By David C. Daoust
Sheriff Montgomery Dunn really had not spent very much time outside of the walls of Grady. Policing the small port town was fairly time consuming- very few issues led him into the desert, certainly not this far into the desert. Monty was in pursuit of a ‘stolen’ Sandcrawler, accompanied by a pair of First Wave.
That Sandcrawler could really move. The police vehicle- the boxy brown land-speeder, provided by the people of Grady, had not been parked that far from their starting point– and yet they had been following nothing but tracks for miles.
Mr. Haul and his Grandson had insisted the boy, Ratchet, was not in control of the vehicle. He hoped that be true, Ratchet was ordered to stay within, toppled and smashed as they were, Grady’s walls by the courts. Monty had a duty to enforce this order.
The sands stretched before them, dipping over dunes, the sky was clear and blue, all but the massive orange planet that took up so much of the skyline. His mind wandered to how to describe such a place. How many different ways could one come up with to describe such a bleak area? Maybe he was getting rusty at his old craft- the air was dry, the sand gleamed beneath the light of day. Birds could be made out in the distance. All other wildlife, he was sure, had scurried away. He felt pretty rusty, wondered maybe he lost his voice.
The boy, Charles Haul, seated next to him, looked tense in his silence. The Sheriff knew he was uncomfortable- it was not that long ago that the young red headed boy had taken a swing at him; Left the sheriff with a fairly dark bruise under one eye.
Monty was of the Chantry, and the Chantry taught forgiveness. Charles was a teenager, protecting his younger brother. It was a tense situation, only heightened by his own action to take the younger boy into custody. Teens will be teens. He doubted the First Wave teen really understood that Monty was past the altercation. He doubted telling him that would truly put him at ease. First Wave weren’t known for their love of men with badges.
Monty glanced in the rear view; the old man had nodded off. The Sheriff found this ridiculous, but it was one less thing to worry about. The ruins of Grady had vanished some time ago, swallowed up by the dunes as they hovered deeper into the wastes. The tracks stretched before them, showed them the way.
“Look there…” Charles said pointing to the dark forms in the sky.
“The birds?” Monty asked with barely a glance, he had already noted them in the distance.
“Those aren’t birds,” Charles said, staring intensely, hand covering the light from his eyes, “I think, I think those are battle drones!”
“Battle Drones?” the Sheriff asked in disbelief. Little more than specs in the distance, they were pretty far out, but upon closer inspection, they clearly weren’t birds. They seemed to multiply exponentially; multiplied into a swarm. Where were they coming from? All of Grady had been wondering what had happened to the dastardly fiends that crushed their home. Looks like Monty may have found out. What could they be doing out here? What were they going to do next?
The general consensus of Grady was that the First Wave were behind the drone attack. The Hauls especially. Noting the shocked look upon the teenagers face, the Sheriff knew he knew nothing of what was going on now.
The sheriff grabbed for the radio, but just as he began to formulate what to say to those on the other end, the small vehicle popped up over another dune– the Sandcrawler had turned around! and was coming straight at them- Surrounded by a swarm of Drones!
There was about two seconds of thinking, ‘what the hell?’ before the series of missiles jounced it from his mind and out of his mouth, “WHAT THE HELL!” The Sheriff yelled as he began veering through the onslaught of destruction. He didn’t know how he was doing it, sheer luck. The explosions rang around them, sending sand into the air and into their faces.
The old man was awake. He looked grim and ready for action.
Monty was barely holding on, turning left then right. The sand was everywhere. He glanced back at Mr. Haul, expecting some sort of reaction. The old man clutched at the plasma cutter— Monty hadn’t realized the old man still had it!
Suddenly the missiles stopped, one of the drones appeared above them, paced them steadily. Covering them- Monty could only guess what was to come next. Was it going to drop a bomb on them? Tear their vehicle to pieces? The explosions had stopped at the very least.
Heavy metal machine over head, Monty found himself wishing the landspeeder had a roof, if only to blot out the sight above. In that exact moment, the old man stood up in the back seat, with a thrilling battle cry, Mr. Haul fired the plasma cutter straight up into the drone’s underbelly. The energy blade shot straight up, melted through the very core of the machine, which suddenly veered off, crashed down into the nearest dune- and exploded!
‘It exploded!’ Monty thought.
The old man could have killed them all! From the raucous cheers of the old man, he didn’t seem to care, or realize…
Mr. Haul fell back into his seat as Monty went back into evasive maneuvers. The missiles had returned. Explosions on his right, to his left— Sheriff Dunn could not help but feel as though he was being toyed with!
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