Macross Fan Fiction ❯ Honor Against Invid ❯ The Ride of the Protoculture Kid ( Chapter 6 )

Ol' Mort, drunker than hell, managed to stumble out of Sally' s Saloon. The bright mid-morning sun blazed in his eyes, so he lowered the brim of his bowler hat to deflect the glare from himself and his happy mood. From inside the saloon, the soft melancholy beats of Yellow Dancer drifted through the air. Leaning against the door railing, Ol' Mort sobbed tenderly, "That always was my favoritest song. So sad." Grabbing a handkerchief, he blew his nose.

That's when he saw the two cyclones parked in front of the saloon.

His eyes went wide and he blinked hard to make sure he really was seeing them. But there was no mistaking the lean compact forms of cyclones. Oddly enough, there was some kind of mini-camper type box rigged to the rear of the black cyclone.

Ol' Mort hugged the sides of the door railing hard, his eyes feverishly glancing up and down the street. "Robbies," he muttered, "There are robbies here." He scampered down the wooden sidewalk, tripping more than once, all the while yelling, "Sheriff! Sheriff!"

From beneath the rim of the camper, Josen peered curiously at the slovenly man racing down the sidewalk.

As Tonchy was being marched towards the old gnarled tree, the band started playing. Though the band consisted of a bass drum, a trombone, a trumpet, and a flute, there was enough semblance to music for a little old bitty of a woman, dressed in a sharp black dress, to start screeching out some church hymns. Most of the townsfolk of Yaggerstown didn't seem to mind or even notice the band, but Jace did. From his nearby perch atop the blacksmith's shop, Jace watched the slow progression of Tonchy, thankful that he had his helmet on to help deaden the noise of the band. I'd rather listen to Minmei, Jace thought with sly humor.

Then, the comm in his helmet buzzed. "Stromer, report," Kharn ordered.

Jace said, "They're marching him towards the tree. Two guards are beside him, the other is near the APC." He peered over the townsfolk, at their docile muted faces, as if they had watched this particular spectacle more than a few times. "The crowd looks excited," Jace sadi dryly.

"Are you ready?"

Jace re-checked the rifle attachements to his Gallant H-90. He positioned himself for a good shot at the gnarled tree while still being able to cover most of the courtyard. He centered his sighting reticle, reporting, "I'm ready."

"Remember, we need Tonchy alive," Kharn reminded him.

"Don't worry," Jace reaffirmed, "Do your part and you'll have your nice little distraction."

Ol' Mort banged and careened his way into the sheriff's office. "Sheriff!" he kept yelling.

The Sheriff, a tall, lean wiry man with chiseled features and a crew-cut of black hair, sat at his desk. "Mort, what do you want?" he asked, gathering up some paperwork.

Ol' Mort stumbled over to his desk. "Sheriff, there are robbies in town!" He hiccuped.

"Really," the Sheriff said with an air of having heard similar stories before. He filed the paperwork away in one of his desk drawers. "What makes you think that?" he asked with infinite patience.

Ol' Mort pointed frantically down the street. "There's two of those bike meka thingies outside of Sally's."

The Sheriff didn't look impressed. Ol' Mort kept pointing, his demeanor rapidly becoming exasperated. Between burps, Mort rallied, "C'mon Sheriff! Really, they is. For sure Sheriff! You gotta come."

The Sheriff sighed slowly, then reached for his dusty hat. He got up and said, "Alright Mort, but you'd better be telling me the truth."

"I am, I am, honest," Mort said hurriedly, his nervous drunk eyes glued to the window for any signs of the 'robbies'.

"Fine, but I'll lock you up overnight if this is the same as your encounter with that 'supposed hovertank' that went flying down main street."

"Oh it isn't Sheriff." Mort hustled to the door, waving the Sheriff to hurry up. "C'mon Sheriff! C'mon." He scampered back down the sidewalk.

The Sheriff followed behind him, but paused by the door. Thinking twice about it, the Sheriff grabbed his gunbelt, strapping it on as he followed the merry, but scaqred, Mort back to Sally's Saloon.

The band had stopped playing and the crowd had an unsettling eager glee in their eyes. The two guards marched the bound Tonchy up to the hanging rope. One stood guard whilst the other proceeded to strap the noose around Tonchy's neck. Throughout the whole proceedings, Tonchy remained silent and defiant, glaring over the waiting, hungry crowd of townspeople.

"Don't even bother with reading a sermon or any list of charges," Jace commented. "My, how civil of these people," he remarked sarcastically. He readied his rifle, zeroing in on the noose. "Showtime," he whispered.

Suddenly, a barrel located near the barn behind the gnarled tree exploded, sending cascading waves of violent fire upward. "What the hell?!" Jace exclaimed. Then, just as quickly, a pail beside a watering trough exploded, shattering the trough and splashing nearby onlookers with water.

The hanging party quickly turned to chaos. Scared townsfolk scatttered to the four winds, some even yelling that the Invid were attacking. The three guards assumed readied stances, their rifles searching out for any targets. Smoke and flames filled the narrow courtyard.

"Stromer, what's happening?" Kharn demanded. "What are you doing?"

"It's not me. I haven't done anything," Jace said. Then, he heard a sharp retort and a barrel right below his position, in back of the blacksmith's shop, went up in flames. Jace lowered the blue-tinted face shield of his helmet, gazing around at the confusion and chaos below. "That sounded like a rifle shot," he said to himself. "Ahha, there you are," he murmured, spotting a crouching figure on the far roof of the town's only hotel. Other than the rifle he was using, the only thing Jace could make out about the mysterious shooter was a bowler hat that was adorned with a large, single white feather.

Jace was about to fire upon the mystery sniper, drawing a bead on him with his Gallant H-90 when he heard the appraoch of a galloping horse. Pausing, Jace looked down into the courtyard, seeing the unbelievable. "What is that?" Jace asked as he saw a young man astride a large chestnut-colored horse suudenly burst through the flames and smoke. The youth resembled cowboys of ages past with his dingy white shirt, dirt brown vest, rawhide pants, and a stained white cowboy hat except that dark goggles covered the lad's eyes and long flowing locks of brown hair breezed from beneath his hat.

Whooping and hollering, the young cowboy drew out an energy pistol made up to resemble the revolvers of days gone by. Another explosion heralded his arrival within the courtyard. The three guards, confused by the smoke and the narrow acoustics of the courtyard, couldn't tell from which direction the hollering came from. As a result, Jace watched as the youth swiftly rode into their midst, and with deft marksmanship, quickly shot the rifles out of the guards' hands. While the guards scrambled for cover, Tonchy, who stood mesmerized by the carnage and chaos around him, the scenes awakening the vestiges of the Imperative within him, hopped onto the back of the horse with the assitance of the young cowboy and together, the pair stormed their way from the courtyard.

"You're not going to believe this," Jace said over the comm as Kharn quickly stalked back towards their cyclones. Billowing clouds of dark smoke and bright flames wafted over the rooftops of the buildings, marring the peaceful, contented blue skies. People scrambled around him, but few paid attention to the stern Zentraedi warrior dressed in black CVR-3 armor prowling amongst them.

"Report," Khanr said simply, anger seething within himself. If Tonchy dies before I get to him...he thought morosely.

"There's a sniper on the hotel rooftop using a weapon to detonate explosives hidden throughout this courtyard."

"Sounds like someone was prepared," Kharn observed.

"Exactly. Then, this kid...on a horse...on a godforsaken horse....you know, like those old cowboy movies..."

"Stromer, get to the point," Kharn ordered, picking up his frantic pace, shoving people aside who got in his way.

"Anyhow, this kid rode up on this horse and freed Tonchy. Now, they're both riding away."

"Which direction?" Kahrn wanted to know, the cyclones coming into view. He ran over to them.

"Ummm, northeast, it looks like, possibly back out towards the buttes. Wait a minute...the guards have recovered. They've given pursuit using their APC."

"Get the sniper. I'll get Tonchy." Kharn fired up his cyclone. He said, "Josen, get out. Find cover. I'll be back shortly so stay out of sight." When no response came from the camper, Kharn said, "Josen?" The silence of the camper was deafening over the roar and cries of the frightened townspeople. "Josen," Kahrn said louder as he raised the hood of the camper box.

Except for their supplies, the camper was empty.

An icy needle of fear stabbed through the core of Kharn, an unsettling feeling, one that needed to be dealt with, subsided, subdued for this was the moment of combat, of battle, what a Zentraedi lived, and died, for. But instead, the feeling grew, deepened, rooted itself as Kharn spun around, looking anxiously for his mortal son. "Josen!" he yelled, but his cries were drowned out by the pathetic wallowing of the townspeople who fully expected to die any moment now from a supposed Invid attack. Still, Kharn continued his yelling, "Josen!", failing to find his boy anywhere within the frantic crowds.

"What is it?!" Jace asked, hearing the nervous tones of Kharn's voice.

For a moment, a dreaded moment that stretched forever, Kharn didn't know what to do. His newfound parental feelings, his attachments to his son, screamed for him to race through this town, to bring Yaggerstown to its' knees till he found Josen. But the Imperative, that ancient imbedded doctrine of the twisted Masters, reasserted control.

Putting his helmet on, Kharn straddled his cyclone, gunning the powerful engine. He ordered calmly, his voice holding a twinge of emotion, "Stromer, forget the sniper. Come down here and find Josen. He's vanished. I'll go after Tonchy." Without waiting for a reply, Kharn tore off down the main avenue of Yaggerstown, then veered off down a side street, heading back out into the desert.

Watching the white-feathered bowler hat disappear from sight, Jace made his way down from his won rooftop perch. "Damn it, what have I gotten myself into now?" he muttered, sliding down from the main rooftop of the blacksmith shop to the smaller roof of the shops' storage shed.

His armored boots hit the ground and Jace spun around only to find the Sheriff standing behind him, his guns drawn and aimed at him. The Sheriff's chiseled features were fixated on Jace, his lean wiry build making the Sheriff appear as a wispy shadow of death amidst the carnage of the courtyard. But there was no mistaking the intent or determiantion in his crystal-blue bombardier eyes.

"Howdy," the Sheriff said.

Jace sighed deeply. "Howdy," he said plainly, letting his Gallant H-90 fall to the ground as he raised up his hands.

Up ahead, Kharn spotted the APC. It was doggedly following a thin trail of dust, quickly catching up with it. Two of the guards leaned out of the back of the APC, rifles in hand, and began shooting. Kharn gunned the cyclone forward, its' powerful engine howling in the desert sun. One of the guards noticed Kharn's approach. He started taking pot shots at Kharn. Kharn ducked and weaved, not really concerned over getting hit. Reaching down beside him, Kharn retrieved his Gallant H-90 from it's mounted perch and proceeded to fire at the back of the APC.

Both guards were now focused on Kharn. One kept firing with his rifle, but the other guard went back inside the shrouded cover of the APC. He returned, armed with a Wolverine rifle. He unleashed a steady stream of bursts of fire at Kharn. Kharn dodged more frantically, huge dustclouds swirling around him.

Angered, Kharn hit the toggle switch and within five seconds was armored up in his cyclone. The sight of the black techno-knight unnerved the guards, but they kept up their fire. Kharn ran forward, and engaging his thrusters, leaped forward, angling himself to land as much as possible in front of the speeding APC. The driver, scared to see a cyclone rider land just in front of the APC, swerved largely as a defensive measure. Kharn shot forward, the blade of his left CADS unit shooting out from its' concealed forearm. As the APC swerved by him, Kharn swung the blade across the left side of the APC, puncturing through the armored side and blowing out the wheels. The APC skidded outof control, hit a nearby sandpit, and flipped over as it fell down into the sandy depression.

Satisfied that, for the moment, the prusuit had ended, Kharn switched back to cycle mode and raced off after the fleeing Tonchy.

He didn't have far to go. Once they saw the APC go over, the pair on horseback slowed up as Kharn approached them. He parked his cyclone. "Thanks for the save pardner," the young cowboy said.

Kharn got off. He yelled, "Tonchy!"

Behind the young cowboy, the now unbounded Tonchy narrowed his eyes beneath his mop of grimy black hair over hearing a stranger using his name. Though he was somewhat stout, Tonchy was a seasoned warrior. "Eh, that's far enough," Tonchy said in a gruff voice, prompting the young lad to draw his energy revolver, aiming it at Kharn.

Kharn walked forward, raising the tinted faceplate of his helmet. "Tonchy, it's me," he explained.

Tonchy's eyes widened in surprise, then he issued forth a murderous chuckle. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Kharn," he said.

The young cowboy smiled. "Kharn, you old war dog," he said, "Good to see you again." Using his revolver, he pushed up the brim of his hat, and using his free hand, pushed the goggles up onto his forehead.

Kharn stared at the brash young face, but there was no mistaking those crystal-blue bombardier eyes, the same as his father. "Nathan, Nathan McKain," Kharn stated. "You've gotten better boy," he said, for Kharn had always been impressed by Nathan's bravado, which seemed to have grown larger since Kahrn last saw the boy.

Nathan smiled devilishly. "Yeah, I'd like to show you what all new tricks I can do now old-timer," he said.

Kharn snickered. Yes, same old Nathan, he thought, but Tonchy quickly said, "What do you want Kharn? I am quite busy at the moment you know."

"We need to talk," Kharn said harshly.

"About waht?" Tonchy inquired.

"You know," Kharn said, his eyes holding malice for Tonchy, "Our brothers' final assault on that Invid hive, what really happend that night...why you survived and of what was stolen from us that night."

Tonchy held a grimace of pain and anger. He was just about to answer when Nathan said, "Look," poitning at a an approaching dust trail.

Within minutes, another horse rode up, this one carrying a middle-aged man with dark-tanned skin, wearing dark-colored clothing and a bowler hat with a large, single white feather stuck in it. As he dismounted, Nathan said, "Good job back there Henri."

Henri nodded his appreciation, then said to Kharn with a distinct accent, "You are one of the two strangers new to town."

Kharn nodded slowly, not trusting this stranger, a person he didn't recognize from his previous stay in Yaggerstown although there was much about his previous stay he wished he could forget. "Yes, Henri, he is," Tonchy said, "Kharn here is an old friend, a brother-in-arms, so to speak," he said squinting hard at Kharn.

Henri told Nathan, "The other stranger was captured by the Sheriff."

"What!" Kharn exclaimed. "He's been captured?"

"Yes, I saw it as I left town," Henri confirmed.

"Was there a little boy with him? Was Josen caught as well?" A nervous pit of cold dread welled up inside proud Kharn.

Henri shook his head. "No, no boy. Just the stranger in the blue armor."

Kharn was beside himself, strong compelling feelings ripping him in two different directions. Tonchy murmured, "Josen. Josen is alive. And here."

Nathan looked confused. "Josen? Who is that?" he wondered out loud.

"After your time kid," Tonchy answered. "Here, let me borrow this," he said, reaching around Nathan's waist.

The parental feelings were very strong, a need that Kharn barely understood, but his warrior instincts demanded attention. But he knew that his child was out there somewhere. Josen was not yet a fully trained warrior and though Kharn was confident of the boy's budding abilities, he couldn't help wondering what had become of his boy. "Where are you?" Kharn asked, drifting back towards his cyclone.

"I don't think so old friend," Tonchy said. Kharn spun around to see Tonchy aiming Nathan's other energy revolver at him. "I think we need to talk after all." A twisted glint was in his eyes. "Yes, you can be quite useful to us."

After the smoke and fire died down and the townspeople realized that the Invid were not attacking, they started looking for answers, though it would be quite some time before the posses of guards that went after the fleeing pair returned.

Following a drifting tumbleweed, Josen wandered down a street, trying to catch the elusive weed. Josen didn't like nor trusted the visage of the stumbling drunk that had spotted the cyclones. So, Josen left to warn his father, but had trouble locating him. Then, the explosions and chaos happened, and Josen did what any sensible kid would do: he hid out beneath the wooden sidewalks till the adults quit their running around, all panicky and worried.

Though he had yet to see his father, or Jace, Josen was heading back towards the cyclones when a passing tumbleweed caught his attention. He had never seen anything like it before. The closer he got to it, the more it drifted away from him. Smiling and giggling, Josen chased down the tumbleweed unfettered by the silly adults who were still slightly panicky and worried. They paid Josen little to no attention , except for one.

As Josen continued down the street, a young woman shadowed him, melting into the shadowed recesses of storefronts whenever Josen paused on the street. Thick long dark hair was held in place by a silver-colored headband as she followed Josen about town, wondering exactly what to make of the young boy.