Volume Eight
Chapter
Ten
What's What
In
which Dodger explains the way of things
Dodger
followed the angry native from the tent, watching as Jones stormed across the
open space, but then tried to relax as he approached his boss man. The man’s
posture did nothing to hide his anger, for the natives set to arguing right
away. Dodger felt the presence of others joining him outside of the teepee.
“He
sheemed awful upshet,” Ched said.
“The
doc just gave him the bad news,” Dodger said.
“I
heard. That’sh a shame.”
“Maybe
it’s a good thing. We’re on a tight enough schedule as it is. We didn’t have a
whole lot of time to stick around.”
“You
know the doc offered to shtay ash long ash it took to help.”
“I
would’ve been disappointed if he hadn’t.”
“It
didn’t matter either way, becaushe they shtill turned him down.”
“I
wonder why.”
The
doc slipped out of the teepee. “I wondered if you could lend me a hand, Ched?”
“Shure,”
Ched said.
“I
think I can get the collars off with a simple snip or two, but I need help holding
them straight.”
“I’ll
do my besht.”
“And
still.”
“I
shaid I would do my besht.”
“I
don’t want your best. I want you to do it right.”
“Sir?”
Dodger asked.
“Yes?”
the doc asked.
“I
hate to bother you about this, but why are the buffalo so against help?”
The
doc glanced to the natives, still arguing in the distance, then lowered his
voice as he said, “I didn’t want Jones to know this, but the accelerated growth
of their cells has left them in a constant state of excruciating pain. Pain is
all they know. All they understand. To be quite frank, they are looking forward
to dying.”
“I
know the feeling,” Dodger said.
“Yes.
It’s most unfortunate. Poor things. I can’t wait to get my hands on that
maniac. I would like nothing more than to snap his little furry neck.”
Dodger
doubted the doc would do such a thing, but the sentiment was agreeable.
“Looksh
like the powwow ish over,” Ched said.
The
group of leaders pushed Jones to one side and made their way to the main
teepee.
“Get
back in the tent, Doc,” Dodger said. “Let me handle them.”
“Nonsense,”
the doc said. “I am every bit as much a part of this as you are.”
Dodger
didn’t get much of a chance to argue about it before the chieftain and his
entourage were within earshot. And bowshot. Even before they made it to the
teepee, the chief was shouting in a gruff voice.
“He
wantsh to know if the cowsh can really talk,” Ched said.
“Tell
him yes, with some help,” the doc said. “And they aren’t cows, Chester. They are buffalo.”
Ched
translated the information, to which the chief and his men all smiled and
nodded. The leader said a few more excited words.
“He
wantsh to hear them himshelf,” Ched said. The chief continued to talk as Ched
explained, “He doeshn’t believe Jones’sh account. He doubtsh the Shishtersh are
here for the White Crow. He alsho shaysh no offensh meant by that. I don’t know
if he meansh by the name or the other thing.”
Dodger
looked beyond the chieftain, to Jones, who remained at the edge of the distant
crowd, all but sneering in return. The native was clearly upset by the news,
just as his fellow tribesmen were bound to be once they heard it from the
source. There was little that could be done about that, though. Might as well
let the drama unfold naturally.
“If
it makes the chief feel any better,” Dodger said, “I don’t think the Sisters
are here for me either. But he and his men are welcome to hear it from the
buffaloes’ mouths.”
“They
should keep in mind,” the doc added, “that the devices have yet to be
deactivated. There is still a danger that Rex is bluffing about everything, and
the collars could explode without warning.”
Ched
explained the situation.
The
chief nodded, said a few words of thanks, then pushed past Dodger into the
tent.
“You
should go translate for them,” Dodger said, and gave Ched a little shove
inside.
“I’ll
join them, shall I?” the doc asked. He ducked into the tent without waiting for
a response, passing Critchlow on his way out.
“That
was just amazing,” Critchlow said, still glassy eyed with wonder. “I can’t
believe those beautiful animals can actually speak.”
“Yeah,”
Dodger said. “And no one else will believe you either.”
Critchlow
lost the awe and stared at Dodger for almost a full five seconds in silence,
before asking, “What are you trying to imply?”
“That
you’re going to keep your trap shut about this, because if you think about it
for more than a few seconds, the whole thing sounds pretty implausible. Not to
mention silly.”
“I
can’t just … I have a job … I have to … it’s just that …” Critchlow’s excuses
faded to a murmur as he rubbed at the back of his neck and kept his eyes
downcast, thinking about it for a moment. When he raised his face to Dodger
again, he bore a sheepish grin. “You’re right, you know? I can’t tell anyone
about it. Who would believe me? I suppose you and your crew will just deny it
if asked.”
“You
can count on that.”
“But
why? Why hold back something so wonderful? Something like this could change the
world.”
“I
reckon the doc has his reasons, and I’ve learned not to question them. Whatever
they are.”
“That
kind of blind loyalty can be dangerous.”
“Nothing
blind about it. If anything, I’ve seen too much. I know exactly what your
bosses would do with a thing like that in there. The same thing applies to the
ICE machine.”
All
at once, Critchlow became the picture of innocence, as if he didn’t work for
the same bastards Dodger spent the last half of a decade avoiding. “I’m sure I
don’t know what you mean.”
Dodger
wasn’t fooled by the act. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”
“I
am sure you’re mistaken.”
“Fine,
you want me to spell it out? I’ll spell it out.” Dodger lowered his voice to a
gravelly growl and moved in closer to Critchlow. “If the U.S. government gets
their hands on the ICE machine, they will weaponize it. They will take a
perfectly innocent thing and turn it into something dangerous and unstable.
They will turn it against its own purpose, just like they do everyone else. Do
you understand now? Or do I need to spell it with my fists too?”
Critchlow,
to his credit, didn’t back away or even flinch the entire time Dodger snarled
in the man’s face. He did, however, whisper a single word once Dodger was
finished. “Everything.”
“Excuse
me?”
“You
said everyone, but I think you meant everything.”
“I
meant exactly what I said.”
Critchlow
eyed Dodger a moment as those words sank into his brain until they reached just
the right place. The man went a touch white as he swallowed hard. “You are he,
aren’t you? You’re Agent Dodger.”
“I’m
sure I don’t know who you mean,” Dodger said, delighting in echoing the man’s
words.
“I’ve
heard stories about you,” Critchlow whispered. “So many things. So many
terrible, terrible things.” He began to tremble ever so slightly.
“You’re
thinking wrong. Like I said, I’m the professor’s bodyguard. That’s all. And you’d
best be damned pleased of that.” Dodger caught movement ahead and glanced to Jones
just in time to see the native heading into the crowd, away from the teepee.
“Come on.” Dodger jostled Critchlow in the direction of the fleeing native.
“Is
it time to talk with Mr. Jones?”
Dodger
had to give it to Critchlow: At least the bureaucrat had the wherewithal to
keep up with what was going on. “I reckon it is.”
“Do
you think he will listen to reason?”
“Not
at all.”
“I
was afraid you would say that.”
Dodger
shoved the man along as they tried to catch up with Jones.
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