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Stories and AARs / Re: Every Leaf In Springtime, Caravaneer 1 Fanfic
« on: August 28, 2015, 06:36:44 AM »
Epilogue
The winter hadn't been too bad. The spring might be. It hadn't snowed much, and that was now a problem as the lack of snowmelt meant a lack of drinking water for the cattle. James McLintock, his dad and some of the hired men were herding about a hundred Charolais onto some property they had leased from their relatives, and also some decent grazing land that, from what they could tell, had been abandoned. They didn't particularly like doing this, but Paul had always predicted that it would start happening. The notion of personal land ownership didn't really exist in pastoral societies; you moved your herd to whatever grass you could find and you owned as much of it as you could defend.
So far, the people in the canyons had done pretty well at defending themselves from outsiders.
Melissa was gone. She had left quite a mystery in her wake; that wasn't the name she'd been born with, his shooting her in the face with a shotgun had made it very hard to identify the body, and no one who had known her was being all that forthcoming. Perhaps they would never know who the Duchess of Trinidad really was. The discovery of her nuclear devise, and where it had been pointed, came as a surprise for everyone, and no doubt helped to sober the peace talks.
Joseph Berg was gone. Deputy MacCoy had taken him and those regulators who had been captured back to Texas, where those who mugged on Tuesday hanged on Wednesday. He didn't know what became of Joseph Berg, but the Deputy had been forgiven for his Colorado foray, and apparently had a good shot at being his county's next sheriff. Bandits were still a problem in the area, a very serious one, but it would be a very long time before they and the state ever again cooperated so openly.
Oswald Raff was gone, at least in every way that mattered, at least for now. They could have brought the power grid back if there was a way to harness all the spin coming from his press people. Apparently, the entire war had been the brainchild of a few evil advisors who attacked the misguided-but-ultimately-innocent people of the Sangre de Cristos, forcing a war that he never wanted and had done his best to stop. He'd even found some patsies to gibbet for these outrages. The Qubbans were clearly better at politics than war; he had done a decent job of sweet-talking the Texans and New Mexicans alike, and James wondered if he might eventually get through verbiage what he could never take at bayonet-point.
General Snetteke, oddly, was not gone. He still worked as Raff's top advisor and was often enlisted as an envoy to the south, where old disagreements were forgotten and new friendships made. Snetteke said that he planned on retiring in the area.
The Desert Patrol was gone, or at least they only ventured above Raton Pass or the town of Costila when in pursuit of robbers. Their employers had little interest in extracting fuel from the lawless, isolated canyons, so the only visitors from points south were the caravans carrying
Even the Sangre de Cristo Republic was, as far as they could tell, gone. James had thought that Harriet Campbell or Robert Rogers would have made good presidents, but Harriet only wanted her old mail route and Rogers had taken up sheep ranching. He wasn't sure if they had (or needed) a president. They took care of themselves and they took care of each other in their happy little anarchy, and there was no need for another Duchess of Trinidad to tell them how to do that.
And a lot of good men and women were gone. James wasn't sure how many had been lost, but one estimate had it at 6,000 dead on their side. And in the time since the crash? He had heard someone say that America's surviving population was somewhere around one-hundred million, and the population of Earth was down to somewhere around two billion. There was no possible way to confirm any of that, but Southern Colorado had definitely been comparatively lucky.
"You should have seen the wedding." said James aloud, startling his horse. "It didn't trail the cease-fire by more than a week. Dad rolled Bethany down the aisle in her wheelchair; she said she was going to walk again and every day she takes another step towards that goal. She and Tim are managing an almond grove now, and hope to get one of their own some day. They are the proud owners of a very pretty little flock of turkey poults which they plan to raise alongside their babies.
"I know, I know. Eighteen years old does seem awful young to get hitched, but I guess that's the world we live in now. By the standards of our day, even Hector and Alexia are getting close to marriageable age…
…Alexia's still blind you know. Eyesight's probably gone for good, just like my hearing. I guess, all in all, things didn't really change that much in these last few months: one sister's still missing, one's still crippled, one's still blind, I'm still deaf and you Paul, well, you're still dead."
"Paul McLintock
Aged 24 years, 10 months
'Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.'
-Martin Luther"
James took the bandana from around his mouth and wiped his eyes, cursing the cloud of dust as it rolled in. He still couldn't believe how they had been through so much only for his brother to die on patrol from a lightning strike, several days after the end of the war.
He had always liked that quote, and it seemed very fitting that it adorned his headstone (another quote by Martin Luther now adorned the threshold of the renovated McLintock homeplace: "Even if I knew that tomorrow would be the judgement day, I would still plant my apple tree.")
The cedars on top of the nondescript hill on the back of their cousin's ranch were doing fine, but the Live Oaks looked very sick and he wondered if they could survive in the changing climate. The wrought-iron fence was going to need repairing soon if they didn't want cows or other critters rooting around the bones of their ancestors. None of that took away from the beauty of the location. There were, he felt, worse places to wait on the Resurrection.
The wind had now gathered to a steady blast, and James knew that there were a hundred separate chores calling for his attention. He rotated his horse out of the graveyard, and rode alongside a nearby group of grazing white cows. One of the older ones, the dam of several very good oxen and well-liked by James personally, looked up at him curiously.
"Can you keep an eye on them for me, girl?" he asked.
"Moo…"
The winter hadn't been too bad. The spring might be. It hadn't snowed much, and that was now a problem as the lack of snowmelt meant a lack of drinking water for the cattle. James McLintock, his dad and some of the hired men were herding about a hundred Charolais onto some property they had leased from their relatives, and also some decent grazing land that, from what they could tell, had been abandoned. They didn't particularly like doing this, but Paul had always predicted that it would start happening. The notion of personal land ownership didn't really exist in pastoral societies; you moved your herd to whatever grass you could find and you owned as much of it as you could defend.
So far, the people in the canyons had done pretty well at defending themselves from outsiders.
Melissa was gone. She had left quite a mystery in her wake; that wasn't the name she'd been born with, his shooting her in the face with a shotgun had made it very hard to identify the body, and no one who had known her was being all that forthcoming. Perhaps they would never know who the Duchess of Trinidad really was. The discovery of her nuclear devise, and where it had been pointed, came as a surprise for everyone, and no doubt helped to sober the peace talks.
Joseph Berg was gone. Deputy MacCoy had taken him and those regulators who had been captured back to Texas, where those who mugged on Tuesday hanged on Wednesday. He didn't know what became of Joseph Berg, but the Deputy had been forgiven for his Colorado foray, and apparently had a good shot at being his county's next sheriff. Bandits were still a problem in the area, a very serious one, but it would be a very long time before they and the state ever again cooperated so openly.
Oswald Raff was gone, at least in every way that mattered, at least for now. They could have brought the power grid back if there was a way to harness all the spin coming from his press people. Apparently, the entire war had been the brainchild of a few evil advisors who attacked the misguided-but-ultimately-innocent people of the Sangre de Cristos, forcing a war that he never wanted and had done his best to stop. He'd even found some patsies to gibbet for these outrages. The Qubbans were clearly better at politics than war; he had done a decent job of sweet-talking the Texans and New Mexicans alike, and James wondered if he might eventually get through verbiage what he could never take at bayonet-point.
General Snetteke, oddly, was not gone. He still worked as Raff's top advisor and was often enlisted as an envoy to the south, where old disagreements were forgotten and new friendships made. Snetteke said that he planned on retiring in the area.
The Desert Patrol was gone, or at least they only ventured above Raton Pass or the town of Costila when in pursuit of robbers. Their employers had little interest in extracting fuel from the lawless, isolated canyons, so the only visitors from points south were the caravans carrying
Even the Sangre de Cristo Republic was, as far as they could tell, gone. James had thought that Harriet Campbell or Robert Rogers would have made good presidents, but Harriet only wanted her old mail route and Rogers had taken up sheep ranching. He wasn't sure if they had (or needed) a president. They took care of themselves and they took care of each other in their happy little anarchy, and there was no need for another Duchess of Trinidad to tell them how to do that.
And a lot of good men and women were gone. James wasn't sure how many had been lost, but one estimate had it at 6,000 dead on their side. And in the time since the crash? He had heard someone say that America's surviving population was somewhere around one-hundred million, and the population of Earth was down to somewhere around two billion. There was no possible way to confirm any of that, but Southern Colorado had definitely been comparatively lucky.
"You should have seen the wedding." said James aloud, startling his horse. "It didn't trail the cease-fire by more than a week. Dad rolled Bethany down the aisle in her wheelchair; she said she was going to walk again and every day she takes another step towards that goal. She and Tim are managing an almond grove now, and hope to get one of their own some day. They are the proud owners of a very pretty little flock of turkey poults which they plan to raise alongside their babies.
"I know, I know. Eighteen years old does seem awful young to get hitched, but I guess that's the world we live in now. By the standards of our day, even Hector and Alexia are getting close to marriageable age…
…Alexia's still blind you know. Eyesight's probably gone for good, just like my hearing. I guess, all in all, things didn't really change that much in these last few months: one sister's still missing, one's still crippled, one's still blind, I'm still deaf and you Paul, well, you're still dead."
"Paul McLintock
Aged 24 years, 10 months
'Our Lord has written the promise of resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.'
-Martin Luther"
James took the bandana from around his mouth and wiped his eyes, cursing the cloud of dust as it rolled in. He still couldn't believe how they had been through so much only for his brother to die on patrol from a lightning strike, several days after the end of the war.
He had always liked that quote, and it seemed very fitting that it adorned his headstone (another quote by Martin Luther now adorned the threshold of the renovated McLintock homeplace: "Even if I knew that tomorrow would be the judgement day, I would still plant my apple tree.")
The cedars on top of the nondescript hill on the back of their cousin's ranch were doing fine, but the Live Oaks looked very sick and he wondered if they could survive in the changing climate. The wrought-iron fence was going to need repairing soon if they didn't want cows or other critters rooting around the bones of their ancestors. None of that took away from the beauty of the location. There were, he felt, worse places to wait on the Resurrection.
The wind had now gathered to a steady blast, and James knew that there were a hundred separate chores calling for his attention. He rotated his horse out of the graveyard, and rode alongside a nearby group of grazing white cows. One of the older ones, the dam of several very good oxen and well-liked by James personally, looked up at him curiously.
"Can you keep an eye on them for me, girl?" he asked.
"Moo…"