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At dusk, the perimeter guard at Camp Torchlight sighted an approaching convoy from the West made up of a team of horse-riders and several horse-drawn carriages.
The envoys of the ruling clans of Four Seasons were on their way to greet the Dominion with peaceful overtures, just as the Kingsleys said they would. There were four carriages all in all, two carrying the envoys and two to carry gifts for the invading army. The horse-riders were armed with rifles, though there were no two men carrying the same weapon. All of them wore cast-iron body armor to cover their chests and some pauldrons for their shoulders, none of which would protect them against the weapons of the Dominion but it did give the men a thin veneer of confidence.
The Dominion, however, made sure to shatter that veneer. The Jotun mechs stomped out of the gates and trained their massive cannons on the approaching convoy, bellowing out an order that seemed to thunder across the desert plains. "Stay where you are!" The whirl of their guns rotating added weight to their unspoken threat, and so the convoy stopped thirty meters from the perimeter wall. If they went any further, the Dominion would have mowed them down where they stood.
"Dismount!" One of the mechs lumbered forward, "Step away from the carriages and throw your weapons on the path! Do it now! Test me and I will fucking end you."
Without delay, the escorting riders obeyed. They stood away from the carriages while a team of rooks moved in to secure the area. Unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of a pat-down, the riders glared daggers at the Dominion soldiers and grumbled quietly as they were disarmed. Now, they found themselves at the mercy of the Dominion Army.
"All of you in the carriages, out! Slow and steady, any quick movements will mean your death."
"Easy there now. We've come here as friends, old sport." Bennett Dolarhyde Senior said as he pushed open the door of his personal carriage, which was the fanciest looking one of the four. White Oak with a tough overlay varnish, etched with gold and silver trims just like everything else his family owned. Even the team of horses pulling it were well-bred mares of the highest quality in Four Seasons. If the Dolarhydes could afford the manufacture of cars in that part of Texas, they would. An alliance with the Dominion held that kind of promise among many, which was why the clan was so eager to extend such an invitation.
Upon seeing his boss stepping out, one of riders broke away from being lined up and bent down on all fours before the rooks could stop him. Bennett used him as stepping stool on his way out, astonishing the rooks with his grandiose display of opulence. Then, that astonishment was immediately followed by disdain.
"Get your ass over here!" A rook snapped, grabbing the man by the arm and pressing a submachinegun to his ribs. He led him and the stepping stool guy over to the line with the others.
"My name is Bennett Barnabas Leighloch Dolarhyde Senior, I represent the Dolarhyde family in this affair." He grunted as the soldier roughly shoved him into place. "We come in peace."
Bennett was largely ignored by the soldiers as they went about their work. The carriages were opened for inspection, and the rooks announced the contents of the ones holding the convoy's gifts. "Sarge, we've got some commodities over here! Several pounds of packed barley, bottled whiskey, corn and iced meat."
"Gifts to prove our intentions!" Bennett declared excitedly, falling silent almost immediately when the other carriage was opened to reveal a pair of scantily-clad women from Reese's whorehouse. Above their plunging bodices hung collars with leashes on them, indicating their indentured status in Four Seasons society. The women, all powdered up and perfumed, shrank back in fear at the sight of the rooks.
"That right?" The sergeant sneered, "These gals part of those 'gifts'? You've heard of us, that means you know that what we hate more than raider scum are slavers. And in the Dominion, slavers hang."
"No no!" Bennett kept his composure as best as he could, "These women are indentured workers, not slaves."
"Slavery, indentured service, they mean the same thing." The sergeant signaled for one of his men to set the prostitutes free, "Cut 'em loose. Shoot the men."
"Stop, please! I am the patriarch of Clan Dolarhyde!" Bennett cried out desperately, "We came to you in good faith! The other families and I wish to avoid a war. If we've offended you by our customs, please accept our most sincerest apology along with the promise of a mutually beneficial alliance." He shrank back and cowered as the rooks raised their guns to fire, "Oh God, no please!"
"Stand down, Sgt. Lebouff!" Lieutenant Nobby Hynes ordered, taking control of the situation. He got there just in time after receiving orders from Elysion, "Gentlemen! I apologize for the zealousness of my men in their duties. The Wasteland has, after all, given much reason for suspicion. Wouldn't you agree?"
Shaken, the patriarch stumbled forward when the sergeant pushed him towards the lieutenant. "I-I suppose."
Nobby extended his hand, putting on the most welcoming smile he could muster. "I'm Lt. Hynes, but you can call me Nobby."
The sight of the robotic hand almost kept the patriarch back, it felt like an ominous glimpse into the treacherous nature of the nation he was courting, but for the sake of all their lives he swallowed his fears and his pride. The two men shook hands and the terse exchange was put behind them.
"The Dominion welcomes peaceful overtures. You say you come as friends? Then let's talk as friends."
Nobby wasn't going to let them anywhere inside the camp grounds. He didn't trust the clans, but he did show some measure of hospitality as far as the Dominion would allow. A small tent pavilion was erected within range of the perimeter turrets, and the mechs stood guard as the two parties sat down together to discuss terms of peace, primarily in favor of creating some form of trade relationship between Four Seasons and the Dominion.
Inside the camp, Little John was released from custody after his cooperation with the judge and allowed to come and go in certain unrestricted areas. The first thing he did was visit his dog Snowball, who had undergone treatment for his maiming at the claws of the Sandshark Queen and her horde.
He was greeted with an unexpected surprise at the door leading to the Infirmary. Snowball, upon catching a whiff of his master's scent, leapt off the observation table and scurried towards the exit. The Dominion doctors replaced his lost limb with a cybernetic leg, much like the prosthetic limbs on Lt. Hynes. If one ignored the alien appearance of the wires, actuators and industrial pistons that constituted the leg, Snowball looked every bit like his old self.
"Snow!" John bent down to hug his best friend, "Damn boy, they sure fixed you up right as rain!"
The doctor responsible for putting him back together declared, "It would take some getting use to. But your dog's adaptable, you'll just have to make sure he moves around often. Soon, he'll think it's the real thing."
"Whaddya mean?" John frowned, noticing Snowball twist around to nibble at the implants attached to his lower back which ran along the length of his spine. The dog was smart enough to figure out that thanks to the cyber-limb, he could walk. That didn't stop him from feeling like the thing was an unwanted invader.
"There will be some discomfort. Phantom pain, itching and all that. But nothing too serious."
"Well, Snow's always been an active mutt. Moving around's not gonna be a problem, doc. I can't thank you enough for this, but I'll make sure the family knows what yall did. Jacksons don't have much in the way of money or produce, but we take good care of our friends."
"The Dominion doesn't need your rewards." Judge Reyncourt interjected, showing up to the Infirmary to get a booster shot of Rad-X. "Just your cooperation."
"Madam Judge, we don't have to be like this every time we meet." John sighed, "I've long gone past tryin' to get my head around what your problem is, although it would help clear things up so I know what I'd give a wide berth for."
"You want to know what my problem is? It's simple. I don't like you, I don't like your semi-tribal excuse of a society playing at civilization, or your free-range lawlessness. In other words, if it were up to me we'd just wipe you off the face of the map and take your land. How's that clear things up?"
"Well for starters, I thank God it's not up to you. And just so you know, we Four Seasoners might not have all the fancy stuff yall have, but we sure as hell have a lot more decency than you do."
Kitty got up on the table and removed her jacket. Next came the uniform, and John watched as she flexed her well-toned arms, proudly displaying the tattooed gears representing the Dominion war machine. "I'd take the fancy stuff over decency any day, waster."
"Bitch." John muttered under his breath as he led Snowball away.
He gathered all his stuff and walked towards the gate. Having been informed ahead by the lieutenant about John's status as a guest, the guards permitted him to leave unmolested. The man was planning on making the long journey back home by himself. At the end of everything he and Snowball went through, they still had to answer for a lost rig and several dozen dead men. John might feel grateful to be alive, but this loss wasn't something his family could recover from for a long time.
As he started on the dusty road towards Summertown, the two parties at the pavilion concluded their negotiations and started to part ways. Bennett Dolarhyde looked a little happier after getting one step closer to his goal. A trade deal would mean a better future for Four Seasons, and more money for the clan. Plus, as a parting gift, the lieutenant handed over some of the Sandshark samples they retrieved from the rig crash site.
"Lil' John? Is that you?" The patriarch said upon laying eyes on John. "I don't believe it!" He ran up to the big man and clapped him on both shoulders, laughing heartily as though relieved. "Thank heavens, your father's gonna wanna hear this."
"Damn right he will." John said, glaring at the lieutenant. "That among other things."
"Now be fair." Nobby replied as he adjusted his helmet strap, "We took real good care of you during your stay."
"That was after you thought I was no threat."
"Oh man up, nobody roughed you up in the booth, son. That's nicer than most who end up in interrogation, believe you me."
"Now now, let's let bygones be bygones." Bennett changed the subject, "This is not a time to hold grudges, but an opportunity to make friends! The future's coming, Lil' John. In fact, to commemorate the start of this long-lasting alliance, we should celebrate! Lieutenant, why don't you come with us back to Salvación? We'll throw a feast for you, and show just how hospitable Four Seasons can be for the Dominion."
"A party, eh? Tempting, but it's not for me to say." Nobby replied, "That's a matter I'll have to discuss with my superiors, you see."
It wasn't exactly a 'no', but a 'maybe' was enough for Godfather. The patriarch and his men left Camp Torchlight in good spirits, bringing along Little John and his dog on the ride back to Summertown. Ecstatic about the idea of building bridges with a powerful ally as the Dominion, Bennett wouldn't shut up about the ideas bursting out of his head. Little John ignored him as he rode in the carriage with the Dolarhydes, his mind occupied with thoughts of home.
As soon as they were all but a little cloud of dust in the road, Lt. Hynes dropped his diplomatic façade. "Fucking vultures."
He had no intention of waiting on their invitation to enter Four Seasons. The best show of power the Dominion could do was to prove to the people that they could come and go with impunity. Besides, they needed to make good on their word with the Kingsleys. After all, they were the first to extend a hand in friendship with the Dominion. To restore their properties, destroy both the Dolarhydes and the Crowes, in exchange for their help in taking over Four Seasons and stamp out the House of Commerce drug trade.
Autumntown was a junktown, for lack of a better description.
Stretched across a hard dark brown dirt valley was a disjointed mess of rusted metal stack-houses, each built on top of each other or pressed together like fish in a sardine can, it bore a similarity to any waster town in post-apocalyptic Texas. Around the mess was a crudely welded metal wall made from the aluminum slabs torn from the great airplanes that crashed into the valley from the Great War. It was reinforced by a second wall of stones, and while it didn't look very pretty it certainly did its job of keeping enemies out of Autumntown. The gates were formed by the chassis of school buses, hoisted and dropped via a network of chain pulleys. Behind the gates were the trading shacks, where most of the produce that weren't tagged for transportation to the other towns were sold to traveling caravans.
Here, smoke billowed from smithies filled the skies in great black arcs, while the song of hammers against steel rang clear in the air. Men and women worked tirelessly to churn up all manner of metalworks, tools and parts essential to all of Four Seasons. And in the center of this gigantic hub of cobbled-together odds and ends of Old World carcasses stood the Jackson Villa. All that remained of the plane fuselages formed the foundation of this hollowed out amalgamation of brick, cast-iron and wood. Big Daddy Jackson would've preferred the urban jungles of steel and glass that he grew up with, but one could only live with what was on hand. The bombs made sure that the cities would remain uninhabitable for the next quarter of a century.
After the meeting with the other families, Big Daddy resumed his work with overseeing the construction of another jet-train. It would take years, but Autumntown had all the materials he needed to get the job done. It was early morning when he got back to the town. Upon his return, the welcome sight of his eldest daughter at the villa balcony made him forget the troubles brewing on the frontier.
Helena Jackson, referred to by everyone else in Autumntown as 'Mama Jackson', rode on the top of a modified Mr. Handy and strained to wave at her father coming through the gates. Rendered paralyzed from the waist down from a savage attack by a bandit raid some years back, Mama Jackson had Big Daddy transform the family's robot butler into a hover-chair to help her move around. The hover-chair wasn't what made Mama Jackson special among her kin, however, but her psychic abilities as a seer. The onset of these abilities manifesting was difficult to determine, yet the results remained very much clear to everyone around Mama. She could read minds, pick up on empathic imprints, see glimpses of the past and future while incredibly remaining stable in both mind and body. Psychics born in the Wasteland rarely use their abilities without the frequent drawbacks associated with the mutations, Mama was living proof of the exceptions to this rule.
Naturally, her abilities were a well-kept secret. Mutants were severely persecuted in Four Seasons. If word ever reached the other clans, Mama would be taken away, possibly killed. Although, that didn't stop Big Daddy or some of the Autumntowners from relying on her visions from time to time.
Just as the clan patriarch moved to deliver some more bad news concerning his missing grandson, Godfather's convoy rolled up to Autumntown to drop off Little John. Seeing him alive and well, minus a rig and a crew, a large crowd formed around the man as women and children cried out for their husbands and fathers who would never come home.
"Lil John, my boy!" Big Daddy bellowed above the shrill keening of widows, striding forward to wrap up his grandson in a big bear hug. Sorrow was common in the land of Four Seasons, relief was harder to come by. "You're alive! So you managed to slip away from the Dominion after all."
"No, my friend." Godfather said, "He wasn't a captive of theirs, he was a guest."
"I was a little bit of both, actually." Little John corrected.
"Ahem." The Dolarhyde patriarch chuckled nervously and changed the subject, "About the peace talks. Horace, it's been settled. The Dominion's promised to remain on friendly terms with Four Seasons, and in return we offer ten percent of all our monthly produce as tribute."
"Ten percent?" Big Daddy guffawed. Considering the overall production value pumped out of the four towns, ten percent didn't seem so financially burdensome. "That's mighty generous of them! I assume it was you who made the offer?"
"But of course! Wouldn't have worked out in our favor, otherwise. We will celebrate this new development at the manor three days hence, which should help ease the fears of the people of Four Seasons. Consider this brief visit as your official invitation. I expect you all to show up."
Before turning to leave, Godfather drew out a golden tablespoon and handed it over to Little John. "Here, my boy, take it. I haven't forgotten your part in safely delivering the Sandshark eggs to Dolarhyde hands, a tad late as it may have been. Still, you did manage to inadvertently bridge the gap between our people and the Dominion. For that, I give you this."
"Oh, thanks." Little John said half-heartedly, not in the least feeling happy about the ordeal. He accepted the gift and stuffed it into his pocket, "Didn't realize the package wounded up in the right place after all."
The two parties said their farewells, then grandfather and grandson both went inside the villa. The moment Little John stepped through the beads curtain that followed the main steel door, he was ambushed by the little horde of young orphans that Mama Jackson took in. They were an assorted bunch of brothers, sisters, nephews and nieces. Some were even trueblood Jacksons, although no one bothered to trace how far down the family tree they were. Big Daddy only cared that there were children around to be the next generation of Autumntowners, and Mama simply loved kids.
Big Daddy noticed for the first time the cyber-limb on Snowball's body but said nothing, letting his grandson savor the moment of being back home safely. Mama Jackson descended from the balcony and bid Little John close, embracing him tightly to soak in the empathic imprints on him. She felt traces of violence and savagery from the Sandsharks that attacked him and the rig. She sensed pride and arrogance from the Dominion soldiers who roughly escorted him through Camp Torchlight. Mama caught glimpses of his time at the camp, and she shed a tear upon feeling Little John's fear. "You poor thing, what have those soldiers done to you?"
"Oh Mama, don't you worry." Little John assured her, "They weren't nice, but they didn't hurt me none. Really, I'd be dead if it weren't for the Dominion. That's all I have to say about that."
"Pop." He said to Big Daddy, "I'm sorry I couldn't save the rig and the crew-"
"Enough 'o that." The patriarch replied gruffly, "That ain't what the widows wanna hear when you speak at the wake. Now, I want you to wash up and get ready for breakfast. At noon, we'll be gathering everyone at the forges and give the dead a proper sendoff. Go on now, git."
Little John was quick to obey. He went outside to the water pump with a pail and got himself washed. Freed from the dirt of the road, the man was presentable enough for the clan when they gathered at the longhouse attached to the villa for breakfast. The workers that got a head-start for the day left early, leaving space enough for the youngsters as they rushed to get a bite out of Mama's cooking.
Mama prepared an old nag's thighs for the family, braised in thick stew over a big fire in the outdoor kitchen. The horse was found dead in the stables, so Mama decided to make good use of her remains. Little John grew up with horse stew, though he remained adamantly aversed to its tough meat and near-flavorlessness. He had a chance to get a taste of better meals, particularly in his encounter with the Dominion. They didn't offer anything fancy during his stay at the camp, but it was enough to remind him of the things life had to offer outside of Autumntown.
He ate in silence while the rest of the clan traded stories, discussed plans for the day or engaged in the usual idle chitchat. It was when Snowball started licking at his free hand, begging for scraps, that he remembered his mission to find his girl. He missed his chance at getting an inquiry from Bennett when he was riding along with the Dolarhyde convoy. He was sure that Molly was in danger, somehow. With a clan that was rumored to be cannibalistic, it was hard for anyone not to suspect the nefarious activities they engaged in behind closed doors.
He had to be sure. And so, Little John turned to Mama for help. As soon as everyone was out of the longhouse and the ladies were hauling off the dishes to be washed, he pitched in so he could talk to his grandmother. "Mama, I wanna talk to ya 'bout something."
"Can it wait?" Mama replied, busying herself with directing the robot's arms as they squeakily went about lathering the many tin plates in soapy water.
"No Ma." Little John sighed, waiting until after they were finished rinsing before telling her.
"Right boy, so what's the problem?"
"You remember Molly Wes? From back when we were kids?"
"Yeah, I do remember. How is she?"
Little John hesitated at first, choosing to leave out the part about his visits to the Nest as well as the part where he and Molly were getting it on. "That's the thing, Ma. I dunno what's happened to her. She's gone missing, and I dunno where to start with looking for her. That is, except for..."
"Except for me?" Mama Jackson's wrinkled face bunched up as she smiled with understanding. "Johnny, you know I can't control the Sight when I don't have a medium. You gotta give me something to touch, or else my mind will wander up and down the currents of time."
Little John thought up a plan for a second, then fished out the golden spoon Bennett Dolarhyde gave him. "Will this help?"
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