Under the Shadow of the Plateau: Frontier Forever

by Benjamin Krieger

  Marion swatted him lovingly with her tongue and said, “Hush, child. You can frame it however you like,” she nodded towards the tree where Rhodes was listening, “but he’s pretending to sleep up in that Magnolia and can certainly hear us.” In a voice no louder than before, Marion addressed her human directly, “I know you feel guilty about leaving, my son. Do not. I see the pain burning inside of you, an–”

  Marion kept talking but Rhodes couldn’t take anymore—he dropped out of the tree and ran. His half-baked plan was to grab the supplies he had hidden high in a distant tree and just keep running, but Lincoln caught up with him.

  Playfully disregarding Rhodes’ tears, the gorillion swung onto the branch in front of him and yelled in his face, “Yeah right, budday! You heard Momma! I’m coming! And did you really think I didn’t know about your little cache here? I can smell those dried mushrooms from a thousand meters away.”

  Rhodes hung his head, unable to look Lincoln in the eyes. “I’m going alone... Back to the Onondaga. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”

  “Onondaga my ass... Screw yourself for expecting me to believe that.” Lincoln’s playful tone faded dramatically. “I’m tired of all this ‘I’m the only one who wants to go look for Pathos’ bullshit. I’m coming.”

  Marion didn’t normally climb that high, but suddenly, she appeared on the branch behind Lincoln and walked elegantly across it. “I hope you do go back to the Onondaga one day, but I hope you come back to us first. This is your home too. I love you, Rhodes. Don’t ever forget it.” Long and hard, the lioness stared lovingly at her two boys before hopping down and out of the tree to walk back to her cubs.

  Rhodes and Lincoln hugged, tears streaming down both of their faces. Without a word, they grabbed the supplies and left for the Green Valley.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Misled

  Officer Brennan had been sent south to deal with the growing poacher population as soon as he respawned. At first he had been upset because he was eagerly awaiting the birth of the second Marshal, but having so much work to do was a refreshing change of pace. USi subsidized a substantial amount of animal capture and hunting; it was necessary to maintain Natural Order, but the numbers he was seeing in the field were far beyond the government’s stated allotment. He was not the only Peacekeeper that had been reassigned; apparently, some of his fellow officers had been down there for months already. They had been granted carte blanche in regards to their treatment, and most of them were using lethal force on sight, but the poachers just kept coming.

  There was also an increase in paramilitary forces, and Officer Brennan had joined up with a group of Privateers fairly quickly. He hadn’t held much respect for the mercenary gang in the past, but a number of them had died by his side, fighting for what was right, and the camaraderie felt good. There was one lieutenant in particular that he had formed a close bond with. She was brave and intelligent, and it reminded him of working with the Marshal. He thought a lot about what would happen when she returned, and hoped she would be reassigned to the war too.

  The Longcoat made dispatching the poachers light work, and the Privateers riding along with him were thoroughly impressed with Brennan’s methods. Occasionally they would use less than lethal tactics, but centuries of experience with poachers had taught him that interviews were more effective than interrogation. By clearly identifying himself and approaching them casually, the Peacekeeper had found plenty who were willing to tell them about the state of their union. There seemed to be mixed feelings about their new leader, Kravinov, but almost all of them were excited about secondary contracts they had taken with someone named Wolfchan.

  Apparently, Kravinov was fine with his members double-dipping, to the point where he had facilitated negotiations on their behalf. Basically all of his poachers were on retainer, half-heartedly looking for this monster they called the werwolf, so the union still got its cut from every animal they captured. Brennan had considered focusing his time and attention on tracking down Wolfchan, because the mysterious newcomer definitely had a ton of money, but there were just too many poachers around to ignore. No amount of killing was going to fix the problem; this was a systemic issue that needed to be addressed by the Matron, and he could only do so much. He still took obvious opportunities to talk with poachers and gather information, but multiple times a day he would run into parties looking for action, so he gave it to them.

  Chapter Twenty

  Furthering Delays

  With only one day left before she was supposed to head to New York, the Marshal was interviewing a team of migrant laborers when their plans changed completely. It had been a long week, with the inconsistent plurality in their head making everything that much more difficult. One minute she would be talking to herself, and then the next they would be talking to themselves. Anxiety about abandoning Stu was part of it, they knew, and she was excited to finally go to New York, but once they entered the megacity, she knew they were unlikely to leave.

  The gang members sitting around the table with her hadn’t seemed to notice, but the Marshal was having a hard time concentrating. Their unofficial foreman was telling her about the job they had just completed, adjusting ventilation routines for a vast subterranean transportation system that ran all the way around the planet’s single contiguous continent in a series of interconnected webs. The maps that the Matron had provided said that the tunnels had been commissioned back when the planet’s artificial core was first installed and put out of service shortly thereafter. They should have been seeing occasional use by maintenance personnel, but according to these contractors, the system had been seeing dangerous pressure fluctuations that indicated a drastic increase in use. Not only did that suggest that the government was hiring migrant laborers directly, but it might explain how folks like Mister Morton were getting things offworld. Distracted as she was, the Marshal was eager to investigate.

  As she stood up to leave, one of the laborers shouted nervously, “That’s not all, Marshal!”

  “Ferrara! Shhh, you shouldn’t,” another one whispered harshly.

  “Why not, Alzaabi?” he asked mockingly. The man who had shushed him gave a pathetic sigh and was about to explain something, but Ferrara blurted out, “Did you hear about workshop 402?”

  “No,” the Marshal replied, not bothering to sit back down.

  Ignoring a variety of disapproving looks coming from the rest of their crew, the little laborer went on unabashed. “Okay, well basically it’s just this one-story factory out in the middle of nowhere, with rows of big heavy workbenches and these sweet machine-arm things that we usually use for riveting, bu–”

  “I’m familiar with desert workshops,” the Marshal replied impatiently. “Get to the point.”

  “It got hit by the werwolf,” Ferrara replied, stone-faced. “It’s nothing but rubble now.”

  A few of his colleagues gave embarrassed looks, while others nervously froze in place, and eventually Alzaabi began laughing loudly. “Alright, Ferrara. I think we’re done here.” Standing up, a few of their coworkers hesitantly started to follow. “Thank you very much for listening to us, Marshal. You can entertain this looney toon all you want bu–”

  “Sit back down,” the Marshal commanded with a powerful calm. They did. “I’ll say when we’re done.” She gestured for the man to go on and sat back down to listen.

  Shyly now, Ferrara asked, “Have you heard about the werwolf?”

  Assuming it was the same one that Harvey had mentioned, the Marshal confirmed, “The beast down in the southlands with the big bounty on it.”

  “Yeah. Whatever the hell that thing is,” he said, starting to get excited again. “We had a lot of friends working out there at 402, but none of them lived to talk about it.”

  The Marshal caught an awkward glance between the two men as she asked, “Why do you think it was the werwolf?”

  “The claw marks on what little was left of the building were pretty convincing.” Looking to the
rest of his crew for confirmation, they returned a combination of reluctant shrugs and nods. “Alzaabi saw it... Tell him–”

  “Convincing of what?” the Marshal interrupted suspiciously.

  “That this thing is worth the bounty!” Alzaabi answered for him. “Did you hear about Wolfchan?”

  Unimpressed, the Marshal shook her head.

  Suddenly eager to talk, Alzaabi explained. “She’s the one who calls it the werwolf, and she’s built an army to go looking for it. She’s paying double Kravinov’s new union rates, and if you’re around when they kill the thing, you get an even split of the jackpot on top. I think it’s up to a few trillion now...” Laughing, he gestured around the table. “Some of these chuckleheads don’t think the monster is real. That’s why we’re acting so funny, Marshal.” He chuckled again, and the Marshal knew he was lying. “The money chasing after that thing is so good that no one cares... A few members of our crew even turned poacher and went chasing after it. I’m not kidding. It’s a literal army...”

  After taking a deep calming breath, the Marshal still could not conceal her frustration, “What are you telling me?”

  Failing to realize what thin ice he was on, Alzaabi had the nerve to scoff. “Uhhh... I thought that as a Marshal, you might be interested to know about vast numbers of poachers assembling...”

  The Marshal scooted forward on her seat, her piercing blue-grey eyes making it clear that she did not like the way she was being talked to. “I’ll look into it. Thank you. Is there anything else?”

  Trembling now, Alzaabi glanced at Ferrara, and then back at the Marshal. “Umm... Yeah. There is. I’m just not sure how to say it. You ever hear of a guy by the name of Studebaker Hawk?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Locomotion

  Frank’s big idea had basically been to go tear-assing around the desert looking for this werwolf creature. At first, Morton thought it was just another vapid attempt to get him out of the house, but after some careful consideration, he decided that it had real merit. He had heard rumors about the monster ravaging the southern coast, and he still didn’t buy into the part about it being spawned at the crater. Even though he didn’t remember anything after the dispersion, something walking out of it just didn’t seem possible. But when Frank told him how much money this Wolfchan character had invested in the hunt for the beast, Morton knew it was the Matron.

  Both of the train’s side doors were wide open; the blur of tall golden grass and bright blue skies streaking across his field of vision, helping Morton to get lost in a daydream. Reclining in his antique leather chair, boots resting upon his desk, his mind ran through hundreds of familiar fantasies about how he might like to kill the Matron. Presently, he was imagining his knee in the Matron’s back as he forced her face into a pile of fine, pillowy earth until she stopped squirming—it was the happiest he had been in a long time. He knew the space witch was unlikely to ever come planetside, and the elaborate scenarios inside his mind were often unreasonable for a plethora of reasons, but sometimes the simplest dreams were best.

  Whenever he allowed his imaginary scenarios to get too elaborate or complex, Mister Morton found himself fixated on the fact that the Matron was probably just as much of a puppet as he was. In all likelihood, she was controlled by an even larger offworld entity, some invisible intergalactic mafia, and killing her would mean nothing. But he liked having a single person to hold accountable, and every time he strangled or shot her, Morton felt the same refreshing wind that blew through his hair on the beach of his dreams. His sleep had improved dramatically since they started their travels, and even though he was secretly afraid that their supposed progress was an illusion, he wanted to believe they were on the right track.

  In his most commonly recurring fantasies, Morton would find himself stowed away aboard the Matron’s starship, having been presumed dead after an intense low-gravity moon battle or something. He would listen from behind a closed door as she bragged about a multitude of prolific deceptions before bursting into the stateroom full of foreign dignitaries holding a gigantic gun. They would gasp in slow-motion as he doused them in liquid flames, watching as the exquisitely rich bastards stared back at him with conflicting looks of admiration and contempt. Then he would walk across the long tabletop to the Matron’s charred corpse and kick her face into a toppling pile of ash.

  Of course, life on the train was far from perfect. As glorious as his fantasies could be, Morton was still dealing with bouts of serious depression. Neither he nor Frank had been able to contact Wolfchan, and despite nearly all of the poachers they met claiming to have taken contracts with her, none of them had seen any sign of the creature. The more Morton thought about what they were actually doing out there in the desert, the more it felt like a shot in the dark. Even though the Matron had vested interest in the creature didn’t mean it was going to lead them to her. But all in all, Morton and Frank were both happy with the new arrangement.

  There was a real army of poachers in the field, and they had met up with a number of teams already. Everywhere they turned, there were new raids to be joined and loads of animals were being hauled away, which afforded them ample opportunities to test out all the new weaponry that Frank had created. At first, Morton had been a little resentful because the communication equipment they were using had come from a shipment that he had both bought from and sold to the Matron, but he ended up having fun. The amorphous-capture device that they had been affectionately calling the ‘goo-gun’ was definitely the poachers’ favorite. Upon impact, the viscous semi-solid balls would intelligently envelop the target and conform to its shape, leaving only enough wiggle room for its captive to breathe—which was ideal for a poachers’ purposes.

  Unfortunately, they had decided to retire the Rock-Paper-Scissors weapon for Morton’s exosuit—which Frank was still unable to get running on independent power—but he had developed a number of potential alternatives since then, as well as a new set of hand-claws which incorporated the same energy-draining aspect as the Scissors. Frank had installed the same technology into the newest edition of his knuckle dusters, which were his new all-time favorite. Only time would tell whether they would get to use them on the Marshal again, but for the time being, neither of them cared.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  No Home on the Range

  Both the Starrlett herd and the Onondaga tribe referred to the Green Valley by the same name and it was obviously a sacred place. Tall mountain ridges blocked harsh weather and kept the steep basin full of fantastic foliage year-round, so it was always full of food. Plenty of species had taken up permanent residence there, but despite all the plants and animals packed inside, it always felt as though there was room enough for everyone. That hadn’t really changed by the time Rhodes and Lincoln arrived, but it hadn’t stopped poachers from attacking either.

  The natural tranquility of the valley had been marred by the invaders’ relentless pursuit, but just as their mother had instructed, they took their time traveling through it. By the time they got to the slot canyons in the center, specifically the part that he and Pathos called Grand Cathedral, Rhodes was overcome with melancholy. Standing atop one of the more impressive edges, he remembered doing a swan dive into water that seemed far too shallow for him to do so safely. Pointing to one of the darker spots down below, he shouted, “Is that deep enough?”

  Without waiting for Lincoln to reply, Rhodes dove in and bent his body sharply to avoid hitting bottom. Plunging through the liquid plane, he found himself submerged in a vivid childhood memory. He and Pathos had spent all day alternating between the hot air and cold water, and it reminded him what it meant to feel complete. As he resurfaced, for the first time since they had been separated, Rhodes considered the possibility that they might not see each other again. He felt his ears flush with hot blood, and overwhelmed by the sensation he blurted, “We’ve gotta get off this planet.”

  “What?!” Lincoln asked, bemused because he had only ever considered going off
world as a poacher’s cargo.

  “The water level’s gone down...” Rhodes said, hoping he wouldn’t ask again. “Or have we grown?”

  “It’s both.” They treaded the water idly for a few minutes before Lincoln said, “So, outer space?”

  Rhodes laughed. “I don’t know,” he lied. “Maybe Pathos got taken out there...”

  Lincoln couldn’t conceal his disappointment but Rhodes didn’t notice. The gorillion had been with him when they found the crater, and he remembered a number of conspiracy theories that his brother had embraced at the time, but he thought that they had all been abandoned. Still, he pretended to be excited. “Yeah, brah. Point me to the rocket.”

  That night, Rhodes dreamt that he was back amongst the Onondaga, fully reinstated as a man. He felt as though the quest for his brother had finally been resolved, but he couldn’t remember how it had happened. Tied together by the Matron’s long black ropes, he was climbing Grand Mesa alongside the Chieftain and Jeffery. Looking back, he noticed an invisible weight pulling back on them as if the rest of the tribe was somehow attached. It got heavier as he focused on it, and eventually, he fell off the side of the mountain. Instantly they were climbing again, and he repeated the experience on loop for several hours. Interrupting months of limited sleep that was filled with terrible nightmares, that one night refreshed Rhodes to a degree that he had almost forgotten was possible.

  After a few more days, they exited through the valley’s southern pass and cut more quickly up the other side of the protective mountains to reunite with the herd at the Five Points. There was much rejoicing when they arrived, but little had changed while they were gone. Poachers were pursuing the herd just as doggedly as before, and the Starrletts were punishing them just as mercilessly. The cubs were ecstatic about having their big brothers back and eager to show off how their fighting abilities had improved in their absence. Marion was glad to see them, too, and they her, but after only two nights of reunion, the boys knew they had to leave again.