Buck Rogers in the 25th Century: Far Beyond the World

Part XVII - Quick on the Draw

Amidst the blighted plains of Earth's Forbidden zone...

Buck Rogers vomited up fetid lake water onto his chest with a rasping cough, then batted away the tip of the spear pointing between his eyes with his palm, eliciting a snarl of challenge from the robed figure towering over him.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll fight in a second, bub. Just let a guy catch his breath, okay?" he propped himself up on his elbows and dragged in a deep gulp of oxygen.

No rest for the wicked, as per usual, Buck frowned, then dragged himself the rest of the way onto his feet and turned about, surveying the craggy beach surrounding the lake he'd just escaped from. Huh, I think I liked it better back in the depths with the four-eyed sharks...

There was nine of the tall beings, all clad in similar ragged blue robes and jerkins, their faces mostly covered in wrappings that showed just their eyes. And what skin Buck could see around those furious irises was puckered and scarred, discolored in shades of unhealthy greenish-grey.

More mutants, oh yay. These are like those nomadic guys who chased Twiki and me that time I ventured outside of New Chicago, just after I arrived in the 25th Century. They were after Dr. Theopolis for his gold parts. He said something about a black market. Well, if they are organized enough to have a market, then most likely they have a hierarchy of somesort. So perhaps I can negotiate for safe passage, trade them something, or-

The Nomad thrust the spear for his chest, Buck dodged to the side and back, while Twiki ran for cover behind a big rock.

"No need for violence, bub!" glared Rogers, "Howsabout we talk this through-okay, maybe not!" he had switched his tact as two more Nomads came at him from either side. Guess I'm duking my way outa this!

He ducked under a blow from the left Nomad's weapon, an aluminium baseball bat of all things, extremely rusty due to it being five centuries old, but no less formidable. It hummed over his head and Buck drove a punch into the mutant's gut, sending him staggering back gasping, then he sidestepped the swing of a fire axe from the one on the right had stabbed for his stomach, spun and sent a kick for the face of the spear-touting leader, who parried his boot back with an expert spin of his jagged weapon.

"Three against one is what you guys think is fair, eh?" he jeered as he caught the wrist of the axe-wielder and Karate-chopped his throat, stunning him and sending him thumping down onto the beach on both knees.

"You guys need to learn some manners for when you meet new people! Uhh!" the bat had caught him on the shoulder and he grit his teeth in pain, stumbled back, but recovered in time to intercept the leader as he charged him, spear out. Buck weaved to the side and caught the guy by the wrists, kept going with the spin, putting all his strength into it, and sent the Nomad flying head-over-heels into the lake. He landed with a splash.

Instantly, the Nomad with the baseball bat dropped it and headed to his splashing friend's rescue, leaving Buck behind, standing over the third mutant he'd downed. The Nomad tried to stagger back up but Buck whacked him with another Karate-chop, "Stay down, curly."

The mutant fell back down onto his knees and Twiki reached out from behind his rock and zapped him with a charge from his grasper hand. The guy fell to earth, crawling with blue lightning.

Buck looked to the the Nomad playing life-guard and saw that he was nearly waist-deep in the lake now, he'd just reached his friend and was helping him to stand. Then Buck's gaze snapped past them, farther out on the lake, as he'd spotted movement.

"Dammit! Look out!" he shouted, gesturing madly, "You have to get out of there! NOW!"

The eyes of the two Nomads gaped at him through their soggy bandages, then they figured what he meant and looked back over their shoulders and saw it: one of the three-finned shark creatures was torpedoing toward them, it was less then ten meters away, nine, they turned and started desperately wading for sure, six, five, it's huge jaw opened wide, four, three, one of the nomads fell, two, one-PHWAM! PHWAM!-PHWAM!

The shark exploded into a bloody-pulp that rained down all around the two wading mutant humans.

And Buck lowered the small but deadly Type-2 Directorate pulsar pistol. He'd managed to grab it just in time from the depths of the survival kit that hung from his hip.

Maybe this model isn't so bad after all, he grinned as the two Nomads he'd just saved reached the beach and clambered out, came toward him.

Buck snapped up the pistol, "Hey! Watch it, pals! I don't wanna use this on...you...okay, what are you doing?"

They had dropped to their knees before him and bowed their heads. And as he looked around, the rest of the pack did the same. Twiki stepped out cautiously from behind the rock, "Bidi-bidi-bidi! Are they worshipping you, Buck?"

His human friend scowled, "They better not be. I'm not in the mood." then he looked back to the Nomad leader, "Hey, no need to do that. Let's call it even, okay? No making me your king."

"But...we attacked...you." growled the Nomad in charge with a voice like a fifty year chain-smoker, as he peered up at their savior. Between each grouping of words he seethed and rasped, like they were painful to utter.

"Hey, you guys and my kind, we've always been a bit at odds, I get it." Buck shrugged.

"Yes!" replied the Nomad, "You...are from the...Inner City!"

"Well, kinda. But don't hold it against me. Look, I don't want any trouble, pal. I just want to get home, back to New Chicago. See, I think I left the iron on in my apartment and I'm afraid my new tux is gonna get burned. You know how it is."

"You...do not look...like a...Draconian." the leader rose, and so did the rest of his gang.

Buck cocked his head, still gripping his pulsar just in case it turned wrong for him again, "Draconians? Oh, so you've met the party crashers, huh? Let me guess, it didn't go all smiles and hugs."

"So you...are not...a Draconian then?" the leader gathered up his spear, but not in a threatening fashion.

"Nope! I hate them just as much as you do. Hey, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, you know what I mean?"

"Maybe...you are...lying?"

Buck shrugged, "Sure, maybe I am. But howsabout you let the big cheese of your group decide that, huh?"

It was the mutant human's turn to cock an eye, "Big...cheese?"

"Bidi-bidi-bidi!" piped up Twiki, "You know, the guy in charge. Mister Big. The Man. Your Numero Uno."

"Oh." the Nomad stared down at the drone, then he looked back to Buck, "You mean...the Archon."

Captain Rogers nodded, "Yeah, that sounds like who I need to chat with. Can you take me to him."

The Nomad lowered his spear, but only just, then jerked it to the left, pointing at a path that headed up the side of the low canyon the lake was based in. Buck and Twiki started forward, then Buck paused for a moment, looked back at his 'host', "Look, I know this is probably a longshot, but did anybody else come out of the lake before me? An old man, with white hair?"

"No. You...are all...we have...seen." replied the nomad as his party formed up behind him.

Rogers cast one last glance at the still waters of the dark lake, then sighed and continued heading up the path.

Nice knowing you, Doc, Buck sent to the ether, I hope wherever you end up, spiritually-speaking, that it's a better place then this blasted junkyard...

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

A kilometer away, on the other side of the lake...

With one final heave of his aching arms, Ira Goodfellow, Chief Scientist of the starship Searcher, at last managed to drag himself free of the lake and with a gasp of relief he rolled over onto his back on the wet sand.

That swim...that swim...nearly did me...did me in...

For nearly ten minutes the old man just lay there breathing raggedly, doing his best to slow his racing heart. White dots were dancing before his eyes, but it wasn't from the slowly setting sun Goodfellow decided, it must be from the recycled air he was breathing.

Right...yes...I am still wearing the breathing mask...

He tugged it off his mouth and nose, tossed it away, then with a groan sat up. With great effort he climbed to his feet and stared off across the still waters of the dark lake. I guess Captain Rogers did not make it, a pity. Those mutated shark creatures must have overwhelmed him. What a noble sacrifice he made, giving his life for mine. If only it could have been the other way around, for I am certain Earth needed William Rogers far more then it needed an old man like me...

Dr. Goodfellow forced a smile and finished the sentiment out-loud, "But I shall attempt to try and complete the mission, yes I shall. It's what the Captain would have wanted."

"Unfortunately, Doctor, your expertise is required in a much more important endeavour." said a familiar voice behind him.

Goodfellow jerked and staggered around, jaw gone slack, "What? Crichton? Why, it is you!" his grin turned genuine.

Indeed, the robot he had created stood before him, his metal casing cast in coppery shadows by the westward-setting sun. He wasn't on roller wheels though, but instead hovered three inches above the beach on a blue glow of micro-thrusters.

"I don't recall making that modification to you, my boy." frowned Goodfellow.

"You did not, Doctor," replied the bot, "I made the hover-mode alteration myself. Among others."

"Others? What others?"

"This one, for example." and Crichton raised his right armature which clacked and whirred, reforming into a lethal-looking pulsar cannon.

The Doctor gaped in shock, "What-What are you doing?"

And Crichton's visual receptor bars strobed ominously, "Taking a firm control of my destiny, Doctor, a firm control."

To be continued...