Post by Orange on Nov 1, 2005 0:15:13 GMT -5
This is a fictional story based on Zoids. I am loathe to call it a fan-fic, mostly because I hate fan fiction. Instead, this is an original story that uses the setting and ideas of the Zoids series as inspiration. I do not own Zoids. I do own this story and the original content within.
In simple terms; 'OMG DUN STEEL MY FIC I DUN OWN ZOIDZ' Just to let you know, writing that caused me physical pain. I hope you are happy.
-
It wasn't a horrible place to wash up, really. A nice warm beach, nice breeze coming in from off the water, some birds cackling overhead. Unfortunately, the cackling was in reference to the still figure that lay on the beach, just above the tide line. Human in appearance, naked save for the dried sand and bits of seaweed, shock blonde hair and a youthful appearance, probably no more then 18. His forehead was marked with silver skin zoidscars, born of the metalic nature of the planet and atmosphere. The streaks formed twin triangles, narrow edges up.
The gulls descended, circling carefully around the boy. One bolder gull hopped close, giving the body a cautious peck, to see if it was still alive. No response. Another peck. The other gulls drew nearer.
A rumbling noise quickly rose over the sounds of the tide, and the gulls quickly took flight. What was once only background noise below the surf grew into a distinct idling grumble, of a powerful engine or a swarm of angry, giant bees. It was the former in this case, resonating from the large pillbug zoid that approached. It stopped a distance from the boy, and a man hopped from the cockpit, rushing to the body.
-
Chapter One: A man finds a friend
-
Of Bethune's line of Picardie;
He learn'd the art that none may name,
In Padua, far beyond the sea.
Men said, he changed his mortal frame
By feat of magic mystery;
For when, in studious mode, he paced
St. Andrew's cloister'd hall,
His form no darkening shadow traced
Upon the sunny wall.
The cockpit of the aging Gustav was worn and smelled of old, dry leather, paper, and faintly of toast, as all good old things should. The seats were of cracked cowhide leather, with bits of stuffing popping out at the seams. The upholstery had been replaced several times, in several different places, resulting in a patchwork ceiling. The back seat had been converted into a bed, covered in fitted sheets and old comforters, which covered the boy. The only new things in the cockpit was the speakers, which were placed in a surround-sound setup, currently rumbling with the sounds of some unknown electronic musician. In the drivers seat, a man sat idly, watching the miles go by with a careful, bored eye.
This was how the boy woke, to the feel of worn blankets and the vaguely defined sounds of some musicians audiophilic ramblings, the sights of unfamiliar surroundings. He lay still for a long time, too frightened to move. Where was he? What was this? Who was he? He silently wrestled with his thoughts, while lying still under the blankets, a source of unknown comfort.
The Gustav eventually rumbled to a stop, the outside light having been slowly dimming over the hours. The engine idled for a moment, then rumbled to a stop, the music along with it. The man in the front yawned, and stretched in his seat, an obvious relief after hours of uninterrupted driving. He chanced to look back, to see the boy staring at him.
"Oh, hey. Yer awake." The noises vibrated over the boy's ears with defined meaning, but confused comprehension. It was not an accent he recognized, if her reMembered any at all. His confusion was complete, and he lay in miserable silence.
"Kid, you hurt or anything?" The man asked.
Silence.
"Hungry?"
Silence.
"Hellooo?"
The continuing silence did not seem to bother the man, who just shrugged off his seemingly rude companion. "Okay, cool. Let me get you some clothes to put on, and I'll get some chow cooking. You allergic to anything?"
Silence.
"Soup it is."
The cockpit hatch cracked open, letting in the fresh outdoor breezes, smelling of pine barrens and the sea, and the man hopped out. There was a faint whining noise, muffled by the still mostly-closed cockpit, and then the creaking of metal, as if a weight had been lifted. Then, with a sound like a deep, powerful engine revving, and audible thumps, the disturbance faded into nothing. The man returned a few minutes later, tossing some clothes to the back bed where the boy lay, still huddled under the blankets.
"Put those on, and if you feel like it, climb out for some chow."
The boy, still fearful, lay under the blankets for a few more, scared moments, before the smell of unfamiliar, but appetizing food reached his nose. His forgotten stomach growled weakly, as if it had not reMembered hunger for a long, long time. It was impossible to ignore, so the boy sat up. With cautious hands, shaking slightly from both fear and a strange weakness, he looked over the clothes. A pair of old shorts that had been pants in a past life, and a sweatshirt advertising the Europa Agricultural Union, neither of which would fit well. The smell of food still alluring, the boy pulled on the clothes, and carefully exited the cockpit.
The man was sitting in a fold-out chair next to a portable gas stove, reading some maps by the light thrown off by the cookery. He was not an old man, but rather, one that had seen more then his years worth of life. His short cropped hair and beard were graying in places, fading out the rich brown that once grew un-tainted. His face was lean and leathery, much like the rest of his body, tanned and toughened by decades of abuse. His skin was marked by faded zoidscars, twin lines across the bridge of his nose, a dark russet that nearly faded into his tanned skin. His clothes were old and well-worn, but taken care of. His boots were scuffed brown, with kahki pants tucked into the high laced boot shafts. His shirt was a tight fitting dark red, with a few bleach runs marking spots of former stains.
"Hey kid." The man said, looking up at the boy. "Have a sit-down and wait for the soup to cook. Want some apple?" The man did not wait for a reply he knew he would not get, and tossed the boy a small clear package. Inside were slices of a fruit the boy did not recognize, but the chance of food drove him to open and taste. The slices were sweet and tart, and rubbery, but that hardly mattered to the hungry boy, who stood and ate his apples.
"Sit down, kid" The man repeated, motioning to another chair across from the stove. The boy obliged, sitting down gingerly, as if sore. The truth was, his limbs were stiff, and unwilling to move.
The man carefully folded his maps, and set them on a small folding table next to him. The remains of what little preparation had been made for the soup cooking over the portable fire were tossed into a small plastic bag hanging on the side of the table, and several other food items graced the worn tabletop. The soup that was cooking was red and thick, and to the hungry boy, smelled wonderful.
The man looked up at the boy. "Feel like talking yet?" The regular silence returned, and the man shrugged. "I don't blame ya. I bet if I washed up naked on a beach, i'd be a bit tounge-tied too."
The boy stared at the man as he talked, while still chewing on dried apple slices. He swallowed and paused for a moment when the man finished speaking, but then returned to eating.
The man shrugged. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Eat. But not too much at one time, okay? Dont want you getting sick in my Gustav. How long has it since you ate?" The man shok his head. "Heh, yeah, like yer chatting it up to the rest of my questions. Whatever." He then stirred the soup, pulling a bit from the pot with the metal spoon, examining it. He took a taste, and poured the rest back in the pot, grabbing for two bowel with his free hand. "Soup's up."
The man and boy ate their soup in silence, the night surf rumbling in the distance, combining with the dusk song of crickets. The night would have probably continued in silence, had the boy's politeness unconsciously overcome him. The boy handed back the empty bowel, and without realizing it, spoke.
"Thank you."
The boy's voice was low, soft, and unrefined, sounding tired and weak. The boy was surprised aby this, both by his unconscious speaking, and the low power of his voice. He coughed once, as if trying to clear his throat.
"Ha, you can speak. Knew it." The man said, taking the soup bowel and stacking it on top of his. "How about some introductions then?"
The boy lapsed back into silence, so the man spoke instead.
"All right, i'll start us off. My name's Baeddan Conway. If that's a mouthful, just call me Babe. Try 'er out."
There was a pause, then the boy replied, "Baeddan. Hello."
"Now you got it." Babe said, smiling. "What's your name?"
The pauses that were becoming more then common through this night was once again repeated, as the boy lapsed into thought for a good thirty seconds. It was a fruitless thirty seconds, for the boy knew nothing, reMembered nothing, not even a mark on him to identify , beyond the bright silver skin-streaks on his forehead.
"I.. I dont know."
Babe let that thought settle for a moment, before asking, "Do you reMember anything?"
"No."
Once again, Babe let the thought settle, an uncomfortable pause as Babe racked his brain for what little bits of psychology he had gleaned from his years on the road.
"Alright, probably the stress. You look like you had a hell of a time. Let's tick off some basics you mighta forgot you reMember. Or something. Whatever. What's the name of the planet?"
"Zi." The boy answered automatically, almost surprised by this knowledge.
"What color are my boots?"
"Brown."
"What's six times three?"
"Eighteen."
"What language are we speaking?"
"Zodic Standard."
"What's my name?"
"You told me before. Baeddan."
"Just double checking. Short term memory and all. What's that?" Babe asked, pointing to the Gustav.
"A... lorry?" The boy stumbled over this question, realizing for the first time that the vehicle he had climbed out of was unlike any he had ever seen, or even vaguely reMembered seeing. As confusing as it felt, he knew that the vehicle was unlike any he had ever known.
"Ooh, I'm sorry. The correct answer is 'Gustav', but we would have also accepted 'Zoid'."
"Zoid?"
"Ooh boy." Babe groaned. But before he could bemoan much else, a distant repetitive thunder started growing in the distance. Before either could react, a massive dark shape slid into camp, towering to the level of the massive Gustav, casting a shadow that was both awesome and overwhelmingly frightening at the same time. The boy nearly fell out of his seat at the approach of the beast, but Babe seemed undisturbed, almost enthusiastic at the thing's approach.
"Hey, just the guy I was looking for!" Babe exclaimed, getting out of his seat and walking towards the massive shape. "Find anything good?"
The beast lowered it's head towards Babe, and entering into the cast light and shadows of the cook stove, illuminating an angular head forged of metal and glass, a more unnatural thing never seen by the eyes of the boy. The thing chuffed, a noise that could only be described as the cross between a groaning dog and an idling diesel engine. Babe gave the thing an affectionate pound on the nose, and continued to talk to it.
"No? Aww, okay. Didja have a good run? Huh boy? Huh?" The thing chuffed again, in seemingly happy response (though how joyful a technocratic construct could seem to the fearful eyes of a boy is questionable). Babe turned to look at the boy, too distance to note the fear in his face and posture.
"Kid, this is my buddy Fiver. Fiver, say hello."
The thing now known as Fiver whined.
It took a few minutes of reassurance from Babe that Fiver would not stomp, maim, or kill either the boy or himself, before the boy dared to rise from his chair and see the massive wolf in the light. Babe told the boy that Fiver was a Command Wolf, one of many different kinds of zoids.
'Zoids', the word and the concept of giant mechanical creatures, did not seem unfamiliar to the boy. But the scale upon which these zoids were built was... unnatural. Astounding. Unbelievable. It was almost like whatever sense the boy had of the world had been horribly, horrible skewed into strange shapes. But the boy did seem to feel a connection with the 'Command Wolf' as Babe called it. Fiver was a living, thinking entity, and therefore deserving of the boys respect and understanding. Babe seemed a bit surprised at how readily the boy accepted a spiritualist attitude towards Fiver.
After the assurance that Fiver was a friend, Babe suggested that all of them turn in for the night. Babe offered the back bed to the boy, which was readily accepted. The boy felt oddly weak, as if he should be stronger, more agile. It was almost as if something beyond his memories had been lost. Babe would take his bed in Fiver, as he had often done before. Fiver seemed pleased at this, or as pleased a giant steel wolf can seem to the untrained eye.
And so, the boy's first new day ended.
-
Chapter two: A boy finds a name.
-
For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,
Like him of whom the story ran
Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.
It was morning again, as it always came unfailingly after the dark. The sun rose, and so did Babe and Fiver. The boy woke as well, moving from the back bed to the front seat along Babe, but proceeded to do little else besides nap. Babe insisted that the boy remain in the back bed, but the boy seemed adamant about being up front, observing what he could while he was not asleep.
A personality was beginning to develop from the boy. Not very talkative, and careful with what words he had, but obviously very intelligent. He reMembered things quickly, and was able to bridge the gaps in his knowledge of the world around him with curiously effective logic. Curious in the way that even though the boy seemingly had no memory, his conclusions about it from the little information he had was stunningly accurate.
It was in one of the pauses of the boy's napping that the intermittent conversation took a turn from the norm (it had been mostly about Babe talking about Zoids, the boy interjecting with questions), with Babe asking a question.
"Hey, kid. Do you have any clue what your name is?"
The boy was drinking from a can of soda at that moment, and the question seemed to startle him. He set the can down in the cup holder, and looked over towards Babe. "..No. Sorry."
"Not yer fault. I'm actually just wonderin for my own sake. It's kinda hard to mentally and vocally refer to someone as 'boy' or 'kid'." Babe explained. He paused for a moment as he guided the Gustav around a rather difficult corner, then returned to conversation. "Hey, just for temporary purposes, you mind if we pick out a new one for ya? Until you reMember, at least."
The boy sipped from his can of soda, and shrugged. "I guess not. What name?"
"Geeze.. I was never good at naming things. Hmm.. What do you want?"
"I dont know."
"Craap.. Hmm. Alright, I'll just list off some names off the top of my head, you just tell me whatever tickles yer fancy. Kay?
"Sure."
"Steve. Tom. Blake. Dan. Kevin. Josh. Ned. Ted. Steve."
"You said Steve twice." The boy interrupted.
"Ah crap. Toldja I was bad at this."
Several minutes went by, of Babe rattling off random names, before he got to one particular set.
"Llewellen. Maddock. Tudor. Gaetan. Leo."
"Where are you getting these names from?" The boy asked.
"Well, the last couple were from books, movies, other stuff. Now i'm listing random people I reMember from Elementary school. Anyhoo, Inego. Kale. Toshi. Adolph. Billy. Carl. Rick. Yurei. Tilly. Skye. Pheno. Timbre. Thornlan. Alstan..."
"Tamber?" The boy asked.
"Yeah, Timbre. It's spelled 'ti-mi-bi'. It's not phonetic."
"Phonetic?"
"When something is not said they way it's spelled."
The 'letters' that Babe described were unlike any that the boy knew. Something deep in his mind told him, 'this is wrong. I do not know these things'. Further confusing him, most of the symbols the boy saw around the Gustav were unlike any he had seen. Where he expected to see neat, repeating symbols, he saw flowing lines that made no rhyme of reason to him.
"So, you like Timbre?" Babe asked.
"Where did you get the name?" The boy asked.
"A friend of mine was obsessed with this old fantasy novel, and pretty much forced me to read it. Cheezy *Watch your language!*, but nicely written. Basically about a small town in the tundra that was under siege by a bunch of evil dudes that thought they were wolves. What really made the story interesting was the characters, though. Timbre was a kid who's mom and dad were evil dudes, but he was taken in by the town and raised to be nicey-nice."
"Who were the other characters?"
"Lets see. Amani was the warrior chick that basically kicked everyone's ass, but had the 'oh nos feminine weakness side'. Thornlan was the cool-as-*Watch your language!* good guy that never, ever smiled and occasionally got really high on mushrooms. Alstan was the cool sage older guy. Teggeter was the noob that wandered into town one day and made a convenient meat shield. Snowsilver was Timbre's friend and resident cute little kid, and... geeze. That's about all I reMember. I need to find that book again. Anyhoo, Timbre eventually grows up to be mister awesome warrior dude."
"Yeah..." The boy started, then his mind wandered into thought. "I think I like Timbre."
"Timbre it is. Hi, Timbre."
"Hi. Where are we going?" Timbre asked.
"Excellent question! We're headed to a town called Ravenstaad. It's an agricultural community, centered around a big mill that grinds wheat and stuff. I got a friend that plays guard duty there, and he's called me in on a favor to help him out. Some war-mongering neighbor wants to take over Ravenstaad and the farms around it, and has been sending in raids to 'convince' the people of Ravenstad to start paying tax and tithe to him."
"Why are you going there?"
"To act as muscle. Craig, the guy that called me in, used to run in an escort gang with me. He's calling in a bunch of guys he knows to run protection and keep the raiders away, maybe run a counter-offensive. Dunno."
"When will we be there?"
"Another day or so. I don't like dragging you into this, but there's really nowhere to keep you between here and Ravenstaad. I cant just abandon you, right?"
Timbre blinked. "Why are you helping me?"
Babe laughed. "'Cuz I'm a nice guy. Just building up some positive karma and all that jazz, y'know? Not every day does a person run into a mystery like you."
-
In simple terms; 'OMG DUN STEEL MY FIC I DUN OWN ZOIDZ' Just to let you know, writing that caused me physical pain. I hope you are happy.
-
It wasn't a horrible place to wash up, really. A nice warm beach, nice breeze coming in from off the water, some birds cackling overhead. Unfortunately, the cackling was in reference to the still figure that lay on the beach, just above the tide line. Human in appearance, naked save for the dried sand and bits of seaweed, shock blonde hair and a youthful appearance, probably no more then 18. His forehead was marked with silver skin zoidscars, born of the metalic nature of the planet and atmosphere. The streaks formed twin triangles, narrow edges up.
The gulls descended, circling carefully around the boy. One bolder gull hopped close, giving the body a cautious peck, to see if it was still alive. No response. Another peck. The other gulls drew nearer.
A rumbling noise quickly rose over the sounds of the tide, and the gulls quickly took flight. What was once only background noise below the surf grew into a distinct idling grumble, of a powerful engine or a swarm of angry, giant bees. It was the former in this case, resonating from the large pillbug zoid that approached. It stopped a distance from the boy, and a man hopped from the cockpit, rushing to the body.
-
Chapter One: A man finds a friend
-
Of Bethune's line of Picardie;
He learn'd the art that none may name,
In Padua, far beyond the sea.
Men said, he changed his mortal frame
By feat of magic mystery;
For when, in studious mode, he paced
St. Andrew's cloister'd hall,
His form no darkening shadow traced
Upon the sunny wall.
The cockpit of the aging Gustav was worn and smelled of old, dry leather, paper, and faintly of toast, as all good old things should. The seats were of cracked cowhide leather, with bits of stuffing popping out at the seams. The upholstery had been replaced several times, in several different places, resulting in a patchwork ceiling. The back seat had been converted into a bed, covered in fitted sheets and old comforters, which covered the boy. The only new things in the cockpit was the speakers, which were placed in a surround-sound setup, currently rumbling with the sounds of some unknown electronic musician. In the drivers seat, a man sat idly, watching the miles go by with a careful, bored eye.
This was how the boy woke, to the feel of worn blankets and the vaguely defined sounds of some musicians audiophilic ramblings, the sights of unfamiliar surroundings. He lay still for a long time, too frightened to move. Where was he? What was this? Who was he? He silently wrestled with his thoughts, while lying still under the blankets, a source of unknown comfort.
The Gustav eventually rumbled to a stop, the outside light having been slowly dimming over the hours. The engine idled for a moment, then rumbled to a stop, the music along with it. The man in the front yawned, and stretched in his seat, an obvious relief after hours of uninterrupted driving. He chanced to look back, to see the boy staring at him.
"Oh, hey. Yer awake." The noises vibrated over the boy's ears with defined meaning, but confused comprehension. It was not an accent he recognized, if her reMembered any at all. His confusion was complete, and he lay in miserable silence.
"Kid, you hurt or anything?" The man asked.
Silence.
"Hungry?"
Silence.
"Hellooo?"
The continuing silence did not seem to bother the man, who just shrugged off his seemingly rude companion. "Okay, cool. Let me get you some clothes to put on, and I'll get some chow cooking. You allergic to anything?"
Silence.
"Soup it is."
The cockpit hatch cracked open, letting in the fresh outdoor breezes, smelling of pine barrens and the sea, and the man hopped out. There was a faint whining noise, muffled by the still mostly-closed cockpit, and then the creaking of metal, as if a weight had been lifted. Then, with a sound like a deep, powerful engine revving, and audible thumps, the disturbance faded into nothing. The man returned a few minutes later, tossing some clothes to the back bed where the boy lay, still huddled under the blankets.
"Put those on, and if you feel like it, climb out for some chow."
The boy, still fearful, lay under the blankets for a few more, scared moments, before the smell of unfamiliar, but appetizing food reached his nose. His forgotten stomach growled weakly, as if it had not reMembered hunger for a long, long time. It was impossible to ignore, so the boy sat up. With cautious hands, shaking slightly from both fear and a strange weakness, he looked over the clothes. A pair of old shorts that had been pants in a past life, and a sweatshirt advertising the Europa Agricultural Union, neither of which would fit well. The smell of food still alluring, the boy pulled on the clothes, and carefully exited the cockpit.
The man was sitting in a fold-out chair next to a portable gas stove, reading some maps by the light thrown off by the cookery. He was not an old man, but rather, one that had seen more then his years worth of life. His short cropped hair and beard were graying in places, fading out the rich brown that once grew un-tainted. His face was lean and leathery, much like the rest of his body, tanned and toughened by decades of abuse. His skin was marked by faded zoidscars, twin lines across the bridge of his nose, a dark russet that nearly faded into his tanned skin. His clothes were old and well-worn, but taken care of. His boots were scuffed brown, with kahki pants tucked into the high laced boot shafts. His shirt was a tight fitting dark red, with a few bleach runs marking spots of former stains.
"Hey kid." The man said, looking up at the boy. "Have a sit-down and wait for the soup to cook. Want some apple?" The man did not wait for a reply he knew he would not get, and tossed the boy a small clear package. Inside were slices of a fruit the boy did not recognize, but the chance of food drove him to open and taste. The slices were sweet and tart, and rubbery, but that hardly mattered to the hungry boy, who stood and ate his apples.
"Sit down, kid" The man repeated, motioning to another chair across from the stove. The boy obliged, sitting down gingerly, as if sore. The truth was, his limbs were stiff, and unwilling to move.
The man carefully folded his maps, and set them on a small folding table next to him. The remains of what little preparation had been made for the soup cooking over the portable fire were tossed into a small plastic bag hanging on the side of the table, and several other food items graced the worn tabletop. The soup that was cooking was red and thick, and to the hungry boy, smelled wonderful.
The man looked up at the boy. "Feel like talking yet?" The regular silence returned, and the man shrugged. "I don't blame ya. I bet if I washed up naked on a beach, i'd be a bit tounge-tied too."
The boy stared at the man as he talked, while still chewing on dried apple slices. He swallowed and paused for a moment when the man finished speaking, but then returned to eating.
The man shrugged. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Eat. But not too much at one time, okay? Dont want you getting sick in my Gustav. How long has it since you ate?" The man shok his head. "Heh, yeah, like yer chatting it up to the rest of my questions. Whatever." He then stirred the soup, pulling a bit from the pot with the metal spoon, examining it. He took a taste, and poured the rest back in the pot, grabbing for two bowel with his free hand. "Soup's up."
The man and boy ate their soup in silence, the night surf rumbling in the distance, combining with the dusk song of crickets. The night would have probably continued in silence, had the boy's politeness unconsciously overcome him. The boy handed back the empty bowel, and without realizing it, spoke.
"Thank you."
The boy's voice was low, soft, and unrefined, sounding tired and weak. The boy was surprised aby this, both by his unconscious speaking, and the low power of his voice. He coughed once, as if trying to clear his throat.
"Ha, you can speak. Knew it." The man said, taking the soup bowel and stacking it on top of his. "How about some introductions then?"
The boy lapsed back into silence, so the man spoke instead.
"All right, i'll start us off. My name's Baeddan Conway. If that's a mouthful, just call me Babe. Try 'er out."
There was a pause, then the boy replied, "Baeddan. Hello."
"Now you got it." Babe said, smiling. "What's your name?"
The pauses that were becoming more then common through this night was once again repeated, as the boy lapsed into thought for a good thirty seconds. It was a fruitless thirty seconds, for the boy knew nothing, reMembered nothing, not even a mark on him to identify , beyond the bright silver skin-streaks on his forehead.
"I.. I dont know."
Babe let that thought settle for a moment, before asking, "Do you reMember anything?"
"No."
Once again, Babe let the thought settle, an uncomfortable pause as Babe racked his brain for what little bits of psychology he had gleaned from his years on the road.
"Alright, probably the stress. You look like you had a hell of a time. Let's tick off some basics you mighta forgot you reMember. Or something. Whatever. What's the name of the planet?"
"Zi." The boy answered automatically, almost surprised by this knowledge.
"What color are my boots?"
"Brown."
"What's six times three?"
"Eighteen."
"What language are we speaking?"
"Zodic Standard."
"What's my name?"
"You told me before. Baeddan."
"Just double checking. Short term memory and all. What's that?" Babe asked, pointing to the Gustav.
"A... lorry?" The boy stumbled over this question, realizing for the first time that the vehicle he had climbed out of was unlike any he had ever seen, or even vaguely reMembered seeing. As confusing as it felt, he knew that the vehicle was unlike any he had ever known.
"Ooh, I'm sorry. The correct answer is 'Gustav', but we would have also accepted 'Zoid'."
"Zoid?"
"Ooh boy." Babe groaned. But before he could bemoan much else, a distant repetitive thunder started growing in the distance. Before either could react, a massive dark shape slid into camp, towering to the level of the massive Gustav, casting a shadow that was both awesome and overwhelmingly frightening at the same time. The boy nearly fell out of his seat at the approach of the beast, but Babe seemed undisturbed, almost enthusiastic at the thing's approach.
"Hey, just the guy I was looking for!" Babe exclaimed, getting out of his seat and walking towards the massive shape. "Find anything good?"
The beast lowered it's head towards Babe, and entering into the cast light and shadows of the cook stove, illuminating an angular head forged of metal and glass, a more unnatural thing never seen by the eyes of the boy. The thing chuffed, a noise that could only be described as the cross between a groaning dog and an idling diesel engine. Babe gave the thing an affectionate pound on the nose, and continued to talk to it.
"No? Aww, okay. Didja have a good run? Huh boy? Huh?" The thing chuffed again, in seemingly happy response (though how joyful a technocratic construct could seem to the fearful eyes of a boy is questionable). Babe turned to look at the boy, too distance to note the fear in his face and posture.
"Kid, this is my buddy Fiver. Fiver, say hello."
The thing now known as Fiver whined.
It took a few minutes of reassurance from Babe that Fiver would not stomp, maim, or kill either the boy or himself, before the boy dared to rise from his chair and see the massive wolf in the light. Babe told the boy that Fiver was a Command Wolf, one of many different kinds of zoids.
'Zoids', the word and the concept of giant mechanical creatures, did not seem unfamiliar to the boy. But the scale upon which these zoids were built was... unnatural. Astounding. Unbelievable. It was almost like whatever sense the boy had of the world had been horribly, horrible skewed into strange shapes. But the boy did seem to feel a connection with the 'Command Wolf' as Babe called it. Fiver was a living, thinking entity, and therefore deserving of the boys respect and understanding. Babe seemed a bit surprised at how readily the boy accepted a spiritualist attitude towards Fiver.
After the assurance that Fiver was a friend, Babe suggested that all of them turn in for the night. Babe offered the back bed to the boy, which was readily accepted. The boy felt oddly weak, as if he should be stronger, more agile. It was almost as if something beyond his memories had been lost. Babe would take his bed in Fiver, as he had often done before. Fiver seemed pleased at this, or as pleased a giant steel wolf can seem to the untrained eye.
And so, the boy's first new day ended.
-
Chapter two: A boy finds a name.
-
For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,
Like him of whom the story ran
Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.
It was morning again, as it always came unfailingly after the dark. The sun rose, and so did Babe and Fiver. The boy woke as well, moving from the back bed to the front seat along Babe, but proceeded to do little else besides nap. Babe insisted that the boy remain in the back bed, but the boy seemed adamant about being up front, observing what he could while he was not asleep.
A personality was beginning to develop from the boy. Not very talkative, and careful with what words he had, but obviously very intelligent. He reMembered things quickly, and was able to bridge the gaps in his knowledge of the world around him with curiously effective logic. Curious in the way that even though the boy seemingly had no memory, his conclusions about it from the little information he had was stunningly accurate.
It was in one of the pauses of the boy's napping that the intermittent conversation took a turn from the norm (it had been mostly about Babe talking about Zoids, the boy interjecting with questions), with Babe asking a question.
"Hey, kid. Do you have any clue what your name is?"
The boy was drinking from a can of soda at that moment, and the question seemed to startle him. He set the can down in the cup holder, and looked over towards Babe. "..No. Sorry."
"Not yer fault. I'm actually just wonderin for my own sake. It's kinda hard to mentally and vocally refer to someone as 'boy' or 'kid'." Babe explained. He paused for a moment as he guided the Gustav around a rather difficult corner, then returned to conversation. "Hey, just for temporary purposes, you mind if we pick out a new one for ya? Until you reMember, at least."
The boy sipped from his can of soda, and shrugged. "I guess not. What name?"
"Geeze.. I was never good at naming things. Hmm.. What do you want?"
"I dont know."
"Craap.. Hmm. Alright, I'll just list off some names off the top of my head, you just tell me whatever tickles yer fancy. Kay?
"Sure."
"Steve. Tom. Blake. Dan. Kevin. Josh. Ned. Ted. Steve."
"You said Steve twice." The boy interrupted.
"Ah crap. Toldja I was bad at this."
Several minutes went by, of Babe rattling off random names, before he got to one particular set.
"Llewellen. Maddock. Tudor. Gaetan. Leo."
"Where are you getting these names from?" The boy asked.
"Well, the last couple were from books, movies, other stuff. Now i'm listing random people I reMember from Elementary school. Anyhoo, Inego. Kale. Toshi. Adolph. Billy. Carl. Rick. Yurei. Tilly. Skye. Pheno. Timbre. Thornlan. Alstan..."
"Tamber?" The boy asked.
"Yeah, Timbre. It's spelled 'ti-mi-bi'. It's not phonetic."
"Phonetic?"
"When something is not said they way it's spelled."
The 'letters' that Babe described were unlike any that the boy knew. Something deep in his mind told him, 'this is wrong. I do not know these things'. Further confusing him, most of the symbols the boy saw around the Gustav were unlike any he had seen. Where he expected to see neat, repeating symbols, he saw flowing lines that made no rhyme of reason to him.
"So, you like Timbre?" Babe asked.
"Where did you get the name?" The boy asked.
"A friend of mine was obsessed with this old fantasy novel, and pretty much forced me to read it. Cheezy *Watch your language!*, but nicely written. Basically about a small town in the tundra that was under siege by a bunch of evil dudes that thought they were wolves. What really made the story interesting was the characters, though. Timbre was a kid who's mom and dad were evil dudes, but he was taken in by the town and raised to be nicey-nice."
"Who were the other characters?"
"Lets see. Amani was the warrior chick that basically kicked everyone's ass, but had the 'oh nos feminine weakness side'. Thornlan was the cool-as-*Watch your language!* good guy that never, ever smiled and occasionally got really high on mushrooms. Alstan was the cool sage older guy. Teggeter was the noob that wandered into town one day and made a convenient meat shield. Snowsilver was Timbre's friend and resident cute little kid, and... geeze. That's about all I reMember. I need to find that book again. Anyhoo, Timbre eventually grows up to be mister awesome warrior dude."
"Yeah..." The boy started, then his mind wandered into thought. "I think I like Timbre."
"Timbre it is. Hi, Timbre."
"Hi. Where are we going?" Timbre asked.
"Excellent question! We're headed to a town called Ravenstaad. It's an agricultural community, centered around a big mill that grinds wheat and stuff. I got a friend that plays guard duty there, and he's called me in on a favor to help him out. Some war-mongering neighbor wants to take over Ravenstaad and the farms around it, and has been sending in raids to 'convince' the people of Ravenstad to start paying tax and tithe to him."
"Why are you going there?"
"To act as muscle. Craig, the guy that called me in, used to run in an escort gang with me. He's calling in a bunch of guys he knows to run protection and keep the raiders away, maybe run a counter-offensive. Dunno."
"When will we be there?"
"Another day or so. I don't like dragging you into this, but there's really nowhere to keep you between here and Ravenstaad. I cant just abandon you, right?"
Timbre blinked. "Why are you helping me?"
Babe laughed. "'Cuz I'm a nice guy. Just building up some positive karma and all that jazz, y'know? Not every day does a person run into a mystery like you."
-
