They stood looking at each other, neither sure of what to say. She smiled.
"Almost forgot. I made you something." She reached into the baggy pants and pulled out another leather pouch. Stitched into the leather was the legend: thunderbolt /
JAMAICA-HAITI-TEXAS 2070 / CAPT. MALIA CARRASCA.
Valentine took the pouch. It felt as though it were full of a lot of coin-sized objects, only lighter. "Your quickwood seeds?"
"Look."
He opened it and extracted a handful of mah-jongg pieces. The bamboo pieces were delicately painted.
Valentine finally said, "Your work?"
"Of course. Should be rainproof, I lacquered them enough. You and Ahn-Kha and Post and Narcisse can play."
"Thanks, but... damn. I feel like I should send you away with something," Valentine said.
"You have," she said. "More than you know." Her eyes glistened with tears.
"How's that?" •
"Hope. Someday we'll have ships going up the Mississippi to your Ozarks. I have a feeling ... things are about to get better."
Valentine felt a pleasant thrill at the latest example of their minds following similar trails. If it weren't for the quickwood...
"Hope for someday, then."
"'Someday.' That's all our generation has: hope." She raised her chin. "Texas is waiting. I don't wish the men to see me teary-eyed. Back to hard-nosed captain, Captain."
"Yes sir," Valentine said, saluting.
She returned the gesture, her emotions under control again. Valentine felt the old wall go up. It was as if they had never kissed. As if they were strangers. Inspiration came to him.
"I left that old Coastal Marine uniform coat in the closet in my room. You're welcome to that. It doesn't mean much
to me, and won't do me any good where I'm going. All I'm keeping are the boots and the pants I dyed."
The wall vanished. "I'll make earrings out of the buttons," she said with a smile.
"Better and better." He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Carrasca... caress. He smiled to himself. "Good-bye, Malia."
"Adios, David. You can always find a home with us on Jamaica, you know that."
"I do." He hurried off the Thunderbolt. Valentine couldn't let his mind dwell on the idea.
Four days later, Valentine and Post sat in the Academy Map Room. A pair of electric fans fought a losing battle with the lingering summer heat. Ahn-Kha stood behind and in between them. His bulk wouldn't allow him to do anything but demolish the antiques in the room, and the Grog had declined the offer by one of the Rangers at the meeting to go seek out a piano bench.
"We've accomplished part one," the colonel said from the head of the library table, after hearing the reports from the various Rangers involved. "Now comes the hard part, getting those wagons up to the Ozarks. Zacharias, before my encounter with that piece of shrapnel, you used to be in charge of our northern areas. What's your suggestion?"
Zacharias's dark eyes studied the map, as if looking for something that would appear if he just stared long enough. "With the kind of men we'll need to guard the wagons, there's no question of slipping it through the San Antonio-Austin-Houston belt, though I bet we could get north of Corpus Christi. We're going to have to swing west of San Antonio. Not too far west, we can't be moving across the desert, either. The hill country could shield and water us."
"That means crossing the Ranch."
"The Ranch?" Valentine said. "What ranch?"
"You've never heard of the Ranch?"
Valentine began to shake his head, then stopped. "Wait, you mean what I think you mean? That's a legend in a lot of places. No one's ever proved it true."