Surprise! I'm still alive! And here's an update! I'm so sorry this took so long...as an avid reader of fanfiction myself, I know how much it sucks when someone takes 82 decades to update. So I'm hoping readers will forgive me and come back and read this...and let me know what you think of the story so far! I don't bite!
Torn was still getting used to the thick goggles that kept sand out of his eyes, but the bandana around his nose and mouth was familiar. He'd done a lot of missions in the sewers, after all.
Damas had tasked him with leading a recon mission to the west of Spargus, where a large but meagre camp of scavengers was living. Whether they were cast-offs from Marauder bands, Spargan exiles, or just possibly members of the far-flung tribes to the south of which even Damas knew little, these people were probably just trying to survive-which meant they might be desperate enough to raid comparatively prosperous Spargus.
Torn and three others would be heading out to see if they could discern their plans, and how much of a threat they might be.
And the commander knew that just because he wasn't in the arena didn't mean this wasn't a test.
They were taking two of the Dune Hoppers out, in case they needed to escape trouble fast. And in case they needed to launch some grenades.
"Equipment's strapped down, boss," said Baz, who was driving with Torn. He was climbing behind the wheel, goggles over his eyes. Messy brown hair was mostly covered by a blue bandana, and a matching one covered his face.
"Fairel? Flynn?"
"Same here, Torn. Wait, not quite," said Flynn, a wiry woman glaring at her partner with exasperation. "Fairel, I swear to the Precursors, how many times have I told you how to fit out a Hopper?"
Fairel grunted, readjusting the straps holding down a tool kit in the second buggy's back compartment. Then he climbed into the passenger seat with no comment.
"Well, we've got the big lug loaded," said Flynn, hopping into the driver's seat. "Ready to head out when you are."
"Baz, you know where we're headed?" Torn asked.
"'Course I do. Like I told you, been scouting these parts for years now."
They pulled out of the garage and into the desert, still dark and chilly before the dawn.
"Your first time out of the city since you got here, right boss?" Baz called over the noise of the engine.
"Yeah, so I have no fucking idea how to navigate out here," Torn replied, going for honesty instead of false confidence. "How the hell do you find anything when it all looks the damn same?"
Baz laughed.
"I should tell you about the time Damas had to send out a rescue party for me because I got lost while scoping out a Marauder base. He wasn't happy."
"At least he didn't lose a scout."
"True enough," Baz said. "But you wanna know how I find my way around? Look straight up."
Torn craned his neck as he looked, then pulled off his goggles.
"I've never seen so many stars."
"Not if you're from Haven, you haven't. The stars and the sun are the only constants out here-everything else is always shifting. So those are what you'll learn, if you stay out here."
"They're beautiful."
"Yeah. Seems less like a shithole out here now, don't it."
"Maybe," Torn said, lips twitching.
"Good. We'll be there in an hour and a half-taking the long way round the camp to higher ground. It's quicker in a straight line, but it ain't like we're going to pay a visit."
The ramshackle enclave was close to Spargus-and nothing else. There weren't an abundance of permanent settlements in the Wastelands, but they did exist. However, none of those were close to the city, so these people couldn't have just pitched camp close to home. They had moved this way on purpose.
Mostly, the place seemed to be made up of tents, pitched with heavy canvas that keep the worst of the wind and storms out. They were simple to put up and take down, and could easily be rolled up and hung on the sides of pack animals or cars.
"Probably about 50 people," Flynn said, looking through binoculars. Perched behind the camp on a high sand dune, they hadn't yet been seen by any of the settlers.
Torn gestured for the binoculars, then stared for a long moment.
"No children, no elderly. These aren't refugees. Could they be Marauders?"
"An offshoot of Marauders, maybe," said Flynn. "They're too small to be one of the Marauder tribes, and they haven't got the flags we see in the tribal settlements. But they could be a group of misfits that just left a Marauder tribe. Hard to imagine where else they'd come from. The only other people in the Wastelands we know about are the Southern nomads, and they're a long way off. They don't travel this far north, or in large groups like this."
"They've only got two vehicles, and no beasts of burden. So they must be using the cars to carry supplies, while the rest walk? That doesn't scream "well organized" to me," said Torn.
"Since when are bandits well organized?" Flynn asked, amused. "They're kind of the bottom of the barrel. But you're right-that many people would only travel through the desert on foot if they were desperate."
Behind them, Baz made a strangled noise. Torn whipped around.
Fairel was on his knees with a blaster against his temple, held there by a woman in horned armor. She was tall and broad, probably capable of bench pressing Torn and Flynn together. Her lip curled as she surveyed the three standing Wastelanders.
"You think we didn't know Spargus would send somebody? As if you could just stroll out here, take a look at us, and run back to your king."
Torn gritted his teeth. "What do you want?"
"It's not about what I want," she said, smirking. "It's about you doing what I tell you to do. "You're coming back to camp with me, or this one dies."
She shoved the muzzle of the gun against Fairel's temple, making the large Wastelander grit his teeth. He made no sound.
"Don't do anything stupid," Torn said, putting his hands out palm up. "We didn't come out here to fight."
The woman laughed; it was a reedy, whining laugh that made the commander grind his teeth. "Maybe you didn't. But you sure didn't come out here to throw us a fuckin' party.
"Spargus will send more out next time if we go missing," Torn said. "Whatever you're trying to do, putting the city on alert ain't the best move."
"We'll just move up the timeline, then."
"What timeline?"
"The one where we attack Spargus, capture your king, and find out where the Precursor Stone is."
Torn's heart froze in his chest. What the fuck?
"What's the Precursor Stone?" asked Flynn, never taking her eyes off the muzzle against Fairel's head. Baz, though, was watching Torn's reaction.
The woman in the horned armor shrugged.
"Not important to you, since you're never going to see it. Now, you three move. I'll bring up the rear with your friend here."
Flynn and Torn exchanged glances, both seeing resignation in the other's eyes. Even if they were willing to sacrifice Fairel, a gunshot into his brain would alert the rest of the camp that somebody was up on the ridge. For now, the enemy had the upper hand-and they were going to have to go along.
Torn let Baz and Flynn pass in front of him, staying as close as he could to their captor. It looked like it would be about a ten-minute walk to take them all the way to the camp, which meant he had about five minutes to free them before they got too deep into trouble to make a break for it. He just needed one second of distraction, and they could overpower her and get the hell out of here.
They moved down from their lookout in silence for a minute or two. As they walked over a small dune, he let himself stumble, coming to rest on one knee.
"Up," the armored woman barked. "Now."
Torn hadn't survived this long by being slow.
He had a handful of sand tossed in the woman's face so fast that she was still in mid-step when it hit. Fairel took the moment to push away from her and out of the line of fire, while Torn moved in and punched her in the face.
A sickly crunch informed him that her nose was broken, and he took advantage of her distraction to rip the gun out of her hands.
"You son of a-"
Fairel silenced her by slamming his ham-sized fist against her jaw. She was out like a light.
Flynn knelt down, quickly searching their captor for anything useful to take back to Damas. She tossed Torn a communicator, unusually sleek compared to other comms he'd seen out here. Her slim fingers also pulled out a worn, creased piece of paper, but she found nothing else. She gave the paper to Torn with a nod.
"Get to the Hoppers. Move." Torn said, already pushing back up to the buggies. The others moved to follow the order immediately.
There was no other conversation until they had been driving for some time.
"So," Baz called over the desert wind, "what's the Precursor Stone?"
"How the fuck should I know?" Torn asked, trying for a casual tone.
"I saw your face. When she brought it up. You looked like you were gonna pass out."
"Drop it, Baz."
"Torn. You just got to Spargus. Now suddenly you've run into some people willing to attack Spargus for some mysterious rock, and you know what it is they're looking for. Does that not sound suspicious? Maybe I should ask Damas if he thinks so."
Torn ran a hand over his face in frustration, forgetting his bandana. It slipped down, and he got a mouthful of sand.
"Son of a bitch," he yelled, hacking up a lung. "My first impression was right. This place is a shithole."
There was a long pause between the two men, with Torn finishing his coughing fit and Baz focused on getting back to Spargus as fast as possible. Finally, Torn spoke.
"Baz, I'm not trying to hide anything. I'm going to tell Damas what I know when we get back-but I can't tell you. Not until I've talked it over with him, first."
Baz shrugged. "I guess we'll see what happens then, won't we?"
Damas was less than thrilled with the mission report from the beginning. But when Torn mentioned the Precursor Stone, his knuckles went white on his staff. Baz, Flynn and Fareil's gazes darted back and forth between the two men, whose black expressions seemed to reflect each other.
"You three are dismissed," Damas told them when Torn had finished. "I need to speak with the commander alone."
They hustled to the elevator nervously, unwilling to provoke the king further.
"What do you think it is?" Flynn asked quietly, once they were on the way down. Fareil just grunted and shrugged, clearly washing his hands of the whole affair. Baz sighed.
"Whatever it is, it's above our pay grades. What do you say we hit the bar?"
Fareil grunted in assent to that.