Sage and Stone
(from the journals of Ortho "Stone Cold" Glick)
by Rick Catanzaro
Chapter III
I never realized how long two hours could be until I agreed to become a walking library reference section. Dr. Creepy didn't give my poor ears a rest all along the dead man's trail. Most of his questions this time around dealt with the military. His main point of interest focused around the various branches and units on Banshee. Once I secured my payment, I mainly stuck to the only (and Best) unit I had extensive knowledge of on Banshee..mine. Unlike other vets, I didn't add embellishment or flourish to my dissertation, simply stuck to the facts. They stood fine all on their own. After two hours of non-stop inquisitiveness, however, even the novelty of discussing my own unit wore thin. I was beginning to wish that Fran had taught me Shhh (the price at the time - a roll in the sack - seemed a bit too high...it wasn't looking so bad now, however). Slater ambled along behind the two of us, lost in her own thoughts.
All of the loon's non-stop babbling nearly got us noticed by some very unusual and obviously dangerous folks. Crusty's trail had lead to long stretch of desert at the bottom of steep cliff. The drop must have been at least forty feet straight down (a great place for those Rolling Stones to drop down from). Several feet from the base of the cliff I finally spied our undead de-facto leader and trail master. He'd somehow managed to get himself into quite a predicament; his limbs had been stretched out and he'd been nailed to what appeared to be large wooden cross made from old railroad ties. The makeshift crucifix was tied behind a horse drawn cart, and appearances indicated that it had been drug a fair ways...Crusty looked bad...even for a dead guy. A small tent was a mere 10 meters from the crucifix laden wagon (most likely belonging to some sort of officer). Two large, heavily muscled men were posted as guards on the miserable corpse. The most notable features on the men were their dress and their weapons. I served long enough in the military to know a standard uniform when I'd seen one, even if it didn't resemble one that I was familiar with. Basic black was the order of the day for these fellows (I can't knock their fashion sense). A trench-style over-garment split at the front, went down to their knees to reveal belted black pants and boots that were so well polished they reflected the morning sun. Black collared tunics completed the ensemble. Both wore what looked to be a very wide brimmed bowlers to protect them from the glare of the desert sun (sort of reminded me of militant Shakers). The only hint of color came from the gold crosses they both wore around their necks and the small rectangular patches of white on each of their collars. Both had a sidearm strapped to their hip and a rifle held at the ready, but the thing that stood out at the time weapons-wise was the heavy black leather and metal gauntlet that both wore on their right hands. The gauntlets had a semi-curved blade attached near the wrist which extended back along their forearms, just past their elbows. I didn't have a clue as to the identity of Crusty's captors, but old Dr. Creeps got suddenly still and very focused. Pulling a book from his satchel, he flipped through dusty pages, obviously looking for something. Stopping midway through the tome, he suddenly stopped, as a now familiar look of bewilderment spread across his features. A single word hissed quietly from his lips in the form of a question:
"Purifiers"?
It was almost as if he were asking the wind and stones for validation of his query, afraid to raise his voice above a whisper. I had no idea what he was talking about and it wasn't going to be the wind nor any hunk of rock that was going to fill in the blanks for him, either. Explanations would have to wait. With an alertness I haven't seem since Banshee, both of the priest-like guards heads snapped toward our precise location.
"Reveal your selves at once and you will not suffer"!
Two nasty looking rifles pointed directly at the rocks we crouched behind. It was time to punch the clock, but I was without my favorite toy so I fell back on my Syker skills. Slater had already drawn her Junker weapon and was turning some sort of dial on it. I hoped it was some sort of intensity gauge. Firing the thing with the force she had used against the Rolling Stones could prove disastrous. Frying Crusty along with his papal prison guards would be a bit of a set back for the job. We were ready for action, but there was one small problem. As I had glanced back at the Slater, the Sage had abruptly disappeared from my side. Our small problem then transformed into a large one. Dr. Creeps had broken cover and was advancing toward Crusty's captors...in fact he was already a mere ten feet from our antagonists. I could almost fell the old fools elation as he haphazardly closed the distance between himself and certain death, rambling his own epitaph as he came.
"Oh sweet Academia, how splendid! True to life Purifiers!! I have so many questions. If I could have just a few moments of your time I'd Lik..."
The sound of a heavy caliber round firing ended Creepy's inquiry as quickly as it started. Now, I didn't have the most keen eyesight in the world, but even I could see the slight change in the guards posture. It indicated the same feeling of surprise that I and probably Slater were feeling. Not only was Creepy still standing, but it didn't appear to be hit at all. Clearing his throat, the Sage adjusted the bag on his shoulder and held his ground, continuing his interrupted conversation.
"That is to say, I'd LIKE to ask a few questions. However, if you are determined in your apparent current course of action, might I recommend a bit more patience and extra effort on your part. In fact, I'd suggest a little higher and to the left."
I didn't know what the crazy bastard thought he was doing, but I wasn't just going to sit still and watch. Leaving Slater behind as artillery back up and hoping his suicide attempt was distraction enough to buy me some time, I decided to cook a little Syker stew. One part Body Control with one part Silence, mixed with Chameleon; stirred well with a dash of sneak and brought to a boil with Fleshrip. A lethal recipe indeed. By the time I'd spent on focusing and had readied my little recipe for serving, two more evangelical enforcers emerged from the tent, weapons at the ready with holy rage in their eyes. With the number of thugs doubled, I scraped the stew idea (wasting the Strain sucked, but the situation demanded action) and unleashed a Chain Brain. The mental energy streaked forth as I felt it successfully scramble the first target, one of the first two guards. Focusing, I bounced the effect to the next guard, and he also went down. The next target was the Sage, and that's (unfortunately) where the chain was broken. At least we were back down to the two guards again. A sort of short suction noise went off, rather like the sound a beer can makes when you pop the top only lots louder, as Slater fired her weapon. At first I thought the thing had jammed, but the sight of the two stunned guard's faces erupting in white-hot flames knocked my theory down quick. The dial she had turned wasn't an intensity adjuster, but a selector switch. As I found out later, she set the selector to "Plasma Mortar". Very messy, but it could apparently be contained to a much smaller radius of effect, causing a very gruesome death. How wonderful.
As the combat continued, several strange occurrences took place. First, our fearless leader, Crusty, disappeared from the cross. Then the Sage pulled out what looked to be a small pistol sized hand crossbow from the huge satchel he'd been carrying. The first of the two Purifiers that had emerged from the tent just moments before threw his rifle aside and simultaneously extended his right arm, the wicked curved blade on his gauntlet gleaming wickedly in the sunlight. He attacked with a swing that would have most likely split the Sage in two. Good thing for Dr. Creeps that his aim was off by a mile (these religious types should've invested in some form of eye wear - they couldn't have hit El Chupacobra if they were standing on his chest.). The wild swing only managed to slice through one of the straps on the old man's satchel. At least a half dozen small, ancient looking melee weapons spilled forth, along with scrolls, tomes and various bits of paper. Around the same time the breeze (fitful and nearly non-existent to that point) decided to pick up, gathering and scattering the many loose items from the dropped and open satchel. This sent the old loony into a maniacal fit.
"PLEBEIAN BIBLE THUMPING IMBECILE! DO YOU EVEN BEGIN TO COMPREHEND WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!"
He continued his tirade even after he had fired the small crossbow bolt from his weapon, sending it into the chest of one of the Purifiers. I wasn't expecting much...these guys were huge. Imagine my surprise when the man's chest exploded upon the dart's impact, scattering bone and viscera out through his back, the chunky red mist spraying into the Arizona wind. The Sage didn't even bat an eye at the carnage. Discarding the crossbow, he ran away in complete hysterics chasing his life's work into the blistering wastes.
The second of the tent guards, not having any other targets, took aim at the frantic Sage. He barely registered what hit him. The decrepit form of the Prospector shot up out the ground like a putrid geyser. He had hung in the air in front of the final guard, mere inches from his face. He had the classic look of some pre-war fairy tale ghost that had returned from the grave to horrify his wrong doers from his past life. The Prospector then used both hands to temporarily cover his face. When he removed his hands, his already decaying features were now nearly gone. A death's head grimace stared into the eye's of petrified Purifier, and his mangled, whispered words surprisingly reached me, carried by the wind.
"Boo, shucker"!
I imagined the brainer's heart must've exploded from the way his body convulsed before he dropped like a stone. The Prospector also dropped from his hovering position. I guess that last trick coupled with ghosting for so long took the moldy wind out if his decaying sails. He was most definitely down for the count. Slater and I left our position of elevation and began to make our way down towards the still form of the Prospector. All looked to be under control until the figure emerged from the tent. His deliberately slow gait and steady motions indicated to me that his position was one of authority. He barely glanced at the fallen soldiers he had previously commanded as he walked forward, straight toward the still form of the Prospector. With a speed that defied belief the Purifier leader swooped down on the Prospector with his own gauntlet blade flashing. The unconcious Prospector's head popped easily from his decayed shoulders.
"That should keep you more manageable". His voice was like a cold wind form deep within a long forgotten cave. His face showed no emotion and his eyes were dead pools of icy blue. Stooping, he picked up the Prospector's head, tossing it lightly back and forth between his hands as if it were a child's ball. Slater looked as though she would fire, but hesitated, fearing Crusty's head might be hit as well. I quickened my pace, hunting rifle in hand to confront the last and most likely most dangerous Purifier.
"Drop the head, or I'll drop you". I'm not the most imposing of people in the world, but Slater wasn't about to speak up and the Sage was still chasing paper around the desert cactus. The Purifier looked in our direction with no particular urgency in his face. Many tiny lines and wrinkles surround his eyes and covered his face like the fractures on an old building. Then he smiled, and I felt my heart sink.
"Hello, boy".
Two simple words that sucked away more that twenty years of time. Images filled my head of an eleven year old boy looking at his family for what he thought was the last time before being taken away to the Syker academy. After all this time I would have never dreamed in a thousand years that I would be standing literally in the middle of nowhere eye to eye with the man I once called Father.