For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) (25 page)

Through woods and across ditches I fly until I catch sight of the metal monster. I vault a fence and make gains on my foe. It crashes along with impunity. I get a glimpse of the many Martians in the open-topped head that are the apparent drivers of the monstrosity. Double the size of the control segment is the following thorax. Parapets of crane arms spread like a rash of chicken pox on this vaguely arachnid platform. The crane arms, made up of many lengths of latticed beams connected by ball joints at their intersections, flail about like Medusa’s hair. These end in horrible, sharp claws that easily reach in front of the crawling, dragging, horror. These claws’ operational range extends before the creature, and can reach so far as to deposit their captured prize into the retractable roofed abattoir abdomen.

I have no time to arm myself; I must simply board this dangerous contraption somehow. I run closer and closer. The attention of the screaming monster pilots is to their front and they do not see my advance.

Bolt’s attention is caught. He had been adjusting his speed to match mine, but he has now darted ahead. His path runs directly before the massive machines’ dagger-like legs. I can tell that something has caught his hearing, or his psychic abilities have alerted him to something. His attention is solidly affixed. I desperately try to catch the poor little guy. I cannot let him be hurt. I try to hear what he has heard. In a tiny slice of sound amidst the chaos of the lumbering disaster I hear a faint, ‘mew’.

I see what Bolt is after. A tiny little kitten. Its bright eyes are confused at the coming sounds. It looks about in naive wonder, not knowing what to do.

Bolt dashes in front of the Martian machine and grabs up the kitten by the scruff of the neck. He scampers back out of the way of the monstrous onslaught that would have certainly been the innocent young cat’s untimely end. Yet just as the brave little dog gets his charge to safety, a terrible steel claw takes him in its horrible grip.

“Yipe!” cries Bolt as he drops the kitten and is quickly hauled up into the air. I am barely able to jump and catch the claw as it departs with my friend. I cling desperately to the awful steel fingers as we are flung high into the air. I see and hear the retracting sections of the abdomen’s roof. Bolt and I are swiftly maneuvered over the dark confines of the beast’s belly. We hit the deck hard as the claw releases its prize and we fall to our dark peril.

The steel decking sways crazily underneath us.

Bah-duh-dump!

Bah-duh-dump!

Bah-duh-dumpa-dumpa-dump!

Bah-duh-dump!

Bah-duh-dump!

Bah-duh-dumpa-dumpa-dump!

“Kitka nitt!”

“Bitka kitt!”

“Kitka, kitka, bitt! bitt! bitt!”

“Bitt! Bitt! Bitt!”

“Bitt! Bitt! Bitt!”

Good Grief! There are far more Martians in here than I could have ever expected! Their ability to propagate was unimagined! More than a score of the horrible creatures cavort about the mobile factory. I see now that this is one of the purposes of this terrible machine. I see a large weapon halfway through construction. It is a rod surrounded by a lighted array, a metal-melting lavender ray generator. I see sonic cannons, and blaster weapons being built, also. These dang ol’ Martians ain’t beat a lick. Far from it, they are well on their way to rebuilding their arsenals and establishing control over us humans. I had foolishly thought we had vanquished our enemies with the destruction of their terrible war machines, but it would appear that we were only a small stumbling block for their insidious plans. These Martians are more determined than a hungry badger. Just the barest of footholds is all these rascals need to secure their hold on our innocent World.

“Ichabod!”

“Miss Plumtartt! Oh my Goodness, you are in the clutches of a slavering, three-armed nightmare!”

“Roof!”

“Goodbye, Bolt. I gotta save Miss Plumtartt! I’ll dodge around you and you, Mr. Martian. You get a big kick in the gut. You get a punch in the nose, Mr. Bitey. You get a head fake in one direction and I go the other!”

I zig to encourage my hopeful captors to zag, but I am apprehended by many intervening monsters.

“Yipe!”

“Bolt! Y’all put him down, you fiends!”

The creatures laugh and mock me without pity:

“Rar, rar, rar!”

Bah-duh-dump!

Bah-duh-dump!

Bah-duh-dumpa-dumpa-dump!

Bah-duh-dump!

Bah-duh-dump!

Bah-duh-dumpa-dumpa-dump!

“Kitka nitt!”

“Bitka kitt!”

“Kitka, kitka, bitt! bitt! bitt!”

“Bitt! Bitt! Bitt!”

“Bitt! Bitt! Bitt!”

“Miss Plumtartt, I am caught! We are powerless in the hands of our heartless enemies. I have failed us, Ma’am! It is plain to see that they mean to eat us immediately. I’m sorry, Miss Plumtartt.”

“Oh! Oh, my! Stop it, you fiends! I say, these monsters are tearing off my dress, Mr. Temperance!”

“I reckon they have found that the material proves to be a choking hazard, Miss Plumtartt. Hey! Stop that! Don’t look, Miss Plumtartt, they are ripping my clothes off in preparation of gobbling me up!”

“I say, our clothes are stripped to an immodest amount to be sure.”

“These fiends leave me with the barest of scraps to cover my personal modesty, Ma’am.”

“No need for embarrassment, Mr. Temperance, for I find the highly defined lines of musculature, upon your wiry frame, a welcome, last sight in this world.”

“That’s nice, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, for though I am seized in the sorrow of this mortal predicament, and blushing from my uncontrollable bashfulness, I can’t help but appreciate and admire your exquisite form presented to my longing eyes. With the dresses and petticoats unceremoniously removed, your bounteous, unclad charms are tantalizingly displayed before me.”

“As you are to me, dear boy.”

“Though in tatters, your fearful feminine symmetry is nevertheless, provocatively enhanced by your form-flattering undergarments. The intricately patterned corset, still retains its satin shimmer and figure accenting attributes, that support and swell with fullness, the inviting tops of your glorious breasts.”

“Oh, Mr. Temperance, this is so unfair! How I have longed for the moment when you and I would enjoy each other in intimate embrace, only to find ourselves cruelly teased in this moment of irony-filled, tortured demise.”

“Yes, Ma’am, for the scant remains of pantaloons and gartered stockings that scandalously expose exciting glimpses of exposed leg flesh are making me light-headed. Them boots travel much further up your shapely legs than I had ever suspected, Ma’am!”

“Good bye, my precious Miss Plumtartt! I love you with all my heart, Ma’am!”

“Oh, Mr. Temperance, I love you, my sweet hero. Good bye, my love!”

“My dearest.”

“My most precious.”

“Ichabod!”

“Persephone!”

“Eeep!”

“I say, the Martian holding Bolt just emitted a sharp note of fear and surprise.”

“Yes, Ma’am, he dropped the little guy and is pulling away in revulsion and horror. Look at the monster’s face. He looks as if has been stricken. He’s all shakey and quivering.”

“I say, a disagreeable colour overtakes his already unfortunate tone, eh hem? Our favourite Martian’s skin turns from green to gray in just a few seconds, and with one more violent fit, he collapses to the floor, obviously expired.”

“All the Martians are looking from their pal on the floor and back to Bolt. Everybody is easing back away from him.”

“Oh, Mr. Temperance, my captor has forgotten me, as he is transfixed with terror on our Bolt. I am free!”

“Me too, Miss Plumtartt!”

~“Mmmmmm!”~

“I’m sorry, Miss Plumtartt, I should not embrace you while I am so inappropriately attired.”

“Tut, tut, Mr. Temperance. I say, I quite enjoy the sensation of this intimate contact. I could get used to it and like more of it, perhaps, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. Say, looky there, Bolt is wagging his tail and wearing a happy expression, ain’t he?”

“Roof!”

“I say, he does appear a happy chap, does he not, eh hem? And isn’t it queer, how the Martians wail and cringe in terror of his friendly bark.”

“Roof!”

“Eeep! Eeep! Eeep!”

“Though a mix of probably fifty seven varieties of dog, I suspect one of them to be livestock handling breed, for the lively little dog is easily able to herd the hematavoric cattle into climbing clumps of panicked pickles.”

“Now he sits and cocks an ear where he has trapped a handful of the frightened monsters. They try to climb over one another in their attempts at escape his soft eyed gaze. Bolt raises his right rear leg and scratches behind his ear.

“Eeep! Eeep! Eeep!”

“Listen to them Martians squeal, Miss Plumtartt! One by one, each suffers the same fate as the original Martian’s departure.”

“What is happening, Mr. Temperance?”

“It is my theory that Bolt has graciously deigned to share his bounty of fleas with our guests, though it is now tragically apparent that these boys have a very low tolerance for blood loss.”

“My word, Ichabod, a very low tolerance indeed if the tiny bite of a flea is enough to deplete the horrid creatures, though the evidence at hand would support that theorem.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, my conjecture is that these creatures’ home world has no such parasitic life form. These brutes are their equivalent, perhaps. They are used to being the one to draw blood, and not be the donor.”

“Rather, Mr. Temperance, for I would further postulate that these fellows, having never encountered anything that would ever seek their blood as so many of our own insects and animals do here on precious planet Earth, have never had to fear for its loss. Whereas we here on Terra must be able to withstand quite a bit more, these unfortunate Martians appear unable to withstand the prick of a tick.”

“The bite of a mite.”

“Nor the slender needle-like probe of a mosquito’s proboscis.”

“Much less a good chomp from one of Bolt’s miserable fleas.”

“I say, I do believe our Bolt is making a game of things as he makes his rounds. How endearing that he gently torments his unwilling three legged playmates with excited barks as they all succumb to the bite of our small but mighty, parasitic friend, the humble flea.”

“Word has been sent to Europe and Australia about our means of combat to defeat the invaders, Ma’am. We are recommending that they amend their munitions to become ‘ratapults’ to launch flea ridden rats onto the Martian craft.”

“I see. We really are going ‘medieval’ on them, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Mr. Temperance, you are not indulging in a bit of battlefield looting, are you?”

“D’oh! Um, well, I figured we were all due a little memento from the adventure, so I grabbed up a blaster pistol for everybody. Here’s yours, Ma’am.”

“Oh, my word, how delightful! Thank you, Mr. Temperance!”

“Yes, Ma’am. I also, scored one of those handy-dandy, flameless light rods.”

“A delicious bit of swag, sir.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“The WickeThimble Traveling Players may now return to their touring where they are sure to enjoy many successful engagements.”

“I hear tell the country has pledged to rebuild our nation’s Capital, Washington D.C., exactly as she was before her tragic destruction.”

“Very commendable, Mr. Temperance.”

“Yes, Ma’am. A feeling of patriotism has swept across our nation, but more than that, I think a bit of patriotism as an entire planet is recognized. Somehow, animosities between nations have taken a place in the back of the buggy for a while as we all enjoy a time of planetary camaraderie.”

“Heartwarming sentiment to be sure, Mr. Temperance.”

“My hometown of Birmingham has also made a similar pledge to herself. As a sign of her determination, a statue has been contracted to be designed and built. A monumental cast iron likeness of the Mythological God Vulcan, patron God of the furnace. This commission will stand atop Red Mountain, in the exact spot that the terrible Martian war machine crossed over into our city. Facilitating the desire to project strength and dignity, this tremendous statue will look out over Birmingham, hammer in hand. Wearing his workman’s apron, he will scrutinize a spearpoint to be used in this city’s future defenses with admiration and pride, as he turns his bare bum towards his foe in contempt.”

“These are glad tidings, Mr. Temperance; however, I caution that we maintain a wary eye upon the Red Planet. Earth will not be caught with her pants down again. Scientists must keep a dutiful eye on our warring sister.”

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Hello! My word! There is still activity on the surface of Mars. Our observatories report that a huge project is under way. It is an undertaking of such a massive scale, that witnesses on our own planet suspect that they are changing the very topography of their planet. An entire mountain range is carved at their touch. Slowly, the planetary changing efforts are made plain. The Martians have undertaken a project to symbolize their admission of Earth’s sovereignty.

Built on a scale that can be seen across the interplanetary void, a human face has been carved into the landscape of Mars. This Martian monument is of Earth’s greatest hero. One clear image of an Earthling battling their finest warrior did make it back to Mars. This then, is taken up as an offering of supplication to the symbol of Mankind’s fighting spirit. A human face has been rendered onto the planet Mars, which has since become known as ‘The Face on Mars’. The noble and handsome features of Sir Paul Whitmore calmly look back to us here on planet Earth from their Martian topoglyphic homage across the vast tracts of space as if to say:

‘Rest easy, my fellow Earthlings; Sir Paul Whitmore watches over you.’

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