By Kevin W. Lee.
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It was a mere boy in that hulking suit of armor. A round face full of freckles and topped off by a mop of red hair. Upon his nose were a pair of thick goggle like glasses, and his mouth held a crooked sardonic smile, "Sorry, Mrs. B. Didn't mean to knock over your door." He snickered softly and I swore under my breath he couldn't be more than sixteen.
The armor it's self really didn't seem to be in very good condition. Or at least what passed for Military Standard. The Predator that the boy wore was missing a wing and much of the rear engine was removed. Here and there, discolored patches of sub-standard metal were welded about the armor. Obviously, the armor had seen better days. About the only thing that looked like it was any good was the Cannon that graced the right arm. But even that could have used a little bit of polish.
At that point, the innkeepers wife screamed shrilly, "Harry B. Toaderson!! How MANY times have I told you to keep away from my home with that... that... walking pile of junk you walk around it."
At that moment, the Innkeeper and Mayor Staffun burst into the room through the kitchen door. The Innkeeper carrying a frying pan that appeared to have just been removed from the stove and the Mayor carrying a small soup ladle, hiding behind the Innkeeper. "What is the meaning of this? Young Harry? Is that you?"
Harry B. Toaderson pushed his way through the doorframe causing it to bend and splinter about his bulky armor. This earned another shriek from Mrs. B., the Innkeeper's wife. Despite the glare and the screams he received from the Innkeeper and his wife, Harry B. Toaderson continued to walk into the room, his heavy armor causing the floorboards to creak and bend into permanently altered shapes. He cracked another grin, "Sorry about that, Mr. B., Mrs. B. I forget about the size of this armor too."
The Innkeeper cried out in rage, "Yeah? Seems to me you forget that whenever it's convenient! I want you to GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!! You've destroyed enough already!"
We watched as Harry B. Toaderson waved an armor finger at the Innkeeper, "Tut tut, Mr. B. I came to see the guests. It's not often that we get guests here, correct Mr. B.? Of course it's not. We don't get very many visitors here in our sleepy little town at all." At that, Harry turned to all three of us sitting at the table and bowed low in his armor, "Greetings mighty Travelers. I am Harry B. Toaderson, son of Randolf R. Toaderson, owner and head mechanic of the Mile High Armory."
Darren stood and reached forward to take Harry B. Toaderson's armored hand in a powerful warrior's grip. Strange... I could hear the gauntlet of Harry's begin to groan. I shook my head in disgust. Talk about sub-standard armor.
"Greetings, Harry Toaderson. I am Darren... I am pleased to make your acquaintance...." Darren paused, "Although I do think that some sort of restitution should be made to these two generous souls for breaking their door."
Harry looked at Darren for a moment, a look of surprise crossing his face. Quickly, though, he recovered and the looks of nonchalance returned. Gesturing carelessly to the two Innkeepers he replied flippantly, "Oh... my father will take care of it. He always does." He gazed about the table at the rest of us. Quite deliberately, I met his eye and he paled. Quickly he moved on to Lena. As he did so, a slow smile that only a miscreant could have worn correctly grew. Leaning down he looked at Lena, who was doing her best to ignore him completely. "Well... hello, little lady... what might your na-"
He was soon cut off by the steely glare that Lena directed at him, and her activated energy blade which she held inches from his nose, "Watch it monkey-boy, if you don't want to see what rotting intestines that belong to a certain Toaderson look like."
Harry B. Toaderson backed up a few paces with a disarming look on his face. A few more floor boards were ruined. "Hey... Lady... I was just being friendly."
I glanced at Darren quickly. Darren was standing there, looking rather baffled and almost half wishing that this situation would just go away. Realizing that Darren wasn't going to interfere with the situation between Lena and Harry B. Toaderson, I decided to raise my voice. "Ahem... Mr.. Harry B. Toaderson. It would be advisable for you to leave at this time. My friend Lena here could gut you in an instant, and I've seen Darren break a Juicer in half." Darren gave me a look of reproach. I grinned and shrugged to him. So I really hadn't been in any condition to watch him kill that Juicer. But still. It sounded impressive. I retrained my eyes upon Harry B. Toaderson. "And I... I could put a bullet between your eyes and out the back of your silly little skull before you had the chance to even consider raising that pansy-assed poor excuse of a imported product's weapon."
The look that the honorable Harry B. Toaderson gave me was a mix of several things. Fear? Yes. Most definitely. But also, hatred, confusion, and a bit of uncertainty. He was green, I could tell. Most veterans if they really wanted to kill us would have mowed us down during my little speech. I chuckled and shook my head. Poor sod.
But, despite all the hard time that we were giving Harry B. Toaderson, it still seemed he had some courage. He had enough to break down before us and beg our forgiveness. With a gleam in his eye and a waver in his voice that almost sounded fake he got down on to his armored knees and said, "Oh... I apologize great warriors. I shouldn't have been so forward with you. I do so want to be an adventurer like you. I do SO MUCH. Please let me come with you? Please?"
Darren watched this tirade with a mix of puzzlement, interest, and pity. Finally he said, "I am sorry, youngster. That will not be possible, for we will be going into deadly battle soon. We will be searching out the 'Flaming Guard' and this 'Count' to make them pay for their injustices."
Harry B. Toaderson stood still for a moment, looking at us. Tilting his head, he looked up at Darren from his kneeling position, "Excuse me sir? Did you say you were looking for... the 'Flaming Guard'?"
Darren nodded impassively and grated, "Yes... Harry B. Toaderson. That is who we search for."
Toaderson paused. Looking into his eyes, I could almost see the hamster running on the track that powered his adolescent brain. Finally he looked back up at us and hastily blurted out, "I think I hear my father calling, I need to go now." At that, he jumped to his feet (much to the chagrin of the Innkeeper and his wife) and pounded through the front door.
Later that night, as I lay in the comfortable bed which was provided to me in my own room, I thought about the exchange. Although I didn't care for the boy, he did help us a little bit. He provided the name of an armory in this area. Mile High Armories to be exact, run by Randolf R. Toaderson.
I shifted underneath my bedsheets. But the problem was, if that place held the same type of craftsmanship which was displayed by Harry B. Toaderson's Predator, I was sorry to say it might not be worth it.
I rolled over the side of my bed to pick up my ion pistol off of the night stand. Well... perhaps I could get a few clips charged and perhaps pick up a set of body armor. I decided to see if I could convince Darren to take a trip with me to Mile High Armories in the morning. Or Lena at least.
Bright and early I woke. After hurriedly downing my spiced goat breakfast, and rinsing it away with some orange juice, I managed to convince Lena to help me look for Mile High Armories. It seemed that she was pretty much as eager to find the place as I was. Darren, though declined the offer to join us. He said he was going to go see if he could find out more about the 'Flaming Guard' and the 'Count'.
After about 2 hours of asking directions and searching for the Armory, we finally found it tucked away in the corner of the town under a small faded sign which said, "Garage Here". Lena and I looked up at the sign and at each other. Finally we both shrugged and pushed our way through the entrance door.
Well... I suppose you could have called the place an Armory in the most basic sense of the word. The 'Armory' was a rather small warehouse, mostly filled with junk. Rusty pipes, old computer parts, and what seemed to be a rather large collection of... Pre-rifts vehicle hubcaps. On the far side of the room stood a rather small display case behind a low wooden counter. And behind the counter was what turned out to be Mr.. Randolf R. Toaderson himself.
Randolf R. Toaderson was a tall switch of a man, and remembering his son, Harry, I could easily see the likeness. Like Harry, Randolf had a thin face framed by a mop of carrot colored hair. His small beady eyes glared out at each customer behind a pair of thick, steel framed glasses which probably doubled as eye protection when doing metal work and lenses to correct vision.
Slowly we strolled up to the low wooden counter. As we were doing so, Randolf's pinched face widened into a rather crooked smile. As we stepped up to the counter he said, "Ah... Welcome oh great travelers to the best Armory in town. Mile High Armories." He leaned across the counter with hand extended, "Hi. I am Randolf R. Toaderson... Owner and Manager of Mile High Armories."
Gingerly, I returned the handshake. Lena, though, just stared at the hand and refused to have anything to do with it. Randolf Toaderson smirked, "Ah... I see. Well... what may I do for you?"
I glanced about the warehouse before I answered, "To be honest with you, Citizen Toaderson, I was looking for some body armor for myself... but it appears that you do not carry that in stock..."
Randolf quickly interrupted me, much to my chagrin, "Why... yes I do! I have body armor, body armor, body armor. Body armor coming out of my ears. I've got body armor that would make other travelers envy-"
Next to me, Lena was getting annoyed. She cut him off and demanded, "Well let's see it then, man!"
Mr.. Toaderson stopped in the middle of his spiel and gaped at Lena. He recovered quickly, though, and replied, "Yes... yes. I'll show it to you. Please follow me." Turning around, he walked out beyond counter and paused at the back door. Taking a small key out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and stepped through. Both Lena and I followed close behind him.
After entering the dark room, Randolf flipped the switch on the side of the wall, powering up the small electric lamps hanging from the roof. Unlike the front warehouse the small back room was relatively clean and uncluttered. Instead, about the room, tall weapons cases displayed many a conventional and exotic weapon. There were swords, slug throwing rifles, laser pistols, revolvers, grenades and assorted other weapons. What caught my attention, though, were the six suits of environmental armor arrayed upon some racks. They were of separate make and condition, but even if I got the cheapest one, it would help me greatly.
As Lena examined the weapons in the cases, I made my way over to the armor. Peering carefully at each one I noted the brands and conditions of each one. There was a fairly nice Urban Warrior, A rather thrashed Plastic-man, a pair of low end Crusader armor. But the one that caught my eye was a almost perfect condition Bushman suit in grey. I smiled to myself, that's what I want.
Turning to Randolf, I found that he was already haggling with Lena over the price of a rather nice looking energy pistol. I glanced at it. A NG-57 Ion Blaster. An impressive piece of work with an impressive price. "What?? 9,000 credits for this?!?"
Randolf held up both of his hands, "Yes... I know it's probably more than what you are used to, but... THAT's my last one. And it's not likely you'll be able to find anything like that or in such fine condition anywhere around here."
I caught Randolf's attention before Lena could explode and harass him, "How about this Bushman?"
He tilted his head and examined the armor, "I'll give that to you... for 35,000."
Lena cried out, "35,000!?!" as I blanched at that figure.
"I don't have that kind of money... how about... something significantly less!", I queried.
Randolf shook his head, "Nope... no less. If you don't like that price, I'll wait until someone else does." He glanced over to see Lena's glower.
I cursed softly and looked to Lena, "C'mon. I don't think we'll be getting anything here."
As we both turned and headed for the door, Randolf R. Toaderson called out behind us, "Wait! Wait!..." I turned to look at him and met a rather wolfish grin, "If you're willing... I think we might be able to make a deal." I raised my eyebrow. A deal?
End of Part 6.
By Kevin W. Lee.
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