Under the Shadow of the Plateau: Frontier Forever

by Benjamin Krieger

  Running her remaining hand through what was left of her hair, the Marshal continued confidently, “I was rolling through his operation like it was nothing. Busting up workshops all over the desert and anything even loosely affiliated with him in Mechanicsburg. They must have received outside help though, because somehow they managed to lay a pretty good trap and do this bullshit to me...” With a comically frustrated face, she waved her bandaged stump at the camera. “I knew something was up as soon as I got there, but they were using these antique, old-fashioned guns... Y’know, the kind that fire actual metal bullets? So the Logo couldn’t stop the damned things from firing, and my shields were blocking them for awhile, but that drained a lot of power, so I decided to blitz this foxhole they’d built, and that was the real trap.”

  Looking disappointed with herself, the Marshal glanced down at her missing arm and shook her head. “I was doing some acrobatic avoidance to dodge their fire, like this–” Wiggling back and forth to demonstrate, she laughed. “–then I was jumping up a flight of stairs when a crane arm came down from the ceiling and snatched me up by mine.” Holding up her phantom limb as if something tall had grabbed it, the Marshal stood up out of her seat slightly and started thrashing back and forth. “It was swinging me around like a ragdoll while they kept shooting, my shields were fading, so I ripped my damned arm off and hightailed it out of there...”

  The Marshal plopped back into her chair as if exhausted. “Now, they say I’m not the same as I was beforehand... an’ lookin’ at me you’d probably agree–” She shook her stump and one jazz-hand. “–AND I’ll be the first to admit that losing the Logo did a number on me psychologically.” The look on her face was a mix of shame and anger. “I wasn’t quite right for a while, and honestly, things are still a little confusing sometimes.”

  Then, looking through the camera and directly into her successor’s eyes, the one-armed Marshal said with a slow intensity, “But you have to trust me. There is a massive conspiracy going on, and we–” She pointed through the camera at the new Marshal and then back at herself. “–are a central part of it... I think they used those retro guns to make it seem like the sort of plan Morton could have thought up on his own,” she paused and resumed with a far more serious tone, “but I think the Matron is in on it.”

  The second Marshal’s eyes grew wide, for despite toying with similar doubts, hearing the accusation out loud let her believe it on a new level. The Matron was the bottleneck between the Earth’s Board of Trustees and everything that happened planetside. All of the corrupt files she had received at the hospital had gone through the planet’s steward at some point, so the Matron was guilty of negligence at the very least, but now she wanted to believe it was something more.

  As if she understood exactly how the new model was feeling, the on-screen Marshal continued in a hushed, empathetic tone, “Since the day I was born, they’ve had me jumping through hoops but getting nothing done. Cleaning up that mess Mister Morton made was busy work. They didn’t send me here to pursue Natural Order. I don’t know what it is they have to gain by wasting my time, but something is up.” Her gaze hardened and both Marshals leaned in towards the virtual screen between them.

  Speaking loudly again, the Marshal on video continued with confidence, “Given that you’re watching this in Buena Vista, you’ve probably met Officer Brennan.” The living Marshal’s heart leapt, for she knew what her previous self was about to say but didn’t want to hear it. “He’s the one who set me up.”

  Pausing the video, the Marshal was tempted to disconnect from the network but knew she had to hear the rest. Shaking her head with disappointment as the message resumed, her previous incarnation was doing the same thing.

  “It’s weird though, because he had an airtight alibi...” Beckoning to someone offscreen, a short man with what looked like a blaster burn on his face came to sit down beside her, the previous Marshal introduced him. “This is Studebaker Hawk, one of Morton’s most disgruntled employees–”

  “Contractors,” he corrected. Noticing himself on the video monitor, the little man stood up, but was still not as tall as the sitting Marshal. He cleared his throat and explained, “We’re independent contractors who worked for Morton. We were never directly his employees.”

  “Alright, big guy,” the video Marshal chuckled. “Anyway, he and his crew are all good folks. Among other things, they’ve been a huge help in infiltrating Morton’s smuggling ring, and I trust them with my life. They’ve no reason to lie to me, and they said Officer Brennan was sittin’ right next to them the whole time.” Somehow still in tune with the new Marshal’s feelings, she called out, “I know! Right? What a disappointment! Not only did I think he was a good partner, I considered him my friend! But he’s the one who sent the message that led me to that factory and cost me my arm.”

  With his eyes nervously fixed on the floor, Studebaker Hawk muttered, “I still don’t think he did it...”

  Pursing her lips, the battered Marshal shook her head with frustration. Gesturing to him with her one thumb, she said doubtfully, “Stu, here, thinks there’s a second Brennan... Yet, first-rate hacker that he is, can’t find any evidence of it. He thinks I imagined the whole–”

  “No,” Stu insisted, sounding as though he’d explained this before. “I don’t think you imagined it. Losing the Logo messed with your mind, for sure, but I don’t know how a false memory like that could have been created.” The deceased Marshal rolled her eyes as Stu continued gravely, “I’ve said it a thousand times, the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. And that goes for both the message and the second Brennan.” He turned to look up at the Marshal sitting next to him. “Your Longcoat’s records didn’t show any sign of tampering. Everything had full USi verification. The logs showed a message from Brennan’s Longcoat right when you said it would.”

  The Marshal inhaled deeply, but Stu put up his hand, and she let him speak. “According to USi, Brennan’s Longcoat was docked in New York City at the time. But when I went through the logs on his Longcoat, which again, were pristine, it said he was here in Buena Vista and had no record of any messages being sent.” Then he turned and talked into the camera, “So, given that I was sitting right next to him at the time this was all supposed to be happening, I’m confident that he wasn’t in New York, or out there in the desert tearing your arm off... I think there are at least two Brennans. Maybe more.”

  “Bah,” the Marshal said with a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, you cannot trust Brennan. No matter what juicy tidbits he dangles in front of you, you have to steer clear. Whether he is a good guy, or an evil clone, whoever’s behind this will be using him to keep tabs on you.”

  Stu nodded in agreement.

  Then the old Marshal yelled, “I’m not saying you should try to rip off your Logo, or ditch the Longcoat, or anything like that. They’re going to be watching no matter what. Surveillance laws aren't nearly as strict as they’re supposed to be, but do not trust Brennan.” She had been deadly serious but then burst into wild laughter. “Granted, it would be a lot harder to compromise a Marshal than a Peacekeeper, but there’s also a chance that you’re my evil clone!”

  The new Marshal had not thought about that either, and she sat in silent judgement of the old Marshal as she continued to laugh.

  “Anyway, I do feel bad not being able to help you more. I’ve put all the data that I can onto this server and I’m pretty sure the Matron won’t find it, but without a doubt–” Grabbing Stu by the shoulder, she shook him roughly. “–this is a good guy, Studebaker Hawk. Since I’m dead, you have to find him. Everyone else is going to think he’s dead too, but he’s not. He’s just hiding. He is going to help you pick up where we left off. Start by checking all the satellite towns west of Mechanicsburg. He’ll cycle between a few labor crews, doing all the standard circuits, but we can’t afford to tell you much more than that. Just spread your presence around, he’ll be looking for you too.”

  The
Marshal glanced at Stu and then back at the camera, “I don’t know what else to tell you except be careful... And if I died a gruesome death, kick the ass of whoever did it. Or if you are my evil clone, eat me!” She laughed again. “I’m just playin’. I’m sure you’re me 2.0. Go get ‘em, good lookin’!” She formed a gun with her remaining fingers and ended the video by shooting it at the camera.

  Upon exiting the LAN, the Marshal found herself standing in the arcade again. Back inside her head, there was still a clear distinction between her mind and the AI but communication between them was quick and easy. In the digitized version of her voice she heard the Logo say, Relax, partner. You look like you’re holding two duffle bags and riding an invisible horse.

  Realizing how absurd her posture was, the Marshal dropped her shoulders and began walking back towards the bar. Although seething with anger, she replied to herself calmly, Sorry, I’m really pissed off.

  I know, the voice said consolingly. Me too. Wordlessly, the Logo told her precisely where Brennan was sitting and continued to share information that had been hidden on the LAN. The Marshal couldn’t help but ball her fists as she strode towards the confrontation. Only a few steps onto the promenade, however, she noticed someone coming up from behind her.

  “Excu–”

  In a flash, the Marshal reached back to grab the outstretched hand of a man who have been able to tap her on the hip if he had been significantly faster, and flung him into a nearby stall. Crashing into a display rack, the little man sent merchandise clattering to the ground that slid under his feet as he tried to get up. Whatever the stranger had wanted didn’t seem to matter anymore. He scrambled desperately to get away, but the Marshal had him by the collar before he could take a solid step. For an instant, she let herself hope that the little man was Studebaker Hawk, but his face was different. Through clenched teeth, the Marshal growled, “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Nope! Nope! You’re good! I was the blue team captain. I just wanted to say good game. You’re a fantastic pilot.” Eyes full of tears, the man held his breath and looked as if he were going to explode.

  With a huff, the Marshal dropped him and resumed stomping her way towards the bar, plowing through anyone who wasn’t fast enough to get out of her way. She didn’t slow a single step until she was right behind Brennan, who was sitting with his back to her at a table surrounded by people. If he heard her coming, he didn’t let on. With a swift kick, the Marshal knocked the seat out from under the Peacekeeper and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud. The rest of the bar went silent.

  Proudly holding up his unspilled mug, Brennan slurred as he scrambled to his feet, “What in the... Oh... iss you...” Sticking out his chin, he looked down his nose, tried to focus his vision and mock the Marshal’s high-born heritage at the same time. “I thought that you were going to stay in there forever, so I, hic!—Decided to get really hydrated!”

  A few laughs came from the crowd, but none from anyone who had seen the dangerous look in the Marshal’s flashing blue-grey eyes.

  After drinking what was left in his glass, Brennan set it on the table with a bunch of other empties. Gesturing to them he said, “I got one for you too... A few times actually! Hic! But the line is pretty long now, so maybe you wanna, walk up there all angry. Like the way you did to me just now, an’ maybe you could get us both er‘nother one. You’re a Marshal, they’ll probably let you cut. Juss.. put it on my tab.”

  After a long pause, the Marshal replied with real venom, “Shame that being a Peacekeeper doesn’t afford you the same luxury.”

  Visibly sobered by the insult, Brennan still looked quite drunk. Scanning his table to make sure all of the glasses were empty, he cocked his head to the side and said, “Yeah! A real shame. Put in a few millennia of hard work only to be bullied by a none-year-old for not buying her a drink? Fine, I’ll go.”

  More of the crowd chuckled that time, but as Brennan started for the bar, the Marshal’s words froze him in place. “Very funny, old man. Do you remember what happened the last time you turned your back on me?”

  Turning around slowly, Officer Brennan said indignantly, “What? You’re mad because I’m drunk? Why? What do you want to do? I can still do my job.”

  Barely able to restrain herself, the Marshal snapped, “I don’t feel like you’re respecting my authority, Officer Brennan... And it does not seem like you’re fit for duty.”

  “Do you even realize how long you were in that game?!” he cried. “Almost a day! You were standing there like a child lost in a field! What did you expect me to do in the meantime? Go back out into the desert? Go do my normal routes? Or come shake you and tell you to do your job? I’m here voluntarily. Just trying to help you out, and you give me this garbage in return...”

  Her vision was getting cloudy with anger, but the Marshal said calmly, “That’s a pretty sad song for someone whose vision is as crooked as his badge.” With long deliberate steps, she stood toe-to-toe with him and flicked the shiny piece of metal pinned to his vest.

  Neither of them made a sound. They just stared at each other until Brennan finally put his hands up and said, “Okay Marshal! You caught me. Guilty as charged. Local Peacekeeper convicted of singing sad songs. What’s the sentence?”

  The Marshal’s clenched fist squeezed tighter. With a dry and deadly tone, she said, “It’s not your singing that I’m concerned with, buster. The only reason I haven’t killed you yet is because there are a few more things you need to tell me.”

  A few of the bar’s patrons had already begun trickling out but more started to leave in a hurry.

  Looking as though a ghost had walked through him, Officer Brennan stood there dumbstruck. He had no idea that there was a message hidden inside the LAN, but he already felt guilty about not telling the second Marshal what the first one had said that night. That was the reason he had drank so much, and even though it wasn’t true, he had to assume that she had somehow put it together. The Peacekeeper knew he either had to come clean and blurt the whole story out in front of everybody, which would certainly get him killed, or go on the offensive and hope that his confidence would be interpreted as innocence. “Summary execution?! Whoa, I thought I was going to get a fine or something.”

  Without breaking eye contact, Brennan began to back away slowly. “Thing is, young buck, I know you’ve only been alive for a few days, but that’s not the best way to get information out of someone. I don’t know exactly what’s gotten into you, but then again, I don’t have to guess either... We definitely do have a lot to talk about, but you didn’t give me any time. We were talking at the bar, then you went in the game, and now you’re threatening to kill me.”

  He had been able to keep his voice on an even keel for that last part, but as the Peacekeeper put his hand on the bar, his temper flared up again. “And I’m not going to lie! I’ve had enough to drink where the tone of your voice is making my blood boil! It might take me a minute to compose myself, sober up a little. But as I said before, I’m here voluntarily! The only reason I’m here is to help you out, so if you’re ready to talk, let’s do it. Let’s step outside and talk.”

  Brennan’s little speech had restored some of his personal confidence, but the Marshal was nearly blind with rage. “First you want to come inside. Now you want to go back out. Why don’t you just say what’s really on your mind.”

  With a heavy sigh, Brennan looked down at the ground to think for a moment. Then with a chuckle, he looked back up at the Marshal, rapped twice on the solid wood counter behind him he said, “Two please, Harvey.”

  Harvey didn’t move, nor did anyone else still in the bar.

  Without breaking eye contact with the Marshal, the Peacekeeper turned his head towards the bartender and repeated, “Two please, Harvey? I know you heard me. You could hear a mouse fart in here.”

  Harvey looked to the Marshal for permission but received none. Shrugging his shoulders, he began to pour. “Oh boy...”

  Cool as a cucumber, Brennan s
tarted up again, “Thanks, mate. You know what, though? Make it four.” Harvey set the first two down and Brennan chugged one. Picking up the other, he took two steps towards the Marshal and said, “Alright, Marshal, let’s talk. What do you want to know? Remember, it’s a lot quieter in here now that you scared off all those good people. With the ones bold enough to still be here, there’s a good chance they have reason to be, if you catch my meaning... Morton’s still alive, remember?! So we both need to be careful about what we say.” He gave her a blatant wink and waited.

  That’s bullshit, the Marshal said to herself. He’s using them as an excuse. She wanted to hear him confess everything he had done, but she wasn’t sure how much of this she could endure. Do you see the way he’s drinking? He has no intention of telling us anything.

  Brennan finished his second drink and tossed the glass over his shoulder at Harvey, who caught it. “Ahhhh,” he said, smacking his lips. “Damned refreshing. Y’know, you and me used to–”

  Drawing up her hand-gun, the Marshal fired a bolt of energy straight through the Peacekeeper’s chest, killing him instantly. There was a rush of adrenaline, but it was far less satisfying than the frags inside Air Assault. The blast went into the wall behind him, shattering bottles and sending glass everywhere as the Peacekeeper’s corpse collapsed to the ground.

  He was preparing to die, the Marshal told herself. Besides, like the first Marshal said, even if this was a good version of Officer Brennan, keeping him around would have been too much of a liability. Still, there was a pit in her stomach and her head was swimming with conflicting emotions.

  Aside from Harvey, the Marshal proceeded to shoot everyone else in the bar. There was a brief burst of panic as people tried to flee, but none of them made it more than a few steps. Firing her blaster in rapid succession, each kill helped numb the pain from the one before. Then, starting with those closest to the main airlock, she ran full speed down one aisle, clearing each stall so quickly that most of the shoppers never realized what was happening. After taking care of the helpless gamers in the arcade, she made her way back down the other side of the mini-mall to stand right where she had started, and stare at the bartender with absolutely no emotion on her face.