day, he felt truly alive. It was good to be working for a cause again. Any cause.

"You picked out a name for this s.h.i.+p already?" asked Crockett, grinning.

"I think so," said Bowie. "Unless you gents object, I plan on callin' the boat Unfinished Business. Because that's what it's all about-unfinished business."

Exactly one hundred and ten days later, they set sail. Along with Bowie and his friends, the crew consisted of sixty Greek sailors under the command of Lysander of Sparta. Most of the men had served for the Greek Admiral on Earth and were hardened veterans of the long war between Sparta and Athens.

It was agreed upon by all concerned that Bowie would serve as leader of the expedition. A true man of the people, the Texan was one of the few men in New Athens without enemies. He, in turn, appointed Lysander as his second-in-command. The Greek soldier was a tough, capable sailor who hungered for action and adventure. A sixty-year-old man resurrected in a twenty-five-year-old body, his optimistic expectations provided an interesting contrast to Socrates' cynical views of the human condition.302.The two men often engaged in long, heated debates contrasting Athenian democracy and Spartan militarism.

Thorberg's s.h.i.+p proved to be a marvel of Viking engineering. A hundred feet long and twenty feet at the beam, the longboat had ports for twenty-five oars per side. There was a solitary mast fitted between two heavy oak blocks, the leeson and the mast partner. Sail raised, the speedy, manoeuvrable s.h.i.+p made ten knots with a following wind.

Like all such s.h.i.+ps, it was built from the outside in. The T-shaped keel, cut from the giant oak Thorberg had shown Bowie, was bowed in the middle so that in a battle the s.h.i.+p could be spun around on its axis. Attached to it was a thin sh.e.l.l of oak planks, each one cut from a single tree, bark to core. The boards were affixed to the stempost and sternpost by roundhead nails and bolts, then joined to one another in an overlap fas.h.i.+on with twisted and tarred ironwood vines. The resulting hull was incredibly light but remained watertight no matter how rough the going.

The boat weighed less than thirty tons when fully loaded with crew and supplies, and it drew less than three feet of water. To Bowie and his friends, the s.h.i.+p appeared to almost fly over the river. Thorberg even constructed wooden rollers, kept in the rear cargo area, on which the longboat could be dragged onto the beach when necessary.

At the stern was a rudder, some ten feet long, cut from a solid piece of oak. On the nearby p.o.o.p deck stood a powerful ballista. The mast was only thirty feet high, but the sail, made from dragonfish membrane, stretched forty feet across.

The Spartans adjusted easily to the new s.h.i.+p. With its single sail and bank of oars, it resembled the triremes that they had sailed for Sparta. After several trial runs303.with the new crew, Thorberg p.r.o.nounced them worthy of his vessel. A hundred and nine days after starting work, the Viking s.h.i.+pwright informed Bowie that all was ready.

Anxious to get going, the Texan immediately ordered their supplies loaded onto the t>oat. Not believing in long good-byes, he decided to set sail the following morning.

The whole population of New Athens turned out to see them off. The faces of the crowd reflected a mix of emotions, ranging from anger to joy, envy to disdain. Bowie no longer cared. Never a patient man, he was happy to be on his way.

Finally, the last of the supplies were loaded, the crew were at their oars, Thorberg at his rudder. All that remained was to lift anchor and set sail. Bowie lifted a hand in farewell.

"Speech," called a voice from the sh.o.r.e. "Speech, speech," echoed many others.

Momentarily taken aback, Bowie hesitated, not sure what to say. Socrates, standing next to him on the p.o.o.p deck, suffered no such modesty. He stepped forward immediately.