The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman- Freedonia Page 8

  “Yeah, yeah…because I’m a negro,” Harriet said with a smirk. “I know.”

  “Mayhaps,” the Dock Captain said. “But more likely because the United States and Freedonia ain’t friends. Your people have gotten awfully toffee-nosed since Freedonia took the egg in your little war and the white world don’t like it.”

  “Good thing the white world is getting’ smaller day-by-day, then,” Harriet replied.

  The Dock Captain grunted, rammed his cigar between his thin lips and then walked away.

  “We aren’t all barbarians.”

  The voice came from Harriet’s left flank. She whirled toward it, her hand instinctively creeping toward her waist, where the Bello Mule would have been. Standing before her was a young man in his early 20s. He was heavily built and massive. On his corpulent shoulders was perched a head with a pronounced brow, alert, steel-grey, deep-set eyes and firm lips, all forming a face that at once expressed brilliance, a hint of arrogance and maybe more than a little laziness.

  “Hello, Ms. Tubman,” he said. “My name is Holmes; Mycroft Holmes. Dr. George Washington Carver – Director of Freedonia’s Department for Science, Innovation, Technology and Engineering – has enlisted my services on your behalf.”

  “Is that so?” Harriet said.

  “It is, ma’am,” Mycroft replied. “Follow me, please.”

  Harriet did not move. “What does this Dr. Carver have to do with Baas Bello?”

  “I have never heard of this Baas Bello, so I cannot say.” Mycroft said.

  “Take a wild guess,” Harriet said.

  “I never guess,” Mycroft replied. “It is a shocking habit, destructive to the logical faculty.”

  “I’m gon’ be destructive to yo’ logical faculty if you don’t give me some proof this ain’t a trap,” Harriet said, taking a step toward Mycroft.

  Mycroft took a step backward, his soft flesh danced upon his frame. “What I do know is you come from…elsewhere, evident by the fact that Harriet Tubman is the Vice President of Freedonia, which you are clearly not.”

  “How you know I ain’t?” Harriet asked.

  Mycroft’s eyes scanned Harriet’s pink skirt and burlesque coat.

  “Oh,” Harriet croaked.

  “I also know that Dr. Carver is well aware of your presence,” Mycroft said. “Yesterday, your transportation to Freedonia arrived and awaits you farther up the docks.”

  “Alright, then,” Harriet said with a nod. “Let’s go.”

  Harriet followed Mycroft to a huge sailing ship. Emancipation was painted, in red letters, on both sides of its aft end.

  Harriet shook her head. “It’s gon’ take two months to get there in this thing. Freedonia must be seein’ hard times.”

  Mycroft snickered. “This ship merely serves as the landing pad for Freedonia’s Dragonflies or Grasshoppers on the rare occasion a Freedonian diplomat pays a visit to the Queen. A Dragonfly is your transportation.”

  “Where is it, then?” Harriet asked.

  Mycroft pointed skyward.

  Hovering high above them was an airship unlike any Harriet had ever seen. Constructed of steel and brass, the airship had two wings, which protruded from the center of each side of its cigar-shaped frame. At the end of each wing was an engine that drove two large propellers that tilted backward and forward depending on how the airship dipped, whirled or turned. Protruding from the nose of the craft was a Gatling gun and below it, a cannon.

  “Lawd,” Harriet thought. “This Dr. Carver fella ‘bout smart as Baas!”

  The Dragonfly descended vertically toward the deck of the Emancipation. It landed smoothly. Seconds later, the direct vision window lifted with a hum, revealing a ruggedly handsome man with strong features. The man stood up, he was tall, lean and his weathered, brown face told Harriet he had seen his share of war. He wore a brown, long sleeved blouse, tucked into darker brown trousers. Both the shirt and pants were trimmed with red and blue kente cloth. Atop his head was a dark brown leather beret, which matched his shin high boots. The pilot climbed out of the cockpit onto one of the wings. “Greetings! I’m Major Vernon Clark. Just a moment, Ms. Tubman and I’ll send the ladder down.”

  “No need,” Harriet said.

  She turned to Mycroft and then shook his hand. “Thank you. Maybe the Lawd will let us cross paths again one day.”

  “I do hope not,” Mycroft sighed. “I mean that as no insult. I have no interest in fighting monsters or gallivanting around the globe solving this and that. I am not built for those things, as you can see. Most people blunder around this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. I suspect that when one walks with you, they see battlefields.”

  “Amen,” Mary said crossing her heart.

  Harriet shot her a glance.

  “Ms. Tubman, are we ready?”

  “Coming right up!” Harriet replied.

  Harriet leapt upward, landing on the wing beside Major Clark.

  The major’s chin fell to his chest. “How?”

  “I eat a lot of molasses with my biscuits,” Harriet said. “Puts spring in my step.”

  “Dr. Carver said you were special,” Major Clark said.

  Harriet blushed. “Aw, I wouldn’t say I’m all that.”

  “And you are so lifelike, too,” Major Clark said.

  Harriet’s smile sank. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the major said, covering his mouth. “Did you not know that you are an automaton?”

  “Dr. Carver told you that, huh?”

  “Yes,” the major said. “Is that a problem? Hell, do you even know what a ‘problem’ is?”

  “Yeah, I know what a problem is,” Harriet replied. “And no, it ain’t a problem. In fact, I can’t wait to thank Dr. Carver for telling you that. Let’s go!”

  Major Clark sauntered toward the pilot’s seat. He paused and turned to face Harriet. “You ride in the seat behind me. Oh and Dr. Carver packed you some fresh clothes. I’ll stand guard on the wing while you change.”

  “Thank the Lawd!” Harriet said looking skyward. “You do that. I’ll be just a minute or two.”

  Major Clark stood at the end of the wing with his back to Harriet. Harriet snatched the pink clothing off of her body and then tossed the items to the ground. She quickly slipped on the undergarments and then the gold and red kente cloth brushed twill skirt and blouse. Finally she tied up her leather boots and then hopped into her seat.

  Mary appeared in the pilot’s seat.

  “Mary, get out of there,” Harriet whispered.

  “What? Ain’t enough room in here for me and him?” Mary replied. “I’m a damned spirit, Harriet; I ain’t takin’ up no space!”

  “Just don’t seem right, is all,” Harriet replied.

  Mary sucked her teeth. “Girl, you just mad Major Pretty-Boy gon’ be sittin’ on my lap and not yours.”

  Mary shook her head. “Lawd!” She then shouted in the Major’s direction. “Ready to go.”

  Major Clark turned around, jogged toward the cockpit and then leapt into his seat. The direct vision window lowered, locking in place with a soft click.

  “Strap in,” he said. “We’ll be in Alabama in about ten hours.”

  “Alabama? Is that the capital of Freedonia?” Harriet inquired.

  “No, ma’am,” Major Clark replied. “Atlanta is the capital. We’re going to the Tuskegee Institute. Dr. Carver is eager to see you.”

  “Got anything to chew on?” Harriet asked.

  “I have a few of Dr. Carver’s delicious honey peanut butter sandwiches, a few apples and water,” Major Clark said. “But, do you eat, or do you simply simulate eating?”

  “Give me one of them sandwiches and some water and I’ll eat ‘em real life-like for you,” Harriet replied.

  The major handed Harriet a sandwich wrapped in paper and a metal canteen. Harriet devoured the sandwich and then emptied the canteen of water.

  “Fascinating!” Major Clark gasped.

  �
��Give me another one of them sandwiches so I can fascinate you some mo’.” Harriet said.

  Major Clark gave Harriet another sandwich. “Wait until we take off before you eat that one. Here we go!”

  The side propellers spun faster and faster. The Dragonfly lifted vertically, rising higher and higher over the Emancipation.

  Major Clark looked over his shoulder toward Harriet.

  “You’re going to love this!” He shouted over the thumping propellers.

  Harriet smiled. “Yep. We automatons like flyin’ almost as much as we like to eat!”

  The Dragonfly tilted forward and they streaked ahead, disappearing into the mist and clouds.

  CHAPTER fourteen

  September 22, 1870

  The Dragonfly streaked across the sky. The navy blue sky of evening gave way to the blackness of night, which finally submitted to the red sky of the dawn.

  Harriet stretched. She had slept most of the journey. She peered out the window, focusing on the earth below. A country of gentle rolling lowlands greeted her. Minutes later, the Dragonfly flew over a rugged section of land with steep mountain-sides, deep narrow coves and valleys, and flat mountain-tops.

  “Alabama, huh?” Harriet said. It did not look any different from the Alabama of her world. She knew the area well – she had freed many enslaved men, women and children from there. “That was quick.”

  “Ah, good, you have turned yourself on,” Major Clark said.

  Harriet frowned. “What? I ain’t never done that in the company of others!”

  “Huh?” Major Clark scratched his head. “Oh, no! Not in that way. As a machine, isn’t that impossible? Anyway, I meant you appeared asleep, which I know automatons don’t need, so I figured you shut down to conserve your energy.”

  “I knew what you meant,” Harriet sighed.

  “Ah, you were joking,” Major Clark said, laughing nervously. “Wait…you can joke? You have a sense of humor?”

  “Fascinating, I know,” Harriet said, rolling her eyes.

  “This boy ‘bout smart as rat doo-doo,” Mary said.

  Harriet snickered.

  “We arrive at Tuskegee Institute in under five minutes,” Major Clark said. “Tighten your seatbelt!”

  The Dragonfly descended over one of the fields and began circling. Harriet saw three large buildings encircled by massive evergreen trees. The Dragonfly stopped circling and then landed, vertically, on the roof of the largest building. A tall, thin man dressed in a shirt with a blue and white kente cloth bow tie, blue trousers and a white lab coat stood a few yards away from the Dragonfly.

  The man waited until the Dragonfly’s propellers stilled before approaching the craft.

  The window lifted. Major Clark climbed onto the wing and then hopped down to the ground.

  Harriet pushed on the window frame, launching herself out of her seat and over the wing. She landed beside Major Clark without making a sound.

  Mary floated beside her.

  “Major, thank you,” the man said. His voice was high-pitched; almost womanly. “You are dismissed.”

  The Major bowed slightly. “Yes, sir! Have a good day, sir; Ms. Tubman.”

  “You, too,” Harriet said.

  “Harriet Tubman,” the man in the white lab coat said, smiling. “Baas Bello has told me all about you; how amazing you are. I am Dr. George Washington Carver.”

  Dr. Carver extended his hand. Harriet shook it.

  “I figured,” she said. “You the man who got folks thinkin’ I’m some kind of machine.”

  “Apologies for the facade,” Dr. Carver replied. “Major Clark is the only one in Freedonia, besides President Douglass and me, who knows of your presence in our reality and only I and President Douglass will ever know of the existence of an alternate world. It would be dangerous if that got out.”

  “What about the other Harriet?” Harriet asked.

  “Oh, no, she can never meet you,” Dr. Carver said. “Baas postulated that if a non-immortal was to ever touch his or her alternate self, the results would be catastrophic.”

  “So, where is this world’s Baas?” Harriet inquired. “I’m here for his protection. And why do you know so much about all this?”

  “Baas and I are very close,” Dr. Carver answered. “He has gone into hiding to escape any attempts on hi, or your world’s Baas. I will take you to him soon enough.”

  “Okay,” Harriet replied. “I’ll give it a day or two.”

  “So, how is your friend, Stagecoach Mary Fields?”

  “She here,” Harriet replied, nodding toward Mary.

  Dr. Carver’s eyes darted from side-to-side. “Here? What happened?”

  Mary, bein’ Mary leapt through the openin’ made by the Spirit-Engine,” Harriet replied. “It tore her apart.”

  “Oh, my word,” Dr. Carver gasped.

  “Get to the part where Baas fixes me,” Mary said.

  “We was hopin’ to find Baas soon, to see what can be done to help Mary,” Harriet said. “She ‘fraid she gon’ just waste away.”

  “I assure you that you will not ‘waste away’,” Dr. Carver shouted.

  “Why is he wailin’ like a Banshee?” Mary said. “Tell him I said he sounds like a little girl after her fifth cup o’ Arbuckles.”

  Harriet remained straight-faced. “She says she ain’t deaf.”

  “Apologies,” Dr. Carver whispered. “Please, follow me. I believe I have a solution for your…condition, Ms. Fields.”

  Harriet and Mary followed Dr. Carver through a door on the roof.

  Beyond the door was an iron staircase that spiraled four stories down to the main floor. Iron was carefully wrapped around the window sills, doorways, and balustrades; here the forge’s bright orange belly and the hammer had given birth to all manner of curves, angles, lines and spirals.

  “Beautiful work,” Harriet said as she descended the stairs.

  “Thank you,” Dr. Carver said. “The work of Blacksmiths from New Haiti. A symbol of our friendship.”

  “Their work with iron is some of the best I seen,” Harriet said.

  “These lines and curves carry more than meets the eye,” Dr. Carver said. “From fire into iron is where those who wrought lines and curves have folded their messages.”

  Harriet ran her hands along the cool, smooth, black metal. “Messages?”

  “Adinkra symbols from the Kingdom of Ashanti have been woven into these wrought-iron designs. Symbols that communicate complex messages and complicated concepts.”

  Harriet followed Dr. Carver onto a landing above the bottom floor. A plain iron wall stood before them. Dr. Carver placed both palms onto the wall. A few seconds later, the wall hummed, then hissed and then a section of the wall slid downward, leaving a portal a few inches narrower than a common doorway.

  Dr. Carver walked through the opening. Harriet and Mary followed him.

  The iron panel slid back upward, sealing the wall.

  Dr. Carver thrust his arms upward, spreading them wide, as if he was holding a huge ball above his head. “Welcome to Tuskegee Institute’s Biological Research and Development Laboratory!”

  Harriet perused the capacious room. The laboratory was still. Its tall lights burning brightly and silently. Phosphorus blue light bathed the lab’s powerful generator. Electric arcs crackled overhead. Vats filled with a gray sludge pulsated, a hint of pink appearing with each beat.

  Harriet noticed there was blood in the sink – brown and some scarlet – and she smelled the peculiar scent of carbolic acid, commonly used as an antiseptic.

  Something large and humanoid in shape; something scarred, red and bandaged was bound upon a steel gurney.

  Harriet had seen much and, while this place was unsettling, it was not evil. She had seen many horrors; the heights of evil. The feel of this place was not that. It was not intrinsically good, but not evil, either – it was more a shade of gray; as gray as the sludge in those vats.

  Dr. Carver strode across the room to an area wi
th two rows of alabaster bathtubs. They were empty and dry, except for three, which were covered by a sheet of leather. A metal tube ran from the bottom of the tubs into the floor.

  Dr. Carver stopped before one of the covered tubs. “Mary…this will bring you back to us.”

  Dr. Carver snatched the cover off of the tub. Floating within the same gray sludge in the vats was a gray, humanoid figure. It was about five feet tall and rail thin. It had rudimentary facial features – a nose with no nostrils; lips with no opening for a mouth; small lumps where eyes and ears should be.

  “I present to you…MAHO!”

  “What the hell did he call me?” Mary spat. “I was a bit fast in my younger days, but I ain’t never traded my treasures for no damned coin!”

  “Mary don’t like you getting’ at she was some kinda pipe organ player, or somethin’.” Harriet said.

  Dr. Carver’s brow furrowed. “Pipe organ…? Oh! No, no…I didn’t mean…”

  He pointed at the humanoid in the tub. “This is MAHO – MAlleable Humanoid Organism.”

  “Oh,” Harriet said.

  “He needs to change that name, then,” Mary said.

  “Mm-hmm,” Harriet replied.

  “The sludge in those vats over there is a fungus I was introduced to nearly a decade ago in the rainforests of the Mato Grosso State of Brazil,” Dr. Carver said. It is the only fungus known to feed on living organisms, including human beings. But what makes this fungus most incredible is that it absorbs consciousness.”

  “Another monster to kill, sounds like,” Harriet said.

  “No, this fungus, which I dubbed the Carver Mushroom, is the neurological network of nature – a biological telegraph, if you will,” Carver said. “Interlacing mosaics of mycelium infuse habitats with information-sharing membranes. These membranes are aware, react to change, and collectively have the long-term health of the host environment in mind.”

  “So, they can communicate with each other and they can protect and heal themselves and whatever they eat,” Harriet said.

  “Yes!” Dr. Carver said, clapping his hands.

  “So they can keep on eatin’,” Harriet said.

  Dr. Carver stared at the floor. “Well…yes,”