Wasteland Justice (Big Ron)

[The Grey Man]

It felt like the sun had been wearing him down for hours. He had sand in his hair, in his eyes, his shoes and even a little in his nose. The diminutive man walked, hands bound, between two other figures. He knew that the one in front of him was female—she had a certain swagger to her walk that suggested confidence, but in a more feminine aspect thereof. Ron had heard the one behind him speak as well—a low, gruff, dry voice. Hoarse from years of nomadic lifestyle, or perhaps he just smoked too much.

The lady wore a heavy cloak, with her face obscured by a hood. The thing was old, and white, and ragged, being colored in spots by the wind-blown shavings of the dunes. Her shirt hung low on her, draping down past the seam of her trousers. Tied to her legs were dinged metal plates and old, worn parts of machinery Ron couldn’t get a good enough look at to ID. Armor, maybe? These people were clearly pretty impoverished if this was what they were working with.

He struggled a little with the ropes binding his hands behind his back, but was met with a hard crack on the back of the head from the man guarding him from behind. “What do you think you’re doing, bitch?” he snarled. He felt a boot press hard against the back of his knee, and his own weight was suddenly too much to bear. The bastard had dead-legged him.

His captor dug his heel deeper into the naked meat of Ron’s shin, causing the augmented scout to grunt in pain. The lady whirled around, her tan flesh shining in the light. Ron could see her face now. Green eyes stared at him contemptuously. He thought about how long it’d been since he’d gotten laid. Then he wondered why he would ever think about something like that at a time like this.

“What are you doing, Neil?” the woman turned her gaze higher, looking at the man behind Ron. Her voice was harsh as well, but in comparison to her comrade’s was much more crisp and unharassed by the elements. “You can’t just mess him up like that. He won’t fetch as high a slave-price if you do.”

The man growled back, “He was trying to escape, Natalie. He was screwing with his bonds.” The boot lifted up, and Ron sighed in relief. The sensation didn’t last long, however, as he felt the same force on the back of his neck, forcing him down onto the ground. The sand burned his exposed arms and face. He struggled and coughed, trying to keep the grains out of his mouth.

“Yeah?” the woman replied, her voice entering a crescendo—signaling anger. “Well I don’t recall making you the executive decision maker of this little operation, scrub. So get your fuckin’ foot off of my property.”

The boot pressed down against Ron’s neck. He screamed in pain, pulling hard against his restraints and shifting the weight of his torso around, hoping to shake the man off. Neil simply laughed. “Yeah, and what are you gonna do at the end of the day, Nat? Not a thing. You need me, and you--”

The loud report of a shot echoed across the barren dunes. The force once exerted was now no more. Ron flipped over onto his belly and sat up quickly. The man lay stone dead in the sand, a single bullet penetrating his center of mass—Ron recognized the placement. It was a deliberate, aimed shot to the heart. Ron could see what little life he had left fade away, the slaver’s vacant stare meeting the sun perfectly as his head drooped and lulled to one side.

Slowly, he stood and turned. The woman held Ron’s own revolver in her hands. His stomach churned. Grey had given him that gun as a defensive tool; it had never taken a life yet. “M-miss?” the short young man addressed his captor. His meekness was met by the barrel of the firearm. Ron feigned extra fear to gratify his captor; the truth was that he’d gotten used to staring down death since he first met The Grey Man. This brought back memories more than it inspired terror. Still, he didn’t want to try the lady’s patience.

His thoughts were cut short by the woman’s voice. “In front of me. You have point now. I’ll tell you where we’re going.”

The young man’s face flushed with color at her bold orders, prompting an odd look from his captor. He sighed, and he obeyed. After a few moments of walking, he spoke. “That gun in your hand is meant to be a tool of self-defense. Don’t you have your own?”

He closed his eyes and hoped she wouldn’t shoot him. Surprisingly, she didn’t. “A moralist, huh? Sorry then, I guess. I figured you’d just be happy that I got him off you.” she answered. He was surprised by that answer. Even moreso by how calm she seemed compared to her late companion.

“Wasn’t he your friend?” Ron asked, looking back at her for a moment.

“Who, Neil? Nah. Neil was an asshole. This was his first real job with my outfit. As you saw, I don’t have much patience for people who can’t just shut up and do as they’re told. Adjust your paces a little to the left; you’re getting us slightly off track.”

Big Ron turned his head back to the seemingly endless dunes in front of him. “I’m Ron.” He said flatly. His captor was willing to make conversation, which meant two things: first, that he could pump her for information. In spite of the circumstances, he found himself strangely entranced by her cold demeanor, and his thoughts invariably ran back to the same place… Ron briefly wondered if maybe he had some kind of serious mental problem; maybe his time as a prisoner to Grendeline had affected his state of mind a little more deeply than he cared to admit. Regardless, the secondary function was what Ron cared more about: it would pass the time. It had been hours; when he thought about having to walk for another moment while enduring the heat and the silence., he’d almost rather be Neil.

Almost.

“Ron, huh? That’s a good one. You heard my name, so I guess there’s no harm in telling you… I’m Nat. Short for Nataravania.”

Ron would’ve gone with ‘Nat’, too, if that were his name. He didn’t say as much, though; didn’t seem prudent. Instead, he decided to see how open his captor was willing to get with him. “So, Nat. You’ve been doing this a while, I take it?”

“You could say that. I was almost born with a gun in my hands, really. Certain clients around the verses will pay good money for, ah, indentured servants, we’ll call them.”

I was almost born with a gun in my hands… and in his mind, her voice began to meld with Grey’s. That was exactly what he’d told a younger Ron back on Mars, when they’d first met and the man who would become Big Ron was just another captive surgeon during the Proto-Gilgamesh Incident.

“What about you? You seem awfully calm for such a hardcore pacifist.” She said, seeming only marginally interested in their conversation. She was probably just as maddened by the heat as he was, if not moreso—those bits of makeshift armor couldn’t be helping. Wait a minute… That gave him an idea.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve been in situations like this a couple of times before?” he answered. She chuckled lightly. “Well, your whole left arm’s just a very convincing prosthesis, so that kinda tipped me off that you’re not from around here.”

He blushed and grunted slightly in dismay… Had she taken it off? Whether she was a sociopathic desert-dwelling criminal or not, Big Ron couldn’t stand it when people saw him without his arm.

“Don’t worry,” she continued. “I won’t take it from you. You can relax.”

A moment of silence. “Did you,” Ron started, stammering before he could finish. “Did you take it off?”

“Who, me? Nah. I thought about it, but after we knocked you out I couldn’t figure out how the seal on that crazy thing works.” She said, giggling a little bit. She sounded embarrassed.

“Well, it’s probably a little complicated for you. No offense.”

“None taken. A few steps to the right?”

“Sorry. Like this?” Ron said, adjusting his gait accordingly.

“That’ll do it. So, Ron, what did you do before this?”

“I’ll tell you if you let me undo these restraints.”

“What?! Why should I?” Her voice returned to the angry, harsh voice that had shot Neil dead. Ron decided now would be the time to drop his own act of the cowardly victim. He quickly whirled around to face her. “Why should you?” he echoed, reaching up and quickly pulling on one of the ends of his bindings. They unfurled like a dream; Grey had taught him well. He slowly raised his hands up, putting them on his head to signal that he wasn’t trying to escape. Saying nothing in response, the woman pulled the hammer of the gun back. The click that came before the shot shrank Ron’s pupils. He could feel a primal sort of fear creeping in on him. Forcing the fear back down his throat, Ron found his voice again, and the short man spoke.

“… You should let me do it because I survived those other encounters that I mentioned, and it’s not from any kind of combat skill, I can promise you. I’m cooperating with you, just like I did with them. So you’ll allow me this because you know that I’m too smart to try to run. You won’t kill me if I flee, you’ll cripple me so that you can still get something out of this trip. Besides all that, wouldn’t you know? I’ve already done it. I’ve seen what you can do, and I respect it… but you let slip that you run the show. Meaning that first and foremost, you’re a businesswoman. So I’ll bet my life that aren’t really gonna shoot me over this. Neil was disposable. I’m potential income.”

He lowered his arms to his sides and took a step forward. She stood her ground. He took another step. She raised the gun. The barrel was squarely centered on his forehead. She stared hard at him. He stared back, a thousand witnessed war crimes suddenly flashing through his eyes. Her eyes met his, and each saw that the other was the same. He softened, reflexively, when he saw this. She did the same. Her hands began to shake. A biting wind whipped across the desert.

Ron slowly lifted his hand up to the barrel of the gun. He wrapped his fingers around it gently, and moved it away. She offered no resistance. He moved her trembling hands to the low ready position.

Silently, they wept.

[The Grey Man]

They walked in silence for some time after that. She’d taken off her half-cloak and given it to him, and he’d tied the scraps of makeshift armor into a neat little bag. He walked in front of her, cradling the parcel in his arms like an infant. It was hot, almost scalding, even through the fabric, but Ron didn’t care. The important thing was to build a sense of trust. It was how he’d made it through Grendeline. It was how he would make it through this.

“How close are we?” He asked, finally, breaking the silence.

“We’re nearly to the first spiderhole.”

“Spiderhole?” He asked. He heard her stop walking behind him. He did the same. Turning to face her, he watched as she studied the nearby cacti. It had a ribbon tied around it. She took note of the direction the knot was facing, and pointed Ron to march in that direction. Clever.

“Yes,” she responded, her chore finished, “a spiderhole. You do know what that is, don’t you?” Her voice was calm and even now. She sounded as she had before they’d come apart in each other’s gaze—now only a distant and foggy memory. Indeed, Ron knew what a spiderhole was. Grey had taught him how to make one, once. Well, he had tried, anyway… The truth was that Ron had panicked once the cover was put over the thing. He wasn’t normally claustrophobic, but being sealed up in a dark place, with no way to contact the outside world or easily escape… He didn’t feel safe like that. He felt like it was his own personal tomb.

“So then we aren’t going the full way today?” He said, stifling the quivering in his voice. She answered immediately: “Afraid not; way too risky to travel the dunes at night. Too many predators… human or otherwise.” Ron bit his lip at that.

Human or otherwise? What does that mean? he thought to himself. He didn’t understand any of this. One moment he’d been on Nativity 6 with Grey, talking about how easily they’d taken the facility through Ron’s clever espionage. “Hey,” he asked her, “where are we, anyway? I don’t remember anything except waking up in those restraints, stumbling between the two of you.”

“You don’t remember?” she asked back. Ron turned his head back to look at her. “No.” He answered, hoping for answers. She shook her head. “Well, I guess that happens sometimes. Primes come in here at that fountain. It usually takes a lot more effort to capture one, but you were way out of it. Stumbling all alone out there, in the white void. You were calling for somebody.”

Shit. Had he given them Grey’s name? And what’s this about a fountain? A void? Primes? It all sounded like crazy talk to Big Ron, but he didn’t see any other brilliant explanations coming to light. “So I’m just ‘out there, somewhere’ then…” he half-whispered, webs of fear firing off, encapsulating his mind and his body. His captor looked at him curiously. He turned away and focused on where he was walking, banishing his anxiety as best as he could.

“You okay?” she asked. Her questions helped to calm him. “This your first day in the ‘Verse, or something?”

“The Verse?” he echoed—answering her, in a way. He wasn’t sure quite what she meant. “Ha,” she chuckled, “sounds like a real run of bad luck on your part, then. I’ll explain everything to you later. For now, all you need to know is that ‘this is not the world you know’.” He cocked an eyebrow at that; she sounded almost as if she was mocking someone with that explanation. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

The sun was approaching the horizon now; he was still convinced that the great ball of fire’s descent was slower than it should be for Earth—he’d been keeping track of time in his head through their long silence. It’d been a few more hours, at least. Daylight lasts roughly twelve, he thought. The sun should be behind the horizon by now—or was he merely imagining things? Either way, he’d decided that his ability to breathe despite his lack of an EVA envirosuit meant that if he wasn’t on Earth, he was a hell of a long way from home. Where was the nearest easily-inhabitable world outside of the solar system, again? He had trouble remembering things like that. Not that it mattered, since—

She interrupted his thoughts once more. “We’re almost there. Just in time, too. See up ahead?”

Ron turned his gaze from the sun to a few notches down. There, just barely visible upon the horizon, was an oasis. He saw green trees, framing a pond which shimmered like a pale emerald. An array of well-arranged boulders seemed to form a rough barrier, separating the place from the rolling dunes that surrounded it.

“That’s where the spiderhole is?” he asked. “Well, yes,” she answered nonchalantly. “If we’d stuck it anywhere else then the wind might cover it up with too much sand to easily get in and out of the thing.”

Ron nodded his understanding.

“So,” he asked, “care to tell me any more about this ‘Verse’ thing you mentioned?”

“Well… alright. Guess there’s no harm in that.”

She spoke nearly the entire trip. Big Ron couldn’t believe the kinds of things she was saying to him. Giant worms that stalked the dunes at night, a town with no name… and that was merely on this tiny corner of the alien realm in which he was now, like her and everyone else, stranded. Vampires, demons, zombies, and devils. Angels and gods, both true and false; the endless depths and their eldritch terrors, and the infinite sea ravaged by pirates. A space-faring empire at war—and very nearly locked in a stalemate!—with the same Kingdom of Camelot that he’d been told stories about as a child. A town shrouded in mist and secrets, and a place of endless greenery and jungle. That wasn’t even everything that there was to be known about the place. It was, by her admission, only the very basics.

He told her of his world as well. Of a place much like Coruscant, with interplanetary alliances at constant war with each other from the shadows. The ceaseless and corrupt controllers of information, the endless pain and the hardships that he’d endured in his efforts to liberate the world from their despotic rulers, being careful to leave any mention of The Grey Man out of it all. She told her own tales—of watching her family and friends fall in battle to Primes who saw them merely as a kind of faceless Other, something meant to be destroyed rather than helped.

He told her also of the good in his world. The end of disease. The wonders of teleportation technology, of faster than light travel. The great telecasters and their messages of peace, free enterprise, and voluntary cooperation. She told him of the few pleasant things about life in the Dunes, as well—and many more stories about the upper layers of Coruscant, how wide, varied, and marvelous the different verses’ cultures could be, in spite of their universal predilections for conflict. Each took and told stories in turn, and each found themselves yet more awed by the strange beauty of their worlds with each passing of the storyteller’s wand.

They arrived just as the sun reached its lowest point, and all was flush with a soothing orange light. There was no wind tonight, and the desert already grew chilly. They came to a smaller gathering of stones within the greater shield of boulders, tucked away amidst the green brush surrounding the life-giving spring in this otherwise dead land. There were three rocks, two about mid-calf in height, the one in the middle reaching more like up to the knee due to its orientation. They were symmetrically arranged, with the central stone being stood vertically, while the others were laid flat.

“The holes are marked by these stones,” she explained to him. It occurred to Ron that she didn’t owe him any such explanation, and he felt a tinge of hope swell in the corners of his eyes. “One holds supplies,” she continued, pointing to the lone rock that stood vertically, “one is for storing the bound captives, and one is for us—but since you threw your bonds away, you’ll have to stay where I do. I’m not going to chance you running off.”

Thinking back to his previous experience with spiderholes—of barely having enough room to move—and the thought of sharing such a tight, enclosed space with Nat caused Ron’s mind to wander, but he quickly forced these notions aside in favor of more pragmatic questions.

“So then there’s more than just the one?” He asked. She gestured towards one, the flat stone on the left. Her words didn’t answer him; she simply commanded him. “Sit.” And he obeyed. The stone had retained a good deal of heat from the day, but it didn’t bother him as much, knowing that soon it would be cold. Very cold. He found himself wanting the heat to stay, and smiled to himself at this small irony.

He watched her as she pulled the tall boulder back. Small bits of sand gave way, trailing into the hole beneath, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Aiming Ron’s revolver down the hole, she produced a small flashlight from her pocket. She had to bang it against her knee a few times to get it working properly, but before long had a conical beam of light shining into the unknown space below. She put the revolver away, then glanced up at him. “Snakes” She told him, offering a monosyllabic explanation for the behavior. He nodded his understanding.

Nat pulled a few pieces of chopped up wood from the hole and tossed them out, into the slight open area that formed the middle of the cropping of stones. Then she produced a barbecue lighter in like fashion. A small cloth bag followed, reminding Ron that he needn’t hold onto the makeshift satchel of arms anymore. He set it down as Nat tossed a few smaller bits of wood out onto the pile of detritus.

“Want help?” Ron offered. She only shook her head, saying nothing as she separated everything out. He watched her arrange the tinder beneath the body of what was going to soon be their only source of heat. It had a good shape, for somebody who probably didn’t really know what they were doing. It was almost a traditional teepee shaped arrangement, though there were a few bits that seemed to be somewhat wantonly thrown on. He hoped it burned as good as it looked.

“Nice fire. Were you in the Girl Scouts?” he joked. She looked at him and cocked an eyebrow, but smiled nonetheless. “The what?” she asked him. Ah, of course. She wouldn’t understand that kind of thing. “Nevermind” he said, trying to hide his embarrassment. She spoke: “I was a scout once, but I dunno anything about ‘Girl Scouts’. Sounds a bit silly to have special boys-only, girls-only clubs. Didn’t you say you were from the so-called 'enlightened world of tomorrow'?” She chuckled slightly at her own remark. He did the same.

The sun’s light grew ever more dim, orange fading to a muted blue.

Night would soon been upon them.

[The Grey Man]

The dim glow of the cinders flared up and died down in steady rhythm. It was almost in time with Ron’s breathing—or maybe his breathing was almost in time with the pulsing of the dying lights. It was cold out now, colder than he’d imagined it would be. He tugged his overcoat together, buttoning it up in silence.

Nat was staring into the embers as well. Their conversation had faded. Now her face was like his. Pensive, tense, each small fold of flesh a marker for the anxiety that came with deep contemplation. He felt the need to save her from it, but couldn’t find any words.

It was her who spoke, moments later. “I suppose we ought to hit the hay. Getting late.” Her voice was monotone. He nodded in the darkness. She seemed to see him just fine. With a heavy hand she drew out the light from earlier, and shone it over to the stone that would house them for the night.

“Mind moving that for me?” she asked. He nodded, concealing a tiny grin as he did so. That was a question, rather than a direct order. Her disposition was softening. If he kept this up, maybe he’d be able to turn things around. Rolling his head to one side, then the other, he prepared to try and move the boulder. He wasn’t the strongest man; muscles tensed all along his back, knees, and the joints of his hips. His face grew hot from effort, and his eyes were filled with pressure. With one solid heave, the act was done. He peered down into the cool darkness below.

For all his errant thoughts, he really, really wasn’t looking forward to this all of a sudden. He turned back towards the dwindling flames, and Nat was approaching him. She held her half-cape folded up in her arms; her bits of armor were resting atop the third stone. “What do you think?” she asked him. “Like a home away from home, isn’t it?”

She smiled at him sardonically. He knew she could see the anxiety in him. “Y-yeah, sure… Sure.” He said, straightening his posture slightly. He wasn’t about to let her have her way like that. “So are we…”

“It’s only gonna get colder.” She interrupted. “You have to go in first, since I’ve got to block the entrance from you. I don’t want you making a break for it while I’m asleep.” Walking past him, she shone her light down into the hole. He leaned in to see what it looked like.

He’d been curious how such a structure could be made in an area where the sand is more loose than bare earth. Beneath the desert sands, the slavers had buried large boxes made of wood. The large boulders surrounding most of the oasis had likely been placed there from offsite to prevent excess sand from piling up around the small, glittering pool of water.

Ron stepped down into the hole, carefully. Knee-deep in the concealed bunker, he found that, unlike his own attempt, this box had ample room to sit comfortably and stretch his legs out. Grasping the rim of the entrance, he slid down and in, until his arms were parallel with the entrance boulder, as they should normally be for ease of escape. This probably wasn’t totally necessary, however; looking down at them, he could see, due to the unusually great distance the opening was from his hands, that the crate had an extra couple feet of vertical space—a precious commodity for this type of structure.

“Alright, now keep moving. To your left.” She said, her beam of light providing only the dimmest illumination. Swiveling his head, Big Ron could see that this box wasn’t sized like a typical spiderhole. It was spacious enough that four people his size could sleep shoulder to shoulder and not worry about getting stuck.

He did as instructed, shuffling his legs, then his arms, then his head over to his left. A few times more. He glanced over and scanned the space between him and the wall as best as he could, remembering that they hadn’t checked for snakes or anything dangerous in here.

“All clear down there?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before sliding herself into position next to him. There was a good amount of room between them—Ron was conflicted over this, being at once happy and unhappy. “I guess so,” he answered her stiffly, turning once more to scan the area beside him. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of being woken up by a snakebite.

The beam of her light shone past him, falling across the wall. “See anything?” she asked. He could hear her sliding into position, and the incandescence flashed and danced across the tightly bound slats of lightly colored wood, before finally settling down again.

“I don’t see anything.” Ron answered honestly. The only areas he couldn’t see were where his own shadow blocked his sight. “You’re sure?” Nat asked, the timbre of her voice a little lower and quieter than usual. “I really hate snakes. Spiders are one thing, but I don’t do snakes. You really don’t see any?”

“No, I really don’t see any.”

“Good.”

He lay in silence for a moment. The sounds of shuffling grew louder. An arm stretched over him, and the radius of the beam shrank, and he felt the warmth of her body, brushing slightly against his. The beam of light began to flitter and strut about the whole length of the spiderhole. She’d leaned over him and was shining her light around next to him, to make extra sure. “Yeah. Good.” She said, her voice taking on its usual pitch. “It looks like we’re alright.”

She must really hate spiders, he thought, unsure of what else there was to be thunk about such sudden strange behavior.

She quickly returned to her own position, and the light was switched off, leaving him in a sea of endless dark. Turning his head over again, Ron saw her pull the stone back over the entrance. Small amounts of sand fell onto her; she quickly wiped it off, away from him, groaning at the inconvenience of it all. The shaft of moonlight gone, all was pale yellow within the desert hiding place.

“So I suppose we just go to sleep, then? Right?” He asked, trying to keep his cool. His eyes were bleary, his pulse was racing, and his head felt like it was full of nothing but air. The worst part was, he couldn’t figure out why. Had he become claustrophobic or something?

She spoke, cutting through his panic. “Well, we can. In reality it’s only been night time a little while. So if we go straight to bed now it still won’t be daylight by the time we wake up. But the fire was dead, and this box is well-insulated, though, so it’ll trap our heat better than the open desert would.”

He closed his eyes and pretended he was somewhere else as he spoke back. “So what are we gonna do until then?”

“… Do you know any stories?”

“Stories?”

“Yeah, stories. Not the kind of thing we’ve been talking about. Made up ones.”

So this is how they pass the time… he held in a sigh. Ron didn’t like it when they humanized themselves this much. He’d already learned too much about her to kill her, if it came to that.

God, he didn’t want it to come to that.

He pushed out of the fetor and miasma of his macabre contemplations and answered her, “Yeah, I know a few. Ever hear of the Devil of Mars?”

“Pshh,” she scoffed, “I’ve never even heard of Mars!”

He laughed at that. "Well, they say that he stalks the Face on Mars. It's not safe to go there at night. They say that his presence conjures up cold and frost, and that's why sometimes it snows inside Face Dome." She gasped; clearly, she remembered his earlier explanation of Mars' bubble-like colonies fairly well; like tiny little heat bumps of sentience on an otherwise toxic and frozen world. Ron continued.

"A few years back, a little girl went missing. They say that the police found her, frozen solid into an ice statue next to the hydroponic gardens! It was a perfect replica, but all ice--right down to the shape and the network of her organs. Veins, bones, brain and nervous system... It was all detailed, and all visible from the outside in."

"N-no way! That's bullshit, Ron! Besides, you said that devils don't exist in your world!" She sounded genuinely frightened; he really couldn't tell if she was playing it up or if his hokey urban legends were finally scaring someone. "That's true," he assured her. "So what that really means is that we don't even know what the Devil of Mars is. He could be an alien. He could be a monster. He could even be a shapeshifter. For all we know, he followed me here--"

"Stop it! No! No! Stop!!" She cried, her voice high with panic. He knew that she wasn't faking it. "Ugh, god, I know it's made up but I hate scary stories..."

"Oh. Oh! I had no idea! I'm sorry. Here, let me try again."

"No, just," she started, huffing and sniffling in the pitch black, "just forget it. I should've said something sooner. It's ruined."

Was she crying? He didn't know. Ron sighed heavily, reaching up and tugging his hair in frustration. "Nat... Really, I'm sorry."

The tiny exhalations slowly ebbed out, giving way to silence. He sighed once more, shaking his head. This was probably a major setback. Plus, though he was loathe to admit it, he was beginning to get to know her. It was genuinely upsetting to him to know that he'd upset her that much.

A mere handful of words came, after several long minutes.

"I know." She told him. "I believe you. It's fine. Really."

He sighed again. This time, in relief.

Their dreams were filled with confusion and hard memories.

[The Grey Man]

It had been a couple of days since they’d arrived at the quiet solitude of the oasis. She’d stayed there an extra night, leaving him by their camp so that she could hunt for more meat in the dunes. He’d dined on some strange type of lizard he’d never seen before. Today was, supposedly, the day that they would be leaving for camp.

“Are you ready?” Nat asked him, as she fitted the last few bits and baubles of her armor back onto her legs. He only nodded; in truth, he was far from ready to leave. He wanted to stay here for at least another few months. Even without Nat around, it seemed as though he could make a good life out in this place, at least until Grey showed up…

But that assumes that Grey will show up, he reminded himself. He had no concrete way of knowing whether or not his friend was dead or alive, much less in the same strange place as he was. He brushed back his hair, letting the shoulder-length blond strands fall where they may. This was not good.

“Ron?” Nat asked, coming over to him. “You still with it? The sun hasn’t fried your brain, has it?” She joked. Ron became aware of her talking to him—noticed her on the periphery of his contemplation—and turned to face her. “What?” he asked, confused.

She smiled, and offered him some advice: “You think too much.”

Her hood wasn’t raised yet, and Ron could see the green in her eyes. It looked like the gentle water of the oasis. “Right,” he said back, “sorry. What were you saying?” She shook her head a little, raising the straps of her rucksack up and over her shoulder. “Nothing much. We’re just headed out, is all. So, you know, grab your things.”

Ron took hold of his coat, shaking off the sand, and slid his arms through it. Nat was already walking when he turned back around. He ran to catch up to her. ‘

“So, we’re headed that way?” he asked her.

“Sure are. We’ll be there before the end of the day. After that, I put you in a slave roster and wait for somebody of questionable character to buy you.” She paused for a moment. “Then, well. I guess I’ll never see you again.”

He could hear a pensiveness about that in her voice. He didn’t know what to say to her.

She spoke again. “I think I’m going to put you in the high-profile roster. Your training as a surgeon would make you a valuable member of a Prime’s team. If I could get one of them to purchase you, anyway.”

He continued to say nothing. Her own musings dwindled down; perhaps she realized that it was not pleasant conversation. She didn’t say much else after that.

A few hot hours of trekking later and he could see it. Over the horizon, like some profane and jagged shrine to misery and bondage. It was a camp of some size, centered around a small oasis, just as the hiding place had been. Ron imagined that a place of this size would require many more oases than these to adequately support any real population. What kind of place had he gotten lost in?

She led him at the point of his own gun, walking behind him as they entered the twisted archway that led into the central shanty town. Corrugated metal and old bits of plank formed houses, shops, and more. Ron was amazed at the poverty of this place. He was no place on Planet Earth, if this was how these people lived. At least not the Earth that he knew.

“This way,” she said, snatching him from his thoughts and guiding him to a small shack guarded on either side by men armed with rifles—one of them pristine but for the skein of sand over it, the other a dirty zip-gun made of old bits of pipe, wood, and metal. “This is you until I get you processed and figure out where you’ll be,” Nat finished.

Ron sighed and entered without an argument. It was hot inside—almost as hot as it was outside. The walls of iron, tin, and aluminum radiated with the heat they’d absorbed from the sun. He felt, after a time, as though his sweat had begun to sweat.

He hoped that he wouldn’t be here long, and hoped even more that The Grey Man was, in fact, out there.

[The Grey Man]

It’d been a few days since he’d arrived. Nat had put him up on the roster, for high-profile clients. Didn’t want him to go too quickly, she’d said, and she wanted to know he wasn’t just getting bought for somebody to turn him into food. He’d hoped that she wouldn’t be selling him at all, but he was grateful all the same.

It was raining out today. The rain here was rare, he’d heard from a few of the other prisoners. Only happened a couple times a year, although certain parts of the verse saw a fair bit more than others. The slaves were to stay in their hovels today. Big Ron lay flat on his cot, watching the water drip down from the ceiling. The gentle patter of rain drops against the corrugated metal roof was almost hypnotic.

He’d learned a lot of things talking to these prisoners since he got there—and a couple things from Nat, during her visits, which took a pattern of once every two or three days. Some things he’d already heard; things like verses, and Omni, and Primes and secondaries—of which he’d determined that he was the latter. He’d gotten a lot more in the way of fine details, though, talking to the slaves and the slavers when there was no work to be done.

He’d heard tell of a Town With No Name somewhere here in the Dunes, and talk of gates into other worlds. That a bunch of primes with fire in their belly were gathering up to try and overthrow the god of this place. A few more were interested simply in righting wrongs—and a handful of them were interested in causing them. A whole world full of immortal assholes, Ron smiled bitterly. Things have gone from bad to worse for the fine folks of Grey Paramilitary.

There was another thing he’d come to know, too. Or, more accurately, he had begun to assume. As a secondary, he was summoned here—intentionally or not—by a Prime. And, Ron figured, if the Prime summoned him, it stood to reason that the Prime in question had a personal attachment to Big Ron.

It was clear as day: Grey was out there somewhere.

Ron sighed; if he had his slate or his headset, he could try the usual frequencies that Grey left his earpiece on. As it stood, though, he was alone. If he was going to escape, he’d have to get a better idea of where The Town With No Name was. Even then, he’d have to wait to steal one of their hoverbikes. He could try knocking one of the guards unconscious and taking their key, but he wasn’t sure how they worked yet. He also thought of trying to hotwire one, but he’d need to see somebody else do it.

His thoughts leapt onto the back-burner as a form entered his shack. It was Nat. She wasn’t armed, like usual. The rain had soaked deep into her cloak, which she quickly cast off. Ron tried not to stare at her face for too long at once as she spoke.

“I have a favor to ask of you.” She said, making it clear from her tone that Ron didn’t have much choice. He lazily shifted his gaze to meet hers, showing that he was listening.

“You mentioned the other day that you’re a Secondary,” she began, “and the fact that you just got here means that the Prime who summoned you is probably pretty new himself—much weaker than you know them as being. Now, this isn’t necessarily the case based solely on that one bit of info, but I’ve learned that none of the Primes I’m familiar with have any idea who you might be attached to, so that’s why I think you’re accompanying a totally new arrival.”

Ron nodded his understanding. She continued: “So, my favor is for you to bring him here. I’m ransoming you to him. When he arrives, I’ll collect a handsome fee for your safe return, and then you can forget all about me.”

She reached into a fold in her rough-stitched top and produced Ron’s headset. He hid a wide grin; she had no idea who she was dealing with. “I want you to get this thing set up to call whoever you think summoned you, and then put me on with your Prime.”

Ron took the headset from her, feigning hesitation. He looked at it; the thing was covered in sand. He brushed it off and started dialing… He’d try the lower frequencies first and work his way up. Placing the band over his head, he adjusted the microphone as the device rang softly in his ear.

No luck. He tried another, and another; it wasn’t until his fourth try that he was met with silence.

“This is Grey,” Ron heard, over what sounded like the roaring of an automobile engine, “talk to me.” Ron had hoped that The Grey Man would be a little more excited to hear from his best friend in the entire galaxy, but he held back on this remark. “It’s me, Grey,” replied Big Ron, “and I’m in a bit of a jam.”

“You and me both, brotherman. I’ve been traveling for a bit with a man who calls himself Drive. We seem to be trapped in some kind of alternate universe and I can’t contact the rest of Strike Team. What’s your deal?”

“I’m here in the omniverse as well—I got taken captive my first day here. I’m in a place called The Endless Dunes. Have you heard of it?”

“Endless Dunes, huh? Yeah, I know a little bit about the place. We’re in Camelot right now,” a brief pause, then “god that’s weird to say out loud.”

“Yeah, really. Anyway, the lady who took me captive wants to talk to you.”

“Ah, figures. You have to stop letting this happen to you. Put her on.”

Ron removed the headset and handed it over to Nat. She spoke with a commanding voice, “state your name, Prime.”

“You can call me The Grey Man, just like everyone else,” Grey spoke into her ear.

“Okay, ‘The Grey Man’,” she shot back sardonically, “here’s how this works: you come out to The Town With No Name, alone, and you meet up with one of our scouting parties—again, alone. You come with us, no weapons, no tricks, no funny business. We negotiate. We agree on a price. You pay that price. Ron walks free with you. Sound good?”

“I may be a while; I’m in Camelot. But for now I suppose I’ll play your little game.”

“Goddamn right you will,” she snapped back. “I’ll see you then. The party comes in every Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. Ask the two strangers in the saloon if they know a way to make a little extra flatbread…. And don’t make fun of our code-phrases.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. You stay classy. Grey out.”

Ron couldn’t tell what he’d said to her; she seemed a little annoyed. She removed the headset and put it back in its pocket. “Your Prime seems like a bit of a character. It’s almost like he doesn’t even care about you.” She mused. “Yeah,” Ron replied, “he can come off that way.”

“How did somebody like you end up rubbing elbows with a cat like that?” she asked, bending down to sit on the floor of Ron’s holding shack. He thought back; he’d actually been pretty careful not to reveal much about Grey. He should keep doing so now.

In fact, if he knew The Grey Man, the smart thing to do would be to lie to her to make him seem less threatening… and make no mistake, nobody knows The Grey Man half as well as Big Ron, save for the Man himself.

“Well,” he started, “The Grey Man is a little bit paranoid, because he’s the CEO of a major megacorp back home, specializing in paramilitary gear and equipment. He’s probably going to be armed when you meet him, but it’s just going to be for show. He’s my best friend, and he’s got some formal experience with military operations… but that was a long time ago. I’m sure that with as many people as you have he won’t dare try anything too crazy.”

She nodded and raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying that he’s just some boring loser with a desk job?”

“Well, not exactly boring…”

“Then tell me what you’re not telling me. There has to be some reason that Omni brought him here. He doesn’t like boring old assholes.”

“Well, I may or may not be understating the kind of influence he has,” Ron said, trying to sound quite sheepish. “He actually managed to use his natural talents in the realm of negotiation and diplomacy to end wars… and start them, too. After all, too much peace is bad for business.”

She smiled, that same cynical little half-smile that accompanied a lighting up of her eyes and caused Ron’s heart to stop for just a moment every time he saw it. “I see,” she said, sounding intrigued, “so he’s a desk jockey by day, interplanetary troublemaker by night… Alright, I’ll buy it. That kind of fellow certainly seems like they’d fit the bill of Prime. The Emperor and King Aragorn may both be scary dudes in a fight, but they are mostly political figures. I look forward to meeting this Grey Man. Maybe we can forge some kind of alliance.”

I wouldn’t bet on it, Ron thought.

“I bet he’d go for that.” Ron said.

[The Grey Man]

“You mentioned being a freedom fighter,” she said, changing the subject rather abruptly. “So what made you want to get into that?”

Ron grinned. “Are you ready for this?”

“Shoot.”

“Well, it all started when I was taken hostage.”

“Ha! You’re good at that.” She said with a wry grin. He rolled his eyes. Lady, you don’t know the half of it. “But go on,” she goaded. So he did:

“I was just a boy, really. Fresh out of school. I worked as a trauma surgeon for the Interplanetary Alliance’s secret moonbase. It was a fairly boring job, honestly—nobody attacks secret bases, because, well, they’re secret. I worked there for four years. I knew about the wars, and the Russian nuclear holocaust back home, and the NEO TECHNO LIBERATION FRONT and all that jazz, but it just seemed so far away. Besides, the pay was great!”

“So I’m guessing eventually the secret got out, right? You were attacked?”

“Right,” Ron affirmed, continuing his story. “One of our own researchers told a splinter faction of the Red Planet Army about the kinds of experiments we were performing—and I had no idea it was so bleak. Implants designed to control people, to erase their wills entirely and supplant it with something new. Mind control executed on the cellular level. When I found out, I could hardly blame our attackers. I knew then that the narrative I’d been fed my whole life—about NEO TECHNO NEW JERUSALEM being the one and only villain in all the solar system—I knew then that it was all even more bullshit than I thought. There were no benevolent rulers, no compassionate kings in our solar system. Just a bunch of desperate, horrified people trying to keep their hands as tightly on the reins as they could, and for as long as possible.”

“Your captors told you this?”

“I saw the implants work with my own eyes. My captors put them into the very scientist that had ratted us out, and used them to force him to shoot all of his companions. It was… difficult to watch, to say the least. It was there, watching them die, along with all my notions of security and freedom under the IPA’s rule of law, that I made my choice.”

He decided to leave the bits about Grey saving him from the captors out.

“I can only imagine what that was like…” She said, looking genuinely unnerved. He didn’t want her asking how he’d escaped, so he decided to ask her a little about herself, in order to change the subject. Although he’d have been lying to himself if he said that was his only reason for doing so. “What about you? I’ve heard stories about what you’ve done, but how did you end up here?” he asked.

“Who, me?” she cocked her head to the side. “Well, if you must know, I was actually born in the Town, but I was taken captive by a roving band of slavers back when I was, I dunno, around 16 or so maybe. That was around eight years ago now. Wow, time flies… Anyway, I don’t come from weak stock, so after they’d all gone to sleep one night, I snuck up on their leader, cut him open with his own machete, then choked his second-in-command to death with the leader’s innards. After that it was pretty easy to convince the remaining ones to accept my leadership or die horribly as well, and from there I’ve built a nice little niche for myself out here. Sold the others from the original band into slavery over falsified transgressions a couple years back.”

She noticed Ron giving her an alarmed look, and quickly added “… if you knew what they did to me, you’d know why I did them like that. So don’t give me that shit look.”

He only nodded. She glanced around, looking strangely ashamed of what she’d just so candidly admitted to him and the way that things had gone since then. “God, I… Nevermind.” She said, taking her cloak and pulling it back up to obscure her face. “Listen, just forget I said anything, okay? I made that up. I’m going to go back to my tent now.”

Ron opened his mouth to object, but she was already gone.

There, alone in the silence, with only the falling of the rain on sheet metal echoing through the camp, Big Ron’s initial thoughts of escape plans and philosophy were now replaced by just one burning question: what happened to Nat?