The Hands of God by Denis Steeper

Author:Denis Steeper [Steeper, Denis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-09T22:00:00+00:00

Three Emperors and a President

I woke the next morning only slightly worse for the wear of the night before. I had admittedly been a weeny bit greedy with the Bordeaux, which had not helped, but the presence of the Chief had kept things well within limits. Randy and Otto kept their hangovers to themselves as we prepared breakfast.

Tuesseur was frying eggs and bacon as if last night had been teetotal. On looking back I could not really remember him drinking that much. None of the older hands had, now I thought about it. Fortunately, I could not remember disgracing myself, despite leading a less than harmonic chorus aimed at encouraging the stamina of various rutting buffalos.

Simmerton sipped tea as he waited for his bacon and eggs, resplendent in a scarlet velvet smoking jacket, hair lightly oiled and neatly combed, the very picture of an early twentieth century gentleman preparing for a day at the office. Which of course, was exactly where he was heading. I learnt later that he had his own wardrobe at Buffalo Station, and visited often for the isolation it offered. That was a side of Simmerton about which I knew nothing, as yet. As things turned out there were a lot more ‘sides’ to our Station Chief that I was about to uncover.

The station was now completely surrounded by grazing buffalo, which thankfully prevented Hale from dragooning us into the usual early morning run. For the first time I found a deep seated, if temporary love for the beasts. The air stank of unwashed buffalo and dung, as soon you left the shelter of our building the grunts and deep throated roaring noise the beasts so enjoyed vocalizing, rang out almost continuously.

At times we could not hear each other talk as we moved toward the hopper compound to see Simmerton off in style that our superiors quickly accustomed themselves too once in power. He had scooped up his jacket as he exited the house, and now looked quite ready to merge with the City, or similar. Somehow the attire seemed incongruous, so far in the past and so far from Oliverian civilization.

Tuesseur swung himself into the driver’s seat and Simmerton mounted behind him. Buffalo dung thudded onto the grass outside. A chorus of screeching roars flooded over the compound. The air stank of beast, and dung, and urine.

Tuesseur finished checking the co-ordinates, nodded a goodbye to us, and vanished. Air rushed in to fill the sudden vacuum with a soft pop. As one we turned away and started toward the compound gate. Another chorus of wild grunts and shrieks reminiscent of a live buffalo having its feet roasted while still alive, washed over us so loud we did not hear the soft pop as the air reversed itself outwards.

Tuesseur walked out of the Raptor compound, his courier job done.

A movement caught my eye as I turned to shut the gate.

Everybody was either on the veranda or walking toward it.

I snapped my gaze away from the press of grazing buffalo and back into the compound.

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