Chickadee

Chapter 1

"WAHOOOO!" Jun yips, his white-tipped tail puffs out with excitement and begins to wag. "We got salvage! Two o'clock."

"It's bout fuckin time." Remus growls as he hurries across the bay to the downward periscope. His intense yellow lupine eyes focus on the eye-piece and he twists the scope to see ahead of the Chickadee. The view pans across the arid sun-baked land below them before zeroing in on a glint of steel against the ochre-hued earth.

"I told ya. Didn't I tell ya? I knew there'd be at least one who tried to make the run." Jun says as he flicks switches and turns knobs before turning the yoke to veer the antiquated airship toward the drifting ribbon of black in the distance. His paws could almost feel the satisfying weight of coin in them already. As he pushes the throttle forward the thumping and chugging of steam engine thrums through the wood and metal hull of the old bird like a quickening heartbeat. "Looks fresh. It's still smoking. A skiff?"

"Walker." Remus answers as he clicks through different lenses to magnify the image. The image blows up though distorts around the edges of the pocked and scratched lense so that only the center can be seen with any sort of clarity. It was enough to make out details though. "Quadriped, small one, single driver type with cargo pod."

Jun's perky pointed ears tilt the way they did when he was confused, one more erect and the other tilting at a forty-five degree angle. "A walker?" Leaning forward the pilot peers out of each of the cockpit windows in turn to scan the horizon for any signs of a caravan, either the telltale trail of one or the caravan itself, his keen slitted green eyes see none. "What in the Six Hells is a lone walker doing all the way out here?"

"Waitin to be scrapped."

"Tribal colors?"

"Nope."

"Critters?"

"Nope. Not yet." Remus' eyes narrow. "I'm not seein anything movin down there."

Jun's black-tipped ears tilt the other way and his whiskers twitch as he tries to puzzle it out. "Dropped from a ship for weight maybe?"

"Nah, it's on its feet and in too good of shape. All in one piece." Remus says. "Maybe set down."

"Why risk a landing? Just drop the damn thing. You won't be coming back for it out here."

"Dunno."

"Burrower?"

"They'd have to be nuts burrowing out here." Remus rightly scoffs. "Besides, no drills."

"All in one piece...shit, it hasn't even been out here a night. Crits would have torn that thing to pieces for sure."

"Yep."

Jun licks this snout then clicks his teeth. "Something doesn't add up big man. This is too good. It's either our lucky day...or a bushwhack."

"Rrrm." Remus collapses the periscope and moves to the near wall to pull down the large faded map of the Hells. His gaze locks onto the Al'Bama Badlands, the area they were currently cruising over, and he searches it for clues. "If a walker set out from Dega at sunup it might have made it this far."

"Set out going where? You aren't getting anywhere in a walker out here in a single day, even a quick one."

"La Grange."

"Shit man, they skedaddled over three months ago. They're probably pushing through bog by now. Anyone in Dega would know that."

"Musta been set to auto and sent out."

"But...why? Why waste a walker like that?"

"Rmm." Remus flips the map back up into its housing and glances at the cracked face of the clock mounted on the door of the crapper. "We got no more than two hours 'til dusk. No time to waste. ETA?"

"Twenty minutes." As if on cue the Chickadee's engine lets out a loud POP followed by a long slowly fading buzz, there is a momentary lurch as the ship suddenly looses a few feet of altitude before quickly leveling off again. "Twenty five." Jun corrects himself. "Let's hope we find something worth it. Dee's on her last wing here. We need to put in for repairs soon."

"She's never let us down yet." Remus grabs his maul-gun off the wall. He plants the handle end on the floor and opens the pepperbox half of the hammer head to ensure it was full loaded. A ring of five unfired shotgun shells tells him it was ready for action. "If there's a driver they might still be alive."

Sobered by the distasteful possibility of bloodshed Jun's expressive ears droop as he looks back through the cockpit doorway. "You said you didn't see anything moving."

"Couldn't see inside, could I?" He slaps the head of his weapon back together and clicks it into place. "And like you said, might be a bushwhack."

"Remus..."

"Jun. If they're not already dead they will be once the sun falls." Remus shakes his gray shaggy head and rolls his broad powerful shoulders. "Whether movin or still, ain't nobody down there but a corpse."

***

"Motherfucking piece of civvy shit!" The percussive clank of steel on steel joins the fizzing and farting of the rapidly dying motor to ring out across the sunbaked landscape from beneath the smoldering hauler. "Scraps!"

"Here Miss Posey." Toots the two and half foot tall robot who stood nearby, its mismatched arms holding a tray with a selection of tools laid upon it.

Out from around one of the stout legs of vehicle pops a conical goggled face, it's mottled brown fur blackened with smoke and smudged with grease and oil. "I NEED a gasket."

The bot looks down at the tray. "There is no gasket."

"We're going to die out here." The mousy mechanic quips, trying hard to keep the fear from her voice. "You know that right? We are GOING to die."

"Yes Miss Posey. You have stated it thirteen times since we left the base."

"I am SO happy you are keeping count." She sneers, baring her bright white buck teeth.

Immune to sarcasm the little bot replies. "A high morale means increased efficiency."

"Why in the Hells did I build you?" Posey sighs with a twitch of her fine whiskers.

"I still do not know." Scraps says. "You have now asked me one hundred and sixty..."

"Shut up."

"Yes Miss Posey."

Her round ears perk as she catches a faint unfamiliar churr that was not coming from inside the hauler. Reaching up into the engine bay she kills the motor and tilts her head to listen. As it sputters into silence she hears the thrum more clearly coming from the far side of the walker. "What is that?"

Scraps round glass lens eyes click as they shutter shut and open, it often did that when processing a query, but this time it does not reply. Direct orders overrode questions in its programming.

"You may speak." Posey snaps. "What is it?"

"It is an airship."

"Airship!? What fucking airship!?"

"The one landing approximately forty meters Northwest of here." Scraps states. "It changed course toward this location twenty-three minutes ago."

"Why didn't you tell me!?"

"You did not ask."

"Didn't ask? Oh my God, you little..." With no time to dismantle the bot into component parts and dump them in a shallow grave she scrambles to tuck in behind the nearest leg and draws her tiny two shot pistol from out of her boot. Her long prehensile tile whips around Scraps and pulls him into cover as well. Pulling her goggles down to hang around her neck she peers through the back legs of the vehicle and she now sees the underside of the airship that her dumb ass sidekick failed to mention before now. Whoever they were they were already anchored! She hisses under her breath. "Shit!"

A sense of terror and deliverance strikes her simultaneously. Deliverance because as it stood there was no sign of shelter anywhere in sight. There wasn't even hope of repairing the walker before dusk fell and this still empty land would come alive with the crawling (mostly) nocturnal horrors known as Critters as they crawled from their subterranean hives to scour the badlands clean of pesky fugitive mice and cobbled together robots and broken down haulers and every other damned thing they could find. Terror because the only ones likely to have found her were the people hunting her to take her back to a fate even worse than a Crit's sharp chitinous mandibles.

This terror abates to mere dread as Posey gets right down on her belly to get a better view and sees the faded painting of an unclothed furless female on the side the ship's hull. No militia ship would display something so garish as a nude pinup girl from a long extinct race. Hearing the pained and tired groan of this ship's struggling engine also told her this was not of the standard of a fleet vessel. Hells, it might have been something special once but from the little Posey could see the damn thing looked at least ten years past due for the scrap yard. Just beneath the picture of the naked human was the word "Chickadee" in a fancy curly font that was completely at odds with the rest of the ramshackle lady.

"Scavs." Posey whispers.

"I do not know." Scraps unhelpfully reports.

"It wasn't a question!" She hisses. Before the robot could reply she says. "Shut it!"

"Yes Miss Posey." It hears and obeys.

Posey's mind races as she scrambles to think of what to do. Her chances of making it to nightfall had grown exponentially but it was still on the wrong side of even odds. Scavengers were some of the roughest and toughest hombres in the Hells and generally mercy was not among their defining characteristics. She shrinks as small as she could go with just one eye peeking around the leg. Her pistol gripped at the ready she waits to see who would emerge. She hoped that maybe, just maybe, she might luck out and get a peace loving race like some herbivorous feathered folk or maybe a bovine or fellow rodent.

"Ohhhhh no!" Her heart drops and freezes in fear as hopping down from the rear cargo door comes one of the worst of the worst, partially silhouetted by the low sun she sees the figure of a massive dark gray wolf!

Wolves were hardly monsters, they were still people after all, but as a people they had a well earned reputation as fearsome and merciless warriors. In general they acted with their own particular code of honor and once they accepted you you could not ask for a better or more loyal friend but if they saw you as outside of their pack you could expect no compassion. This particular wolf wore a pocketed bandoleer across his thick built torso, a kilt and thick leather bracers. In his huge hands he held a long heavy sledgehammer. Even through his dense fur one could make out hints of the impressive physique beneath. In normal circumstances this was a beast she would give a WIDE berth.

As light as a feather a nimble red fox springs down beside the towering brute. In a dapper green vest over a satiny white blouse with billowing sleeves and snug brown trousers he appeared quite the dashing gentleman rogue. Around his hips was a belt with a revolver holstered on one side and an elegant rapier on the other. Long, fit, and lean to the point of effeminate he was also blessed with such striking good looks there were few beds in The Hells that this hot fox would be turned away from. Foxes could be tricky but they were, on average, far more open-hearted and open-minded than their purely carnivorous cousins.

For a brief moment Posey saw a glimmer of hope. Surely the well-dressed ginger was the captain of this vessel. He looked a man to be reasoned with. She had skills she could offer. For one thing she could get that poor old bird's engine singing true. With just her sharp ears she could make out a dozen issues she could work on to get it running better. The handsome flyboy also looked a man that would would take kindly to a flattering word or a not so coy flirtation. Posey was not without her wiles, though admittedly she wasn't exactly looking her best right now. That hope is quickly dashed however as she sees the pair begin to interact and the clear alpha becomes apparent by the smaller one's obviously deferential body language. Too bad.

Her chances of talking her way aboard had just plummeted. She looks to her pistol. Two shots, two of them. With the element of surprise and a whole lot of luck...maybe. If she gave up this small advantage to speak with them she would be entirely trusting her fate in the hands of a wolf. Neither option seemed favorable. She looks into Scraps' mechanical eyes as if they might hold some answer. All she sees is her own frightened face staring back.

"Looks clear to me. Ha ha! I say we take the whole damn thing." Posey can just make out fox's soft melodic voice followed by sound of approaching footsteps. "She'd struggle but I think the Dee could take it. If we can fix it up it could be a nice payday."

"Too risky." Comes the low gruff grunt of the wolf. He sniffs the air. "We work quick. We take the valuables and come back in the mornin to see what's left for salvage."

"The morning?" The slender one yips as he pets the fur of the big one's arm in a subtly intimate way that told her that these two were more than simple shipmates. "You want to hover until morning? We could be twelve hours closer to..."

"Shh!" The wolf snaps, his sharp yellow eyes scanning the hauler as he brings his hammer up to grip the shaft in both hands. "Rrrrm. Stay sharp."

Posey tucks back behind the leg, her tiny gun close to her bosom and Scraps still held in her tail, as her heart pounds inside of her chest at double its normal rate. She watches their long canine shadows begin to emerge from around the vehicle. Every rodent instinct inside of her screamed RUN! HIDE! But run where? There was certainly nowhere to hide in this vast scrubland. That ship anchored out there was her only hope for survival. Her mouth dry and her breath fast and shallow she readies herself. Even if she somehow remained out of sight the keen canid noses of the pair would soon pick her up. She had to make a play and she had to make it fast.

***

Chapter 2

'God damn it.' Jun curses silently as he catches sight of a few trembling whiskers poking out from behind the leg opposite the corner of the walker he and Remus were approaching from. There was a survivor here after all, a small one based on how well it was huddled behind the vehicle's metal leg. There wouldn't be one for long once his shipmate spotted them. Because Remus had begun to circle to the right, and his greater height, he hadn't caught sight of it yet, though he'd likely be picking up the scent through the smell of burnt oil any moment now. Jun circles the opposite direction, his pistol hand at the ready, as he thinks. 'Whoever the hell you are, please don't do anything stupid.'

Just then scampering through the legs of the walker darts a mottled brown mouse. She was a petite curvaceous woman who wore sturdy black military issue boots, rugged olive cargo pants, and an oil stained green denim jacket with at least a half a dozen pockets sewn onto it. Around her thick hips hung a work belt with various tools dangling from it and, most strangely of all, held in her tail she dragged along behind her a small yellow and blue robot that appeared to made out of the cobbled together parts of at least three different models. Jun's hope for her not doing anything foolish is dashed as he then sees clutched in her delicate fingered paws a small two-barrel pistol, currently aimed at his head.

The woman had chosen her moment perfectly. Remus and Jun had just broken sight line of each other as they circled opposite directions so one could not see what was happening with the other. And by staying beneath walker she ensured she had some sort of cover around her, her small size also made it easy for her to move around down there.

Jun's life flashes before him as he sees a frantic desperation in the mouses inky black eyes. This was a woman at the end of her rope and with nothing left to lose. As he sees her trigger finger begin to tighten he does what he always does when things look bleakest...he starts to talk.

"Hey!" He says cheerfully, his casual chipper tone confusing the woman just enough to pause her shot. "Would you look at that? A lovely little lady. We were hoping there'd be a survivor. We thought the worst when we spotted your rig." He speaks eloquently and without pause. "And judging by that tool belt you are a mechanic. You are a mechanic, aren't you?"

This threw the mouse for a loop. She hadn't expected to be addressed like that. She keeps the pistol trained on him as she nervous glances over her shoulder to see what the other was doing. "Um..."

Pushing the advantage he keeps talking. "Wouldn't you know it, we just happened to lose our engineer last month." Jun flashes her his most charming grin. "Drunk old bastard fell right out the bay door. He wasn't much of an engineer really but he grew on us, ya know."

By this point Remus had knelt down to spot the survivor beneath vehicle. When he sees what she was doing his protective pack instinct kicks in and a deep savage growl rolls up from his thick barrel chest. "Rrrr!"

Little did the mouse know that the only thing holding the wolf back was that she had her gun trained on his best friend. Panicking she clambers away from the wolf and turns her gun back toward him. It was over from there. Remus dashes under the hauler in chase sending the mouse into full retreat. Leaving the robot behind in hopes of slowing Remus down she runs out into the open. She attempts to spin her aim back toward the fox but in the twitch of a whisker his six-shooter was in his hand and trained steady on her heart.

"Stop." Jun orders.

Her hands tremble in impotent fear before she throws the pistol down into the sandy soil in frustration and lifts her hands above her head. "Okay, you got me."

An instant later an huge furry hand encircles her throat and effortlessly lifts her clear off the ground. With her at just over four and half feet tall and the enraged Remus pushing eight his hulking arm looks nearly as big as her entire body as he hoists her high into the evening air. Her black eyes bulge as the powerful hand begins to SQUEEZE! She grabs his wrist in both hands and struggles helplessly, her long nimble tail whipping and slapping at his face in a feeble effort to fight for her life.

"Remus." Jun says. "Big man, put her down. Let's talk."

The great wolf just bares his sharp fangs and snarls.

"GLLGH!" Already weakening the mouse attempts to wrap her tail around the wolf's thick neck to choke him back. He doesn't even acknowledge it as his yellow eyes narrow and his hand tightens.

"Remus, please." Jun begs. "She didn't do anything to us. She tried, but she didn't. I'm okay. See. I'm okay. Remus, Remus...REMUS!"

Just then from out under the walker waddles the robot. "Release Miss Posey!" It crackles as loud as its tinny speaker would go. "Release Miss Posey!"

Jun's ears cock to the side as he tilts his head curiously at the little bot's emergence. Remus pays it no mind, with a kill so close the natural born hunter ignores it to finish the job at hand. The tail around the wolf's neck slackens and the grip at his wrists goes loose as he chokes the very life from the woman who threatened his friend and lover.

"Enemy! Enemy! Enemy!" The humanoid robot then blares as its limbs extend to bring it to its maximum of three and half foot tall while it's body contracts down to hide its more vulnerable areas to give the once blocky bot the odd appearance of a flattened egg with spindly oddly mismatched limbs extending from it. As part of that bodily contraction its head collapses down to turtle into its shoulders and a thick clear visor snaps over the bot's glass lens eyes.

Cutting through Remus' lethal focus his attention is grabbed when hears the click-clack of a compartment opening up and sound of the tiny robot charging. In an instant he drops the now unconscious mouse to land in a heap at his feet and spins, bringing his hammer to the ready. In an instant he assesses the threat...and what he sees leaves him perplexed.

"What in the hells?" Jun tilts his head the other direction as his ears cock opposite.