“That being said...” Morton closed his eyes before admitting sheepishly, “I should have known it was her right away.” Standing up from his stool, he continued with what sounded like real regret, “I had heard about the Marshal before seeing this gigantic woman enter my bar... but for whatever reason, I didn’t put two and two together. If I had, I might have behaved a little differently...” Chuckles came from those who already knew the story. Shooting them a wink, Morton continued confidently, “And, I know I’m doing pretty well. I like to consider myself successful, but all modesty aside, I didn’t realize I was doing well enough to warrant a visit from the world’s first Athena-class Marshal...” Laughter came from everyone this time.
“There are plenty of dirty desert hardasses who look like that though!” Morton said with a cheeky smile, not trying to be convincing. “She was too big to be a Peacekeeper, but I thought maybe she was a Privateer, or a Ranger or something. Y’know? ‘Cause back in those days, we were much more lax about who we let in.” There was more loud laughter, but Morton said with enough bravado to quiet them, “But what really made her stand out were those bright blue eyes. I know you thought I was going to say her arm, and now you’re going to think I’m kidding because we were up here on the balcony, and she was all the way down there by the bar–”
Morton pointed through the balcony floor to a spot on the lower level, and Frank moved to point over the handrail so they could see more clearly. “–and her eyes were flashing with this brilliant intensity... They were like fire and ice at the same time. It was enough for the bartender to tell Frank about it. Frank showed me, and boy were they something... And you could tell by the way she was standing there at the bar that she was looking for trouble.”
After taking a long sip of his drink, Morton shook his head and went on, “And it seemed like she knew a few people here already. Or maybe she’d just met them, we’re still not sure, but Frank’s watching on the monitor back in the office, and I’m standing where Frank is now, and while I’m looking down over the railing at her, she starts talking some serious smack about busting up my operation’...” He took another sip, and continued as if still in a state of disbelief. “She didn’t mention me by name, but it was enough for me to feel inclined to ask Frank to go have a talk with the young lady.” A small hubbub erupted as people discussed how brash Morton’s decision was, so he shouted over them, “Okay, who wants drinks? Bartender, a round on the house, please!”
There was a light cheer, but the audience showed true respect for the storyteller by quieting down quickly and encouraging him to continue.
Graciously, he acquiesced. “Okay, so I’m trying to listen through all the noise because this place was even busier than it is tonight, and once Frank’s on the stairs over there–” He pointed to a roped off stairwell and the bouncer standing there waved back, “–and I shout down at her, ‘Hey Marshal!’ Except, I didn’t say ‘hey, Marshal’ because I still hadn’t admitted to myself that it was her. I think what I actually said was, ‘Hey, honey bear! This is my bar, and if you don’t like it, you can get the hell out, or come up here and complain to management directly!’” The crowd roared with reverent cheers for the audacity it had taken to say that sort of thing to a figure of such legendary authority.
Holding up his hands to quiet them, Morton said proudly, “I know! I know. It was definitely not the right move.” It took them another few seconds to settle themselves enough for him to continue, “So she’s looking up at me, and again, her eyes are the most beautiful ocean blue you’ve ever seen in your life, but it’s like actual hell is burning inside them. It’s perfectly clear that she wants to kill me, y’know?”
Through the crowd’s anxious murmurs, Morton confessed, “Inwardly, yeah. I was a little scared, but I kept my cool... Mostly because Frank had taken that time to sneak up behind her.” Morton started walking towards Frank, who took one step away from the balcony. With comedic anger, Morton explained softly, “And she started talking some shit about how everyone was under arrest or something stupid like that, but I shouted back down, ‘I said! If you want to complain to management, come up here, dum-dum!’”
The crowd erupted in laughter even louder than before, but he shouted over them. “And BOOM! Right as I said that, Frank hits her in the back of the head with one of those hightop tables!” He pantomimed a massive slow-motion swing with a phantom bat. “But the Marshal doesn’t even flinch.” There was a sad murmur from the gallery as Morton and Frank both hung their heads in dismayed remembrance.
Slowly, Morton looked up with a predatory snarl. “She doesn’t bat an eye, or take those shining baby blues off me or anything! And Frank, he doesn’t really know what the hell to do there for a... hundredth of a second, or whatever... he’s just standing there holding this bent metal pole ‘cause the top of it broke off and the stem wrapped around her like it had hit a tree or something... The Marshal didn’t budge, but it did get her attention...”
The crowd was silent now, and Morton chuckled as he spun around with a skillful Tenkan Undo maneuver. “So she comes back like this, y’know? Except freakishly fast, so you can barely see as she comes in like this–” He widened his stance and put one hand hovering slightly aside Frank’s waist, “–hooks her fingers under his belt loops like this, and flings him up at me as if he weighs nothing.”
Frank stepped aside as Morton did a powerful one-handed heave upwards. The crowd was wide-eyed but silent as Morton moved over to the railing casually leaned against it. “And like I said, I was standing right here, and he’s coming at me like a missile, and you see how the railing here is a different color than the one on the stairs?” He patted the metal guardrail soundly. “That’s because it was made of wood back then, and the whole thing exploded when Frank hit it.”
His rapt audience said nothing but Morton laughed as he moved away from the rail. “You shoulda seen the look on that poor bastard’s face. My lands. I can see it in slow motion.”
Frank had started slinking back towards the bar to attract less attention, but much of the audience turned to track him anyway.
A little frustrated, Morton slapped his knee and continued, “But he’s flyin’ at me like a bat out of hell, an’ I barely had time to react. For a second, I thought his gigantic forehead was gonna crash into mine, but somehow, I manage to duck out of the way...” he trailed off with a halfhearted chuckle and the audience followed suit.
Pointing out his henchman’s trajectory on the ceiling as they both walked back towards the bar, Morton explained, “But Frank sails straight through the railing and ends up crashing into the roof. Then, by the time he lands back on the floor, I’m halfway through the door over there.” He pointed towards the office as they continued to laugh. “But Frank? He’s already geared up for round two! He sprints back over to the edge and dives right back down at her! Give that man a round of applause.”
They did, and on cue, Frank lifted his gorilla-like arms up above his head and pounded his fists together—his electrified knuckle dusters sent a small shockwave and a loud bang out over the crowd. Both floors of the bar went quiet.
In a voice that would have been perfect in an advertisement for genetically engineered henchmen, Morton shouted, “For those of you who don’t know, Frank’s favorite weapons are his fists!” Frank held up his hands to show off the sleek but heavy-looking devices around his knuckles, flexing his biceps as he did. “Who needs blasters when you have guns like those, y’know? Not only do they add a few kilos to each hand, they’re rigged with capacitors, so when the circuit completes? Kaboom!”
Murmuring began again downstairs but everyone on the balcony stayed silent.
“Fan-tastic weapons. My favorite part about them is that the effect is a little different every time he hits someone. Sometimes it’ll knock the person ten meters straight into the air, and sometimes they’ll burst into a bunch of bloody chunks. And because the Marshal’s ‘Logo’ disables energy blasters, you’d think they’d have been perfect! O
h, did I forget to mention that?”
Arriving back at his stool, Morton sat down and said, in a much more serious voice, “Remember when I said this place was crowded that night? Well, as you’d imagine, every one of us was packing. As soon as Frank got thrown up here, the whole house burst into complete madness. Everyone had drawn on her, but none of our blasters would fire. The Logo, the mechanical doo-dad wrapped around her arm? It sends out some kind of field that prevents energy weapons from firing...”
The crowd seemed to empathize with his frustration as Morton shook his head and continued, “So, Frank’s doin’ this wicked battle cry as he’s flying through the air, ready to do a double-handed smash on her face or something. And mind you, it’s like a full-on bar fight in here already. I don’t know how many of them were actually on the Marshal’s side, but everyone’s punching whoever’s standing next to them, an’ Frank’s coming down with his electric fists charged to max, and she just catches him like this–” Morton’s arm shot up as if to catch a fly ball at the last second. “And she holds him up there in the air, with his hand stuck in hers. He’s danglin’, not quite tall enough for his feet to hit the ground, and somehow he still manages to take a swing at her with his free hand. And that should have set off his dusters, but the Logo must’ve been able to absorb that too...”
Morton was already speaking somberly, but sounding even more depressed, he said, “Frank’s squirmin’ but the Marshal just lowers him down real slow, and I’m absolutely sure she’s gonna rip off his arm and kill him or something, but she gives him one good punch to the chest and sends him flying through a wall and into some refrigerators in the back kitchen... They broke his fall enough so’s that he survived, then he runs upstairs to catch up with me an’ we get the hell out of there.”
There was some light clapping and a few encouraging cheers, which Morton appreciated, but still sounding sad, he said, “Bartender? Another round. On the house, please...”
This time the crowd cheered loudly, many of them now making their way to the bar to pick up the drinks he ordered last time.
Using the intermission to confer with Frank, Morton whispered to his henchman as if he were delivering important instructions, “I’m sorry I didn’t let you tell more of the story back there. I know we talked about it. Next time.”
“No,” Frank assured him. “That was perfect. I only mentioned it because you were talking about wanting to make better use of me as a prop. They loved it.”
The two of them talked for a few minutes about how well the performance was going, when Morton mentioned noticing one young man who he didn’t think was buying it, so he sent Frank into the office to check his credentials. When the henchman came back, he gave him a nod. The bartenders were caught up and the crowd looked ready, so Morton clapped his hands and shouted, “Okay! So I have to back up for a second!” Instantly, the crowd was his again. “There are some illicit details about my business that I don’t normally share, but you all look like a trustworthy bunch, so this time I’m gonna.” That got a big laugh.
“It turns out that at least part of the reason the Marshal came to Mechanicsburg was that she’d found some of the workshops I was running out in the desert...” Seeming to need it, he desperately took a sip of his drink. “Just the normal stuff, some of it even legitimate goods, and I don’t really know how she traced things back to me, but the Marshal ends up recruiting a bunch of my men out of Mechanicsburg and starting a full-blown revolution!”
The crowd grumbled, for all of their businesses had been affected by the conflict between Morton and his laborers.
“Now, I’m running manimals for poachers. And this was well before the unions had consolidated, and I’ve got tech going in and out of every major city, and basically my hands are in a dozen different honeypots.” As if he was delivering a terminal diagnosis, Morton continued solemnly, “I guess I lost track of things a little bit, because all of a sudden, this law-dog is thick as thieves with a horde of tiny mouths that are bold enough to bite the hand that feeds them...”
Molten fury suddenly broke through Morton’s voice. “She posse’d up with a bunch of my factory workers! And let me remind you, this is an honest to goodness USi Marshal. You’ve never seen anything like her. When she moves, it’s like a blur. I shit you not. She’s cutting through us like a hot knife through loose snow, and these little bastards are so unappreciative of all the opportunities my operation’s provided them over the years that they join up with her anyway?! Needless to say, I’m livid.”
From how fast he was talking, the audience could tell Morton was genuinely upset, and it sounded as though they empathized with him. Calming down a little, he continued, “And I’m going through all the high-tech weapons I’d accumulated over the years, trying to see what might give me an edge, and going down the long list of people who owe me favors, when lo and behold, one of them calls me instead...” Dripping with intrigue, Morton professed, “Now, I can’t tell you who it was, but they’re a pretty big deal.”
“C’mon!” someone shouted.
Most of the audience was aghast that someone dared to interrupt, but Morton replied with a laugh, “Alright, twist my arm! It was none other than the legendary Peacekeeper himself, Officer Brennan!”
Those new to the story gasped with surprise, their disbelief more apparent than typical audiences, especially that young man from earlier. After soaking that in for a moment, Morton continued with his best smile, “Brennan of old. The one from all the posters. He was doing a bit of moonlighting, and he came to work for me for a while...” He coughed and smiled at his attentive audience. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. How can a man like me trust a man like that? Well, I’ll tell you two things. One, Brennan and I met long before any of this even happened, and two, that law-dog went after the Marshal with a smile on his face... I don’t know if he was jealous or what, but he got at least as much enjoyment out of plotting against her as me. And you may find it hard to believe, but I actually get along pretty well with cops...”
The crowd sent back a number of mixed reactions and Morton loved every second of it. Taking a long draught of his drink, he continued excitedly, “And that brings us to fight number two. Officer Brennan uses an official USi channel to lure the Marshal out to this old foundry I have in the middle of the desert and she comes. I don’t know when she realized it was a trap, but we’re basically slinging rocks to reel her in, because remember, our blasters won’t work... She comes charging in and there are these giant vats of molten metal everywhere so it’s hot and everything’s glowing red, and she’s flipping around killing all my men, but then? It’s time for our secret weapons...”
Morton stood up, and began to pace as he explained. “A few months earlier, I’d taken a huge hit on these old-fashioned guns that I was hoping to sell to offworld idiots as antiques. The kind that shoot actual metal bullets, y’know? Back on Old Earth, it was all they had, and you’d think they’d be totally useless against a Marshal, but the Logo is only disabling energy weapons, and these work...” Heads bobbed and eyes widened with anticipation.
“Now, I know it’s a little ridiculous to think little chunks of metal putting a few holes in her is gonna do any good, but we set up four little foxholes, one obvious and three hidden, and she walked right into the killbox. She had a shield that was blocking the bullets just fine, but you could tell she was pissed, ‘cause she charged right in at the bait bunker and BAM! That was the real trap. Using this crane arm hanging down from the ceiling, I snatched her up by the goddamned arm!” The audience cheered but he didn’t stop. “It looks like a giant robot holding its child by the hand, but I’m jerking the controls back and forth, so she’s bein’ whipped all around while what’s left of my men are still peppering her with bullets!”
The crowd was all riled up but Morton looked exhausted just remembering the ordeal. With a sigh, he slowed things back down by saying, “But then, being the total hardass that she is, the Marshal rips off her whole damned arm. Logo and
all, and runs off... I should have been grateful to be alive, but I was pissed. Every stage of the plan had worked so well. We did everything right, but in the end, we had nothing to show for it. We only got to study the Logo for a few hours because Brennan said USi would be able to track it. Really, since we’d exposed all our assets, we were worse off than before.”
Morton took a sip of his drink, then looked lost in thought for a moment, then said with warm admiration, “But Brennan, that son of a bitch. He told us to set it back up and get ready to do it all again...” He paused for a moment, recollecting their partnership before continuing with renewed enthusiasm. “Which leads us to our third and final encounter with the Marshal. The one you probably refer to as the crater.”
Soft acknowledgments rumbled through the crowd.
“This time, we set up in the middle of nowhere. Apparently, Officer Brennan had a good lead on where she was headed and, just as brave as the stories make him out to be, he stands there in the middle of the desert in the open like a total badass. The rest of us hide under these camouflage blankets to block our biosignatures, because even though the Logo is gone, she still has her Longcoat and we had those antique guns. After waiting for a bunch of hours, the one-armed Marshal pulls up, she and Brennan exchange a few words, and we blow her away.”
Morton and the audience were silent for a moment. “We fired thousands of bullets. Tore her body to absolute shreds. She looked like a bunch of table scraps tied together by string. Like a little meat puppet or something. We finally had our pound of flesh!” He held up his nearly empty glass and wild cheers swept the balcony. “Or how many pounds would that be, Frank? Two hundred? I’m not good with pounds. But anyway, she was a mess... Blood sinking into the sand... You kind of had to be there, but yeah, bullets are more dangerous than you’d expect.”
Under the Shadow of the Plateau: Frontier Forever Page 15
