~ Chapter Ten ~

The train, like most of what came out of the workshop of Walter Robotics, ran on Blue Matter. This negated the need for coal or firewood to fuel the boilers. It did not, however, solve the problem of water. The next water stop was tiny town called Perkit. There were a few houses here and there amongst a wide space of farmland, a large water tower and a single hotel/restaurant. Otherwise, it fit quite well into the rather unkind heading of a jerkwater town. The water for the remainder of the train would be replenished too. For cooking and washing up. Peter the second returned from his turn as the boilerman. He was rather wet from filling all the boilers and storage tanks, but remained in good spirits as he moved through the lounge where Spine, Rabbit, and his father were playing cards and The Jon was leafing through the Sears & Roebuck catalog.

"Well, we're full up."

"Good. " his father chuckled gently. "Soon as Pete gets back, we'll pull out then."

"Where's Pete gone?"

"Oh he went into town to pick up some bread and have a proper bath."

"I think I've had mine already." He chuckled and plucked at his wet shirt. "I'm going to go back and get dried off. Soon as he gets back, we can head out." A whole-body shudder, he headed out through the door to the sleeping berth.

"I'm worried about Pete." The Jon spoke up from the floor where he was lying on his stomach, braced up by his folded arms. "He's been so grumpy lately." He gave a wide-eyed look toward his creator. "And he hasn't built anything since we left the mansion."

"He's been designing, Jon." Peter the first corrected, but there was a note of hesitation. To go even a day without making something was unusual, and he could easily say that since they'd arrived on the East Coast, he'd not made anything at all. He'd been growing increasingly snippy and ill-tempered this trip. "And if he is a little grumpy, we have to give him time. Humans don't react to war like you boys do. You remember the soldiers in the hospital. Shell shock is very common." Even as he said it, he found himself wondering if it might not be more than that. Suddenly, a masculine scream of pain sounded, distant but obviously too close to be anywhere but the train.

"What the..." Colonel Walter dropped his cards and sprang from his seat. He ran through the train, throwing open doors until he came to the last car. He was struck blind by the dark, aware of only two things. One, his son was lying on the floor, unmoving, and second, that he was in danger of joining him as a chair came swinging in his direction. He dropped just as it sailed over his head, a heavy smashing of wood against metal as Spine caught the chair, a cry of pain as the reverberation sent the chair flying and the assailant fell backward. Rabbit and The Jon rushed in behind him.

"We need some light in here!" Colonel Walter was livid. However, the moment the large side door slid open fractionally, his ire shifted to a clammy sickness. Peter groaned at the brightness of the light pouring in, his hand lifting to his head with a wince. At least he was still alive though he was now sporting a large purple place on his forehead. No one was looking at him except his assailant. She looked up from Peter to the rest of the group.

"I thought..." she pushed herself to a half crouch, half standing position. "I thought he was the other one."

It was hard to justify the image before them with the memory they had of the bright, cheerful girl they'd left behind three days ago. She was in her underwear, but seemed heedless of the fact as she stood there shaking. The soft peach fabric of her underthings was smudged with dust, one of the ribbons that held her chemise shut had been torn away, leaving a gaping space in the middle where the fabric gaped and showed the scratched and bruised skin around her navel. Her stockings were torn and dirty, her hair wild and uncombed. Her eyes were red-rimmed above the tear-striped cheeks, her neck, shoulders, arms, all bearing bruises of long slender fingers. Her thighs and hips, where the skin was evident, bore long red swaths edged in mottled purple, the marks of a belt brought down over and over.

"What the..." Colonel Walter couldn't wrap his mind around the scene. "Someone go fetch her a blanket!" he snapped and Rabbit sprung quickly to the task, a coppery flash as he bolted out of the room. The Colonel drug his eyes away from her, looking down at Peter as he worked to get sitting up fully. His father moved between him and Mary, to keep Peter's focus on him. "What happened here, Son?"

"I..." he reached up and gingerly poked at the goose egg that she'd given him. "I accidentally packed my razor strop with the shaving table and I thought I'd just come back and get it before I changed, so I could sharpen my razor..." He grabbed his father's shoulder and worked to get to his feet, Spine taking his other arm and getting him up. "I open the door and ...something hit me." He looked past his father and gasped. "Oh my God..."

Rabbit returned at that moment, his hands occupied with the woolen blanket. Peter snatched it from his hands and took a step toward her to wrap it around her shoulders. She cried out in panic, her face washed over with horror as she pulled back from him. He stopped, looking both confused and saddened by her reaction. "What happened to you, Mary?"

The Jon took the blanket from him, and with a quiet humming, like soothing a crying child, he approached very slowly, keeping his eyes on hers, a smile on his lips. He reached around and laid it around her shoulders, then moved back to stand beside the Colonel, his hands fidgeting. "She's shell shocked." Spoken in a whisper before tiny little whimpers slipped free, proof of his emotional turmoil. The Spine gave him a consoling pat on his arm, forced to nod in agreement with the assessment.

She wound herself in the blanket, her eyes downcast. How could she tell them when it was speaking ill of one they cared for? She shook her head faintly. "Please, you have to go." She gave a quick look toward the faint opening of the side door, tempted for a moment to run, but she didn't even know where she was. She had no money, no clothes.

"We're not going anywhere. Now, tell us what happened to you." Peter said evenly, though she could hear the strength of his emotion under the words. He was not happy. He took another step toward her, and she gave another look toward the door. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. She looked like a frightened animal, ready to run. And run she did, but toward him.

"NO!" She cried out as a blur of darkness rushed through the open side door and plowed into them both. White pain, so bright it blinded him, flooded Peter's head when he hit the ground, his breathing stopped with a crushing pressure against his neck.

Peter Walter the first was too stunned to move. His sons, one atop the other, the dominant one strangling the life from his brother, his face a mask of madness, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted at him in wild words that he could make no sense of, save 'all your fault'. The girl was clawing at his arm, his face, his hands, trying to prise him off of Peter but he seemed to feel nothing. It must have been only a few seconds before Spine and Rabbit had hauled him backward, wrestling him to the ground, his arms and legs held down spread-eagle as he swore and fought to escape hands far too strong to be broken away from.

Peter was coughing, the sound wet and raw as he drug himself to sitting, staring in shock at his brother as he raved in horrible, disgusting murderous threats toward him, toward Mary, promising the worst sorts of horrors lay in wait to repay her perceived betrayal. His eyes shone a clear, true green and not the usual hazel, almost luminescent as he snapped at the air and swore. His father was shaking, drowning in confusion, overwhelmed. For all of three seconds. Then he turned to the door and stepped through, into his shop where he drug out a box from beneath a shelf, his hands shaking when he reached for the latches, but with a tightening of his jaw, he flipped the lid open and lifted out the heavy metal plate, the center glowing bright blue as it felt motion. A pulsing sort of beat like a stuttering heartbeat. His face marred by misery as he moved to crouch beside his raving son, the plate laid against his chest, the robots pushing his arms down against his side as a dozen thin metal bands slithered out from the plate's underside, spreading out to bind his arms down, to wrap and constrict, the flashing blue light speeding up to mirror the heartbeat beneath. With a trembling hand, Peter turned the dial, the winding bands slowly constricting until the struggles eased and then with a flick of his wrist, he turned it off and the bands remained firmly where they were, only tightening if he should attempt to struggle further.

The last time he'd used this was Africa, on the poor wretches that Thaddeus had bound to his elephants, who now, like their creator, were locked deep in a prison with no hope of escape. He turned as he stood, moving to his elder son who had at least been able to stop his coughing and find his feet. "We're going home. Now. See to it, Peter." He lingered a moment in the open doorway between cars. "Spine, see that he's made comfortable, but leave him in here." He couldn't bear to look at the silver-wound burden of his youngest son. He did not indulge often in drink, even before it was prohibited, so it had never bothered him there was no liquor to be had. Now, he wished for the numbness it would bring. "Rabbit, shut the side door and help Peter when you've finished. Jon, bring the young lady to the lounge whenever she is ready to come." His tone was clipped, firm, but beneath that, it quavered faintly near the end and he shut his jaw with a snap, stalking off toward the front of the train to sit heavily and set his head into his hands.

Peter the second, still half dazed, had sprang to action. He jumped out of the open door before Rabbit could close it, running alongside the train to the engine and springing up to shift it into motion. It jerked and surged forward, gaining speed with each turn of the wheels until the landscape became a softly blurred mix of shapes and colors. The telegraph set up, he programmed in a constant message, consulting the map as he did so. The cadence on constant loop, warning all stations along the lines chosen to re-route their trains. He chose the less popular lines to help with this, but never at the cost of expediency. They would still have to stop for water, it could not be helped, but otherwise he did not intend to stop until they reached San Diego. The wind whipping against Peter's face was bracing but it kept him alert and awake when he truly did want to lie down and close his eyes. Over and over his mind replayed the last half hour and he could make no sense of it. There was little more he could do, and with cautious steps, he swung out of the engine door and walked down the iron walkway to the platform that linked it with the remainder of the train.

When he stepped inside, he noted that everyone else had gathered at the far end. His father sat at the table, the scattered cards still laying where they had been dropped earlier. Mary was across the room, the woolen blanket pulled around her, her legs drawn up beside her on the bench. Spine sat on one side of her, Rabbit was taking a lean on the wall a bit from her on the opposite side, and The Jon was sitting tailor style on the floor. It was subtle, how they surrounded her. He picked up the pitcher from the stand and she flinched, looking toward him with wide horrified eyes for a moment. As she did, he noted the robots all, again, very subtly, leaned toward her. She dropped her gaze and they leaned back again, like a pack of trained attack dogs, perfectly docile unless one got too close.

His water glass filled, he fetched out the aspirin box and made his way to sit across from his father, two of the bitter pills picked out and quickly swallowed, though his throat hurt terribly still. "Wha..."His voice a rough croak and he fell silent with a faint gesture caught from his father.

"Miss Mickleson, some facts are obvious to us, but it is like having a puzzle with only the outer frame done. We need your help to fill in the picture. Do you feel up to it?" He was tense, it was obvious, but would make an effort to be concilitory as it was obvious she was terribly shaken up.

She nodded quietly and began to speak. At first, it was hard to hear her, but as she went on, the words became stronger. They let her speak uninterrupted until she reached the end, then asked questions to clarify portions here and there, hiding all the while their shock as best they could. How could this have happened? How did they not know? Two days she had been shut away in that car. Each time Pete stepped away to his solitude, he was visiting her, working to break her, in turns beating her and molesting her. Though she had made it clear enough he had not crossed a certain line, the Walter men suspected this would not have been true if even another day had passed.

Peter the first exhaled softly, his face ravaged with the terrible weight of knowledge. "Lads, do you mind if the lady occupies your berth for the remainder of this trip? He expected the received trio of voices, each in their own way saying it was more than alright. He looked toward her then. "I am sorry, Miss Mickleson, but we are unable to see you home. We will wire your family, let them know you are safe, and as soon as we reach San Diego, we'll see you're provided with some proper clothes and whatever else you might require on your return journey. As it is, unfair as it must seem to you, I must get my son home where he can be properly attended."

"I..I understand, Sir. I do not blame you." She stood, wavering and The Spine stepped forward, taking hold of her arm without holding, merely a support. Fresh tears snuck down her cheeks, the browns fixed to the elder Walter's eyes. "He's got a devil inside of him, Mr. Walter. I hate the devil, not the man." She gave a nod to each of the men and then let Spine show her off to the berth, shut away alone she could unleash her tears of pain, fear, frustration, muting screams into a pillow pressed tight to her face, cries of wild desperation that rose from her soul to purge the terror like one might purge sickness from the body. When she at last found sleep, it was fitful and plagued by nightmares.

"I ... I can't believe it." Peter rasped, the warm tea with honey had done his throat some good, but it would be a day or more before he would fully recover. It was not the first time he'd said so, it was becoming rather like a broken record or Jon's sandwich joke, but he couldn't find any other words. The band were out of the room, Rabbit minding the telegraph in case any station reported back there was trouble ahead that would require a change in course, Spine and the Jon stationed in the sleeping car.

"Nor I. I don't believe in Miss Mickleson's devil, but I can think of nothing else that so succinctly covers what happened." Peter Walter the first had gone back to the storage car, choosing to do so alone, and when he returned, he was, if possible, more troubled than when he'd left. "He is quite mad. He is consumed by the idea that you are trying to steal her from him, that she is laughing at him, mocking him behind his back, that she must be broken. Taught a lesson! Made to understand he was not to be mocked!" He sighed sharply, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I have no doubt he would have killed her eventually. That sort of obsession, it would never have been satisfied."

"How did we not know?" He asked the question aloud that had been bouncing around his head for the last few hours. The unspoken thought which came after chilled him deeply. What if we had never known? There was no answer to either question that did not bring shudders and shame. The truth was that no sane mind could have imagined it. There was little doubt that Pete would get the best treatment, the most advanced help that doctors could give. That did nothing to help the woman he'd assaulted. "What are we going to do with Miss Mickleson? We can't just buy her a new dress and slap her on a train back to Virginia."

"No, no..." shaking his head. "I didn't plan to do that. Unless she asks it, of course, and even then I intend to hire her a companion so she doesn't have to return home alone." He stood and paced, just to do something with the tension that had no other outlet. "I feel terrible but I don't know how to make it up to her. Money seems vulgar. I frankly can't think of anything that doesn't, in some level or another, look like we're trying to buy her off. Even the dress, which she damned well needs of course, seems like some kind of bribe. I don't know what we'll do with her, but I think the best course is to make it clear we are at her service in whatever way she needs us, but not to press her. She struck me as a strong woman, and I hope that if her injuries cannot be healed, they can at least be eased and made bearable."

Peter nodded and lifted his cup to his lips, his mind racing again on the thought of what would have happened if they had come a day later. He shuddered and put his cup down. "I'm going to go relieve Rabbit." He knew the stalwart copper man did not tire or need relieving, but he had to feel he was doing something. Rabbit returned to find Colonel Walter sitting in sadness, the kind he knew he would be better off not attempting to lighten. He merely sat and began a solitaire spread, keeping an ear and the occasional eye on his creator as the train sped like a blue-tinged comet through the dark.