Thousands of questions began running through the Marshal’s head as the Peacekeeper’s lean silhouette came into view, and they hastened their pace towards the veteran officer. The swirling sands around them seemed to turn even more red as their inner fury grew, but at the same time, they were excited. Not only will this progress our understanding of the first Marshal, it will be our first conversation with another human. Unless you count the obstetrician. Or the Matron. We have to be careful though. It’s definitely a great opportunity, but revealing how little we know could be damaging to our investigation. We have to let him do all the talking.
Knowing each one of their steps spoke volumes, the Marshal regretted storming down the street so angrily. Correctly assuming that Officer Brennan had already picked up on their emotional state, they didn’t bother slowing down until the sand cloud between them was thin enough to see his face. Judging from the dirt on his jacket, the Peacekeeper hadn’t been out there too long, but by the smell of alcohol on his breath, he must have been inside at the bar for a while. Stopping less than two meters away, the Marshal squared up with Officer Brennan.
Neither of them wanted to give themselves away, so they just stared at each other for a while, but then the Peacekeeper conceded their silent contest by asking, “You don’t remember me, do ya?”
The Marshal didn’t answer.
After another short while, Brennan broke eye contact and said abashedly, “Shoot, Marshal...” He smiled slightly but looked down at his foot as he kicked the dust beneath it. “What took ya so long?”
“Didn’t know you’d be waiting,” the Marshal replied flatly.
Officer Brennan laughed loudly this time, stomped his foot, and shouted with a much more distinct drawl, “Haw! Well?! Aincha ‘appy ta see me?” His handsome but weathered face became more animated as he did a little jig, his bulging nose and cheeks glowing red from a combination of sun and drinks. There was an honest kindness behind his bloodshot eyes, and the Marshal wanted to befriend him, but suddenly ornery, Brennan yelled, “Dag nabbit all to hell! Nothing about this is gonna be easy! Just! Just... Come on inside with me here an’ buy me a drink.” With that, the Peacekeeper casually turned for the door.
Before Officer Brennan had taken two steps, the Marshal had taken three to catch up. Without a word, they bent down slightly, snatched him up by the ankle and effortlessly held him at the full extension of their armored arm.
Brennan didn’t squirm or resist in any way. Dangling there, the inferior officer said submissively, “Okay, that was a bad idea. I should not have turned my back on you like that...” He sounded slightly sobered, a little disoriented, and very apologetic, but with another sudden change in emotion, he started again, “Maybe, like, a little professional courtesy though? Or something? But no.” His insolence only lasted a second before he switched back to a fully apologetic tone. “No, no. Not at all appropriate. I apologize. I meant no disrespect. It’s just that we really shouldn’t be talking about this stuff out in the open. Crowded bars have their advantages, y’know? Plus, I could use a drink... Seems like you could too.”
“Dunno,” the Marshal replied more condescendingly than they intended. “You’re slurring a little.”
Chuckling again, Brennan took a second to ready his reply. In an even more twangy accent with a toothy-whistle, he continued, “Whellssee! This here iss a old-fashion’ dialect round these parts. Some of us old-timers talk like this every now and again. An’ I think the reason is’s coming out so strongk right now has to do with the fact that I’m a little nervous!” He sounded sincere. “You and I are both... sittin’ in the same darkness, if you take my meanin’... We have a lot to talk about, an’ I kind of wanted to uh... put my belly up, y’know?” he put both of his arms up like a dog begging, “Expose mah tender bits? So’s you know they’s yours if you want ‘em.”
The Marshal’s expression didn’t change, but they dropped the Peacekeeper with a slight shove so he didn’t land directly on his head.
Rubbing his shoulder and pointlessly trying to dust himself off as he got up, Officer Brennan muttered so softly that the Marshal thought it might have been to himself, “I might’ve had a few drinks too... but I don’t know if that has anything to do with it.”
Then, with no trace of his drawl or slur, Brennan said loud and clear, “I worked with the first Marshal, y’know... And I’m guessing from the look on your face, you don’t remember... Well, I’m not too surprised, but let me tell you something. Working with your predecessor was one of the great pleasures of my many lives. We did a lot of good things together. For the planet. For the pursuit of Natural Order...”
A calm but serious look washed over Brennan’s face and his posture relaxed. “The fact that you don’t trust me is good. Means you’re already realizing that things are rotten down here. They’ve got me pigeonholed pretty bad. Total lame duck. Since you’ve been gone, I haven’t done diddly on my own.” With another soft chuckle, he walked backwards the last few steps towards the barn door. “Probably got more accomplished hangin’ upside down by my ankle just now than the entire interim.”
Looking the Marshal in the eyes as he opened the door, he continued candidly, “Whatever I can do for you, Marshal, please, do not hesitate to ask.” They stepped together into a thin transparent airlock that started blowing dust from their clothes as soon as it was closed. Once the fans stopped, they walked out and Brennan said casually, “I was just kidding about you buying drinks, by the way. I’ve got a tab open.”
Outside, the daylight had been dulled by the swirling sand, but inside, bright fluorescent lights made it feel like high noon. Two wide aisles ran the length of the building, each lined with small stalls that were littered with neon signs. There was a bar at one end and some sort of flashy arcade at the other. Not including themselves, the Logo registered one hundred eighty-seven occupants, and the Marshal noticed innumerable embargo infractions with only a glance. Even though it was mostly petty machinery and offworld multimedia, they wanted to stop and investigate, but Brennan was talking over his shoulder as they walked.
“As you can see, it’s pretty dead in here at the moment. Normally it’s like three times as loud... This is the mini-mall, it has all the conveniences a desert dweller might need. You can tell from the signs they carry a lot of contraband, but the shops all accept USi credit, which means they all pay taxes.”
Using their Logo’s wireless capabilities, the Marshal pinged the room and found that aside from the bartender and the Peacekeeper, every single person in the mini-mall was in possession of an unregistered CBi. To make matters worse, the insolent strangers had the gall to stare directly at them as they passed. They wanted to stop and talk about it, but Brennan was now pushing in towards the bar, and didn’t seem to notice the gawkers until they started impeding his right of way.
With mild anger, the Peacekeeper shouted, “My lands, people! Are you kidding? You knew she would be back! She’s a Marshal! I’m a Peacekeeper, do I stay dead if you kill me?! Have some respect and let us get a drink!”
Unimpressed by how long it took the crowd to turn back to their own business, and knowing that it broke their vow of stoicism, the Marshal glared back at the few still bold enough to look in their direction. Everyone in here should be arrested.
When they got to the bar, Brennan reminded them, “And again, whatever you order is on me. Harvey! Two please.”
The broad-faced man on the other side of the counter reached over for a handshake and said, “Howdy, Marshal, nice to have you back.” They did not reciprocate his gesture, and the dejected bartender lowered his hand to start filling three glasses. Still sounding cordial, he corrected Brennan, “Actually, officers, your drinks are on me.”
Ignoring the bartender, the Marshal said to Brennan rather curtly, “We came in here to talk...”
“Yeah,” Brennan replied, almost mockingly. “We have a ton to talk about, and I for one would like to have a drink in my hand while we do it.”
“
Here,” Harvey set down two mugs and slid them across the counter. Raising a third one for himself, he said, “Cheers, mates.” The Marshal didn’t move, but Brennan took his glass and clinked it with the bartender’s. With a sip and a satisfied noise, Harvey said to both of them, “Y’know, I could take a break right now if you want. What do you think, like fifteen minutes?”
“Ohhh,” Brennan said, stalling for a half second before turning to the Marshal. “Yeah. Marshal, Harvey and I had been talkin’ about your comin’, and with him being the bartender, he knows a lot of the important stuff. It’s your investigation, but I thought you might appreciate another perspective.” The Marshal nodded consent and Brennan turned back to the bartender. “Thanks, Harv, it could take more than fifteen minutes though. You’re probably going to have to tell her everything, y’know? Start from the beginning?”
“Oh,” Harvey replied, “Alright. Well, you two wanna take a seat at one of those tables over there and I’ll meet you in a few?”
“Yep!” Brennan slapped the bar, picked up the two drinks and walked away. The crowd parted for them as they pulled up to a high-top table with some stools, trying unsuccessfully not to let the Marshal notice them watching. Setting down the glasses and landing heavily on one of the stools, Officer Brennan took a long draught of his drink before saying, “Well, let’s see. What can I tell you in the meantime...”
Still standing, the Marshal suggested sharply, “How about how all these people recognize us?”
With an indignant laugh, Brennan answered, “Uhhh, I know you were just born... yesterday? Or whenever, but we are probably the two most notorious law enforcement officers of all time...”
Unfazed by his tone, the Marshal replied, “So they’ve seen us before?”
“Well, me—yes. I’m here fairly regularly. For you, I figure they see a woman your height with a robotic arm and just assume you’re worth looking at...” Brennan paused contemplatively. “But I wasn’t kidding when I said we did a lot of good work together. And we were in here a bunch of times while we were fighting Morton. Some of them might have seen you, but they’ve all heard of the Athena-class Marshal.”
“Okay,” Harvey interrupted as he set down another round of drinks. “What all do you want to know?” His eyes switched between the two officers as he took a long sip of his drink.
Brennan exchanged an awkward glance with the Marshal before saying smoothly, “Thanks for taking the time to do this, Harv. We really appreciate it. Like I said, why don’t you just start from the beginning...”
“Yeah, sure,” Harvey said, taking a sip of his drink. “So, I was seeing you and your friends from Mechanicsburg in here pretty often, you know, the usual stuff and–”
“Hold on champ,” Brennan cut in, “I mean it. Start from the very beginning. Pretend she doesn’t know anything, just so she can hear things from your perspective. Y’know? Even if you wrote it in your reports, pretend like you didn’t. Pretend she has no idea who you are.”
Despite how sketchy Officer Brennan had been acting outside, speaking on their behalf like that garnered him a good deal of favor with the Marshal.
Shaking his head, Harvey sounded a little confused as he went on, “Okay, of course. Yeah. Buena Vista is a legal USi municipality, but we have some pretty shady folks coming through. It’s common knowledge that they’re out here doing dirty jobs, because why else would you be out here in the desert? That’s just the nature of work. Business is bad, but there’s a whole lot of it, which is why little outposts like this exist.” He took another sip of his drink and gestured out at everyone in the mini-mall. “Most of them are good people. Migrant labor isn’t easy work. It’s long hours in horrible conditions, which makes it hard to tell which ones are the actual bad ones, y’know?”
The Marshal didn’t understand, but Harvey kept talking. “They wouldn’t be out here if it weren’t for the city folk, ‘cause at the end of the day, that’s where all the money comes from, and even though your buddies were from Mechanicsburg, it was safe to say that they were some of the good-bad ones. Now, they were working for Mister Morton,” his voice grew more serious, “who was definitely one of the bad-bad ones...”
Harvey glanced nervously at the Marshal’s untouched glass before continuing. “They had taken on a bunch of crummy contracts from Morton and had a long list of grievances... Unsafe work practices, repossessed time, payroll problems, I don’t know, contractor stuff. I only overheard y’all talking about it really, but the point is that they were desperate for help when you showed up. Since Morton ended up being a person of interest in your investigation, I guess you agreed to work together. That sound about right?”
Harvey took another sip from his drink and remembered something before he swallowed. “Mm! So, you and Officer Brennan hooked up sometime before you all started coming to hang out here. I’m not completely clear on the timeline because so much of it happened in Mechanicsburg, but you had gone there and started a major brawl in one of Morton’s establishments. They had private bartenders, so the accounts I heard were all third or fourth hand, but a lot of people died and the violence kept escalating, which is why I think you started meeting here in Buena Vista. You were busting up a bunch of his warehouses, and then he’d closed down a bunch to try and lower his profile I guess, but a lot of people were just disappearing. Everyone was walkin’ on eggshells. Stuck between rocks and hard places.”
The Marshal hadn’t given any visible reaction or sipped their drink yet, and Harvey gave Brennan a worried look. The Peacekeeper nodded back to him reassuringly, and the bartender continued, “His man Frank came in here one time and referred to it as ‘quelling the revolution.’” Harvey gave a brief look of disgust and took another drink. “Supposedly the casualties in Mechanicsburg were even worse, but shoots. It was bad.”
Shaking his head solemnly, Harvey had to pause to regain his composure. “So you guys were in here a bunch while that was going on. Over there, usually,” He pointed to a group of isolated tables in the corner. “Not drinking much. Just hanging out. I knew it was related to your investigation, but you didn’t always fill me in. And then–” The Marshal could tell Harvey was about to omit something important. “–I dunno. Then you died at the crater and I haven’t seen you since! Investigators came from all over asking about you. Brennan was still coming in here of course. Morton’s man Frank came lookin’ again, too. Things got real crazy for a while–”
“Hold on there, bud,” Brennan said with concern, “you just skipped over a few–”
“What kind of work do these contractors do?” the Marshal interrupted. “The ones we were linked up with, specifically.”
“Huh...” Harvey huffed, thinking about how to explain. “I don’t know exactly. Data processing and the manufacture of contraband? Anything the folks in New York can’t afford to do inside a major city. It's pretty diverse... I don’t think it was the workers’ rights that you were concerned about though, if that’s what you’re asking. And I doubt it was anything specific that they were doing that got you onto Morton. I got the strong impression that you wanted him for something bigger than all that.”
“It’s all illegal labor,” the Marshal said menacingly, “but you’re saying that we weren’t concerned about it?”
Harvey gulped and glanced at the Peacekeeper for help.
Brennan nodded towards the airlock and replied coolly, “Not ten minutes ago, she had me dangling by the ankle right outside that door. I recommend you be completely honest.”
Still a little hesitant, Harvey said, “Well, only as illegal as the rest of them. But again, that’s not the point–”
The Marshal cut him off with another stern look. They did not like the bartender’s casual attitude, and it didn’t help that he and Brennan kept referring to them in the singular. They tried to keep their frustration in check and their tone professional, but said, through clenched teeth, “Tell me more about the crater.”
Harvey glanced at Brennan again, who replied with an
other affirmative nod. Timidly, the bartender said, “From what I understand, USi figured you and Mister Morton got into another fight and blew yourselves up with something he’d smuggled in through the embargo. I dunno. Not much to tell.” The Marshal and Brennan both kept staring at him expectantly. “Seriously. Or... there is a rumor about this monster that spawned there. It’s down in the southlands now, and it has a pretty big bounty on it, but I’m pretty sure that’s just a story to tell poachers. Most big game comes with a tall tale. Standard marketing. This one stands out a little, seems to be more dangerous than most, but I don’t think anything could have survived the crater. Aside from you dying there, it’s just a giant hole in the ground.”
Neither officer seemed satisfied, so Harvey started rambling. “It’s generally pretty lawless out here, but you’d already made a noticeable impact on things. It was a big wake-up call when you died. Just knowing that a Marshal could be killed had a lot of us shook. But things have settled back down since then... So yeah, I don’t know what else to tell you.” Harvey looked pleadingly again at Brennan for help.
The Peacekeeper replied with hostility, “Yes, Harvey! There are a bunch of things I would have told her before rumors about that monster! How about you tell her about the last time she was in here?!”
“OH!” Harvey exclaimed, smacking his forehead. “Duh! Yeah, you probably don’t have any memory of that because it was after your arm got ripped off.” Noticing both of the law-dogs starting to snarl at him, he tried to calm down and start again. “Yeah. Sorry. So, they were all here waiting for you, then you busted in screaming like crazy and missing your arm...” Staring deep into the Marshal’s flashing blue-grey eyes, Harvey expected to see some kind of reaction but got none.
Under the Shadow of the Plateau: Frontier Forever Page 9