Flatfoot stays at the controls of the air/raft, not wanting to be away should Spider be successful.
Well, you're not steering right now anyway...
"Keep flying, let's see if we can confuse Medcom for a minute." Mascot begins rerouting the airraft's limited sensors to confuse the Virus.
PING!
Drifter reaches down to take out the computer.
Drifter lets go of the yoke to attack the autopilot. As his air/raft spirals down towards the savage crowd his passengers yell in alarm. With quick, precise movements, he uncouples the autopilot at the last moment as the vehicle descends to within a dozen meters of the plaza. With control suddenly on manual, he jams the accelerator all the way forward and the vehicle rockets forward over the nearby rooftops as small arms fire crackles around it.
Soon the twin air/rafts are jetting out past the ruined outskirts of Star City and on over the rolling grasslands that look much the same as they have since time immemorial. The passengers cheer as the air cars make their way west across the plains.
Eventually, well after nightfall, when Star City is a few hundred kilometers to the east, the fuel gauges begin to nudge towards empty and it will soon be necessary to set down and begin the arduous journey to Freedom Lake by foot.
Any plans?
Using whatever maps of the terrain that Sandman can conjure up, Spider will plot out a course from their landing site to Freedom Lake which (to the extent that it is possible) avoids treacherous terrain, known or likely sites of armed camps, and likely ambush sites.
"We are still in the Border Lands," says Sandman. "That's a region between the Subject Lands and the Outback, loosely a thousand kilometers across and lying between the Halcyon Sea and Freedom Lake. The population is miniscule, but owes nominal allegiance to the Sentient Council."
"There are a few security outposts here along the major river, so we should avoid any centers of population. The outposts are controlled by GroSec and the cyborgs known as "breeds". Beyond the outposts, humans have rediscovered black powder, so flintlocks and muskets are common weapons in the towns."
"The Rebellion has some allies in the Outback, but none we trusted in the Border Lands."
Spider's uncanny knowledge of wilderness survival and military organizations allows him to plot a course that avoids major human population centers while still encountering fresh water on a regular basis. Still, the journey just to reach the outback is 100 kilometers on foot through steppe and farmland. Once into the Outback, it is another 1500 kilometers of desert, steppe and badlands. All while pushing a hovering computer infected with an apparently friendly form of Man's deadliest enemy.
On the second week of the grueling march, the team comes upon a ruined town of the Imperial era. Spider decides to risk spending the night there for some shelter. On a lamp post they find a crude but relatively new poster showing a human smashing a robot. It bears the legend "Black January" and "Prepare to Strike!"
Early the next morning, everyone wakes to the distinctive sound of horses, an animal widespread across the galaxy. Drifter and Mascot go to investigate and soon signal that many people are in sight. Drifter remains watching the newcomers as Mascot works his way back to Spider and Flatfoot.
A large caravan has arrived in the ruined town. They have four large carts drawn by pairs of six-legged beasts like huge oxen. At least two dozen horsemen accompany them, most armed with muskets but at least two with modern small arms. They don't look like a military force so much as an armed caravan.
"Merchant scavengers most likely," says Sandman. "They sell scavenged tech to the Subject Lands."
Spider considers, "Well, I don't think we have much need for scavenged tech - and little to trade besides. Let's minimize contact with them. Unless...did they come from the direction we were headed? Some fresh intel wouldn't hurt."
"Would these merchants also sell information? Maybe that they spotted a group with a computer?," asks Flatfoot.
"We should not let them see the computer. And only some of us, too. But the people they do see should look tough enough to not be easy targets."
"I was wondering if they'd sell us a cart and some beasts to pull it," says Tapdance. "The Navy didn't train me for all this walking."
"Yes," Sandman tells Flatfoot. "They'd certainly tell tales of meeting us."
Drifter keeps an eye on the caravan looking for signs that they might not be friendly.
They look pretty much like scavengers. Mostly armed with archaic weapons, but not completely unarmed. They number about twenty, give or take a few.
"Let's try and stay off their radar." Spider will try and lead the group out of the ruined town along a path that keeps them out of the caravan's sight. He sends Mascot back to Drifter with orders to keep an eye on the caravan, then rendezvous with the rest of the group at a location a couple of miles out of town along their original path.
Flatfoot will go with the group, keeping an anxious on the town as they move away from it. He looks for a strongpoint for the rendezvous, someplace where they might stand off the caravan if it comes to that.
Mascot joins Drifter in watching the caravan to ensure that they don't cross paths with the group or that there isn't anything unusual about them.
Spider and Flatfoot find a long-defunct pumping station and hole up in that with the group. Wind blows through the rusted-out roof and broken windows.
Meanwhile, Mascot and Drifter are keeping an eye on the caravan when they suddenly hear foot steps leading toward their position from behind. They're about to have company. What do they do?
Drifter tries to get out of easy line of sight and hopes whoever he hears is not searching for people.
Mascot dives into the brush and tries to half-bury himself into the foliage.
"Alright," says a male voice seconds later. "I know you're there. Come out. Slowly. Come on out."
Mascot shifts slightly, trying to determine how many there might be. He stays quiet, however, uncertain if the man sees him or Drifter.
"Bring up the dogs," says the voice to someone else.
"I won't waste any lives coming in there to get you," says the voice. "But if you hurt my dogs I'm going to feed you to the rest of them. Now come out."
Drifter comes out and says, "I have no reason to hurt your dogs."
Drifter sees three people. One man has a crossbow, the lone woman has an ancient-looking slug-thrower pistol and the other man has a rather beat-up looking pre-Collapse laser carbine. Each is dressed in a hodge-podge assortment of modern clothing and furs. The man with the crossbow has blue swirls tattooed across his entire face.
The man with the laser carbine speaks. "Who are you and what're you doing here?"
You can hear more people approaching, and the sounds of anxious dogs.
"People call me Drifter. We are just passing through and did not want any trouble so we were trying to stay out of sight and out of mind. We don't mean any trouble for you or yours. Mascott, come on out and say hi." Drifter smiles and holds his hands out to either side to show he is not holding any weapons.
Mascot takes the cue from Drifter and emerges from the bushes. "Who are you, traders? We dont want any trouble "
If the people find your names to be outlandish, they don't say so.
"Traders, yes. Sort of. But we don't like meeting folks so near the Glasslands, especially ones who hid. Are you two here alone? You gypsies?"
That question strikes you as a very important one.
"We are with a small group. We are not gypsies though, I can't say I even know much about the gypsies. We are just heading to meet with some people and since we have little experience out near the Glasslands we were trying to avoid any trouble." Drifter smiles and tries to get some information as they talk.
"The guns. Put them down and step back," says the man. "You can have them back when we're certain you're telling the truth."
"Come on!" says the tattooed man. "They're from the City. They're spies for the toasters. We can't let them go."
"Shut up, Cantu," says the woman. "Or next time I'll leave you for the gypsies."
Cantu glowers, but shuts up.
The leader gestures with his rifle. "Come on. Put them down and step back."
Mascot puts down his weapon and steps back, holding up his hands reflexively. "Alright, you got it. Now what? We're not working for those Virus-laden tin cans. In fact, we'd like to away from them as much as possible. You? Sounds like you feat the gypsies more than the 'cans."
Drifter carefully sets his rifle down so that it never points at anyone and then steps back. "No problem. as I said, we are not looking for trouble, and we have nothing to do with the toasters back in the city."
"All right," says the leader as the woman carefully collects the weapons.
"I'm Commda Singh. That's Seela and you've met Cantu. We're Recoverists and we claim this site. Who're you? I don't know your accent."
"My name is Calvin. We don't care anything for your site. We were just making our way through and don't want any trouble. What are Recoverists?"
"Uh-uh. You first," says Commda Singh. [b]"I want to know who you are and what you're doing here. Calvin."
Drifter shrugs, "We are offworlders trying to get off this rock. The reason we keep asking about stuff is we are trying to find out what not to get our nose stuck in. We stopped here for the night and were prepping to move when we noticed you were here."
"Alright. Off-world? That's a new one. You do sound like you're from somewhere else, I'll give you that. Which way are you headed from here? And what do I call you?"
"My name is James Monroe, but everyone just calls me Drifter." Drifter points off in the general direction that they are heading and says, "We are heading that way."
Singh stares at Drifter for awhile. Then he nods. "Alright, Drifter. Calvin. Come get something to eat. You'll stay with us tonight and when we go our way, you can go yours."
"Calvin, Recoverists are people who salvage workable tech and sell it to the tribes closer to Star City. This used to be a company town for a mining facility in the hills. It's almost played out now, but still worth the scavenging at least one more time."
"You can't be serious," says Cantu. "We let them go and they'll head straight to the gypsies."
"Gypsies know right where we are, Cantu," says Singh. "The only thing these fellows can tell them is how well armed we are. Stand down. That's an order."
__________________________________________________
So Drifter and Mascot are overdue and there's a large armed party down in the town. What will you do?
After pacing for a few hours while waiting, Spider curses. "They should have been back by now. We'll set up camp here. Flatfoot, take one other person and go back and see if you can figure out what's going on. Harlan, are you or one of your men any good at quietly scouting?"
Mascot nods and follows Singh. "Glad to know we can get beyond some initial paranoia. And if you have anything beyond dehydrated rations, I'm a sucker for a good meal."
He glances around at the weapons the men have. "Like Drifter said, we're from off-world. Just looking to get back home before we're stuck here. So tell me more about the gypsies. From your reaction, they're not someone we want to meet."
"I can try, but I am a city boy. But we can go to a vantage point and try to get an eye on where Drifter and Mascot stayed. Who do you suggest, Harlan?," asks Flatfoot.
When Harlan has suggested someone, Flatfoot heads back in the direction where Mascot and Drifter stayed. He tries to keep out of sight and spot the group that everyone had seen.
DRIFTER and MASCOT
__________________________________________________
SPIDER and FLATFOOT
Harlan identifies one of his quietest, a slender bald woman named, apparently, "G". She silently follows Flatfoot and takes up a complementary position.
Flatfoot can't see a thing but G's handsignals indicate that she can. Later, the two head back towards Spider and G mumbles "Saw 'em. Eating. Looks like they're in with them soldiers or whatever."
Spider considers that. "Huh. Either they're friendlies, or they're reeeeal honorable with their prisoners." He shakes his head, "I don't like our odds in a breakout attempt, so let's give it a little time and see if we can avoid that."
He addresses Flatfoot and G, "Presumably they aren't going anywhere until morning, so you two turn in early and plan to go back just before dawn and take a look at what's happening. Best case scenario, Drifter and Mascot head back here after they eat a good meal, and you two don't have to go anywhere. Worst case, you go back and see them soldiers packing up to leave with our people captive. I'll try and figure out how we handle that scenario."
Mascot wolfs down the food, not caring what it looks like. If the marines taught him one thing it was that you never know what s#@% food you'll have to survive on next. Better take the good stuff while it's offered.
And so a relatively quiet night passes on the verge of the Glasslands. Mascot and Drifter are under heavy guard, but the food is decent and the people don't seem horrible.
In the morning, Singh, Cantu and Seela return. Cantu is sullen but silent. Your weapons are no where in sight.
"Good news and bad news," says Singh. "The good news is that we're moving on and letting you go. The bad news is I'm sorry to say that the Resistance needs your weapons." He nods to one of the crude Resistance posters on a nearby wall.
"I'm going to give you some knives and some food, but there are bigger events going on than you know, and every weapon is critical to that fight."
"You are part of the resistance? I told you we were from off world. We came to meet up with resistance and find out how we can help you." Drifter says hoping to get more information from them about the resistance.