Disclamier: I have never, nor do I currently own the Biker Mice From Mars. Pity.
Those Who Wander
Three Martian mice and a comparatively small human stood at the very edge of Chicago's famed Quigley Field. Not in anticipation of a soon to be played game, as one, it was night, and two, the Nubs had an unbroken record of glorious losses as it was. No this was an anticipation born of a certain aging freedom fighter, a seasoned veteran who had trained these mice into adulthood and had called them just three nights previous, asking, in his own self-assured way, to help him return a favor.
His former apprentices, now hero's in their own right, had been more than willing to lend a hand. Especially since a good fight was sure to be on the menu.
The call from Mars had come as a surprise, and a welcome one when compared to the third rate movie they had been watching at the time. Stoker had been his usual cocky self, flirtatious with Charley, but the bikers had not spent so much time in his company not to know something was up even as he joked.
So here they were. Standing on the dry grass covering the field below their scoreboard home at midnight, bikes to their left, a freezing mechanic to their right, waiting for their old mentor and his new friend to descend from the clear sky above. Only Charley seemed to be anxious about the potential of a Martian spacecraft crashing yet again into Quigley's target of a scoreboard.
"So what was this guy's name again?" she asked, hopping up and down against the cold, hands cupped to her mouth.
"Uh, Creet, Clout..." Vinnie struggled, eyes plastered to the sky.
"Creed." Throttle and Modo corrected.
"Whoever he is, he's got a lot of guts flying around with one of you guys." The mice stared at her.
"Oh, come on, even you guys have to admit, Freedom Fighters don't exactly have the best reputation when it comes to landings around here. I just hope they don't ruin the ship. Another set of mouths to feed is the last thing I need."
Throttle let out a soft chuckle, and with it a light puff of white air into the cold night. "I suppose fair's fair Charley-girl. But in this case, I don't think Chi-town's gonna get another fireworks show. From what Stoker said, they guy hasn't even been on Mars since before the war. Besides, it's his ship, and I doubt he'll let anyone else behind the wheel."
"Let's hope not. So if he hasn't been on Mars then how did Stoker meet up with him, much less owe the guy a favor?"
"Kids' a medic or something, patched up Stoker a few weeks back after that run in with the Plutarkian's. Talk about lucky breaks, the guy was tracking down his own set of stink fish and ran across the rattling piece of metal coach likes to call a ship."
"Thing's fast as a snail uphill and has more problems then we've given ol' lard butt." Modo put in.
"At any rate, he stayed long enough to patch up Stoker, then lit on out of there before they caught each others names. Then, a few days ago, contacts Martian FF, asking for the 'aging, foul-mouthed degenerate' who piloted a rust bucket named the Red Lady. Not like Carbine couldn't figure that one out in three seconds flat."
"And Mr. Medic was in a hurry because...?" Charley continued to prompt, annoyed still with her friends for not including her in the conversation they had with Stoker three nights ago.
It wasn't that they were trying to exclude her. Well, yes, maybe they were, but in a 'we care about you and don't want you to get involved and therefore hurt' sort of way that made her want to simultaneously hug and kick their tails respectively.
In the end she was forced to resort to common blackmail, swearing to make them fix their own bikes for the next six months before they finally relented. Of course, they didn't give in until she had promised not to try and 'get in' on the fighting, and even then the information they volunteered had been sketchy at best. She had a sneaking suspicion they had waited until tonight to tell her anything of value so she wouldn't have the time to formulate a plan to join them. Hence, her bike was back at the garage, along with her biker babe riding suit. Damn them.
"it's what I'd...Charley-ma'am, Charley-ma'am?" Modo repeated, looking over to his friend.
Charley mentally slapped herself. "Sorry Modo, lost in thought. You were saying?"
"Ah, only tha' if it were my sis' taken by them fish face, I'd be haulin' tail so fast they wouldn't know what hit 'em."
"I'm sorry, but 'sis'? When did a 'sis' come into the equation?" She asked.
"Geez Charley-girl, you bug us all day and now your all space cadet. What gives?" Vinnie complained.
"Will you guys give me a break and answer the question." She retorted, looking to Throttle for help. Reluctantly, he complied.
"The word is they took his sister six weeks ago during an relief trip to the refugee colonies on Alston Six. Wish I knew the guy's information source, because somehow he got word what ship she was put on and it's schedule t' boot. Not exactly easy. The Stench Carrier's doing some kind of planetary tour or the like, and it just happens to be passing by Earth tonight with a limited shield transference." He explained, taking a more comfortable seat on his bike, noticing how his human friend's brows furrowed in confusion.
"Shield transference?"
"Stench Carrier's usually house the higher ups, so they have tighter security. Their ship's shields block incoming transporter access, unless their orbiting a planet. Something about magnetic fields. Anyway, it's why they tend to stick to deep space. Wonder what's up with this trip of their's. Not exactly routine." he mused.
"Yeah, high rankers usually need a damn good reason to risk their scaly hides out in this big bad universe." Vinnie added. Modo nodded his agreement as he searched the sky.
Still empty.
"You know guys," Charley began cautiously, "if your going after a little girl it might be a good idea to have me along. She may not take to you rough and tumble bikers."
Throttle shook his head. "But I'm sure she'd take to her brother just fine. Nice try Charley-girl, but Stench Carrier's are dangerous places, and too many things can go wrong in them."
"But..."
"Besides," he continued, "this is probably more of a run to ease the kid's conscious than anything else."
That took the mechanic by surprise. "What do you mean?"
"Plutarkians ain't exactly famous for keepin' prisoner's alive Charley-ma'am" Modo explained softly.
"Coach survived his stint in the labor camps on the merit that he had caused so much trouble for the stink fish, they wanted him to pay for it. Plutarkians keep labor camps for one purpose, and that's to cause pain for the prisoners. They certainly don't need the labor force. A young girl would would be no use to them. She wouldn't stand a chance. Best case scenario they sold her to traders on their way here. If that's the case, he'll probably never find her."
Charley stared incredulously. "So what your saying is your going up there just so this Creed can say his goodbyes?"
"That's pretty much the long and short of it Charley-girl." Throttle answered. Charley didn't miss how he averted his gaze, nor the change in his voice.
She was in the beginning of a retort, but bit her tongue. Tendencies to be fun loving and even childish at times overshadowed the reality of what her friends were behind it all. They were war veterans, with all the pain and scars war often brings.
Occasionally, like the time with Hard Rock, their past would come crashing to the surface, and for a moment she would see just how deep the scars within them ran. Considering this, she supposed she could understand their desire to help one of their own achieve a kind of closure. After all, she wasn't entirely sure they had had the same chance. She let out a deep sigh.
"You guys really are something else."
They all turned and grinned at her in clear agreement.
Modo cleared his throat.
"Whether the little lady is up there or not, their cuttin' it close, don't ya think? We're gonna have t' fly like bat's outta hell once they get 'ere, and Limburger ain't exactly famous for bringing out the welcomin' committee." he declared, shifting on his feet.
"At least not the friendly kind. But say no more Modo, cause speaking of flying, here they come!" Vinnie shouted, pointing to the white lights heading toward the worn baseball field.
The ship descended at a rate that alarmed Charley, and she noticed with a little twinge of satisfaction that even the guys' looked a little nervous at the sudden approach. Contrary to her earlier misgivings however, it did not make any moves towards the much abused scoreboard, landing instead in the middle of Quigley field with a rush of cold, ripping wind.
The exit ramp deployed almost immediately upon touchdown, and soon two figures, both standing on either side of a trademark FF cycle, cast tall shadows in the resulting light of the ship's interior. The mice and Charley watched as they descended the ramp.
"Damn kid, your going to give this old soldier a heart attack flying like that. Won't be any use to you if I'm dead." It was a voice more than familiar to the biker mice, like slipping into an old comfortable shoe. Stoker's face came into focus, his hair lighter than it had been the last time they had seen him, but his features losing none of their subtle authority.
"All talk and no substance? I'm disappointed Mr. Stoker." The second voice contrasted with the first, unfamiliar and with a touch of arrogance. The taller mouse beside their coach looked amused, the lean frame beneath his long black coat making him look even taller than his was, which Charley guessed was about Throttle's height.
"Get off your high horse junior, with the way you fly, I'm beginning to think staying on Mars full time ain't such a half-assed idea after all..."
"I'm sure General Carbine will be just thrilled to hear it sir." came a third voice. Modo's heart gave a lurch.
"Rimfire boy, that you I hear?"
"Uncle Modo!" The shorter mouse abandoned his own cycle and came sprinting down the ramp past the other two, launching himself at Modo and playfully tackling him to the ground.
"The kid just shows up everywhere with you doesn't he Stoke?" Throttle chuckled, punching Stoker lightly in the gut. Stoker grinned and reciprocated the gesture, moved onto Vinnie, and was soon in a wrestling match with all four of his 'kid's'.
Charley shook her head in bemusement and skirted around the flaying bunch to the dark gray mouse who stood watching the scene in confusion.
"They always greet each other this way." She explained, holding out her hand. "I'm Charley."
He glanced over, and for a brief second she felt him study her, before he took her hand in a surprisingly gently grip. "Creed." he said simply, before turning back to the group, who looked as though they were beginning to finish up their hello's.
He none to subtly cleared his throat. "Excuse me."
Throttle picked himself off the ground and dusted himself off as the others disentangled themselves from the mess they had become. "Sorry about that. Sorta a ritual for us. Names' Throttle." He offered his hand.
Creed shook it quickly. "Yes. And your Vinnie, Modo, and Charley. Stoker and Rimfire filled me in on the way here." he said, nodding to each, before turning to Stoker. "We're wasting time. The Carrier will be moving out of range soon."
The others stared after him.
"Would it kill him to say 'hi, I'm Creed, thanks for helping me out'?" Vinnie demanded, staring down the gray mouse's back as he moved towards Stoker's bike, placing a worn duffel bag on the seat before swinging his leg over the back.
Stoker looked to the others and shrugged. "Kid's preoccupied. So, you boy's ready to go or not?"
"Did you doubt?" Throttle quipped as he mounted his bike, his bro's not far behind. "What do you say guys? Let's Rock..."
"And Ride!"
They left in the dust a rather disgruntled Charley, whose memory of the dark gray mouses' incredulous expression as the group pulled away was eventually going to put at least one smile on her face for the evening. Something told her she wasn't the only odd duck in the group tonight.
Speaking of.
She shook her head ruefully. "Looks like I get clean up, yet again." she thought, heading back up to the scoreboard where a table full of medical supplies stood patiently waiting.
Reviews most welcome.