“Can we repair the grid?”
NO.
“Can we repair any of it?”
YES.
A map appeared.
Nine substations turned green.
“Those?”
THOSE CAN BE RESTORED BY US.
“And the others?”
SOME REQUIRE EQUIPMENT WE CANNOT MANUFACTURE. OTHERS HAVE TRANSFORMERS DAMAGED BEYOND REPAIR.
Chas looked at the screen.
“Repair what we can.”
It took two weeks to complete the first repairs.
Every power repair crew was sent to the major population centers, where their work could restore power to the greatest number of people. The repairs completed by the Hacienda’s robots were gratefully accepted.
Small towns like Show Low would have to wait.
The power would come back eventually.
Just not yet.
Portable generators were snatched up almost overnight. Solar systems were selling for twenty times what they had cost just a week before, when you could find one.
“Link, people are asking questions.”
“Yes.”
“About us?”
“Mostly about the robots.”
Chas sighed.
“We should have seen that coming.”
The Oracle answered.
I DID.
Chas stared at the screen.
“Of course you did.”
Another line appeared.
THERE IS ANOTHER PROBLEM.
“There always is. What?”
WE WILL HAVE VISITORS.
“Who?”
A map appeared. A red dot moved slowly along the highway toward Show Low.
“Who are they?”
TWENTY-SEVEN MOTORCYCLES. THREE TRUCKS.
“Tourists?”
NO.
“How long?”
FOUR HOURS, TWELVE MINUTES.
Chas leaned back.
“What do they want?”
WHAT EVERYONE WANTS.
“Power?”
POWER. FOOD. FUEL.
Chas thought for a moment.
“How many of them?”
THIRTY-FOUR.
“How many MREs do we have?”
SIX THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED AND TWELVE.
Chas stared at the screen.
“Why do we have six thousand MREs?”
BECAUSE I KNEW WE WOULD HAVE VISITORS.
“Of course you did.”
The screen went blank.
Four hours and nine minutes later, the first motorcycles appeared on the road leading to the Hacienda.
The Oracle had missed their arrival by three minutes.
Chas decided he could live with that.
Chas stood on the inside of the closed gate.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“We’re looking for supplies.”
“Two gallons of gas for every bike. Ten for each truck. Fill your canteens and take three MREs apiece.”
The biker looked past him toward the Hacienda and the machines standing behind him.
“And if we want more?”
Chas shrugged.
“Then we have a problem I’d rather we didn’t.”
The biker considered him for a moment.
“We’ll take what you’re willing to give us.”
“Good.”
The biker started to turn away, then stopped.
“You know what’s happening up north?”
Chas shook his head.
“Not all of it.”
“People are hurting. No power. No fuel. Stores are empty. Couple of towns don’t have working wells anymore.”
Chas looked toward the Hacienda.
“The wells need electricity.”
“Yeah.”
The biker nodded toward the machines standing behind Chas.
“Those things really fix power lines?”
“They can.”
The man was silent for a moment.
“Then maybe we can make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“You’ve got machines.”
He pointed toward the motorcycles and trucks.
“We’ve got eyes.”
Chas smiled.
“What’s your name?”
“Jack and we are the Iron Horsemen.”
“Okay, Jack. Tell me what you’ve seen.”
The trucks following the Iron Horsemen brought in five motorcycles that had failed along the way.
Jack expected a diagnosis.
Instead, four were running before sundown.
The fifth was different.
A robot had stripped it down until little remained except the frame.
Jack stared at the pieces spread across the workbench.
“What the hell happened to that one?”
Link answered through the robot.
“Multiple failures. The engine is badly damaged, the transmission is worn beyond tolerance, and several replacement parts no longer exist.”
“So it’s dead.”
“No.”
Jack looked at Chas.
Chas shrugged. “You heard it.”
“How long?”
“Approximately one week.”
Jack stared at the remains of the motorcycle.
“You can rebuild that?”
“We can manufacture what we cannot repair.”
A week later, Jack heard the motorcycle before he saw it.
The robot rode it out of the shop and stopped beside him.
Jack walked around it slowly.
It wasn’t repaired.
It was rebuilt.
He looked at Chas.
“From now on, nobody messes with this place.”
Chas smiled. “Is that a threat?”
“No.”
Jack climbed onto the motorcycle.
“That’s a promise.”
Chas watched the motorcycles disappear down the road.
“You know what they are, Link?”
“The Iron Horsemen.”
“No. They’re the cavalry.”
“And that makes the Hacienda the fort.”
Chas looked back at the walls.
“Apparently.”
“Oracle, did you know the Iron Horsemen were coming?”
YES.
“Did you know they’d stay?”
NO.
Chas frowned.
“Then what did you know?”
THAT THEY COULD.
“You repaired their motorcycles.”
YES.
“You made parts for bikes nobody else could fix.”
YES.
“You cleared the way.”
YES, SHEPHERD.
Chas stared at the screen.
“For thirty-two motorcycle riders?”
FOR WHAT THE HACIENDA NEEDED.
Outside, thirty-two engines came to life.
Chas smiled.
“The cavalry.”
YES.
“I’ve been hearing rumors Link, why are people saying the Hacienda is haunted?”
“The Iron Horsemen.”
“What did they do?”
“They have been telling stories.”
“About what?”
“Ghosts.”
Chas stared at the screen.
“Are you stopping them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
THE STORIES ARE USEFUL.
Chas smiled.
“Sometimes you’re downright sneaky.”
About the Creator
Mark Stigers
One year after my birth sputnik was launched, making me a space child. I did a hitch in the Navy as a electronics tech. I worked for Hughes Aircraft Company for quite a while. I currently live in the Saguaro forest in Tucson Arizona
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