Thunderhawk

By Kenneth Ward

Two humanoid life forms marooned on planet Earth in the year 1828 engage in a mortal struggle for survival in post colonial America.
The fast paced action thriller takes you across the young United States and comes to a breathtaking climax in the mysterious land of the Lakota Sioux.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098317133

Book preview

27

Part I

Amid the Alien Corn

There is a pleasure sure.

In being mad which none but madmen know.

—John Dryden

Spanish Friar

Chapter 1

"W hoa, fella…whoa there. That nice Mr. Evers said I can’t let you run so hard on such a long ride. We’ll catch up with our man; don’t worry about that. Our elusive friend is going to find out what a small planet this really is."

The rider was a little surprised at himself – speaking at such length to this four-legged animal, but he found it somehow comforting to do so. For one thing, it broke the heavy undercurrent of tension – a low-lying anxiety which could suddenly surge forth like an errant wave, carrying away anything and everything that provided some semblance of stability to the world.

The westward road stretched out before him as the rider settled into the easy rhythm of his horse’s gallop. Behind him lay the great eastern ocean and the coastal cities of the young United States. Ahead lay the relatively unknown reaches of the western frontier.

Somewhere ahead also was the object of his pursuit; the man he must find – and kill – at all costs. There was nothing else left in his life that held any meaning except for this one terrible purpose.

The manhunt had taken him south for several days until he had arrived in Maryland. It was in Baltimore that he had learned that his quarry had turned and headed west.

It seemed that the man he was after had set out on the National Road some days earlier. The National Road was a fairly recent enhancement to the nation’s ever-expanding transportation system; it began in Baltimore at its eastern terminus and ran almost due west to Wheeling, on the Ohio River; it then continued on to Columbus and Indianapolis.

The rider had been traveling west for only two days, but had already covered sixty miles. He saw that he would have to ferry himself and his horse across a northern stretch of the Potomac River before entering the foothills of the Shenandoah Mountains.

It was late spring, and the scenery was breathtaking. He thought – not for the first time – what a strange and beautiful planet this was. There were flowering plants and trees of colors and hues he had never seen before, and they gave off a fragrance which was almost intoxicating. There were creatures of the sky – birds, they were called – with plumage of red, blue, yellow, and white; how gracefully they glided along on the gentle currents of air!

The other life forms – the animals of the ground – were no less wonderful, but they were more furtive and difficult to spot. They became wary at the sound of one’s approach and would scurry away, disappearing into the surrounding wood. The man was much better able to make a close examination of the horse he was riding, and he marveled at the sheer magnificence of the animal. It was certainly built for running – every muscle, bone and sinew was apparently designed with that purpose in mind. But in the mind of whom? Certainly in the mind of someone or something divine. Yes, it was a strange and beautiful planet – but for all its beauty, it was also fraught with peril. Peril in the form of poisonous plants and insects. Peril in the form of venomous reptiles and large predatory organisms with razor-sharp fangs and claws. Peril in the form of the deadliest threat of all: the humanoid inhabitants of this planet whose motives and behavior seemed to be driven by either fear or want. They appeared to be prone to sudden and unexpected outbursts of violence and aggression; they were evidently in the very early stages of civilization, and hadn’t yet developed a broadened sense of understanding with regard to themselves or the surrounding universe.

The rider was suddenly jolted from his musings by the sound of screams and raucous shouts. He was a man of keen reflexes, and in the blink of an eye, his right hand darted into the pocket of his waistcoat and quickly grasped the pistol he had purchased at the outset of his journey. His entire sensory system went to high alert as the screams grew louder.

Someone was coming.

He couldn’t tell how many they were, but they were coming from the north on one of the endless north-south trails that intersected the main thoroughfare. The man reined in the horse and stood stock-still, his fingers tensed around the pistol in his pocket. The sound of their approach drew nearer.

Who taught you to ride? Your sister? shouted one voice.

"No, but your sister taught me a thing or two," retorted another.

I’ll get you for that, Tom Bailey...

The young men – there were three of them, and they were probably no more than seventeen years old, galloped across the National Road and disappeared to the south in a cloud of dust.

Kids. They were probably the same wherever one traveled in the entire universe. A wave of relief washed over the man. Before he released his hold on the pistol, he drew it out of his pocket to examine it again.

It was a crude device – it would almost be amusing if it weren’t so potentially lethal. It was a flintlock pistol. One simply pulled the trigger and a piece of flint would slam down and strike a piece of steel, producing sparks which in turn would ignite the priming in the powder pan. The resultant explosion would propel a lead ball out of the steel barrel at a very high velocity. A primitive weapon, but he was grateful to have it nonetheless.

Especially after his experience in New York.

New York was where it all began – where his quest began – where he had taken the name John Strand. John, because it was a close enough phonetic approximation to his real name. Strand, because he definitely was stranded here. He indulged himself in this bit of dark witticism because it somehow made it easier for him to accept the fact that he almost certainly would remain on this planet for the rest of his life.

With that grim thought his mind drifted back to the events of two weeks earlier – to what had taken place in New York...

Chapter 2

It had been a very ordinary and uneventful day up to the point when a sudden, unearthly shrieking sound ripped through the skies of New York City. Night had already drawn its black velvet curtain over the Hudson Valley, so no one on either the Manhattan side or the New Jersey side of the river saw the massive dark metal object fall from the sky – but if anyone had, they would have been stunned to observe that it was larger than any of the schooners or steamboats that were docked at the nearby waterfront.

Everyone for miles around heard the crash, however, as the huge craft hit the water and plunged beneath the surface of the river.

A group of merchant seamen, who had just arrived in port that afternoon and were heading into the city for some carousing and entertainment, were startled and visibly shaken by the sound.

What the devil was that? exclaimed one, a bo’s’n from Nantucket who seemed to be the leader of the drinking expedition.

Sounds to me like another of them steamboat b’ilers exploded again – but bejeezus that one was loud, said another.

I heard a whistlin’ sound at first – then a boomin’ like ten cannons goin’ off all at once, testified a third.

Aye. That whistlin’ sound – that’s the way of it, rejoined the bo’s’n. That’s the pressure buildin’ up. When that pressure, she gets to buildin’ up, and she’s got nowheres to go – that’s when she blows, and blows hard, she does. Folks are getting’ theirselves kilt in those damn explosions, they are."

Give me a sail ship any day. I’m damned if I’ll be shippin’ out in one of them blasted b’ilers, said another of the group. There’s too many of them damned stinkpots on the river these days.

Sure there’s too many, agreed the bo’s’n. Ever since they dug that damn ditch up there, the river and the harbors been lousy with them.

The bo’s’n was referring of course to the opening of the Erie Canal in 1825. On October 26 of that year, New York governor DeWitt Clinton himself boarded a flat-bottomed canal boat in Buffalo and began a triumphant journey east to Albany, and then down the Hudson River to New York harbor. The canal truly was an amazing feat of engineering for the time at three hundred sixty-three miles long, forty feet wide, and four feet deep. It rose and descended a distance of six hundred sixty-feet through eighty-three enormous stone locks. Within a year shipping costs from Lake Erie to Manhattan plummeted from a hundred dollars a ton to under nine dollars. The completion of the canal, coupled with the increasing popularity of the steamboat after its commercial development by Robert Fulton a few years earlier, caused traffic on the Hudson to begin expanding at an astonishing rate.

Popular as they were, steamboats did have a tendency all too often to explode. It was the problem with pressure, as the bo’s’n had rightly pointed out.

The group of seamen moved off toward the center of town in order to get started on the evening’s festivities. Under other circumstances they might have hung around to find out exactly what had happened out on the river – but calamities were fairly commonplace and shore leave was fairly rare – and they had been at sea for quite some time.

Meanwhile, out on the dark river, the giant disc-shaped object which had plunged all the way down to the river bottom had now begun to float back up to the surface. There was no moon out that night, so the dark outline of the craft’s upper superstructure would not have been noticed even if there had been any river traffic at that late hour, which there hadn’t. Commercial shipping was primarily a daytime activity on New York’s interior waterways.

Now there was the sound of another, much smaller, blast, which was barely audible from the shore, and unnoticed by anyone. It was the sound of an escape hatch being blown from the top of the crippled vessel; a rectangular section of metal flew up to a height of sixty-feet before plunging into the black waters that lapped against the sides of the massive object.

The only illumination came from the various constellations that glittered down from the black canopy of the night sky. The stars of Ursa Major were shining overhead as a dark shape emerged from the rectangular exit portal.

It was the shape of a man.

The figure seemed to look around, surveying the surroundings. Then, without further ceremony, it dove into the slow-moving currents and began swimming toward the eastern shore.

Deep inside the rectangular opening there was a faint glow of interior lighting. The light had a greenish cast to it as it reflected off the water that was beginning to spill over the sides of the hatch and into the cavernous inner recesses of the ship. One side of the hatch was now partially submerged beneath the surface of the river, and the flow of water into the vessel began to increase. The ship was foundering, and it wouldn’t be long before it became completely swamped and sank to the bottom of the river.

The ship was circular in shape, and the hatch was situated at the exact center of the circle. The area directly below the hatch was the common entry point for a series of corridors which radiated outwardly like the spokes of a wheel, and along each corridor was an array of compartments and specialized areas.

Two compartments down from the open escape hatch was the ship’s medical lab, and on the floor of the lab lay two motionless bodies. There were also traces of blood on the floor – blood which was now being washed away by the onrushing stream of ice-cold water. Water was now sloshing around the compartment with the lurching movements of the doomed craft, and it splashed against the face of the body closest to the corridor.

There was movement. First just a flutter of the eyelids – but on the second splash of cold water, the eyes opened wide.

It was the man who would soon go by the name John Strand. His real name was Junn, and he was – or more precisely he had been – the engineering officer of the ship. The other man had been Anad, the ship’s medical officer, and Junn already knew that the man was dead. He had been kneeling over the body, examining the man’s fatal injury when he was struck from behind.

It had been Krutt who had struck him; it had been Krutt who had killed Anad. If there had been any question about it before, there certainly was no doubt now – Krutt had lost his mind.

There was no time to think about that now; the ship was rapidly filling up with water. He didn’t like leaving Anad’s body – they had been friends – but he knew that he had only minutes left and he had to move quickly.

He made his way to the hatch, and had to struggle with the heavy inflow of the river as he climbed up through the opening.

Junn stood atop the doomed spacecraft as the river swirled around his ankles. He looked up and down the river and at the banks to the east and west.

He knew in an instant exactly where he was. Veena. So Krutt had taken them to Veena after all.

The blue, watery planet his people called Veena, which in his language meant water covered, was the third in order of succession from its governing star in a solar system consisting of a total of nine planets. The planet had a period of revolution of 365.26 days and one natural satellite that was roughly one-sixth its mass.

The race of people to which Junn belonged had known about Veena for a very long time, and had taken an interest in it since it was one of the relatively few planets within traveling distance that was capable of supporting intelligent life. But Junn hadn’t known anyone who had taken as keen an interest as Krutt had; Krutt had made a life-long study of the planet and the beings who inhabited it. He claimed it was one of the major influences in his decision to enlist in the academy.

Junn could see that the eastern bank was easily the closer of the two; it was only half as far away as the western bank. Decision made. Not just because it would be a shorter swim, but also because he knew it would have been Krutt’s choice as well – the chase was on.

The water was cold, but Junn’s form-fitting uniform was well insulated. Great bodies of water were far fewer on his home planet, but most of his kind were good swimmers nevertheless. The shoreline ahead appeared to be illuminated by torches, but it was remarkable how many there were – they seemed to run the whole length of the river, as far as the eye could see.

As he swam he wondered if there were any large, predatory life forms in the river. Certainly Krutt had talked about such creatures often enough – but he decided that if such organisms were nearby there was nothing he could do about it, so it was best not to let it weigh on his thoughts.

Instead, he turned his mind to the subject of Krutt, and the circumstances that brought them both to the current state of affairs.

It had been a three-man crew on a fairly routine exploratory mission. Junn was the engineer, Anad the medical officer, and Krutt the commanding officer. To be honest, Krutt was a very good commander. He may not have been the most personable individual one might know, but he was firm, he was decisive, and he was fair.

The mission was proceeding as expected with no surprises and no occurrences that were out of the ordinary; it was downright boring. The boredom was almost palpable; it was a gray, soundless void which seemed to engulf the crew in a blanket woven of still, warm air. Junn was not even aware that his mind was wandering – drifting off to the days of his youth: to his upbringing; to experiences long past and only vaguely remembered; to persons long gone; to the good times, to the bad times…

That’s when it happened.

The alarm which warned of impending collision suddenly burst into a loud, neurotic howl of panic.

BONK! BONK! BONK! BONK!

Junn’s body visibly jerked as he was yanked from his daydream and thrust into the cold glare of reality.

BONK! BONK! BONK! BONK!

The steady, pounding tone of the alarm made it even harder to concentrate.

BONK! BONK! BONK! BONK!

The alarm was warning of an impending collision – but the chance of encountering an obstacle out there in the vast emptiness of space was highly unlikely; in fact, the odds against it happening were astronomical. They didn’t call it space for nothing. Could there be a malfunction in the alarm itself? Could the ship’s sensors be picking up something that wasn’t really there? These were just some of the questions running through Junn’s mind. As the engineering officer, the task of threat assessment, and the appropriate response to that threat, would fall to him.

Suddenly, the instruments did begin to register something. Something, but what? It didn’t seem to be solid – at least not in the strictest sense. It seemed to have the qualities of both matter and energy. A particle cloud of some sort? Whatever it was, it lay dead ahead, and there was no time to change heading or to take any other evasive action.

Brace for impact, shouted Krutt, over the nonstop pounding of the alarm.

BONK! BONK! BONK! BONK!

The ship entered the cloud and the instruments went crazy. It was an exceedingly tense few moments; now there were other alarms going off – alarms connected to various instruments and systems located in the control center. The instruments themselves were behaving erratically and the monitoring equipment was displaying implausible and conflicting data.

There was also something else.

It was an odd, tingling sensation; all three crewmen felt it, and it was like nothing any of them had felt before. Junn felt the hair on his body stand on end, as if he were hit with a static charge. The ship’s instruments suddenly ceased operating altogether, like they were knocked out by an electro-magnetic pulse. At least the blaring of the alarms also ceased – that was a relief; the silence was a blessing.

Although the instruments were non-operational, it seemed that the disturbance, whatever it was, had passed, and now that the alarms were silent, the men could finally hear themselves think.

Is everyone alright? Junn, Anad – are you alright? inquired Krutt, breaking the silence.

I...I think so... answered Anad tentatively. He was running his hands over the front of his uniform, as if checking for injuries.

How about you, Junn? You okay?

Fine, yeah. Junn was already checking the vast array of instruments that provided data readings on various conditions outside the ship as well as on the ship’s internal systems and redundant systems. I’m okay, Junn repeated, but it looks like a couple of the ship’s navigation and propulsion systems may have sustained some damage. I won’t know for sure, or to what extent, until I run some tests.

Junn looked over at Krutt as he said this, and was alarmed to see Krutt stagger for a moment and almost lose his balance. He caught hold of the edge of the console and steadied himself, then sat down heavily in the seat in front of the navigation panel. He was staring out into the room with a blank expression on his face; his eyes were opened wide, but they were unseeing – incapable of focusing on anything in particular.

Commander, are you alright? asked Junn in a concerned voice.

Krutt continued to just sit there, immobile, as Junn and Anad rushed over to him. They stood on either side of their commander; Anad had a small diagnostic instrument in his hand which he began using to conduct an examination. He passed the device over Krutt’s head and abdomen, paying close attention to the readings.

Anything? Can you tell anything at all? Concern was etched on Strand’s face.

No, nothing yet. Keep an eye on him, and don’t let him move if he regains consciousness. I’m going to get my other instruments.

After Anad had left, Junn tried to communication with Krutt even though the man seemed to be in a deep, trance-like state.

Commander, can you hear me? Commander? When Junn got no verbal response, he concentrated and tried to establish a mental link with his commander.

Unlike the human brain, which could only send and receive messages across the microscopic distances of the synapses between brain cells, or neurons, the Telkotian brain possessed the capability of sending and receiving bioelectric impulses over far greater distances. A Telkotian could transmit and receive brainwaves beyond the neural network within his own brain – he was able to establish a mental connection with another Telkotian.

Presently, Junn tried to make just such a connection with Krutt. He sent out a scanner wave and probed the bioelectric activity of Krutt’s frontal and temporal lobes. Yes, there had been a loss of neural connectivity in Krutt’s cerebellum which accounted for the brief loss in muscular coordination. Junn then attempted to connect with Krutt’s cerebrum in order to communicate with him, but found that traces of the same electro-magnetic pulse, which had knocked out the instruments, were preventing him from doing so.

So the disturbance was a phenomenon that affected their bodies as well as the ship’s systems.

Junn made another attempt at verbal communication.

Commander, are you alright?

Still no response.

Meanwhile, Anad was gathering what he needed from the medical lab, and preparing the equipment for more in-depth diagnosis and treatment if it turned out that Krutt needed it. He was anxious; he had never encountered anything like the energy cloud phenomenon in his entire medical career or even in his studies. His concern for his commanding officer was gnawing at him; he hoped that whatever injuries Krutt had sustained would not be permanent.

After a time, Anad returned to his two crewmates in the navigation center; Junn called over to him as he approached.

He regained consciousness for a brief period…or at least semi-consciousness. He spoke a little, but nothing coherent. He wasn’t making any sense, but he did speak – for whatever that’s worth.

It’s worth a lot, answered Anad. It’s something, and something is always better than nothing…especially in a case like this when a patient has totally lost consciousness. What was it he said? When he spoke just before.

Like I said, nothing that made any sense. Junn was thoughtful for a moment, and then continued. Anad, you served with Krutt during his first command. Did you ever know him to be interested in poetry…or classical literature?

No, why?

Well, it was the oddest thing – when he came around before, he mumbled something – something I thought quite strange.

Strange? In what way? Anad now wore a quizzical expression on his face.

"It sounded like verse by the poet, Norak…from one of the books of The Scalmar."

Anad now looked down at Krutt’s motionless, and partially reclined body. He wondered if Krutt could hear what they were saying.

"The Scalmar? That is strange. I guess we all read it at one time or other during our schooling period…but as far as Krutt being particularly interested in it? I really couldn’t say. What was it? The verse, I mean?"

"It was from the Songs of Conquest – when the magistrate in charge of the exploration team decides to kill the tribal overlord and set himself up as supreme ruler of the planet’s primitive inhabitants…he enslaves them, actually. Krutt’s speech was somewhat garbled, but this is what I believe he said:

Seas of people, seas of blood,

Thy subjects are loath to follow me;

Thou must now forsake thy throne,

And thee thy life shall forfeit thee."

Great suns, that is strange, repeated Anad. He was looking more worried than ever – worried and thoughtful. "I never knew Krutt to be especially interested in classical literature, as I said before, but the subject matter of The Scalmar – especially of the Songs of Conquest - well…"

What? Tell me.

Well…Krutt was always interested in underdeveloped civilizations. I think he actually envied them for their free and uncomplicated ways of living – the populace of Rigel 4, or the colorful and diverse tribes of the planet Veena. He was always talking about them – those civilizations in the very early stages of their development, I mean.

"Civilizations like the one in the Songs of Conquest, Junn said, nodding. The problem is, that particular civilization fell prey to the domination of an unscrupulous and power-hungry magistrate. The populace was exploited and abused – subjected to horrendous atrocities." There was a look of strong distaste on Junn’s face as he spoke, like he had caught a whiff of an unpleasant odor.

Well, hold on now; I hope I didn’t give the impression that Krutt ever talked about domination, or exploitation. Anad was loyal to his core, and he felt if he were in any way disparaging with regard to his commander, it would be tantamount to betrayal. I just think that deep down, Krutt is a straight-forward, uncomplicated person who sometimes bridles against the overly technolized, overly regulated, and overly complex world he’s forced to live in.

We all have to learn to tolerate the often unsettling pace of progress and technological advancement – along with the problems and discomfort that comes along with it. That’s the price of moving forward, argued Junn.

Yes, well…I guess some of us are better at it than others. I just always got the impression that Krutt would be a happier person if he could roam around in some wilderness somewhere every once in a while. Somewhere where he’d have to hunt for his food or build a crude shelter out of things he found lying around. Perhaps in the company of a race of people who do that sort of thing as part of their daily existence.

Yes, I know. Krutt often talked about his interests, his passions, when it came to the more primitive races – especially the ones on Veena. He should spend more time in the simulators and recreation modules. Maybe the virtual environments would…

Wait, interrupted Anad. He’s starting to come around.

Krutt’s eyelids fluttered slightly, almost imperceptibly, and his body stirred for a moment. What…where…?

Easy, sir. Take it easy. You’re alright. You’re fine. Anad gently placed his hands on Krutt’s shoulders; it was a gesture intended more to calm the patient than to physically restrain him. You had a rough patch there for a while, but it looks like you’re going to be fine.

What happened? asked Krutt. He was now craning his head a little and looking from side to side, trying to get a fix on his surroundings. He was still seated in the slightly back-tilted chair, facing the navigation panel.

I don’t know how much you remember, sir, Junn began, but we collided with some sort of energy field, or particle cloud – it quickly passed – it’s gone now, he quickly added. I was in the middle of telling you that we may have sustained damage to some of the ship’s systems when you passed out, sir.

How long was I out for?

Not that long – twenty parsynchs maybe, Junn said. "Evidently, whatever it was that disabled our systems and instruments had an effect on