The past is not truly past

Farnam?

Would the kindly agent of the county's law be referring to Christopher Deacon "Deke" Farnam? He of the nine toes and two faces?

Oh yes, I know Farnam well. We were both traveling with some Caucasian tribesmen, routine stuff. They needed skilled labor for alunite extraction, we needed money. Well, Deke also enhanced his income by taking part in the opium market. His choice, of course, except that someone tipped the Russian authorities off and led them to me.

I'll say nothing of my imprisonment there, except to point out that the Hootin' Holler holding cell is a relative Capella resort.

Oh yes, I will help to corner Farnam. For old times' sake, shall we say. Although if the sheriff would like to give me a pull on his whiskey whusky, I'll accept it. I could use something to cool my rage until the time comes.

Life as a liquid/Hemoglobin is power

"Bothered by the sight of blood"? I should hope not, my jovial bear of a man! After all, it is lovely to be able to evade violence. One always hopes that one's adversaries will take the functionality of the laser cannon on faith. And when proactive force is required, more sophisticated weapons are pleasant. Still, at times one must pick up the scimitar and get one's hands dirty, if only to prove one can.

Interesting story with the good doctor here. He was employed by... someone, who I believe I know but won't name now. Engaged in staged cattle mutilations and the abduction of cornpone hillbillies, he almost faced his capture without showing fear. Almost. I was impressed with the skill he showed in his hands, and was amused by the thought of keeping him and his Dartmouth elocution here. As predicted, he has picked up on the ways and talk of the plain folk of theses parts.

My servan's as the Lord's spokesman

The old man circled our encampment numerous times, near-empty canteen hanging from his neck. Luisa wanted to find a deep ditch in which his body could rot. I was tempted, but his orange eyebrows and high-pitched ranting made him too conspicuous. There was just that chance that he'd be missed, even that he was the black sheep of a wealthy family.

No, better to bring him in, somehow. But he wasn't strong. Wasn't good with weapons. Nor should he be allowed within thirty yards of a sterile lab.

In the end, we gave him a broad straw hat and a shiny preacher's suit. We've given him the duties of arbitration and ritual. The wonderful thing is that it doesn't matter if he's any good at it. His presence lets my people know that I care. And that one way or another, I am always watching.

On the herd and those who minister to them

Yes, my trusted lieutenant Lucas and I have had many good laughs regarding the citizens of Hootin' Holler and their adherence to "old time" slave morality. They know--if only by osmosis--their Old Testament and their New Testament. But few among them are aware of the Newest Testament: the Book of the Fully Realized Man.

Well, they'll learn. Those who can learn shall be educated. Out of the weak and credulous masses shall rise the strong men and women of tomorrow.

Things to be discussed over a civilized game of checkers

It need hardly be said that when I tell Lucas that the key to a good marriage "is to not keep secrets", I mean the sort of marriage other than the domestic tranquility that so many of the sheep flock to. No, what I refer to is the special wedlock between a visionary leader and his trusted lieutenant. Lucas--"Lukey" to the tourists and sleepers--is due his share of the spoils. The portion he requires is something I barely notice, especially as he takes a good percentage of it in corn liquor and chaw. (In a previous life, Lucas was a commodities broker.) But I will not tolerate him lying to me. Mine is a jealous sect.

Luisa, well, bless her. She is busy inculcating the trigger words into the mind of Lucas' companion Elvira Lynn. "Berry patch" is an unconscious instruction to take a memory-altering sedative if taken prisoner. The others are rather esoteric, and I will keep them to myself for the present time.

The Bird Woman of Hootin' Holler

Ah, Luisa! Or, as we are expected to say in these parts, 'Weezy. (Gad.) Such a warm companion! Such a lethal aide! And so different from what you were before.

Yes, when I first recruited her from the lower ranks of the Stasi, Luisa was a shy German farmgirl who could barely hold her Luger straight. But I saw potential in her, and was determined to develop it.

She is a new kind of creature now, as her command of avian lore shows. Or rather, in a way that the exchange above only begins to demonstrate. If she sees a wren foraging on the ground, she is able to catch it in one hand a second after it takes flight. To comfort the bird or to wring its neck. I've been witness to both.

Mama is most certainly not the woman who gave me life lo these many years ago. Her identity is another story for another day.