Battlefield

by Mr. David R. Dorrycott

This morning had dawned dark and yellow Wonton remembered, dodging down another path of crumbled rubble as he thought, his legs disconnected from his conscious mind. Breakfast had even been palatable. It had, he decided as he leapt over a dark hole, been a rather delightful morning. Considering that he was stuck on this lifeless world for the rest of his own life. He allowed his armor to absorb the impact of a large chunk of stone as he transferred his forward momentum into another direction. The impact slowed his foreword momentum some, but it saved his ankles.

‘If I could still get my hands on Carl’ he thought as he ran. ‘I’d wring his neck.’ Unfortunately Carl, who had been their only surviving tech, had managed to kill himself yesterday, by leaning on a wall that really wasn’t up to being leaned against. Said wall had taken umbrage towards the puny human who was using it as a rest stop. It had collapsed in a creaking roar, returning the twenty something tech to the primeval ooze his ancestors had come from.

Wonton leapt over another chasm, noting that it was at least eighty meters deep as he did so. This planet had held civilized life only three hundred standard years ago. Now only the smallest rodents and insects survived. It was amazing what a ten mile wide asteroid impacting a subduction zone could do to a bronze age civilization.

He humped his way around a pile of rubble that might once have been a temple, or a whorehouse. “A simple salvage job” the Captain had said. “Get in before the archeologist find this world. Strip it, sell it. No problem. An easy three months work. We can take it easy.”

Well the Captain had a heart attack while trying to reach a chamber filled with gold, their engine had shorted out because the drunk engineer had fallen into the primary coils, and now the only other person able to fix them, and get them out of this mess, had pulled a wall down on himself.

“I hate this world” he cursed as a bright blue object flashed past him, impacting the stones ahead of him. Snapping left he dove under a pile of rubble that had probably been two story houses lining a street, using the resulting tunnel as an escape. Now only he and Richards were still alive, and Richards was sorely pissed at him. Ignoring the pain building in his right side he dropped down into what must have once been a basement.

There were skeletons in one corner. The very first skeletons anyone had found, and thy were wearing some kind of reflective cloth. Wonton filed that information, charging up stone steps into a completely new section of the city. He took off on a diagonal from the doorway he’d exited from, hunting a place to hide.

A heavy metallic whirr filled the air, ending in a terminal thud that shook the stone ruins. Around the ancient battle machine small stones fell, bouncing off scratched and dented armor with soft thunking sounds. All was quiet, other than the wind and a soft pinging sound as heated metal cooled. It was a harsh, rasping wind filled with sand and death. A wind born of the rising sun and a slowly approaching desert. Nothing had lived in these desert ruins since the impact. Now two bright sparks of life glimmered within them. A snap broke the silence. “Wanton. I know you’re here Wonton. And I’m gonna get yah” a loudspeaker announced.

Within spitting distance of the machine a second life spark existed. Leaning against a broken wall the figure breathed heavily, sorting out his options. After a few more minutes of silence it was obvious that his hunter wasn’t going to leave. Though the ruins made sensors near useless, he had to have spotted the heat trail that lead into this area, and not out. Slowly moving his hand to a ammunition belt the figure selected a bright green round, just as slowly attaching it to the muzzle of his handgun. Than in a swift, fluid move he swung his weapon around the wall and fired, taking off like a frightened rabbit.

At the movement the battle machine spun towards that fractured wall. Before it could react to bright green round detonated a good ten feet away, enveloping the machines upper section in a dense green smoke. “Wonton. Damn you I just got this thing waxed” echoed from the ragged piles of cut stone. With a whirr of machinery the battle machine left foot shattered the ruins, then moved forward again. No matter the pilot decided, he could follow the heat trail all day, and at night it would be easier. He was going to get Wonton if it took all day. Looking up into the yellow-blue sky he grunted. It might just take that...

“Hey ugly.” A well known voice yelling from outside the battle machine caught Richards attention. Spinning around as fast as his machine would allow he was just in time to see a red blob headed directly toward his cockpit. “Damn, and I just waxed this thing” was his last thought before impact.

Late that night Wonton sat beside a small fire, nibbling almost daintily on his roasted.. Something. He ignored the heavy sound of boots from behind him, instead looking up into cloud filled skies towards stars that only barely peaked through. “Your cream soda... master” said an impossible falsetto.”

“Thanks you Rosaline” Wonton answered, still looking out at the cloud filled sky. ”You know the archeologists are going to come here within a few years.”

“Yeah. So what do we do in the meantime” that falsetto voice asked.

“Archeology. I spotted some skeletons while you were chasing me. I think, really, that the patrol will be a lot nicer to us if we do useful work here rather than sit around drinking beer and getting fat. Besides, it’ll give us something to do so we won’t go crazy.”

“I don’t like the idea Wonton, but I agree.” The voice had lost its falsetto, returning to the gruff sound of his friends normal voice.

Wonton turned around, looking upon the sight that simply couldn’t be. Stuffed into a maids outfit was the muscular Richardson. A smile pulled at his lips, followed by a giggle. Completely losing control he collapsed into a ball of laughter.

It had been the bet after all. Looser wore that impossible small outfit for the winner. But the idea had never entered either’s mind as to what it would actually look like. Stepping closer Richardson calmly poured the glass of cold, sticky cream soda on his friends head.