Thomas exited the Grand Lexopolis out onto the magnificently designed courtyard, to see the flowing sea of grey jackets and white suits. He let out a deep sigh, happy to finally be done. Thomas had been trapped on an island for ten years with an oaf of a man, Brassus. Thomas’ face had grown out in the last ten years, gaining well defined cheek bones and a square chin. He sported a little peach fuzz that only really was visible under light. His dark brown hair crept closer and closer to his shoulders with each passing day, only kept in shape by the wide brimmed hat he wore.
Thomas fashioned the bronze star to his grey jacket with the pin on the back of the badge. The new jacket’s black trim shone in the sunlight, a shine that was sure to fade in time. Thomas had grown to be quite tall for his age of seventeen, he could see over most of the people on the courtyard. He carried a large grey duffle bag on his back, like a backpack.
As Thomas took his first steps onto that courtyard, the familiar smell of cigarettes breached his nostrils. Thomas turned to his right to see an old man leaned up against the wall next to the door. The old man wore a grey lawman’s jacket, with the badge to boot. The trim on his jacket was so faded it blended with the greys of the jacket. He puffed on a cigarette as he stared at Thomas, making sure to blow the smoke in the direction of the young man’s face.
“Been a long ten years Tombstone,” the old man said to Thomas as he pinched the ember of his cigarette out and removed a pack from one of the pockets on his jacket. The old man shoved the cigarette into the pack as he approached Thomas. The old man slid the pack back into the pocket as Thomas stared back at him. He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“What didn’t they teach you manners on that island?” he said abrasively as he held out his other hand to Thomas. Thomas clasped the man’s hand with his own and shook it as a look of sincerity crossed the old man’s face. A befuddled look formed on the young man’s face as he slowly removed the old man’s hand from his shoulder.
“I’m sorry your mistaken sir, I’m Thomas,” the young man flatly replied before letting go of the old man’s hand and continuing on into the sea of people on the courtyard. As Thomas slipped into the masses, he turned to take one more look at the old man.
“I know who you’re after!” the old man called to Thomas, stopping the young man in his tracks amongst the ever moving crowd of faces and figures. Thomas stared at the old man before he begrudgingly retreated back to him.
“I’m Osman,” the old man said before holding his hand out once more.
“Wanna retry that?” he finished as Thomas again shook the man’s hand. The old man began walking towards the crowds on the courtyard, Thomas keeping in line with him as he walked.
“Brassus said you’re fixed on hunting Wyatt,” Osman said as he removed the pack of cigarettes from his pocket again. The old man was entirely bald, the only hair on his face was a white beard that hadn't been trimmed in ages, particularly his mustache that knotted up and away from his mouth. He was fairly tall, just a hair shorter than Thomas, but his stocky build made him appear bigger than the young man next to him.
“Yea, it was a kid’s dream,” Thomas said to the old man as he pulled a new cigarette from his pack. The old man fumbled around in his pockets for a second before looking to Thomas with the cigarette in his mouth.
“Got a light?” he said as he leaned his head towards Thomas. Thomas looked around for a moment before bringing both his hands around the cigarette.
Thomas’ thumb erupted into a small black flame that he used to light Osman’s cigarette before shaking his thumb and retracting the flames.
“Finally got the hang of that?” Osman asked as he puffed and spew out plumes of smoke. He fished in the pack and grabbed another cigarette before extending it out to Thomas. Thomas lowered his head and pulled the brim of his hat lower as well.
“You smoke?” He asked waving the cigarette in the young man’s face. Thomas raised his hand and declined the cigarette, to which Osman slid it back into his pack before returning that to his pocket.
“Ten years ago, it was a kid’s dream,” Osman began as he continued puffing on his cigarette until the ember burned evenly around the cigarette.
“But today, it’s a fool’s dream,” Osman laughed as he patted Thomas on the back. Thomas sighed and shook his head as he turned back to the old man as they walked through the courtyard. Osman pointed towards the side of the building, and they began heading towards the edge of the courtyard.
“Yea thanks sir, I appreciate your words. As I was gonna say I’m not chasing another lawman, I know there’s no legality behind it,” Thomas said to the old man as he stopped walking with him.
“I’ll catch you around Osman,” he said before attempting to turn away into the crowds. Osman grabbed the young man by his arm, squeezing him so tight Thomas instinctively tried to pull away.
“He ain’t a lawman, not since ten years ago,” Osman said coldly as he stared Thomas in the eyes. Thomas’ eyes danced with excitement; his whole body began to shake with glee. For ten years on that island, he had used his hatred for Wyatt to survive. He had harbored and fermented such a deep rage within him directed at that man. It was all that he had clung to most nights, for weeks on end all he could think about was killing Deadeye Wyatt.
“Are you hunting him?” Thomas muttered, it was all he could muster, his voice shaking with suspense as he did. Osman could hear the rage deep behind the suspense and excitement in his voice. The old man nodded and turned back towards the courtyard heading around the building and continued on, Thomas followed without saying a word.
The two headed on through the courtyard as it winded around to the back of massive building. In the colossal shadow of the sphere was a giant hangar filled with all sorts of different rotorcades and similar vehicles.
“The war in the Far East has gotten a lot worse, the Confederation is buying as many blueprints as they can get their hands on. They’re selling them to corporations who are mass producing ‘civilian’ models” Osman said holding his hands up to make air quotes as he smoked. As they neared the massive hangar, Osman again pinched the ember out of his almost finished cigarette.
“I got a Stinger over in Bay 6,” he continued as he removed his pack of cigarettes and shoved the unlit cigarette back into the pack. He pointed towards a large hangar with a giant white ‘6’ on the wall, housing a small aircraft.
The vehicle parked there reminded Thomas much of the rotorcades he had often seen flying over the island. Yet this vehicle, the Stinger, was much smaller than any rotorcade he had ever seen. The rear rotor blade was attached to a black rubber material that allowed it to fold up and over the blades to rest on top of them, condensing the size of the long tail. The Stinger also sported eight bug-like legs that jutted out across the chassis, lowering it just above the ground. It had two little wings each with two small jet turbines under each wing. Four small rotor blades topped the chassis of the Stinger. The craft leaned on its legs so that one side of the vehicle was inches above the ground and the other was meters up.
“That there is a civ model, I hear the ones they use in the Far East are armed to the teeth,” Osman said to Thomas as the two approached the massive hangar.
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to get my hands on one of those bad boys, I bet they tear each other up with those, aha ha-ha.” Osman laughed as he walked to the door on one side of the Stinger. He opened it up and slid the backseat down, revealing a large storage area in the back of the chassis. Within the storage area was another large grey duffle bag, Osman held his arms out to Thomas who unstrapped his bag and tossed it to the old man. Osman threw Thomas’ bag into the storage area and the popped the seat back up into place. The cockpit had four seats in it, two seats in front of the control dashboard and then two behind it. The two seats in front of the control dashboard were on swivels allowing those seated there to rotate and turn to the two seats behind them.
Osman got into one of the two swivel chairs and motioned for Thomas to get into the other.
“Don’t worry, these have a two man cockpit but only require one to operate. The machine does the rest of the work. It’s amazing what’s being done in the world of technology.” Osman said as his eyes beamed. His face formed a large smile as he pushed the biggest red button on the control dashboard, firing up a monstrous roar of an engine. Thomas sat into the chair and closed the small door behind him. He stared out ahead of him out the windshield of the cockpit.
Osman began pushing buttons and sliders, before pulling out a small ‘U’ shaped steering device. On either side of each of the seats to the cockpit were a pair of levers. Osman began pushing and pulling these levers in a back and forth motion, controlling the legs of the Stinger. With pedals at his feet, he stretched the legs out and began the back and forth motion again walking the Stinger slowly out of the hangar.
“These things are designed to be able to land on all terrain, and to be able to walk on it too.” Osman said as he walked the Stinger further out into the courtyard in front of the hangar. A man in a yellow jacket slowly approached the stinger and waved a red flag at the cockpit. Osman watched the man as he continued waving the flag, eventually the man pointed at a small white circle on the courtyard. He put the red flag into his jacket as he did. Osman walked the Stinger over to the white circle and waited for the man’s signal. The man stared at Thomas and Osman for quite some time before quickly brandishing a green flag and waving it at them. Osman flipped a few switches, and the tail began to bend down straight behind the chassis. Slowly the rotor blades began to spin, faster and faster until they were rapidly spinning.
In seconds the Stinger began to lift off of the ground, the legs folding into the chassis as it did. Soon after the Stinger was towering high above the vast city of Palacia. Osman began to lightly push the steering pad forward, lowering the nose of the Stinger. He gingerly pulled the triggers on the back of the steering pad, and with that the roar of the jet engines began and the Stinger began to soar through the sky over Palacia. Within minutes the city was behind them and minutes after that it was out of sight.
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The two men sat in silence for some time, the occasional beeps of the Stinger filling the void. Thomas was surprised at the quietness, normally the deafening spinning of rotor blades make air travel impossible to talk through. He noticed he could not hear anything on the outside, had his eardrums burst? Quickly that thought passed and soon his mind continued racing. Is Wyatt an outlaw? Did he retire? He thought to himself as the Stinger continued ascending further into the sky. The young boy turned to see Osman focused on the view ahead of him, periodically peering down at the many meters and flashing numbers on the control dashboard. Thomas could bear the silence no longer, the questions in his mind continued to pile. Without thinking his mouth shot open.
“So, what happened? Why isn’t Wyatt a lawman?” Thomas spat out. His hands shooting above his mouth as he did. Osman turned and stared at Thomas as the young man removed his hands from over his mouth.
“Woah I can hear in here; I didn’t think it was actually quiet.” Thomas said to the old man as he looked around in the craft.
“Pretty cool huh. They got this material in between the frames that stops sound from getting in or out.” Osman said as he stared ahead as the Stinger soon began to pass over the rolling hills of green. Thomas saw the mountains far off in the distance, noticing that they surrounded the lands like a magnificent wallpaper across the horizon. They all seemed so massive and out of reach.
“As for Wyatt, I gave the Assembly an ultimatum. I had dirt on him. They tried to call my bluff, but I exposed Wyatt. I’ve been hiding and hunting him since. If any of the Sheriffs had found out I was in Palacia they’d a been all over me aha-ha” Osman laughed as he controlled the Stinger.
“Don’t you worry boy, if we turn in Deadeye Wyatt there’s no way they can do anything, too many eyes on us for the government to act.” Osman said to the young man. He removed a cigarette from his jacket pocket and put it in his mouth. He flipped a switch on the dashboard and leaned back in his chair before turning to Thomas and leaning the cigarette out to him.
“Light.” Thomas lit the cigarette with his thumb again at Osman’s request. Osman laughed before leaning back in his chair and smoking. Thomas held his hand over his mouth as the smoke slowly filled the cabin.
“Boy you better get used to the smoke or get to smoking real quick.” Osman coldly said as he continued to puff on the cigarette. He removed a small ash tray from a compartment underneath the dashboard. He set it between the two before offering Thomas a cigarette from his pack again. Thomas took the cigarette and placed it in his mouth before lighting it with his thumb, as Osman watched.
“Brassus told me you couldn’t do much with the Blackfire yet, but tell me, is that all you got?” Osman asked as he watched the boy shake the fire out of his thumb. Thomas looked back to the old man with brow burrowed into his eyes almost hiding them as he looked down. He pulled the brim of his hat lower in an attempt to further hide his eyes.
“For right now, yea” he said back flatly. The sound of defeat rang in his voice.
“I can go crazy with it when I’m mad but there’s no control. All I can control is small parts of my hands.” Thomas continued as his head drooped lower towards the ground. Osman looked at the young boy as he flicked the ash off the end of the cigarette into the ashtray.
“Don’t worry kid, I know a way to get you in control.” Osman said as he slowly began to turn the steering pad. The Stinger began to slowly turn until it was parallel with the coastline.
The two men sat in silence as the Stinger flew along the coastline, both silently puffing on their cigarettes. It was the first cigarette Thomas ever smoked. He easily inhaled the smoke, amazed at how easy it went down. He began to feel a slight buzz take over his body, causing him to get slightly dizzy as he smoked. The young man looked out the windshield at the ocean to his left and the landmass to his right. He took note of the compass in the center of the dashboard, they were headed northeast.
“So, where are we headed?” Thomas asked as he finished his cigarette. He pushed the lit end into the bottom of the ashtray and made sure it was out before leaving it in the small tray. Osman took one last puff of his smoke before putting his out in the ashtray as well.
“The Near East.” Osman quickly replied as he removed another cigarette from his pack. The old man placed the cigarette in his mouth before removing a small lighter from a drawer in the dashboard.
“There’s a little village in the Spice Kingdoms. I know a shaman there who’s dealt with your sort of situation before.” Osman continued as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag. Thomas turned to him confused.
“What are the Spice Kingdoms?” Thomas asked as he watched the old man continue to drag on the cigarette.
“You’ll see when we get there,” Osman said as he blew out a large plume of smoke. He took the cigarette from his mouth and held it between his fingers as his hand began to rest on the armchair.
“First we gotta stop at a place not far from here, maybe thirty minutes tops.” Osman said as he returned the cigarette to his mouth before grabbing the steering pad and sitting back up in his chair. He began to slowly descend the Stinger, still keeping high above the ground but ever so slowly descending.
Thomas stared out the window at his side, peering over massive green forests and fields. He could see every township and its surrounding development and then wilderness, back into another developing area into another township. The constant rise and fall of civilization amazed Thomas. These towns were minutes away by flight, but distant enough on foot to have developed separately.
“What country are we over?” Thomas asked excitedly as he continued gazing out the window.
“Ampia, The Ampian League rule the lands for the Danerins.” Osman replied as he began to tilt the steering pad upwards straightening out the Stinger. Thomas looked beneath them and saw a small village with its surrounding farms.
“The Ampian League is an alliance of smaller republics, isn’t it?” Thomas asked Osman as the old man began to push buttons and slides on the control dashboard, slowly starting the final descent of the craft.
“Yea, it’s a quiet country. It’s famous among lawman and soldiers, tons of ‘em retire here every year.” Osman said as he put out the cigarette he was smoking.
“We gotta stop farther up for fuel, but there’s someone here who I assume you’d want to say goodbye to,” he finished as the Stinger began to pass over a small town on the coast. Osman pushed a button on the dashboard and the landing legs began to fold out beneath the chassis as the Stinger stopped moving forward. The craft began its descent towards the small town.
The Stinger’s rotor blades began slowing their rapid spinning. The rotor blades on the tail finished first and the whole tail began to fold upwards towards the center of the main rotor blades. The tail made a perfect sized loop for the main rotor blades to continue spinning. As the tail finished folding, the jets began turning off. As the jets stopped spinning, the Stinger began rapidly descending into the small farm town, landing in a small vacant field not far from the town square. It lowered itself so that one side was angled up from the ground, while the other sat just inches above the grass. Thomas and Osman opened the door on the lower side and jumped out onto the grass around them.
“Brassus lives not far beyond that town, I figure he’d like to know you passed, follow the coastline and you’ll find his property.” Osman said as he pointed to the small town in front of them. He pulled his pack of smokes from his pocket and removed himself a cigarette.
“I’ll wait here but don’t think that means you can take your sweet time, we got hunting to do.” Osman finished as he lit the cigarette and leaned back against the Stinger. Thomas nodded at the old man and set off towards the town.
He approached the small town to see a couple of farmers heading towards him. They wore patchwork clothes, sewn together from the best parts of whatever old clothes they had. It was clear to Thomas instantly, that the town was impoverished. The two farmers that neared Thomas had wily and unkempt heads of hair, and they sported matching facial hair. One held a pitchfork, its metal blades badly rusted, and the other held a small sickle in no better condition.
“Who are you?” one of the farmers called out to Thomas as he approached them.
“Ain’t nothing in this town worth a lawman’s time, we’re good folk out here,” the other called out. They’re accents made it hard to here the spaces in their words, as they lingered on each word before starting the next.
“I’m not here on business, sorry for the scare, strictly a personal visit today gentlemen,” Thomas said reassuringly as he came close to them. He walked past them and continued on as the two men tried to decide between pursuing him or heading on towards the Stinger.
“My partner is back there at the Stinger; you can go voice all your concerns to him.” Thomas called back to the men as he neared the town. Thomas’ walk had turned into a stroll, his excitement bleeding out into each of his movements.
Though it had been less than a week since he last saw Brassus, it had felt like a lifetime to Thomas. When they had said their goodbyes they had planned on them being the last for a long time. Thomas’ smile reached from ear to ear, so giddy he jumped with every step.
For ten years Brassus had raised Thomas on a small, isolated island. They were the only inhabitants of the island, besides the occasional training partners Brassus arranged to come to the island for periods of time. He trained Thomas in hand to hand combat, how to read, manners, the code of law, how to enforce said law, and so on. Brassus had passed all of his knowledge onto Thomas, from what it meant to be a man to what was legally acceptable on a battlefield.
Brassus wasn’t a lawman, he had never been one. But he had worked alongside some of the best lawman in the world. Brassus was a career soldier, rising to the rank of Sergeant Major before transferring to the command world and becoming Chief of Armed Forces. Brassus retired shortly before Thomas’ accident in Palacia. His last assignment was to train the boy, one he felt he fulfilled to the best of his capability.
After finally retiring, Brassus moved to a small farm he owned in Ampia. The farm had been in his family’s hands for generations, since long before the formation of the Ampian League or even the Danerin Confederation. He worked this small farm every day, often reminiscing on his younger years, wishing he had moved to his farm sooner when it would have been easier to work. Yet every day he still rose and worked his small farm. He let his chickens roam, fed his horses, and watered his crops all before the sun rose. By Half Day, his cattle would be roaming his field and he’d be baling hay. Till sundown Brassus would toil away with the hay, baling it before stacking the bales into a five meter tall stack.
Brassus was just finishing letting his cattle into the field when he felt a warm familiar presence. Brassus latched the gate closed and turned to see Thomas Stone leaning against the fence to Brassus’ property.
“I guess they let anyone become a lawman these days,” Brassus said as he shambled over to the young man.
He and Thomas shared a laugh before Brassus motioned Thomas to the small gate in the fence around the property. Thomas let himself in and swiftly ran to Brassus scooping the big old man into a bear hug. Brassus hugged the young man back, squeezing as tight as his old muscles would let him. He set Thomas back down as he began to let go of his hold of Brassus. Brassus motioned towards his small house and began shambling towards it, Thomas right behind him.