Waylon furrowed his brow in contemplation. "Why would bandits willingly throw themselves into situations with such high losses? They never attacked caravans like this before." Deep in thought, he roared through the desert, headed to Ranger HQ. Prudence dictated that the Perennial refrained from assuming the mantle of the wasteland's de facto authority. Waylon maintained a delicate balance, ensuring he stayed in favorable standing with the Sirocco Rangers Department—the other bastion of unofficial vigilante authority. While the Rangers' interpretation of justice occasionally teetered on the edge of mercenary pragmatism, they stood as a formidable alternative to the scourge of marauding pillagers.
Approaching the entrance, the Perennial slowed as the two imposing Loader King's pried open the massive, rusted gates of rebar and steel, the creaking protest echoed in the still air. The gate swiftly sealed behind Waylon, its closure executed with an unusual tightness, resembling a fortress in lockdown. The atmosphere within the station was palpably tense, leaving Waylon to ponder if this heightened security was somehow linked to the unsettling findings he had uncovered.
Waylon vented the built-up heat from the Perennial, After the Perennial was cooled and shut down, Waylon scaled down the leg of the small mech. He stepped swiftly, clearing the scorching sun into the Air-conditioned lavish building of the Rangers. Unlike Waylon the Rangers believed that peace was not an inherent right of humanity and should be paid for. Hence the cushy digs, purified water flowed from the taps here and coffee was in ready supply. Back home Waylon would be lucky if there was water waiting in the well for him. He pushed into the office of the elected ranger president, Balthasar Krass.
The well-dressed rugged man stood by a window, overseeing their training field. "The freelancer tracks mud into my office at last." He turned to shake Waylon's hand, retracting after examining the grime that marked Waylon's uniform. "Uhm, why do you come here when we are preparing for a siege?"
Waylon dropped into the nearby chair, as did Balthasar. Sighing, Waylon answered. "I was hoping you could assist with the ongoing bandit troubles. MY mech is fast but even I cannot cover the entire west desert when bandits seem to be amassing and coordinating their attacks." Waylon awaited a reply, trying to read the expression on his company's face, a mix of irritation and worry.
The older man leaned back in his seat; a weariness evident in his posture. "Bandits have been growing bolder, so apologies but unfortunately, we're in the dark ourselves. Ambushes have become the norm, making it impossible to dispatch investigators without risking their lives. We stumbled upon an attempted break-in, only to discover the place rigged with explosives. I can't afford to lose more people, so I'm willing to impart what I know- for a cost of course."
The doors swung open, and a spirited young lad burst into the room, carrying an array of computing gear in his backpack. "You called, sir?" The older man gestured toward Waylon, who watched in anticipation for answers. Brushing his finger across the map, he continued, "Know the place, Waylon? That's your pa's old freight yard before the Dust Bowl set in, Lacey Logistics. I still remember the jingle: 'Lacey Logistics, your goods in great hands, fast and secure, like golden sands. With every package, we'll make you smile. Choose us once, you'll stay a while!' Too bad he didn't foresee the abandonment of this planet."
"I think we've found a potential trail to follow. I hear OW-1 Mechs have great sensor arrays and make magnificent scouts. Does the Perennial still have functional C3 capabilities, or did you let that tractor repair girl mess that up too?" Waylon barked back. "No, Balthasar, the C3 unit works. Also, if you actually knew about mechs, you'd know the C3 unit is for communications, not radar and identification. But yes, the Beagle probe still works." the other man rolled his eyes "I don't care what your little piece of junk is called as long as it can relay targets. Go to Lacey Logistics and record what we'll find there."
With a nod, Waylon reluctantly acknowledged the directive Knowing fully well this was his only lead he would get. "Understood," he said curtly, turning on his heel and heading back to the Perennial. The desert sun hung low on the horizon as he approached the towering mech, its weathered exterior reflecting the last sunlight of the day. The cockpit opened with a hiss, and Waylon climbed into the familiar confines and set off for a trip down memory lane.
Waylon waited approximately 300 meters downwind of the facility and silenced his engine. Keeping the battery active to monitor for visitors. Other than Radio checkups from Cole's operation handler or Ida the wait was long and without event until an unmistakable silhouette came over from the sky- A leopard was making a drop, Waylon could barely make out the shuffling of crates and munitions being unloaded. What were they preparing for?
With the distraction in play, Waylon stealthily approached, deftly mapping the facility using the Beacon with each discreet sweep. Grateful for the pirates' primitive technology, he went unnoticed for the initial scans. Before the Leopard could detect the Beacon's presence, Waylon managed to gather crucial data with a few strategic sweeps. However, his covert operation was short-lived, as the Beacon's detection prompted Waylon to make a swift exit, like a bug outta soil he skittered away. The perimeter guns swiveled to target him, but by then, the Perennial had become a mere speck in the distance.
Clearing the immediate area, Waylon transmitted over the comms, "I've obtained the necessary intel, but I've been spotted. Gonna be more of them on our next visit." Confident that no immediate pursuit was underway, he added, "They may give chase, but I still hold the title for the fastest mech on Sirocco. I'll be back soon."
Having transmitted his findings to HQ he pulled into a village outside the Ranger fortress and cozied up in a motel. Ida arrived an hour later with a fresh baked loaf. "Olbrecht wishes you well, he was going to send me here with some cocktails but he wants the sheriff sharp for his hunt! He's so very thoughtful, his heart outshines his muscles." She laid the bag on the corner table and watched Waylon, removing her jacket.
"Watch the stars with me?" She asked out of the blue, receiving a confused look from the exhausted sheriff. " I think I'd like to lie down and get ready for tomorrow, never know what Balthasar's plans will be once he looks over the field report." She nodded, "Aye, that'd be wise I suppose, rest well and I will see you in the morning Waylon." The lights flicked off as she went outside to watch the stars alone, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips.