This time, they cut straight down to the southern coast and spent weeks exploring the caves and cliffs there. There were notably fewer poacher encounters as they got closer to the ocean, which they assumed was because animal life was so sparse amidst the rocky terrain. Aside from the strong smell of electricity that would occasionally cut through the dry salty air, they hadn’t found any sign of the mysterious Thunder-Lizard, but it was enough to convince Rhodes that the creature had been there recently. He hadn’t bothered mentioning it to Lincoln, but he felt like Pathos was nearby too.
Once again in the form of a giant wolf, Rhodes dreamt that he was running through a dark forest. His paws pounded the earth in a double suspension gallop, dodging between trees with terrifying speed and little effort. He wasn’t hungry or in search of prey, simply running with aimless fervor. He felt so desperate to move that he didn’t have time to wonder why. When he woke up, his face was flushed and his eyes burned with adrenaline. Despite the intense feeling of anxiety that came with the experience, it was vastly preferable to nightmares about Pathos.
Lincoln, on the other hand, was having a tough time. Aside from conversations about where to go and what to eat, the normally talkative creature hardly spoke. After an encounter, he might mumble something about how much the gratuitous violence disgusted him, but then it was back to uncomfortable silence. He had gone on a few serious rants about how there weren’t enough poachers to kill, but even when he refused to talk, the gorillion was clearly itching for a fight.
Watching Lincoln become so overtaken by fury was a bitter pill for Rhodes to swallow. He thought he had already understood why the Chieftain dismissed him from the tribe, but it wasn’t until he saw his gorillion brother’s free spirit bogged down by the misery of war that he realized how thoroughly his thoughts had been consumed by the search for Pathos. The urgency of the poacher situation poked holes in his limited perspective, but he could not break free of his obsession. He was beginning to lose hope.
In his heart, Rhodes was still proud of his Onondaga upbringing, and he knew the Dakota were good people, but presently, he wished he wasn’t human. What Marion had said about his species’ insidious nature kept running through his head, and he started to daydream about being the wolf he had turned into at night. The Starrletts had been there for him in a way his birth family had not. Lincoln had come looking for Pathos when no one else would. There was no debt between them because they were brothers, but Rhodes felt desperate to repay his gorillion kin’s unwavering support. Despite thinking the Thunder-Lizard was still nearby, he suggested they leave the rocky shore and head back to the Starrletts.
“They’re fine without us,” Lincoln replied gruffly. “Mom would just send us away again anyway. There’s no point. We should leave the coast though. It’s boring.”
They went north, letting the landscape’s natural features guide them to places where an alpha-predator might hunt. The number of poacher encounters picked up again, and they gradually shifted their focus to killing them instead. They got really good at identifying vulnerable animal populations and started bouncing between whichever herds would benefit most from having such fearsome warriors by their side. With so much poacher flesh available, neither felt inclined to hunt animals for food, and they found themselves eating vegetables almost exclusively.
They hadn’t stayed in one place long enough for their perpetual slaughter to feel monotonous, but they were starting to feel ineffective. Every herd they rescued had their own terrible stories about what had already happened to them, which made their accomplishments fleeting. Although they both claimed to be content facing unending waves of poachers, Lincoln’s brooding was getting worse instead of better, and Rhodes secretly wished they had stayed on the Thunder-Lizard’s trail. They both wondered what the other was thinking and feeling, but what little conversation they had never probed very deep. Mostly, they talked about where to go next and what they should eat.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fake News
The first Marshal said that everyone would think Studebaker Hawk was dead, but according to the surviving members of the California Sunrise gang, he actually was. Ferrara and Alzaabi claimed to have known him from way back, then parted ways after the rebellion against Mister Morton, but reconnected just a few months later when he rejoined their crew under an alias. They had all promised to keep his identity a secret, and most of them thought that was the right thing to do even after he died. Fortunately, despite Alzaabi’s shushing, Ferrara decided that the truth was more important.
Obviously, the Marshal was thrilled to know what had happened to Studebaker Hawk, fulfilling that part of their obligation to their predecessor was extremely satisfying. The duality of their minds, unfortunately, was not getting any better, and their visit to warehouse 402 was about as productive as the time they spent at the crater. At first glance, it looked like a missile had ripped through one of the building’s exterior walls, causing more than half of the roof to cave in. Metal support beams melted and bent upon impact, which meant whatever it was had really been moving when it hit. Most of the key evidence had been removed or trampled on by salvage teams, but there was more than enough to prove that the attack had indeed been made by a living creature.
Giant claw marks had been dug into the concrete slab floor, and judging from their spacing and depth, they belonged to a lupine quadruped that weighed well over a ton. Whatever it was had torn into the rubble as if it had been searching for something. The Marshal asked themselves out loud, “You think it was looking for survivors?” I don’t know, they answered internally. You have to assume there were more plentiful meals available.
There are no other accounts of warehouses being attacked.
Just because we didn’t hear about them doesn’t mean they didn’t happen.
True.
You still don’t think it could have come out of the crater?
I think Harvey was right, that’s probably just part of the legend manufactured to attract poachers.
Unsure, the Marshal shrugged. “I dunno. At the rate this thing is growing, assuming it is the same one they’re tracking down south, doesn’t seem like your average mutant.”
Oh, definitely not. It’s probably something Morton smuggled in, but surviving a dispersion like that would put it on a different level.
“Morton did...” the Marshal replied skeptically.
Survive the crater?! The dual-toned voice almost sounded offended. Doubtful... He’s Old Earth human. He would have been vaporized along with the sand and stone. He probably wasn’t even there. Just like Stu, he had plenty of reason to fake his death after the Marshal was killed.
The Marshal trusted the Logo’s analysis of empirical data, but their intuition said something was missing. What if it was looking for Stu?
The creature? That would make it an integral part of the conspiracy...
Whatever it is found Morton’s warehouse and killed Stu. Either it has a will of its own and randomly killed the best link to the other Marshal, or someone is trying to cover something up.
“Let me get this straight... You’re saying an evil clone of Officer Brennan assassinated Earth’s first Athena-class Marshal, and now someone is trying to cover it up with a mysterious creature smuggled in from offworld?”
The Marshal laughed internally, Yeah, you’re right. That doesn’t make any sense.
I’m not saying that, I just don’t see the motive. They paused for another few seconds to think. I’m with you 100% on the Matron being complicit, but I’m not convinced she’s the driving force behind it. And I have no idea why she’d want the Marshal dead.
We need to focus on how and why she died. That’s the best way to figure out how we tie into all this.
“What if that’s it?” the Marshal said with sudden realization. “What if she’s the werwolf? Or we’re the werewolf?” Hearing herself say it out loud, they laughed together.
I guess that is how the Old Earth lore works, isn’t it… No, I�
�ve double-checked our genetic code and compared it to the USi blueprints and they’re embargo compliant. Our body simply isn’t capable of a transformation like that.
The Marshal nodded. “So, if whoever’s behind this put a hit out on Stu, it’s safe to assume they want Morton alive.”
Or maybe he’s just better at hiding.
Without saying anything, they both knew it was time to check Mechanicsburg.
“Good point. Should we take the tunnels?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Map and a Shove
Morton was in a bad way again, and Frank was trying to cheer him up. Drawing the train’s armored side panels made it very dark inside, and a three-dimensional map floating in the middle of the room was glowing brightly. Sitting draped under a blanket in his chair, Morton felt comforted as the beautifully realistic globe spun slowly and shrank to a desk-sized model in front of him. Reaching out lazily to touch it, his hand went through the projection, which made it spin faster.
“Glad you like it,” Frank said with a faint smile. A legend appeared on the train’s main screen and the henchman explained proudly, “That yellow diamond is us. We can watch ourselves travel in real time, but everything else is pre-loaded with information downloaded from various USi databases.”
New color schemes and indicators flooded both map and legend and Morton snapped, “Stop that! It’s too much. You’re making me sick with all that flashing. Just make it stay one way. Please. And thank you.”
“Sorry, Boss,” Frank replied, still excited. “As you can see, a vast majority of the world’s human population is concentrated inside the megacities. Minor ones like ours are barely visible, but there’s Mechanicsburg. Those clusters are the Tribal Nations, which gives valuable perspective as to how many people still live on this planet.”
Morton was surprised by the population comparisons, but he complained dismissively, “I don’t know why you’re explaining this to me like I’ve never seen a map before...”
“Sorry, Boss!” Frank said again, and he continued as quickly as he could. “What I really wanted to show you was this.” A new layer of shaded green appeared, peppered with little white dots that quickly dissipated. “Basically, the shade of green indicates animal population density, and those markers each represent incidents significant enough to be reported to the Environmental Protection Agency. Most of it is poaching, but it includes animal on animal violence too.” He touched one of them to bring up specifics about the reporting bodies and animals involved. “Even though their planetside authority is a joke, the amount of data they collect is impressive.”
“That’s fantastic, Frank,” Morton said, trying to sound sincere. “And I don’t mean to cut you off, it’s just that I have a bad headache. I really do love your map though. It’s going to be very useful. Thank you.”
“One last thing!” Using the tablet he was holding to make the globe fill the room again. Frank glanced at it briefly before staring back at his master expectantly.
Morton leaned towards the map and furrowed his brow. Just as he began to think he had missed something, all the white dots disappeared and there was a large circle devoid of green.
“Sorry,” Frank said, “let me zoom in and play that back at a more reasonable speed.” Noticing that he had Morton’s full attention, slowed his narration. “This is about a year ago. Hour by hour. Aside from major geographic features like mountains and lakes, you can see the attacks are happening pretty steadily, with no discernible patterns... and then, bam.”
The white dots were gone again, as was a perfect circle of green from a familiar part of the map. Staring at the screen intently, Mister Morton said softly, “The crater...”
“Absolutely right,” Frank picked up with his natural enthusiasm. “That circle is hundreds of kilometers wider than the crater itself. All the manimals ran like hell and steered clear for days...”
“Okay! Let’s watch it again.” New information was added to the legend and a counter appeared in the corner of the screen. “There you can see how many days have passed since the dispersion. The whole world goes quiet, and then it takes like a week for most places to go back to normal, and then... here...” He pointed to a blue marker. “This, I believe, is the werwolf... I can’t trace it back to the crater, but take a look at this guy.”
Morton shot Frank a sideways look of disbelief, then stood up to be closer to the map. Blue dots kept appearing, one after another. Each time one popped up, a ring of dense green would flee, but then, green spots started to recede before the blue dots even appeared.
“See that?” Frank asked, almost giddy. “They’re running from it before the EPA knows it’s there... The animals are able to sense this thing coming hours before it attacks.” Weeks passed on the counter as they tracked the beast’s movements before Frank paused it again. Pointing to the newest blue dot he asked, “It’s hard to tell but tha–”
“Warehouse 402...” Morton said with conviction.
“Yes,” Frank replied, beaming. “The one with all those strange claw marks. The werwolf is real.” He thought for sure that would have hooked Morton. The tie between this creature and the Matron seemed clear as day to Frank, but his master slunk back in his chair and his eyes glazed over. Without another word, the henchman gave up on the emotional jumpstart and went back to work at his terminal.
After enduring another two days of his master’s foul mood, Frank decided to try again. “Alright old man! Trade seats.” He smacked the chassis of the exosuit twice, loudly. “Jump on up.”
“What?” Morton replied, half-asleep in his antique wooden chair. As soon as he saw Frank standing next to the giant exoskeleton he said grumpily, “No. I’m done tripping on that stupid cord. I’ll try it again once you get the battery working.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day,” Frank said matter-of-factly.
“Really?” Morton asked with lackluster disbelief.
Frank didn’t want to lie outright, but he was desperate to get his master some physical and emotional exercise, so he didn’t reply at all.
The bossman rolled his eyes and stood up with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.” Grumbling curmudgeonly about tight timetables and prioritizing their efforts, Morton climbed up into the machine and let Frank strap him in. As soon as the roll cage was locked, the smuggler king couldn’t help but smile as he looked down from his improved stature. Just as quickly though, his mood plummeted when he realized the suit had no power. Unable to turn and see Frank, who had walked behind the suit, Mister Morton yelled angrily at him, “Is this hunk of junk ready or not?!”
A few seconds later, the aircraft-style door in the floor opened behind him, and a burst of cool wind rushed in. Frank walked back around and asked in a chipper tone, “You ready?”
“What the hell is this?” Morton yelled, thrashing around in his seat. Panic shot through him—the man he had trusted most, if you could even call a clone ordered from a catalog a man, had finally betrayed him. This would be his end. Lashing out with his most professionally intimidating tone he screamed, “You stupid cur! You think I’m weak?! You think you don’t need me? You’re nothing after I’m gone. Good thing you’ve got my train, because you need to keep running for the rest of your miserable life! You’re nothing without me! Your life’s not gonna be worth diddly-squat anywhere on this planet!”
Having let his master go until he sounded out of breath, Frank remained expressionless as he took two steps forward, put his foot squarely on Morton’s exoskeletal crotch, and kicked him out the door. The train’s shield had been turned off, but the power cord was still attached, so the suit hit the ground once before bouncing against the length of its tether, then slammed repeatedly against the earth as it was dragged beneath the train. They were going slow enough where the cord wouldn’t snap and the roll cage would be enough to absorb the various impacts. Technically, this was the first field test for a new application of their shield technology, which should have kept the dust out of Morton’s eyes, bu
t it hadn’t worked. After letting his master tumble for far longer than it had taken to realize as much, Frank reeled him back in.
Once the bay doors were closed and the shield was turned on, things were quiet. Laying as lifeless as the mech suit he was strapped into, Morton said, “You son of a bitch...” After a much longer pause, he burst into embarrassed laughter. “I needed that.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Stumble and Blunder
Rhodes and Lincoln had already tried hijacking a few enemy vehicles in hopes of using onboard computers to find an enemy base of operations or something similarly useful, but had learned that poachers were diligent about boobytrapping their equipment. Each time they tried and failed, the dynamic duo picked up a few new tricks, and they were ready to try again. The goal was to catch a convoy in transit so they could keep the computers running, but since they couldn’t match the electrified vehicles’ top speeds on foot, they had to board while the enemy was either starting, stopping, or making a really sharp turn.
Traveling along the northern rim of some vast desert flatlands, they came to a point where six ancient rivers must have once met. Hoping the poachers were using the natural depressions as highways, Rhodes and Lincoln concealed themselves on some convenient high ground to watch. After less than a day of waiting, a full convoy of carriers zoomed through one of the troughs and slowed to turn through the shallow central bowl before exiting out the other side, which was perfect. Another caravan came the very next day. It was smaller than the last one—only two cargo carriers with no escorts, which they counted as a blessing.
Sacrificing good cover so they would be running at full speed alongside the carriers at their slowest, they leapt onto the back of the rear one. They didn’t think they had been noticed as they climbed onto the roof and the two-car convoy got back up to full speed. Slowly, the lead carrier began coasting to the right before suddenly dropping back. A man popped out from the roof-hatch and started firing at them with a large blaster rifle.
Under the Shadow of the Plateau: Frontier Forever Page 21