Mission Upon A Setting Sun - I

The heat of the Westland desert was unforgiving this day. Further east from Westland's capital of Sand Hill was a small village called Monteverde.

It was remote in its location, far removed from the rest of civilization.

A group of townsfolk dressed in the light garb, befitting of constantly being under a scorching sun, was working diligently to retrieve water from an old well. As they toiled together to satiate their thirst, they stopped when they heard the sound of a van coming into their town.

They stared at each other, wondering who could possibly visit Monteverde. It was a town so remote that even the local government had no interest in its activities. The whirring of the van's engine grew louder.

Soon, they saw a small black camper approach them. On its side was the image of a red cloud and a rocket ship that flew through it.

A young owl, wearing an all-white cloak, stepped out of the camper as it stopped. She gazed upon the curious villagers, taking note of their puzzled expressions.

"Friends," she shouted, "I am whom you may refer to as The Angels, a missionary of sorts. I have not come here to do you any harm. I am here because I know of your plight."

The villagers looked at each other, all coming to the same conclusion.

They were a distrustful bunch. It was rare when they received any visitors.

When they did, they made sure that those visitors either left immediately or would never leave at all. A few reached for the revolvers they had hidden behind their waistbands. The click of a few hammers being pulled back could be heard.

The Angels took note of the distrustful and angry stares they gave her. It was to her advantage that she naturally had an innocent disarming face.

She put up her hands to show that she had no weapons on her.

"Please," she pleaded, "I did not come here to do you harm. I am only here as a messenger. A messenger sent by a much higher power."

She opened the back of the camper to reveal multiple cartons containing hundreds of bottles of water.

"I would love to tell you more," she continued. "Perhaps we could have a discussion over a refreshing drink? The sun has been a bit tyrannical today, has it not?"

There was now complete silence between The Angels and the villagers.

At last, one of the townsfolk stepped forward. He was a burly-looking pronghorn that probably did Monteverde's heavy lifting or possibly their expulsing.

He walked over to The Angels until he was face to face with her. Pure menace was in his eyes as he stared at her innocent face. The Angels' smile did not break, but a bead of sweat betrayed her inner fortitude. After glaring at her for what seemed like an eternity, he snorted and walked to the camper.

"Are all of you going to just stand there?" he asked gruffly.

The villagers began to shuffle forward to help unload the cartons. The Angels smiled as they allowed themselves to the refreshing drink. She knew now that her arrival to Monteverde wasn't the lost cause that her peers insisted it was. Soon enough, The Angels would be a shepherd to her own flock of sheep.

Traveling across the vast dunes of the great Westland desert was a white sedan that pulled a trailer from behind. Inside the trailer was the imaginative inventor, Bill Squirrel, and his companion, the vehement but sometimes affable Ben Barry.

"See?" said Bill. "The alterations I made to my car were perfect for this trip."

"I don't care," snorted Ben. "I'd rather one of us be driving as opposed to it being stuck on autopilot."

"Nonsense," replied Bill. "I can work on plenty of things in the trailer while my car deals with the logistics, such as getting this stupid monocle to work again."

Bill sat on his fitted work desk, tinkering with his digital monocle. He sighed as his attempts to switch it on produced no results.

"Well, what can I do while we're waiting?" asked Ben grumpily. "It should be another half hour or so before we get to Alta Vista."

"You can clean up the trailer," ordered Bill.

Ben was reliable as a constant companion for Bill. Since he never had a steady job, it made him easier to hire for freelance jobs, especially when Bill might need protection of some kind.

Ben grumbled and began to get to work on cleaning up the trailer. The small kitchen area was especially dirty, with unwashed dishes and cups strewn about the small dining area.

The two were on a mission of sorts. There were still places in Nation-X that were left fairly untouched by the government. When Bill heard that Governor George Whitman had declared the eastern parts of the Westland desert to have its own autonomy and remain off-limits to the rest of the Westland populace, he naturally had to see why.

Alta Vista was one of the small towns that made up the eastern fringe of the desert. It was the first stop any travelers would potentially make before heading further in—except that travelers never willingly went in this direction.

As both Ben and Bill continued on with their work on the trailer, the susurration of distant engines behind them could be heard. Ben dropped some of the dishes he was carrying in the sink and tried to listen more closely to the distant sounds.

"What's that sound?" asked Bill.

"Shh!" hushed Ben. "I'm trying to figure out what it is."

The murmurs of those engines soon grew louder. Ben immediately realized what it was that was approaching them.

"Those sound like Percheron Thoroughbreds."

Bill frowned. "What?"

"You know, the classic motorcycles."

"I didn't know you were into motorcycles," said Bill, impressed by Ben's knowledge.

"I always liked the old Percherons," answered Ben. "Peter Kangas showed me some of his at his family's workshop. Percheron actually discontinued the Thoroughbred line too. I've wanted to ride one after seeing and hearing them at the workshop."

"Can you even ride one of those bikes?" asked Bill in a belittling tone.

"Shut up!" snapped Ben.

Now, the sounds of the engines were deafening. Bill looked outside the window of the trailer and saw three motorcycle riders riding beside them.

Two of the riders were dressed in the usual dark blue jackets of Westland law enforcement. The lead driver wore a long brown duster with a white quarterhorse hat. They all rode black motorcycles that were large enough to put their bodies above Bill's sedan.

The lead rider signaled Bill to park when he saw him peeking out the window. The rider then rode forward to signal it to the driver of the white sedan but looked surprised when there was no one in the car.

Bill took out his phone and used it to slow down and stop the car on the side of the road.

"What are you doing?" asked Ben. "What did you see outside of the trailer?"

"Looks like they're law enforcement," replied Bill. "People don't usually come down this way, so they're probably wondering why we're here."

"What do you mean they don't come down this way?"

"Ah, don't worry about it," replied Bill, realizing he had let a little too much slip.

He never explained to Ben the potential dangers of coming to the fringes of the Westland desert. All Ben knew was that he was there to simply be a research assistant for Bill. He had no idea of any other details merely because he never bothered to ask. All that mattered was that he received his two hundred NXD per diem.

The trailer was now parked on the side of the road, and so were the motorcycle riders. As the riders got off their steeds, they reached into the leather bags strapped onto the sides of their Thoroughbreds. The lead rider pulled out a repeating rifle while the other two grabbed a shotgun each.

Ben now looked out the window, alarmed at the sight.

"Uh, Bill," he said nervously. "Why are those officers grabbing guns out of their rides?"

"What?" Bill looked through the window beside Ben.

Two of the riders now had their shotguns pointed at the trailer door. The lead rider called out to Bill and Ben.

"You fellas mind coming out with your arms up, slow and peacefully?" he asked. "This doesn't need to get messy."

"What do we do?" asked Bill. "Ben, do something!"

"Do what?" asked Ben incredulously. "I'm not about to go charging at three guys with guns!"

"Come on out!" shouted the lead rider. "This is your last warning!"

The door of the trailer slowly opened. Both Bill and Ben walked out of the trailer with their arms up. They looked comically out of place as Ben wore his favorite tropical shirt and shorts. Bill had his usual jacket and jean ensemble on sans digital monocle. They now got a good look at the riders.

The riders aiming the shotguns at them were a pair of coyotes that looked to be brothers. They wore the apparel of law enforcement, but their faces betrayed the countenance of cold-blooded murderers. The lead rider in the brown duster and white quarterhorse hat was a desert bighorn sheep. His hat was worn low to cover his eyes, and the authoritative golden six-pointed star on his duster gleaned from the reflection of the sun.

"How do you do, gentlemen?" asked the lead rider. "My name is Marshal Lambert. These here are the Coyle Twins, two of my most trusted deputies.

I look after the towns on this side of the Westland desert."

He narrowed his eyes at the two.

"I haven't seen you fellas from around these parts. Do you mind telling me why you're here?"

As he spoke, he used the barrel of his rifle to lift the brim of his hat. The two noted that while Marshal Lambert was smiling, his expression was as malevolent as the other two riders.

Bill looked at Ben nervously, then turned to face Lambert.

"We're just travelers, sir," he stammered. "We were just going through the area to explore a bit, then head back."

Bill stuttered as he spoke. It wasn't out of fear from the firearms being pointed at him. It was from the way Marshal Lambert was sizing him up.

There was an eeriness to the way he gazed at Bill. It was as if he was peering into some deep dark recess that even he was unaware of.

"Is that it?" asked Lambert, now looking at Ben. "You're just traveling through our part of the desert?"

"Yes, sir," answered Ben, also stuttering as Lambert gazed upon him.

Lambert seemed to be in deep consideration of something. He stood there, seemingly pondering his next move. At last, he signaled for the Coyle Twins to put their weapons down. The Coyle Twins looked confused but followed the orders of Marshal Lambert and lowered their shotguns.

"Just exploring, huh? I suppose there can't be any harm in that."

The two sighed heavily out of relief. Ben, who was gaining confidence now that there wasn't a shotgun aimed at his head, decided to speak up.

"Marshal Lambert, is there a reason why you're stopping people from entering? And also threatening them before going in?"

Bill slightly mule-kicked Ben in the shin as a way to tell him to shut up.

Lambert smiled at the brazen question. "We seem to be having a problem with visitors, especially as of late. Have you two ever heard of Dreamlandism?"

"I've read a few things about it," answered Bill.

"I've heard of it," said Ben. "I've always thought it was a crock of nonsense."

Bill mule-kicked Ben again.

Marshal Lambert smiled. "That's because it is, son. Several months ago, we had some Dreamlandism missionary slip through into one of our towns deeper into the desert. They've been convincing some of our townsfolk into joining that vile cult."

"What have they done since joining the cult?" asked Bill curiously.

The marshal gave Bill a cold stare. "They've been disrupting the natural order of things is what they've done! These missionaries can pretend they mean well, but in the end, they're going to gather our townsfolk and take them away from the communities that need them!"

This time Ben lightly kicked Bill to signal him to shut up. The kick managed to push Bill forward a few steps.

"Speaking of disrupting the natural order of things," continued Lambert.

"You mind telling me why there's no one driving that car?"

He used one hand to point his rifle at the driverless white sedan that was pulling the trailer.

"Oh, I'm controlling the car using my phone," Bill proudly replied. "I just rewired some of the controls so that I could easily—"

"They weren't cultists," he said. "But with any luck, they'll draw them

out."

The ride to Alta Vista didn't take much time. Bill had floored it once they left Lambert and the Coyle Twins behind. When they reached the outskirts of the town, they both got out of their caravan.

"Bill!" shouted Ben as he got out of the trailer. "You mind telling me what I just got dragged into?"

"What? You're a research assistant for our trip to the desert outskirts of Westland."

"You didn't mention the part where I'd have a gun aimed at my head!"

"I had one aimed at my head, too!" retorted Bill. "You didn't even do anything about it! You're at least a foot taller than those guys, you could've acted tough, and maybe you would've scared them off!"

"Gun to my head, Bill!" iterated Ben. "Gun to my head!"

As the two argued, a few of the townsfolk began to gather and watch them out of curiosity. The townsfolk muttered to each other as they seemed to be deciding how to handle the situation that was developing in front of them.

One of the townsfolk, a surly-looking sand cat, pulled out a rifle and aimed it at Ben's head.

"They ain't any of ours," he proclaimed. "I say we just get rid of them and be done with it. I've got my sights on the big one. Someone else pick the smaller one off."

A pretty, young-looking pronghorn wearing a beige fringe jacket and black hat took note of the commotion developing between the arguing strangers and the weary townsfolk. She quickly rushed into the gathering crowd.

"No, no, it's okay!" she shouted. "They're with me!"

"Are they more of those friends of yours from outside?" asked the sand cat, sneering at her.

"Those people have never done any harm to us," replied the pronghorn.

"I know that these two won't either."

The sand cat put the rifle down.

"Be it on your head then, Josephine. Come on, everyone."

The gathering crowd slowly began to disperse after Josephine's endorsement and the sand cat's dismissal. She walked up to Bill and Ben as they continued to argue.

"Boys, you two need to stop this commotion and come with me."

"Who are you?" asked Ben.

"My name is Josephine Prackett, but you can call me Jo. You two really need to stop all of this. I don't know where you're from, but this place isn't it. You need to be careful about how you act around these parts; the things people shoot here aren't smiles, catch my drift? You need to blend in."

"We're just out here traveling," said Bill. "Why would people want to shoot us just for acting any different than anyone else?"

"Because that's just the way we are with outsiders," explained Jo. "We don't trust anyone. If we don't think you're worth the trouble, then we'll just make sure you don't become a problem."

"Well, that's an inane way of doing…" said Bill.

Ben gave him a quick kick to his backside.

"Don't you get started on her too. She's trying to help us!"

Bill grumbled to himself and rubbed his behind. He wasn't in the best state of mind out in the desert, especially after Marshal Lambert's warning about keeping to the natural order of things. He felt extremely constrained without access to any technology.

"You two, follow me," said Jo. "First thing we need to do is to get you out of those silly clothes. You'll attract all kinds of wrong attention looking like that."

The boys followed Jo as she took them through the small town of Alta Vista. To the locals, the village was an unremarkable place, but Bill and Ben found it an exotic locale. The buildings were built with adobe brick which gave them a worn orange color. They passed by various establishments

that could still be found in historical sites around Nation-X. The only difference was that these locals weren't historical reenactors.

Jo took the boys to a building with a wooden sign that said, Distillery. Bill stood outside the adobe structure and took one look at the place.

"So, do we need to be drunk and stink of moonshine to blend in?"

Jo laughed at Bill's sarcasm. "No, but it wouldn't hurt."

She took them inside, and they found themselves surrounded by varying metal brewing machines and apparatus that were lined neatly against the wall. All the equipment in the distillery was clearly defunct and unused for quite some time.

Jo led them to a back room with a trap door leading down to the cellar.

They both looked down into the cellar and saw nothing but darkness.

"You first," said Bill.

"Don't worry, guys," coaxed Jo. "Just follow me."