When I get back to Browntown, I go straight to the town marshal, but half the damn town is already there, bitchin’ and hollerin' about how bad things are getting. But I manage to push my way on past the lot of them. Marshal Carson sitting there, trying to look busy at his workstation but we all know he don’t really do shit, pretty worthless really, and that’s how I like ‘em, except in this particular case, “Carson, where did they take Padre, I know you got access to that info?”
The marshal is an aging heavyset guy with equally aging cybernetic implants, mostly drinks all damn day and hands out court summons to local folks, he ain’t shaved his scruffy chin in damn near two weeks either, “now, ya know I ain’t supposed to be tellin’ that information and such to the regular citizens.”
So, I cross my arms and lean on his refrigeration unit, letting him know I ain’t planning on leaving until I gets the info I want. I hear some foolish folks talking about a rebellion across the lobby. What a bunch of idiots, the only thing they are gonna get themselves into is a damn grave. Even worse, our local marshal isn’t even trying to discourage that nonsense.
“But, uh, but it’s not some kinda state secret or nothin’ so I figures it can’t hurt nothing if I tells ya,” Marshal Carson says to me as he scratches under his scruffy chin, “United Systems troopers are holding Reverend Jo at the detention center in Bigville. They are going to move him to Thunderbird tomorrow at 6:00 in the morning for the initial hearing of his charges. But, uh, you ain’t fixin’ to do nothing foolish, now are ya, son?”
Seeing how I don’t feel in the mood to be explainin’ things right now, I head on out of there now that I got what I wanted. Bigville detention center is a tough nut to crack, and the Thunderbird facility is straight-up military, it’s lookin’ like my best chance is to hit them enroute to Thunderbird, but this might could be my worst idea yet; a damn good way to get locked-up or dead. These troopers ain’t playin’ no more but I ain’t got anyone else left. Reverend Jo is all I got. My brother got himself shot in a saloon fight in Bigville when I was 12, mom drank herself to death after dad was killed in a mining accident.
So, later that night I’m lying there on my sofa, drinkin’ cheap whiskey straight out the bottle. I guess some folks like it in glass with ice. Maybe I should let the legal system work things out with the Reverend? Naw, I don’t trust nothing about this situation, I think they are fixin’ to make an example of ol’ Jo and I can’t let this stand. So, I makes up my mind to do something about it, or might possibly die trying… I don’t much like the sound of that though. Even if I pull this off, the troopers are gonna hunt me hard or might even put a bounty on my head. I’ll be on the run for a spell, I figures, even if this works. Things are ‘bout to get hot.
Despite myself, I manage to pass out, and even more miraculously, I manage to wake up early enough to ride out to the far side of Bigville, way out to Tycon Junction, this is the best place to hit ‘em, backup will be too far in every direction to make it there in time, assuming I ain’t got X’s in my eyes by then.
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To level my odds, I stopped off at the Tycon Junction Communication Relay Station and kind of blew it up with one of my mining detonators. Some of the folks that live way out here won’t be too happy about that, but what can I say, I’m sorry y’all. Satellites aren’t too reliable on Blasted Lands because of the proximity to Forsaken, it disrupts them, so we rely on relay stations here.
Far off in the distance, I see the armored hover-transport, cruising across the desert morning, I got Forsaken to my back to give me any kind of edge or advantage and make it harder for them sons-a-bitches to see me coming.
I lets 'em pass on by, as I lay in wait behind some rocks, see, then I approach directly from behind. They are going fast, about 250 kilometers per hour, but my hoverbike is faster. “Deadeye, you take control when I let go and follow behind.”
“Yes of course, BC, please try not to get killed, I don’t think anyone else will do maintenance on me.”
Just a little closer and I almost grab the latch, but then they start accelerating, probably because I set off a proximity sensor. That’s ok, Deadeye is still faster, so I catch up and match their speed. I figure they won’t open the hatch, but if I climb on top, I’m betting they will. It’s likely a two-person team, driver and guard, that guard will open up and try to shoot me.
Reaching, reaching, I finally get my hand on the latch! It’s locked of course, but I kick off of my hoverbike and climb aboard, right about now, they are trying to call for backup, but it won’t do ‘em no good. They got no signal, courtesy of yours truly.
No one opens up right away, so I shoot the comes transceiver full of holes. It’s an armored hover vehicle so my pistol can’t do much to it other than that, other than try to hang underneath it and pry off a panel and start shooting important relays. If they was smart, they would just sit tight inside, but pride is the downfall of a many and I figure their pride will call for them to open up to try and shoot the hell outta me.
Turns out, I figured right, he pops open that hatch but I grab the rifle so he can’t shoot me. He has some military grade body armor and my pistol won’t do a whole lot, unless… So, I shove my pistol into the junction of his body armor where his helmet meets his neck and I start blasting him until he goes limp and falls off, tumbling to the ground.
Inside, in heavy-grade military grade wrist restraints is the Reverend Jo, and they says, “what are you doing, Black Crow? They are going to kill you, because you probably just killed a trooper.”
“Yeah, good to see you too, and you’re welcome, Jo, so let’s get the hell outta here, I ain’t got time for one of your philosophical debates, I figure there won’t be a fair trial, this is a political move, they are going to kill you.” as I help them up, and the transpost is slowing down, stopping or turning around to back to the trooper taking a dirt nap.
“Yes, I calculate a 91 percent chance you are correct” says Jo, reluctant to admit I’m right, “you are one crazy human, although your bravery, or stupidity cannot be denied. But I am thankful, Black Crow.”
Deadeye pulls up close enough for us to jump on, Jo behind me, we race over to the trooper in the dirt, grab the security key to Jo’s restraints as the transport is coming ‘round on us. But too late because we are hauling ass full throttle across the red skies and deserts of Blasted Lands.