For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) (17 page)

“Whatever. Now take me to our leaders.” Mr. Munitrough steps from the boat. “I am anxious to meet these brave new guardians of our public trust.”

“Nossir. I’m not really the government official type.”

“Nonsense! People will soon be killing each other to have a highly placed position in the new order.”

“That’s mighty nice of you, Mr. Munitrough, but I choose to remain a part of the old order.”

“Who is going to present me to the new administrators?”

“You may have to do that yourself, sir.”

The brave new bureaucrat gives me a cold sneer.

“I’ll remember this, Ibsen.”

“Ich,.. er, yessir.”

Turning on his heel the man of bureaucracy goes to meet the new kids on the block.

wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup

A flying stack of pie plates comes out to meet him.

“Greetings and salutations, gentlemen,” says the confident voice of Mr. Munitrough over the roaring ‘wup-wup’ of the flying Martian war machine. I do not think he appreciates being made to stand in the windstorm being kicked up by the flying machine’s horizontal pinwheels. Nevertheless, the quintessential political bureaucrat shows his great perseverance in the face of the whirling windstorm. “I have a few items that I am sure we would like to discuss.”

The top pie lid from the hovering craft of the air slides back. A Martian stands; his three eyes appraise Mr. Munitrough.

“Good morning, my good man, I am sure you are anxious to hurry along through the procedures for the transference of our sovereignty. As it so happens, I have all the material ready right here. I merely require your signature, and planet Earth is yours.”

The Martian uses his top mounted hand to stroke his brow as he considers Mr. Munitrough’s proposition. Nodding, he comes to a decision. It looks like the Martian is in agreement with Mr. Munitrough, and is accustomed to the workings of governmental procedure.

“Very good, sir. Here are the papers for your perusal. I drew them up myself, so I know there is nothing to worry about.”

The Martian then manipulates a tentacle to take the papers from Mr. Munitrough’s outstretched hand.

Oops! He misses the proffered papers and actually snatched up Mr. Munitrough himself!

“There is no need for me to come up there! I could have witnessed the documents with my initials from the ground!”

The Martian works the controls of the tentacle, maneuvering Mr. Munitrough into a position suspended above the open carriage of the flying vehicle.

“Here are those papers, eh, your, eh, highness. I must say, this is not really a very comfortable position for me to be in. I would appreciate it if you would please put me down.”

The Martian pilot takes the papers from the dangling dignitary’s hand, sniffs them once, and then casts them to the winds. The uncaring meteorological disturbance happily snatches Mr. Munitrough’s legaleze literature away and takes the many leaves on an impromptu journey. Like a flock of white peace doves, the papers fly away in the wash of the propellers’ blades.

“Hey, I worked hard at drawing up those papers,” the bobbing political hack protests. “I demand to be treated with the proper respect that I deserve!”

Mr. Martian considers Mr. Munitrough’s words.

I remember hearing once, that a smile is the same in any language.

I believe that to be true.

You can go anywhere in the world, and a smile will indicate happiness, no matter what the dialect. In my mind, this even includes the animal kingdom.

Three eyebrows raise up a little bit. The three eyes underneath take on a brief twinkle. The rims around the three peepers slightly krinkle. The orifice beneath the group of eyes elongates. Spreading wider, the Martian mouth slowly opens. This opening gives us a view of the teeth within. The many teeth. Rows of jagged, pointy teeth are revealed by the upwardly turned, drooling lips.

The tentacle maneuvers its clutched tidbit into a tantalizing trajectory. The grinning gourmet places Mr. Munitrough directly over his head. Leaning way back, and unhinging his jaw to allow for an even greater opening to his gaping wide mouth, he disengages the tentacle’s claw.

In his mind, I think, he has acquiesced to Mr. Munitrough’s request.

Oaring my boat into the current, I work my way back to the camp of my mates from the night before. The Potomac is strewn with the refuse of the wracked flotilla. Mortar platforms and gun barges nearly block the waters in the semblance of a spontaneous beaver dam.

It is with a weary soul I pick my way ashore.

It is not my nature to be bitter and melancholy, but sometimes, even Ichabod gets the blues.

I shuffle up to the ragged remains of the world’s straggling defenders.

“Hey, look! It’s Ichabod! Hey! Ichabod.”

“We sure are surprised to see you, Ichabod.”

“We thought you were a goner, for sure, Ichabod.”

“Your friends were awfully upset.”

“My friends! Did my friends make it safely back across the river?!”

“Roof! Roof! Roof!”

I know that bark!

“Bolt!”

The little dog runs across the battlefield and leaps into my arms.

“Oh, Bolt. You’re okay!” I hug the loyal little guy. He is just as happy to see me.

“Ichabod!”

I look up at the familiar, feminine, British, voice. Miss Plumtartt and my friends are running to join me.

I run to meet them, but it is my love that I embrace.

I think we spin a few times. I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything in this moment except the girl in my arms.

“Oh, Persephone.”

“Oh, Ichabod.”

“Oh, my beautiful Persephone, that is, I mean, Miss...”

“Oh, no you don’t, Mr. Ichabod Temperance. If you ever want to hear me speak your Christian name, sir, you shall have to learn to pronounce mine.”

“But Miss Plu...”

“From this moment forward, sir.”

“But!...”

“Sir.”

“Yes, Ma’am, ...Puh...”

“Come along, Mr. Temperance. I shall assist you. Ready? Per...”

“Per...” I follow as instructed.

“se”

“se”

“pho”

“pho”

“ne”

“ne”

“Excellent, Mr. Temperance. Now just string them all together, thusly. Per-se-pho-ne.”

“Miss Plumtartt. Oops, dang it. I’ll get it though, Miss Plumtartt, I promise.”

“Hmm.”

“In the meantime, may I have some more hugging?”

“Indubitably, Mr. Temperance. I say, that sounds jolly good. My word, I say, hear, hear!”

Miss Plumtartt indulges me with the best hug I ever had in my whole life.

“Mr. Temperance, I believe the occasion is worthy of just a bit more.”

By unspoken mutual consent, our heads tilt, and come together until our lips meet. We have a public display of affection right there on the battlefield in front of everybody!

We get a really big cheer from the surrounding soldiers! They are hooting and hollering up a storm!

After a few moments, Clarabelle Nightingale clears her throat, “Eh, hem. Uh, we were worried too, you know.”

Miss Plumtartt and I open our embrace to include Clarabelle, Valuria, and Sir Paul. It is good to be among friends.

“What happened, Ichabod? It looked like you were being fried on a green Bar-B-Q the last we saw of you.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Valuria, Ma’am, I got blasted off the steps of that Martian Walker by one of the flyin’ varmints. When I woke up, I was running up Constitution Way being chased by two of those mechanical jokers. I tried to lose ‘em in the remains of the Capitol, but they were stuck on me like a tick on Bolt. I finally had to take a dip in the Eastern drink to get away, but my thoughts have been of y’all! How did you folks fare after I departed? The last I saw, the three of you, Valuria, Miss Plumtartt and Sir Paul, y’all were each swinging from three different legs of a single Martian creature. How did that work out for you?”

Valuria fields the question. “The monster provided the solution to our impasse. The considerate fellow released his hold on the ladder, presumably due to our combined weight and denial of access to the use of his feet. Upon impact with terra all too firma, we lost our grip upon the disgusting creature. The Martian regained his footing before the rest of us and was back up the ladder before we could stop him. The craft that was exercising the uncanny ability to keep itself aloft renewed its attack upon us. Sir Paul grabbed both of us ladies up under his arms and bore us through the hailstorm of the Martian onslaught. Getting us safely to the Potomac’s bank, he bravely returned to assist others in our withdrawal.”

“Which brings me to you, Miss Nightingale. How did you make out in the Martian adventures?”

“
Well!
As you know, it was our task to create a diversion, but lacking in any metal utensils, we just had to do the best we could. In this case, it was brickbats and stones. Primitive, but effective. It was my job, in particular, to protect our force from sonic cannon reprisals. We all performed our roles splendidly, I think. We got the monsters’ attentions, and coerced them into following us away from the scene of our intended caper. My own efforts at defending our force were also a smashing success.”

Miss Nightingale happily beams at all of us as she breathlessly tells her tale.

“The untimely arrival of the flying machines was a real sabot in the dike’s mechanisms, though. It made the countering of the aural attacks much more difficult. Too bad we do not have a way to counter the green energy blasters. I was buffeted about quite a bit.”

She then surveys some of the lads that were a part of her force with a smile.

“Fortunately there were always helpful hands ready to steady me in my moments of physical distress.”

Many of the boys’ faces glow with the happy remembrance of that magical moment.

---

Sounds of a construction project come to us from the captured Capitol.

Mechanical hammering, drilling, riveting, sawing and pounding proceed with great vigor from the busy Martian invaders.

I am sure we will be horrified when the new mechanical terror makes itself known.

We resume our council of war.

“Has anyone been able to glean any more information as regards the alien technologies?”

Everyone thinks back on the horrifying contacts with the hated enemy.

“The only technology at work was what we could see, wasn’t it?”

“Not necessarily, Miss Nightingale, I had the distinct impression that the alien craft were all working in a coordinated fashion.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt Ma’am, I had that same impression. What do you make of it?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Temperance.”

“You are so cute when you are being serious, Ma’am. Oops! I didn’t mean to say that aloud, y’all.”

“Could the ships be in communication, somehow?”

“Nay, Valuria, naughtte by my reckoning. I never shirked the devils from my vision. I was so determined in my rightful wrath to see justice done! I, for one, can vouchsafe, nay, verily I proclaim unto you, unequivocally, that yonder fiends used no visible nor aural communicae. Semaphore? Bah! Flags? I think naughtte, for I would have ripped them down and blown my terrible schnozz upon their foul colours. Nay, my friends, I must discount any theory of these vessels being in a message-providing modus operandi. Nay, nay, nay.”

“Perhaps they had a stratagem ready should the parameters of the situation arise?”

“Theoretically possible, though highly unlikely, Miss Englehart. I propose that our enemies are able to communicate without semaphore. I postulate they may have something more along the sort of invention as our own telegraph, or teletalker system.”

“Preposterous, oops! I’m sorry, Miss Plumtartt! I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but there ain’t no wires to connect them!”

“Quite so, Mr. Temperance; however, I propose that they employ a ‘no wire’ communication system.”

“You mean like ‘homing’ pigeons?”

“No, Miss Nightingale, more like a telegraph or teletalker, but without the intervening copper wires.”

“That’s an outlandish thought, Miss Plumtartt! How could such a thing work?”

“I do not know how many of the things we have seen from our visitors work, but my senses assure me that they do indeed exist and function. It is no great leap in my mind to imagine these terrible vessels to be in contact with each other in some way that we, as yet, do not have the technology to comprehend. The idea is far from inconceivable. I would not be surprised if the horrid beasts are in communications with their colleagues around the Earth. Perhaps even back to their brethren on their home planet.”

“Golly, Miss Plumtartt! I remember seeing a device under one of the craft during our attempt to capture the mechanicals. I had an impression at the time that it may have been a camera. I think it may have taken a picture of Sir Paul. Do you think that the image could have been transmitted somehow, all the way across the inter-planetary void to the planet Mars?”

“A good likeness of me is sure to convey a favorable impression of our species; however, I might be missing an astounding ransom in royalties.”