When the werwolf hit the first patch of boobytrapped carriers, it attacked with the same ferocity that it had with the others. Magnetic shrapnel snares, concussion blasts, ice traps, and traditional implosions were all triggered in time, but the creature kept on coming. The last stop in the explosive blockade were two carriers loaded with nothing but goo. Some of the sticky substance stuck to the beasts’ fur but it barely slowed, if at all, before leaping for the train.
That was the cue for the crew to stop firing and Morton to raise the shields—with all of its occupants gripped in terror, the Silver Bullet blasted straight forward off the mountain.
Opening its ferocious jaws, the werwolf snapped at the train as it almost sailed by. All four of its front fangs connected with the invisible shield at the same time and made a horrible high-pitched noise both inside and out of the force field. Like a marble that had been squeezed too tight, the Silver Bullet shot into the sky, many of those inside screaming at the top of their lungs as the magnetic field generators tried to stabilize their flight. The werwolf fell back onto the mountain, awkwardly tumbling down a few steps before continuing on to its nearest prey, apparently unaware of the train as it sailed back south.
Morton and his crew cheered with a joy for life that could only have come from having been so close to death. Because their maps couldn’t update while the shield was up, Frank had to adjust their trajectory by sight, but did so with a sigh of relief. Their celebration would have been too loud for them to hear even if the force field hadn’t been blocking transmissions, but in an address to the rest of the poacher army, Wolfchan said, “Well, ladies and gents, so much for the great Mister Morton, captain of the Silver Bullet. He and his crew have finally gone on to greener pastures. The man did a lot of good work throughout his career. Absolutely tough as nails. They say he survived a fist-fight with a Marshal, y’know? They say he was at the crater when it happened, too. He was a living legend. Let him be missed but not forgotten... Okay, on to the next clip!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Some Kind of Standoff
Rhodes and Lincoln woke up surrounded by darkness and with no idea as to how much time had passed. The last thing they remembered was cruising through the tunnel in the front cab of that train, but after carefully using their hands to explore their surroundings, they found themselves trapped inside a much smaller container. They sat there for what felt like hours, until beams of light suddenly came shooting in through some narrow slats that had opened on one side.
“How y’all feelin’?” said a voice belonging to a man they couldn’t see.
Even once their eyes adjusted to the light, all they saw were stacks of containers in long, tall rows. They could tell that the room was enormous from the way things echoed. A driverless crane on a levitating dolly came into view carrying more cargo. From the smell permeating the giant underground warehouse, Rhodes and Lincoln figured there were thousands of animals trapped down there with them. Then a man in uniform stepped into view that Rhodes recognized as a Peacekeeper.
With a wicked guffaw, ￢Brennan asked, “Pretty alright I hope? You slept long enough.” Then, focusing on Lincoln he said excitedly, “Yeehaw! Boy you are big! What do you weigh? Do you know the metric system? Of course not, you stupid manimal. Come on now, you two follow me.” He walked out of sight for a moment but then the container started to move. From their new position, the captives could see ￢Brennan standing on a podium, typing on a terminal, and Rhodes’ warclub resting behind him.
“I told those idiots to put you in separate cages,” ￢Brennan said, still laughing. He paused whatever it was he was doing on the computer and came back to look over them again. With what sounded like genuine adoration, he said with conviction, “Boy, howdy... That is how you know it’s a good plan! Woo! When you’re told every little detail about what’s supposed to happen, and then it does, and somehow it still seems too good to be true? Jesus Christ almighty.” Roaring with laughter, he asked, “Either of you ever hearda that guy? Old Earth folk hero? Savior of souls? Nevermind. You boys smoke?”
With that, he took three cigars out of his breast pocket and lit one. After taking a few puffs, he threw it into the cage, then did the same with another, and kept the third for himself. The smell of the burning tobacco bothered them but neither prisoner reacted. ￢Brennan seemed to be enjoying himself when he said, “You boys are in for a real treat right here, y’know?” With another laugh, he shook his head and answered himself, “Naw... You don’t know.” As if he were just noticing that they weren’t smoking as he turned to walk back towards his podium, he casually said, “You might as well enjoy those. No reason to worry about your lungs or teeth or nothin’. Ain’t none of us makin’ it out of this hole alive.”
￢Brennan typed at his terminal and started whistling a little ditty. Swinging his hips to the tune, the counterfeit Peacekeeper shuffled around the podium a little bit. While his back was to them, Lincoln threw both of the smoking cigars through one of the slats. Dancing back and forth between his terminal and some large crates, ￢Brennan’s eye caught on Rhodes’ warclub. Picking it up, he said with exaggerated surprise, “Whoa! This thing is heavy! Very nice! Makes me feel like a badass just holding it.” He tried to do a home-run swing but he wasn’t strong enough, so with a chuckle, he put it down.
Walking over to the cage again, ￢Brennan bent forward, put his face real close to the metal slats, and said softly, “It really is wild. First, you two deliver yourselves on a silver platter...” He laughed as Rhodes and Lincoln tried not to grimace. “I mean seriously, do either of you know how hard it is to capture tribesmen? The number of men and women who have died trying? It’s ridiculous... Much harder than I would have expected, honestly. But you two…Hah! You two jump right into the boiling pot! Fan-fucking-tastic...”
There was a loud beep from the pedestal terminal and he ran back to it. Reading the display, he started dancing in place with excitement and said, “Oh, man! Here we go!” Looking back at them, he shrugged with mock disappointment. “Oh well. Guess we’ve gotta get started... Hey?! What happened to your cigars?” With more laughter, ￢Brennan started pounding at the terminal keyboard with such clumsy exaggerated strokes that even Lincoln could tell he wasn’t really doing anything.
“Well boys,” ￢Brennan said, adding another big laugh. “I guess we have some more time to talk after all...” He walked over to the cage again and blew smoke inside it. “You two don’t look excited... Heh. I guess I can’t blame you. No one likes being in a cage. Maybe if you knew what was in store for you, you’d feel differently... Or maybe you wouldn’t. I’m sorry. Either way I can’t explain anything to you just yet, too risky. Not tha–”
“Look buddy!” Lincoln said furiously. “I don’t know you, but do us a favor and shut up. Unless your plan is to let us go, we don’t give a shit.”
Delighted by Lincoln’s reaction, ￢Brennan pretended to be shocked and turned to Rhodes. “Whoa, budday! Does your manimal friend speak for the both of yas? It’s bad enough you two wasted mah smokes, but now you’re gonna ruin the conversation too? Foolish!” He chuckled again and turned back to Lincoln. “You know what’s really messed up, monkey boy? You wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for your friend here. I mean, I guess the dumbasses who put you two in the same cage get a little credit, ‘cause if not for them, you’d be on your way offworld with the rest of these damned manimals.”
With all of his strength, the gorillion body-checked the barrier between them, which made a lot of noise but the container didn’t budge.
The Peacekeeper did an exaggerated jump back. “Whoa there, big boy!” Carefully putting the cigar between his lips before slowly raising his hands, he could see that he had gotten under Lincoln’s skin. “Very scary!” Rhodes was staring at him stoically, so ￢Brennan switched his focus back to him. “How’s that make you feel, boy? Knowing you got your friend killed... What in the name of Sam Hill did you two think you were gonna do down here anyway? Free
all your manimal friends?”
Trying not to laugh, the pretend Peacekeeper smiled sadistically before taking a long slow drag from his cigar. Then, getting as close to the cage as he could, he blew the smoke right in Rhodes’ face, and the tribesman finally blinked. “Hah!” ￢Brennan did a little jig on the way back to his podium, shouting over his shoulder, “I never was good at the waiting game, but you two are real competitors. You played well. And that’s good! Means you've both accepted your fate...” He started typing more intently at the terminal. “And since we’re done waiting...”
The crane arms that had been working to sort the depot started moving in double time, one of them shuffling the container holding Rhodes and Lincoln into the mix. Cupping his hands around his mouth, ￢Brennan shouted, “Double shuffles, toils and troubles! Alright Marshal! You can come out now!”
The faux Peacekeeper stood there expectantly, even though he didn’t appear to have any guns on him, looking like he was ready to draw. After watching the machines move containers for several minutes he shouted, “Too late now. You’ll never find him... And even if you do, that ape in there with him is going to tear you apart as soon as you open the cage.” He started to pace around the podium area, not nervously, but not willing to go too far from the terminal either. “Ugh. I hate the waiting game!” He laughed again. “So exciting, yet boring!”
Finally, a crane arm moved a stack of containers to reveal the Marshal. With their finger glowing hot pink and pointed right at him, they said accusingly, “You’re not the same Brennan we met in Buena Vista.”
Raising his hands slowly, ￢Brennan’s smile faded. With a quiet laugh he replied, “No ma’am, I am not.” He began taking careful steps towards his terminal. “Funny thing about that, I remember meeting you...”
In a flash, ￢Brennan drew up a blaster he had hidden in his vest but it wouldn’t fire.
Furrowing their eyebrows menacingly, the Marshal stomped towards him.
“Ohhhh, c’mon! You were supposed to shoot me!” ￢Brennan exclaimed, sounding nervous but subtly amused. Knowing the LGO wouldn’t let blasters fire, he cried with sarcastic desperation, “Wait! It was just a joke!”
The imposter stepped towards the terminal and the Marshal fired. The hot, pink blast went straight through the computer, sending up a shower of sparks and smoke before another shot went through ￢Brennan’s leg and into the floor.
“Fak!” he screamed, collapsing onto one knee.
Then, they both turned in surprise as one of the large doors to an adjoining tunnel opened with a loud mechanical gasp and what looked like some kind of Old-Earth ghost train came flying in on invisible rails. Neither good nor bad cop knew what to make of it. Before it had come to a stop, doors on either side of the train slid open and scores of well-armed poachers came flooding out. As the new arrivals formed neat firing lines, two, large semi-mechanical figures came out from behind them—Frank, wearing his force field projecting dusters and Morton, in his hulking mech-chassis.
As soon as they had traveled deep enough underground where Frank felt confident that the Matron wouldn’t notice, he had shut down the shield and logged onto one of the local terminals. He was looking for the shortest route back to Mechanicsburg but stumbled upon some suspicious activity. It only took a few minutes to figure out that a Peacekeeper was there, it was like they wanted to be found, so Frank assumed it was a trap for the Marshal. After outfitting his crew with all the weapons that would work while the LGO was blocking energy weapons, and knowing the odds of surviving another bout with the Marshal, Morton was chock-full of adrenaline-fueled confidence. With a rumbling, triumphant laugh he asked, “Are we late?”
Standing in a rough and uneven triangle, the Marshal, the Peacekeeper, and Morton’s posse spent a long time trying to size each other up.
Noticing the remnants of surprise stuck to the imposter Peacekeeper’s face, Morton sneered, but couldn’t take his bloodshot eyes off the Marshal.
Trying not to let his injured leg buckle, ￢Brennan was still trying to figure out how Mister Morton had found them, why the Matron hadn’t warned him, and knowing that he was about to die, how to ensure the completion of his mission.
Eager to kill them all, the Marshal’s blue-grey eyes were burning bright as they calculated their attack. The only question that remained was what to do about the tribesman that the Peacekeeper had been using as bait.
None of them dared move but the pressure was building fast, and ￢Brennan was the first to crack. As if no time had passed since Morton asked, he replied jauntily, “No, sir! Not late at all. Nobody even told me you were comin’, so you’re right on time! I have to admit though, I don’t know why your men are pointing those blasters at me...” Gesturing towards the Marshal, he said with as much good nature as he could muster, “Remember? Her Logo is disabling them. Besides, I seem to recall a time when you and I were teamed up against that dusty ol’ law-dog...”
By the time ￢Brennan had finished talking, Morton was laughing so hard he could hardly see through the tears. Choking through his words, he said with audible mirth, “Why, Officer Brennan! So nice to see you again. Yes, I remember! But it’s funny your saying that about blasters... Do you remember these?”
A single shot rang out from the antique gun Frank was holding and its little metal bullet splattered ￢Brennan’s brains out behind him. Normally the heavy henchman hated using ranged weapons, but he got considerable satisfaction from watching the counterfeit Peacekeeper’s corpse slump to the ground.
Stomping around in his mech, Morton shouted maniacally, “How about you, Frank? Did you remember him?!” Turning just a few degrees to face the Marshal, he shouted again, “How about you? Do you remember these little guys?” With a wave of his hand, his crew opened fire. Along with a hail of Old Earth bullets, they shot rockets, bolts, grenades, goo, and anything the Logo couldn’t disable.
The Marshal fired back a volley of energy blasts from their hand as they ran for cover, taking out more than half of the poachers on Morton’s left flank. They were fast enough to avoid most of the incoming projectiles, and the rest were deflected by the Logo’s glowing pink shield, but it was taking a heavy toll on their energy reserves.
The underground shipping facility was an absolute warzone. Towers of canisters were toppling over like dominoes, crashing violently to the ground and undoubtedly killing any animals that were trapped inside. Explosions from the rockets had started a number of fires, and more automated cranes activated themselves to clean up the mess as it happened.
Watching the Marshal run fast as hell, dodging explosions, weaving through streams of heavy fire, and deflecting bullets with the Logo every step of the way—Morton couldn’t help but think of the werwolf. The green gobs from the goo-gun were far too slow to be accurate, but one struck her shield and crackled with the same electric intensity as it had on the creature’s coat as it melted away. The rate at which she was thinning his posse reminded him of how it had torn through the poacher army, but confidence in himself remained. All he could think about was grabbing her Logo with one of the mech’s claws and draining her of thermal energy.
Frank’s job was to stay between Morton and the encircling law-dog, keeping his master safe by blocking blasts with the force field from his dusters. Only a handful of poachers remained, and although the falling containers were still very loud, things calmed down significantly when the Marshal finally went for cover.
With eyes wide and red, Morton was so high on adrenaline that he didn’t feel angry anymore. He didn’t feel scared to be facing the Marshal again either. Standing proudly in his gigantic mech exosuit, the veins in his throat bulged as he yelled at the top of his lungs, “Coward! Come out and fight!”
Having noticed the shield protecting Frank, the Logo had been able to determine that a device inside the train was assisting with its projection. Use of their own shield had drained the Logo’s power supply significantly, so the Marshal waited a moment before climbing to the top of the
canisters they were hiding behind and charging a max-capacity blast. With a mighty leap, they fired a massive beam of energy at the train. Where standard energy blasts had reflected off the invisible barrier protecting Frank, this long, thick beam splattered around the shield like water that had been traveling at light speed. The Logo assured them that the train had not been protected when they fired, which left the Marshal upset and uncomfortably low on energy. Taking out the last of Morton’s pawns with two regular blasts from their finger, they ran to take cover again.
Frank had heard the Marshal climbing the stack of containers and switched the shield back to the train just in time. The major success fueled his confidence and he shared some of his master’s hearty laughter.
“Is that all you’ve got?!” Morton yelled hysterically.
Without hesitation, the Marshal rolled out from cover and fired another mega-blast straight at the mech-warriors. The beam wrapped around Frank’s shield, splashing into some nearby containers while Morton stood behind his henchman laughing.
This time, the Logo had noticed the shields switch and the Marshal knew exactly what to do. Firing a lesser blast at the train, she hurtled towards Frank. The genetically engineered henchman was fast enough to switch the shield and protect the train, and he had even thumbed the button again to save himself, but as the invisible barrier was forming around him, the Marshal’s gauntleted fist broke the plane and interrupted it. The blow smashed through the power pack around Frank’s waist, shattered his hip, and sent him crashing into a stack of containers on the other side of the room.
The Marshal had done so without breaking stride and was already onto Mech-Morton. They shot another minor blast at him but he blocked it reflexively with his massive metal forearm. As fast as they could, the Marshal leapt up to do a traditional hammer-punch to the face, but somehow, the clunky looking exoskeleton’s claw managed to catch the blow. Holding the Marshal’s much smaller robotic hand in his much larger one, Morton said with a menacing chuckle, “This seems familiar too...”
Under the Shadow of the Plateau: Frontier Forever Page 29
