The Empire Read online

  “That’s all I want to know—nothing else,” Annika continued. “Just answer my question and everything is good. Your life is so good, Colin.

  “Or, if you prefer, we could lie down again, you and I,” Annika said, smiling, nodding toward a wet rubber mat in the corner of the room she used to waterboard Colin.

  Colin sobbed, “I don’t know! I would tell you if I knew. Navigation was offline when they jumped!”

  Annika said, “I think navigation was online, and you erased the data.”

  “No! I’m telling the truth!” he cried.

  “OK, I think you’ve been standing up long enough. Time for you to lie down,” Annika said, unlocking his wrist shackles.

  “No! No! I don’t want to lie down!” Collin screamed. “I want to stand up! I want to stand up!”

  Colin reached for Annika like a zombie. She slapped an arm away, stepped behind his leg, grabbed his testicles with one hand, and pushed the hollow of his neck with her thumb. Colin screamed in pain as he tumbled over Annika’s leg onto the floor.

  She shoved her knee on his sternum.

  “You never, ever touch me without my permission,” said Annika emphatically. “We’ve talked about this.”

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” cried Colin.

  There was a knock at the two-way mirror. Annika got up.

  “Don’t worry, lover,” Annika said, smiling. “I’ll be right back.”

  Annika exited and joined General Craig in the shadowed observation room. They viewed Colin through the two-way mirror.

  “He’s telling the truth. He doesn’t know anything,” said Annika.

  “A jump without navigation is madness,” replied the general. “They could end up anywhere at any time—the bottom of the ocean, in the stratosphere, in molten lava.”

  “Maybe they thought molten lava was preferable to this,” Annika said, nodding toward Colin, now clutching his legs in a fetal position in a corner of the room.

  “No one appreciates my loving touch,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Sometimes I seriously worry about you,” said the general.

  “If you think I enjoy this, you’re wrong,” Annika replied. “I just happen to be good at it, which is why I’m telling you you’re wasting your time. Everyone’s story stacks up, and it’s corroborated by the system log files. They jumped without navigation. They’re probably dead.”

  “I won’t be satisfied until I see the bodies,” replied the general. “Strangelove thinks it may be possible to track the jump trajectory. Theoretical, but it’s all we’ve got.”

  Standing Rock Reservation

  South Dakota

  September 11, 1890

  14:32 hours

  Timeline 003

  The medicine man said something to Takoda, then gestured for Kyle and Padma to follow him.

  “Our medicine man wants you to meet our chief, Tatanka Iyotake. Come, please.”

  Kyle’s brow wrinkled in thought. The name was familiar to him.

  The ring of ghost dancers parted to allow the four to pass through. The hundreds of dancers then closed behind, following them. Yellow Bird and Takoda led the couple east toward a village of buffalo hide tipis. To their right was a river that flowed east, partially obscured by knolls and groves of cottonwood trees. In the distance, beyond patches of trees, the river flowed into a much larger river that ran south.

  “This is the Grand River,” Kyle said to Padma, gesturing to the right. “That big river in the distance the Grand merges with is the Missouri.”

  Padma couldn’t care less about the local geography. She still clung to hope that she would awaken from the nightmare through which they were strolling.

  They entered the tipi village, several hundred yards north of the Grand River. The villagers stared at the strange couple with Yellow Bird and Takoda. Some wore traditional deerskin Lakota clothing, though many wore threadbare store-bought clothes—cotton dresses, trousers, and buttoned shirts.

  Kyle and Padma noted the inhabitants were largely idle. Their appearance was gaunt—they were obviously malnourished.

  “These people are Sioux?” asked Padma.

  “That’s what white people call them,” said Kyle. “‘Sioux’ isn’t a native word. It’s a combination of native Ojibwa and French. It comes from the word Natowessiwak, which is what the Ojibwa call these people. It means ‘little snakes’—presumably not a term of endearment.

  “The French substituted their plural ending on the word and turned it into Nadouessioux. Then the whites shortened it to ‘Sioux,’ and the name stuck. These people call themselves ‘Lakota.’”

  Kyle acknowledged the villagers’ condition. “White people have hunted the buffalo to near extinction—mostly for sport. They shoot the buffalo and leave the carcasses to rot.

  “The Lakota people were forced to live in this wasteland, where there is no food and nothing will grow. They live off government rations, which are at half the level they were promised in the latest broken treaty. The Lakota people are slowly starving to death.”

  The gathering emerged from the village. Fifty yards away stood a split-wood log cabin near the Grand River. A teenage girl sat in front of the cabin. Upon seeing the approaching crowd, she ran inside. Kyle and Padma watched as a man emerged, followed by two women. The man was in his late fifties, with two long braids resting on his chest. He wore a store-bought striped blue shirt, buckskin pants, and a matching fringed jacket. A beige felt hat with a narrow brim rested on his head. The Lakota women were wearing plain store-bought cotton dresses—ankle length, long sleeved, with modest necklines. The taller of the two wore a crimson dress. The other woman’s dress was navy.

  The woman in the navy dress carried a rough wooden chair, setting it on the ground in front of the cabin. A white horse stood near the cabin, munching on dry grass. The horse, a trick pony, had been a gift to the cabin’s owner from the showman Buffalo Bill Cody.

  The man sat in the chair, watching the approaching crowd warily. As they drew closer, Kyle recognized him.

  “Holy shit,” Kyle said.

  “What?” asked Padma.

  “It’s Sitting Bull,” he said. “I can’t believe it.”

  Padma was silent.

  Sitting Bull had achieved mythical status within his lifetime. In 1876, he received a vision foretelling the defeat of the white army at the hands of the Lakota. Inspiring his people, the Lakota annihilated General George Armstrong Custer’s 7th Cavalry at the resulting Battle of Little Big Horn, leaving Custer and nearly 300 of his soldiers dead.

  The public responded to news of the massacre with outrage. Thousands of troops were dispatched to the Dakotas, forcing the Lakota tribes into unconditional surrender and onto the Standing Rock Reservation. Sitting Bull’s tribe evaded the army for years, escaping to Canada. Facing starvation and pressure from the Canadian government, Sitting Bull eventually capitulated. In 1881, he became the last member of his tribe to surrender his rifle to the white army.

  Sitting Bull was permitted to leave the reservation in 1885 when he joined Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. He earned $50 a week to ride around the arena to the jeers of the white audience. During his stint with the show, he became close friends with both Buffalo Bill Cody and sharpshooter Annie Oakley. Cody gave Sitting Bull the white horse that munched grass outside his house.

  In 1890, the old chief was a shell of bitterness, resigned that he would live out his remaining days in this wasteland prison, dependent on the whites for what few scraps they might throw. In 1883, he was trotted out to give a speech as the guest of honor at the opening ceremonies for the Northern Pacific Railroad. In his native language he said, “I hate all white people. You are thieves and liars. You have taken away our land and made us outcasts.” Takoda, his interpreter, told the cr
owd the chief was happy to be there and that he looked forward to peace and prosperity with the white people. Sitting Bull received a standing ovation.

  When the crowd arrived at the cabin, the medicine man approached Sitting Bull. He gestured at Kyle and Padma as he explained the story of the strange couple’s miraculous appearance at the Ghost Dance.

  Sitting Bull stared at the couple. His expression was grim. Padma studied the chief’s face—searing eyes atop cheekbones that defied gravity. A powerful aquiline nose hung over a recalcitrant chin. Padma noticed that a monarch butterfly was pinned to the front of Sitting Bull’s felt hat. To Padma, the butterfly’s vibrant orange and black wings seemed like an accessory that was incompatible with the man’s circumstance. Then something occurred to her…

  …the butterfly is dead, she thought.

  As Yellow Bird spoke, the chief eyed Kyle and Padma closely. Their appearance was strange. Both were very tall—indeed, Padma was taller than most men he had ever seen. She was also the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Until that moment, he had not believed he would ever see anything so beautiful for the rest of his life.

  Yellow Bird gestured emphatically as he spoke, attempting to convey the enormity of the miracle the ghost dancers had witnessed.

  Sitting Bull was unmoved. His stare did not leave Kyle and Padma. He had never believed in the magical powers ascribed to the Ghost Dance, though he had nonetheless permitted his tribe to practice the ritual. He rationalized that anything that kept his people distracted from their hopeless situation was probably a good thing.

  Sitting Bull suspected the appearance of the strange couple to be yet another one of the white man’s tricks. He gestured for Kyle and Padma to come forward. He spoke to them in Lakota.

  Takoda translated, “Tatanka Iyotanka says he does not believe you are the Messiah. He believes this is a trick. He says if you are the Messiah, you must prove it.”

  Kyle looked at Padma. “Go right ahead, Messiah.”

  Padma shot Kyle a cold look. “My white servant will provide proof.”

  Kyle returned Padma’s hard look. “You and I are going to have a talk later.”

  Kyle turned to Sitting Bull. “You had a vision a few years ago. You saw a meadowlark land on a hill beside you. It said, ‘Your own people, Lakotas, will kill you.’ Your vision is true. You will be shot dead by reservation police in a few months. Your son, Crow Foot, will also be killed.”

  As Takoda translated, Sitting Bull’s dour expression did not betray his surprise. He had not shared the vision of his death with anyone.

  “After your death,” Kyle continued, “your tribe will flee and join with Chief Spotted Elk’s tribe. The 7th Cavalry Regiment will intercept them and take them to Wounded Knee Creek. It is very cold. The Lakota people are freezing to death. Spotted Elk is dying from pneumonia.

  “On the morning of December 29, the army will attempt to disarm your people.”

  Kyle pointed to Yellow Bird. “When they do, Yellow Bird will begin the Ghost Dance. He will throw a handful of dirt in the air and say, ‘I have lived long enough.’ He will tell the warriors not to fear the soldiers’ bullets, that the bullets cannot penetrate them.

  “Black Coyote, who is deaf, refuses to give up his rifle. When the soldiers try to take it from him, they struggle. A shot is fired.

  “The soldiers open fire on Lakota men, women, and children with their rifles and Hotchkiss gun artillery. Over 300 Lakota men, women, and children are slaughtered, including Spotted Elk.”

  Kyle reached into his backpack and retrieved a laptop computer. Contained in its terabytes of storage was a vast storehouse of information, including history and technology. Kyle and Padma’s original plan was to leverage part of that trove to rebuild their fortune.

  Kyle typed on the keyboard. He turned the screen to face Sitting Bull. The chief’s grim expression broke. His eyes went wide as a gasp emerged from his lips.

  On the display was the grizzly image of Sitting Bull’s half-brother, Chief Spotted Elk, known as “Big Foot” to the whites, frozen to death at Wounded Knee. In the picture, the frozen corpse’s arms reached up from the ground. His head was elevated, as though he was attempting to rise from a fall at the moment he died.

  Sitting Bull reached out to touch the screen, then put his hand on his chest.

  “Twenty-five of the soldiers will receive the Medal of Honor for acts of valor for their role in the massacre,” Kyle said.

  Kyle touched a button on the keyboard. An image of an old newspaper article flashed onto the screen. Kyle slapped the laptop shut before Padma could see it.

  “We don’t need to look at that,” he said, stuffing the laptop into his pack.

  Sitting Bull looked at Kyle and Padma, shaken by the horror of the image of his brother’s frozen body. That a white man had presented the obscenity to him was almost more than he could bear. Sitting Bull reviled the whites. Their easy capacity to lie, cheat, steal, and murder was woven into their pasty flesh. It was as though nature had bleached all the goodness out of men and all that remained were pale specters—the skin of evil.

  Sitting Bull tried to regain his composure. He looked at Padma, asking a question while pointing at Kyle. Takoda translated.

  “This white man is your servant?”

  Padma rolled her eyes. “He is my husband.”

  “He will betray you,” he said.

  Padma’s eyes locked on Kyle’s. “Never!” she said.

  Sitting Bull could see that Padma was sincere, though he could not reconcile the union of the beautiful native Messiah with the white demon.

  The chief posed a question to the crowd. They answered in unison with a single word.

  “Han!”

  Takoda explained, “Tatanka Iyotanka asks the people if they saw what Yellow Bird saw. They say ‘yes.’”

  A breeze drifted through the congregation. Sitting Bull sat quietly for a few moments, looked up toward the sun, then let out a long sigh. He turned and spoke to Yellow Bird. The medicine man was surprised, and challenged Sitting Bull. The chief was insistent. Yellow Bird yielded.

  Kyle and Padma looked at Takoda.

  “What’s going on?” asked Kyle.

  Sitting Bull stood up, then unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open for the couple to see his chest. Padma gasped.

  On each breast, above the nipple, Sitting Bull’s flesh had been mutilated, as though two large claws had ripped holes in his chest. A roar erupted from the crowd.

  Sitting Bull gestured to Takoda to explain. Takoda, unsettled, took a few moments to recover.

  “Tatanka Iyotanka will seek a vision in the Sun Dance,” Takoda explained. “Big medicine. It is dangerous for him. It may kill him. Also, the whites have outlawed the Sun Dance. If he is caught, they will take him.”

  Sitting Bull spoke again, gesturing to Kyle and Padma. He then turned to one of the tribesmen and gave a command. The brave turned to leave, waving to several other tribesmen to follow him.

  “They are preparing the lodge for the Sun Dance,” said Takoda. “It is our chief’s wish that our tribe provide you with food and shelter. We don’t have much. The whites starve us, but what we have is yours.”

  Standing Rock Reservation

  South Dakota

  September 11, 1890

  14:32 hours

  Timeline 003

  The orange sun was low in the western sky as Takoda guided Kyle and Padma to a tipi on the outskirts of the village. Several women and girls from the tribe trailed behind the Messiah-apparent and her white husband. They carried food, blankets, and clothing for the strange visitors. A starving yellow dog, ribs outlined through his skin, followed the group.

  The tipi was isolated from the village, perched on a knoll of wavy grass near a grove of cottonwood trees that sep
arated it from the Grand River. From the knoll, Kyle and Padma had an excellent view of the village some 50 yards away.

  The tipi was large—nearly 20 feet tall with a base 20 feet in diameter. Unlike most of the other village dwellings, this one was painted. A band of red with white circles wrapped around the buffalo skin base. The top quarter of the cone was painted black. Two flaps opened at the top of the tipi, from which the supporting cottonwood poles thrust out of the tan buffalo shell into the blue sky. The image of a man was painted next to the door flap. In one hand, he held a long wooden pipe. In the other hand was a yellow circle, adorned with black and orange feathers.

  “We have a saying,” Takoda said. “A beautiful tipi is like a good mother: She hugs her children and protects them from heat and cold, snow and rain.”

  The women stepped forward with gifts. Most were for Padma. Sitting Bull’s wives, Seen By Her Nation and Four Robes, were first in line. Seen By Her Nation was in her forties, tall compared to the other Lakota women. Padma estimated her height to be 5’7”. Her two long braids framed a large brown face with powerful cheekbones that hollowed long cheeks into a rugged jaw and forward chin. Her braids fell upon her plain crimson cotton dress. Unlike many of her fellow tribeswomen, the hot sun and an excruciating life had not broken the stony expression she wore on her face. The exhausted woman exuded a look of inexhaustible defiance.

  Without saying a word, Seen By Her Nation extended a bundle toward Padma. Padma took it—it was light, soft, folded doeskin with exquisite blue, red, and yellow beadwork. Padma unfolded it—it was a dress with a separate yoke, dazzling with thousands of blue glass beads. Geometric patterns of yellow, red, and white beads were set within a sea of blue.

  “Oh my God!” Padma exclaimed. “It’s beautiful!”

  “It is a wedding dress,” Takoda explained. “There is no more game to hunt, and no more beads, so it is rare and special.”

  Seen By Her Nation handed Padma matching beaded moccasins and a leather belt with smooth silver conchos.