Under the Shadow of the Plateau: Frontier Forever

by Benjamin Krieger

  It was pitch black, but the tranquilizing pink glow returned and transformed into a multitude of floating spheres that danced around before combining to take the shape of the USi logo. Some fast-moving verification data flashed through the artificial part of her mind and then a realistic, albeit monochrome, hologram appeared. Against the pure black background, it looked as though a luminous pink Matron was floating in empty space.

  Bowing her head slightly, the projection started to speak, “Hello, Marshal. I hope this message finds you well. We are in dire need of your assistance.” Her cadence was soft and intimate, but there was an urgency in her tone that made the Marshal instantly receptive to whatever was to follow. “I must confess, the brevity of your reports over the last few months has been worrisome. Earth’s Board of Trustees has recommended I revoke your mission authority.”

  The Marshal’s sense of self-worth plummeted, as did confidence in their investigation.

  “With Officer Brennan especially, your failure to submit evidence of his wrongdoing made it hard to determine whether your actions were justified. They worried that you were the one acting out of line... When you returned from the subterranean transit system without any evidence of malfeasance, we wanted to be relieved, for we suspected smugglers of using those facilities for illicit means,” the Marshal quaked under the ominous foreboding of the Matron’s tiny pause, “and unfortunately, you missed something.”

  Finding herself ill-equipped to deal with such direct criticism, both of the Marshal’s minds internally begged for formal reprimand, but the Matron continued gently, “After looking into Peacekeeper Brennan’s records, it has become clear that he is part of a massive underground network that is utilizing government resources to smuggle goods both on and offworld. The entire Peacekeeper initiative is now under investigation.”

  Relief washed over the Marshal as the Logo received various verifications, and the Matron said assuringly, “Unfortunately, before we were able to determine his treacherous nature, Officer Brennan was recommissioned and reassigned to the southern conflict with the poachers. He has since gone AWOL and is assumed to have fled into the tunnels. You have been acquitted of all wrongdoing in the field termination of Officer Brennan, and retain your mission authority, but we need you to hunt him down.”

  With certificates of authenticity still flowing from the canister to the Logo, the Matron didn’t give the Marshal any time to soak in the information. “However, and I cannot stress this enough, from this point forward, if you fail to disclose any details regarding your investigation in your future reports, you will immediately be brought in for a formal re-evaluation.” Her tone lightened. “If you continue to New York City, the USi authorities have been instructed to escort you to an evaluation facility. So I implore you, head straight for the tunnels.”

  The Matron’s image flickered for a moment and then said with what sounded like true affection, “That being said, I would like to commend you on your discretion. I assume you omitted details from your reports in an effort to hide them from potential co-conspirators. You were absolutely right about the Peacekeepers, but please believe me, you can trust the Board of Trustees. You can trust me. There is no reason to hide anything from us. We’re all in this together, working in pursuit of Natural Order.”

  Within the darkness of the canister, staring at the pink hologram with her flashing blue-grey eyes, the Marshal felt a strong personal connection to the Earth’s steward.

  “Good luck, Marshal,” the Matron said with finality. Then with a knowing smile, the hologram disappeared, and the canopy withdrew, letting the bright desert strike them with its full force.

  The Marshal had bought it; hook, line, and sinker. Although they felt a little embarrassed regarding their fantasies about Officer Brennan, they felt refreshed, ready, and raring to go. Despite being so close to New York, after having waited for so long to get there, they were legitimately excited to turn around and go the other way. Squinting to protect their bright blue-grey eyes as they readjusted, the Marshal strode over to their Longcoat in a few broad strides, mounted, and rode off towards the nearest tunnel entrance.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Picking Up Steam

  Traipsing across the desert with a party of poachers they had hooked up with, Morton’s mood had been on a fairly even keel for more than a week. He and Frank were finding new and exciting experiences every day, and the change in pace was delightful. Every morning, they would decide which direction to go, which raids to join, or whether to do anything at all. Back in the comfort of his clock tower penthouse, before his office had been converted into the train, Mister Morton genuinely considered the poaching industry to be beneath him. Despite being well aware that those flea-bitten dregs of society enabled his success, it had been easy to marginalize the entire poacher community, and the smuggler king had been content to leave it that way.

  Now that Morton had taken the time to try it himself, he had a newfound appreciation for how hard people had to work to live in the wilderness. Unlike the migrant laborers he was accustomed to bossing around, although they were of similar labor classes, a poacher would never be content tethered to a computer, selling all their time in a sweatshop. Given how they spent days at a time waiting in their vehicles for an unsuspecting victim to pass by, their slovenly appearance, horrible smell, and underdeveloped social skills made sense. Poachers weren’t the pretentious lone-wolves he had imagined them to be—they were just people who wanted to keep to themselves and make an honest living doing it. Between the camaraderie inherent within the semi-cooperative environment, the independent lifestyle, and the constantly changing landscape, Morton couldn’t imagine a more satisfying way to earn a paycheck, and several veteran poachers had said that it was even better before the war.

  Considering how many poachers were out in the field, Frank was surprised by the lack of structure within Kravinov’s supposedly solidified union. Because of his military background, the henchman felt more comfortable working within a system with clearly defined ranks and orders, which clashed with the poaching community’s general disdain for authority. The autonomy of their lifestyle, however, was what Mister Morton liked most about their new vocation. He had never held city folk in very high regard, but he had considered himself on their end of the social spectrum, but now his alignment had changed. He was proud to be part of a labor class that he had once despised, and could care less if he ever saw Mechanicsburg again.

  Knowing he was going to get all hot and sweaty again anyway, Morton had stopped bathing every day and started growing a beard. All the rules he had lived by as a smuggler were over with. A few times while field testing new equipment, they had left valuable manimal hides out to rot because they had been so badly damaged. Poachers had given them some serious side-eye regarding the wasteful practices, but none of them had shown any interest in telling them what to do.

  When it came to weaponry, lethality was an unfavorable consequence for poachers, and out of everything that Frank had designed, the goo-gun was still their undisputed favorite. Although it was slow to fire and hard to aim, nothing could compare to the goo’s ability to subdue, and it made transporting cargo much simpler. Frank’s upgraded pair of knuckle dusters were finally ready for testing, and although they had limited application in terms of hunting animals, he beamed with pride as he got ready to show them off. “So! The train’s shield does need to be off for this to work. To generate a second field, I would need an entirely separate device, and even then, the two fields couldn’t project through each other.”

  Wearing a bulky utility belt that had rigid conduits framing his torso like bronze scaffolding before running down to giant metal mittens on each hand. Unashamed of its rudimentary appearance, Frank continued, “Most of the machinery is around my waist, but these handheld parts are pretty heavy too, and I know it looks a little cumbersome, but–”

  “Yeah it does!” Morton interrupted with cool jive, which was ironic because he was wearing his new mechanical
exosuit, which Frank had finally got running on independent power. “You look like a bouncer from some old-timey steampunk movie!”

  Ignoring laughter from the poachers, Frank popped into a boxer’s stance and threw a jab that made an audible clap as it struck the air in front of him, silencing the audience. He threw a few more punches in rapid succession before picking up where he left off. “For me, having heavy fists isn’t a bad thing. I’m strong enough where it’s just more power. F=MA bitches. But anyway...”

  Frank walked casually to his terminal and started typing in commands as he explained, “Basically it’s the same shield that we use for the train. I was playing around with the physical components and realized that as long as I have enough power, I can project the field from relatively far away. That’s why the battery belt is so heavy, and it needs a three point system. One,” he pointed to his belt and then pounded his fists together on beat, “two, three... I have it programmed to make a perfect sphere–”

  “Why not a square?” asked one of the poachers visiting aboard the train.

  “Uhh, corners are hard, but I think I could do it. Why a square?” The man shrugged unknowingly, so Frank continued. “Anyway, I’ll add vents here in a moment, and a port for the power cord. And at some point I’m going to have to figure out something for the bottom so I can run... but right now we’re going to have to go with what we’ve got.”

  Taking a deep breath, Frank jumped into the air, tucked in his legs slightly and pressed a button with his thumb. He landed with his feet floating about thirty centimeters off the ground, his weight somehow suspended by an invisible force.

  The crowd could see his mouth moving but they couldn’t hear what he was saying, and a few of them moved closer to investigate. One of them collided face first with the transparent barrier and then the rest moved in to touch it. Pushing on the together, the enormous hamster ball started to slide across the train floor, but then Frank pushed his button again and they fell in towards him.

  “Whoo!” Frank cried. “It worked!” With a gracious nod to his master, he said thankfully, “Mister Morton helped me test this out the other day, but this is the first time it’s actually up and running. You couldn’t hear me while it was on because it blocks all sorts of vibrations!”

  “Okay, you ready?” Morton asked impatiently, obviously jealous of the attention.

  “One second,” Frank replied excitedly as he ran back to the terminal and began typing furiously. “I need to add those holes... Alright, plug me in!”

  As he walked away from the terminal, the train started to transform into what Frank had been calling ‘flatcar mode’. A sudden gust of wind knocked over a few of the poachers as the roof and side walls telescoped together and collapsed into compartments underneath the floor. They were traveling at a decent rate across an open plain, and cheers went up from the poacher vehicles riding alongside them. With only Morton’s desk and a few pieces of machinery left on top, it looked somewhat like the deck of an Old-Earth pirate ship, and the fresh air and bright sunlight revived the captain’s good mood.

  With distinct pleasure, Morton picked up the same power cord that his mech suit had been restrained by and attached it to Frank’s belt. They had been following a herd of brontosauri, a species they usually chose for this kind of test because they giant beasts were hard to transport and their meaty bodies made for spectacular gore, that were too tired and dumb to do anything other than run in a straight line. With a cue from Frank, the lead poacher team pulled the whole convoy closer to one of their test subjects. Walking over to the edge of the train, the henchman gave his master a thumbs up, jumped, and activated the shield. With his giant mechanical arms, Morton swung the cord in a circular motion above his head, but Frank’s bubble just scooted pathetically across the deck.

  Frank turned off the force field and tried to shout over the wind, “I’m never going to get off the ground this way!” Realizing it was still too loud to be heard, he took a few steps closer to Morton, pantomimed a new plan, then he turned the shield back on.

  Understanding him perfectly, Morton grabbed the power cord as close to Frank’s invisible sphere as he could and lifted it effortlessly over his head. Slowly, he started swinging both ball and chain this time, as he carefully let the cord out hand over mechanical hand. Looking like a robotic gladiator with a flail, he walked his mech suit towards the port side brontosaurus and the force bubble crashed straight through the giant creature’s neck like a wrecking ball—its head spun disgracefully through the air while Frank sailed through the shower of blood in a superhero’s punching pose. Morton brought him back down onto the deck as gently as he could and the spectating poachers were barely able to jump out of the way. Frank turned off his shield, detached the power cord, then ran and jumped to give his master a high-five. The two of them were so excited that neither noticed that none of the poachers were applauding.

  Once they had parked the convoy, Frank put the train’s roof up so they could celebrate in the shade, but left the walls down to let in the breeze. After politely accepting criticism about the impracticality of his new dusters from a few poachers, the henchman went to his terminal and fiddled around with it for far longer than it took to add more music to the playlist.

  Morton had stationed himself next to the liquor cart and was happily pouring drinks while joking about how they should sell ‘bronto-chunks’ as pet food.

  One of the poachers let out a hollow laugh and said, “Yeah. Uh... I don’t really work on the sales side, I’m strictly procurement. I just want to go out there, get the goods, and collect my check. Y’know?” They clinked glasses, but then he said a little more awkwardly, “Anyways, thanks for the drink, I’m gonna... go check on the cargo or something...”

  A few more of the crew grumbled similar excuses and began following the first man out when Frank suddenly shouted, “Wait! You guys are going to want to see this...”

  Everyone stopped and turned towards the military grade henchman, who was typing furiously at his terminal, except for Morton, who felt he had been slighted by their ungrateful guests. Loudly, he growled at them, “Get off my train...”

  The gaggle of pissant poachers stood there for a moment, clearly not appreciating what had sounded like an order.

  Frank didn’t appreciate the fact that they hadn’t obeyed his master right away, so he stood up. The poachers immediately rushed towards the edge of the platform, and once they had jumped onto their respective vehicles, he put the train’s walls back up. With a few more taps on his terminal, the train went dark and a wealth of information appeared on the main screen. “You’re not going to believe this, Boss.”

  Morton couldn’t understand half of what he was seeing, but from the sheer volume of information crossing the screen, he knew exactly what had transpired. They had talked about a day when the planet’s orbital dampeners might be deactivated—how being able to send and receive messages through the air would open up a whole new world of opportunities for their business—but neither of them ever thought it would actually happen. In near disbelief, Morton asked, “Is this what I think it is?”

  With a wry smile, Frank replied coyly, “It was like all of a sudden, the skies just opened up.”

  “You realize what this means?” Morton asked, brimming with excitement.

  “Yeah!” Frank shouted. “We’re going to create a world-wide-web of black-market serv–”

  “No!” Morton shouted back at him. “It means this is why the Matron bought back all those comm devices! She’s the only one with the power to bring down the dampeners! This is all part of her master plan. She’s already installed the hardware in a massive poacher army!”

  Frank hadn’t put those pieces together yet and didn’t know what to say. He thought about complimenting his master’s quick thinking, but because of the look of fury on his face, the loyal henchman went back to his terminal. Eventually, he said in a smooth and informative manner, “It seems like the firewall is down completely. We can send and r
eceive whatever we want. We’ve got signals coming in from every major city, but most of what you’re seeing is from outer space.”

  Morton staggered over to his desk and they both spent the next few hours typing and reading at their terminals.

  Frank found a lot of information that he wanted to share with his master, but by the grimace on his face, he knew this was going to be an uphill battle. After waiting as long as he could, Frank finally blurted, “You are absolutely right about the Matron’s army. Even if they don’t realize it yet, she’s given them the most powerful weapon on Earth.”

  Rubbing his face with frustration, Morton had to close his eyes and wait a minute before he was calm enough to respond. “Of course she realizes... Has USi made any announcements?”

  Frank shook his head. “If this was something official, they would have made much more of a to-do about it... This is off the books.”

  “Is there any way to tell how long the window will remain open?”

  Frank shook his head again, this time allowing himself a sinister smile. “We’ve gotta jump on this right away. I’ve packaged a wireless version of the comm framework that we used back in Mechanicsburg, which I can upgrade as we go. We’ll be able to share files and talk with anyone who installs it. The hard part is going to be getting it distributed, because so far, it doesn’t seem like many people are looking. City folk are catching on, bu–”

  “How many poachers do you think are out in the field right now?” Morton interrupted with subtle excitement.

  “A few hundred million?” Frank replied with a sneer of his own. “It’s hard to say.”

  Morton snarled back at him confidently, “We’re gonna steal the Matron’s army...”

  Chapter Thirty

  Into the Earth