Taterskin & The Eco Defenders: Book 2, Chapter 13
Book 2 ("Tell It to Future Generations"), Chapter 13 of 56
CHAPTER 13
The dates on the JNGs had been set to the year 1861, when the Civil War began. More specifically, though, the date was set to March 4th. This was done for two reasons: That is exactly what we intended to do (march forth) and we wanted to be there before the attack on Fort Sumter which, as history then recorded it, had taken place on April 12th of that year.
We had landed in a secluded spot between Bear Swamp and Horse Savanna a short distance from the city center, which we considered to be a good place to hide our JNGs. We saw no Bears in Bear Swamp, but we did meet a few Horses in a corral near Horse Savanna. They told us about how the humans had been talking about nothing but war for quite some time. They (the humans) were getting more agitated all the time.
We told the Horses about our plan. Not surprisingly, they wanted to know who we were, why we were there, and all that. We told them; we had nothing to hide.
The Horses offered to give us a ride to the city courthouse, where the rabble-rousers were constantly jabbering about secession and self-defense. We would have to open the gate, though, as the exit from the corral had been Horse-proofed. No sooner said than done. Ooga beat Albert to the punch and opened the gate.
A few of us then climbed up on the Horses. Those that did so (Rovette and I and the pups went on paw) opted to ride not because they needed to do so, but for the sheer novelty of the experience. The Elephants, of course, were too large to ride a Horse, as were the Rhino and Hippo, but Ooga, Marmalade, Drako, and Rinky took advantage of the offer — the Gorilla on the largest Horse, and the other three riding together on another.
To say our entrance at Charleston City Hall made an impression would be an understatement. The officials there did not invite us in for a conference, as we had hoped. They had some silly rule about no Horses being allowed inside the building, and although our local friends recommended that we dismount and go in without them (as there were no rules barring Gorillas, Elephants, Rhinos, Hippos, and such from the courthouse), we declined. One reason for this was that we realized that there being no rule barring our larger members from entry was simply an oversight on the part of the unimaginative local politicians, not a tacit approval on their part of having us enter their sanctum sanctorum. It didn’t matter, though, because the magistrates and other officials (as well as many gawkers and bystanders, both innocent and otherwise) came out to see what the meaning of this “unprecedented interruption” was (as they termed it to be).
Brief introductions were made, although when Albert tried to tell them the names of us animals, they waved him off. They didn’t care to know our names. They claimed to have no time or patience for that. The leader, or spokesman, of their group was a man named Jefferson. I don’t know if that was a given name or a surname. If the former, he was probably named after Thomas. It was way too early in U.S. history for him to have been named after Jefferson Airplane or Starship.
We told them that we were there to prevent the Civil War. They claimed they didn’t know what we were talking about. Albert asked, “Jefferson, are you trying to tell me you haven’t been planning an insurrection against the United States?”
“We’re not saying one way or the other about that,” Jefferson replied. “If we were, it wouldn’t be what we would call a ‘Civil War’, though.”
“I agree that ‘Civil War’ is a fairly misleading word for it,” Albert said. “So what would you call it?”
The men looked at us suspiciously, and if not for the presence of the Elephants, Rhino, Hippo, Gorilla, Lion, Tiger, Cheetah, and Hyena, probably would have ordered us off the premises.
“If we did have such an intention, we would probably call it ‘The War of Northern Aggression’ or ‘The War Between the States’.”
“I consider that a confession,” Albert said. “I know exactly what you have planned: to fire on Fort Sumter and secede from the Union.”
The men looked at each other, shocked and confused.
“There must be a chatterer among us,” Jefferson muttered under his breath, looking daggers at those arrayed around him, one by one.
“No, I know that because I come from the future,” Albert said. “From the year 2527, to be precise. I can tell you this: If we allow you to proceed with your plan, you will begin the Civil War, and three-quarters of a million humans will die, also between one and three million Horses, Donkeys, and Mules, as well as countless Cows, Chickens, Pigs, Rabbits, Squirrels, and so on. And so we won’t; allow it, that is.”
“Setting aside your preposterous lie about being from the future for now, how do you intend to stop us? We have guns. You have dumb beasts, is all. We can kill them at will. We have sharpshooters.”
“Who are you calling ‘dumb’?” Alexis asked.
“And who are you calling ‘liars’?” I added, but they naturally couldn’t understand my barking. They understood Alexis because she spoke in English, even copying (to some extent) the southern accent of our antagonists.
Again, the men looked at each other, nonplussed.
“This must be some kind of parlor trick,” Jefferson said. A birdie that can respond in a seemingly sensible fashion ... I’ve got it! People are always calling all y’all’s animals dumb, so you taught him to say that at some signal you gave him,” he accused Albert.
“No signal, and I’m a she,” Alexis replied. “Open your eyes! Pay attention! If I was a male, would my red tail feathers also sport these silver hues?” she said, shaking her tail feathers to draw attention to the silver streaks in them.
“How should I know, you blasted Bird!” Jefferson sputtered, who was decidedly no ornithologist.
Alexis continued her counterattack: “You call us dumb, and you can’t tell a male from a female?”
After an exasperated grunt, the rebel leader reiterated his belief that they had us outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and outfoxed.
“Think again,” Stripes said. Albert interpreted what he had said.
“He growled. He didn’t say anything,” Jefferson said.
“I can prove to you that Albert can understand animal speech,” Alexis said. “Do you see that bay Horse right there?”
Some of the men nodded yes.
“Hey, that’s my Horse!” one of them suddenly cried out. I think the man’s name was Buford. Or Rufus. Or Doofus. Something like that.
“Be quiet now,” Alexis warned Jefferson. “That Horse will tell Albert her name, and Albert will then interpret what the Horse said to you — and there’s no way for Albert to have already known it.”
Using the Mammalian lingo — which she knew almost as well as her native Birdian — Alexis asked the Horse its name. Without hesitation, the equine immediately whinnied.
“He said his name is ‘Scout’,” Albert told the men.
Those who knew that Scout was, indeed, the Horse’s name looked surprised and disturbed by Albert’s “guess.” Some even winced or were visibly startled.
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