Crossover Earth '98
The nameless man rode the bus into the nameless town.
The town, to be truthful, did have a name. But its small size, its location in the shadow of Phoenix, and its sole function as the mail stop for the neighboring farms, made that name pretty much meaningless to any but the few people who actually lived there.
The man, too, had a name, more or less. What it was, he himself couldn't say. That, along with a large part of his past, was locked away in some currently inaccessible part of his mind. For now, we can just simply call him the Traveller.
The Traveller looked absently out of the dusty bus window as his mind gnawed on his current predicament. His goal was to reach the East Coast, where some element of his buried memories, poking into his consciousness like the tip of an iceberg, urged him to go. But any fool could look at a map and see that this place was westwards from his original location.
The reason for his detour was, like life itself, simple and complex at the same time. He'd rescued a young woman from a brawl in a roadside tavern and ended up, after a series of unusual circumstances, saving a busload of kids from falling off a bridge, in full view of a number of witnesses.
This little adventure had put into conflict two other aspects of his slowly emerging personality: the unexplained conviction that his existence needed to be kept from the public eye as long as possible, and his inability to refuse a plea for help.
Always a sucker for a hard-luck story, he chuckled silently to himself, then spent a few seconds wondering where that thought had come from. The thread slithered away into the dark shadows of his mind and he gave up trying to follow it. Anyway, he'd been forced to flee the area by the quickest means possible before any awkward questions were asked, which meant jumping on a bus headed somewhere away. That "somewhere" was this small village in the middle of Arizona.
The bus wheezed its way to a stop in front of a small building. A semi-legible sign announced it to be the bus depot for the town of Concho, AZ. The Traveller rose with the few other passengers, tugged his tattered duffel bag down from the overhead rack, and made his way to the door into the heat and dust outside.
Well, whatever his reason for being here, the fact was he was here, and without enough money to go anywhere else. He threw his bag up to his shoulder and headed down the street. Time to look for a job.
Tim Ferris pulled his pick-up to a stop and glumly got out. A young man jumped out of the truck bed, carrying a battered suitcase and a long face.
Ferris gestured towards the bus depot. "There you go, Luke. Bus'll be leaving in about fifteen minutes. You should have no problem catching it."
Luke kept his face lowered, unable to meet Tim's eyes. "Thanks, Mr. Ferris. I guess I should go now."
"I guess so."
The young laborer looked at his former employer almost pleadingly. "Look, Mr. Ferris, you've been a great boss and all, but it's just..."
The farmer just nodded sadly. "I understand. Just get on now. And good luck."
"Thanks, Mr. Ferris. I'm sorry." And with that, the young boy turned and trotted towards the far building.
Tim Ferris sighed in frustration. It was bad enough that AgroCo was pushing its way around town, bullying the independent farmers into selling their land, but now they were scaring away the help. There just was no justice in the world.
He turned back to his pick-up and was surprised by the sight of a man standing next to it, looking in his direction. Tim hadn't noticed him coming up and, for a moment, he felt an icy thread of fear run up his spine.
The stranger smiled disarmingly and said, "I'm sorry. I couldn't help overhearing. Am I correct in guessing you're looking for a worker?"
The pick-up jounced down the unpaved road, a rooster-tail of dust rising up behind it.
The Traveller rode on the passenger seat, looking out the side window, while his duffel bag bounced on the truck bed behind him. Next to him, Tim Ferris drove, lost in thought.
The farmer didn't take him right away, of course. Ferris spent a good hour or so grilling him, asking all sort of questions, more than he'd had to deal with in his previous attempts at getting a job.
The Traveller guessed that something was bothering Ferris, making him more suspicious than usual. Whatever it was, though, didn't come up in their conversation. He'd tried to be honest in his responses, if not completely truthful.
Ferris had begun with "What's your name?"
A pause. "You can call me Joe."
"Joe, eh? Got a last name?"
'Joe' grinned ruefully. "Do I need one?"
Ferris looked at him steadily for an instant. "Where do you hail from?"
The Traveller treaded carefully there. "Originally from New Mexico. I've been moving about but I'm heading East now."
"So you're not planning on staying hereabouts?"
"No, sir. Just trying to scrape enough money together to keep going."
The questions kept coming and, in the end, Ferris finally acknowledged to himself that he had no reason to turn him away and all the reason to take in another farmhand. It seemed that available people were becoming hard to find. The Traveller got the idea it had something to do with some corporation moving into the area.
The pick-up turned into a slightly better leveled stretch of road, which became the driveway to a decently sized farmhouse with bare fields stretching out behind it.
Tim Ferris stopped the pick-up and got out, waiting for his passenger to do likewise. Joe picked up his bag from the back and joined him.
Tim's wife, Sarah, came out on the porch. She'd obviously been sitting and waiting, fretting over his tardiness. He led his new employee up to the house, calling out, "It's all right, Sare. I found someone new to work on the fields."
Sarah Ferris favored the newcomer with a flash of suspicious frown that turned into a polite smile. "Well, you timed it well. Dinner's just about to be ready. You get yourselves washed up and I'll set the table."
The Traveller set his duffel bag down on the hard bed and looked at the small room with satisfaction. The detached apartment, a shack, really, had been the previous employee's residence, and he had reassured Bill Ferris it was fine with him.
Dinner had been a strain. An awkward tension had pervaded over the table, but he had made some headway in convincing Sarah Ferris that he was not a danger.
It was obvious that something big was bothering them, and the Traveller deduced it was some type of external threat; there had the sense of a siege mentality about the family's attitude at first.
Despite his best efforts, the Traveller found himself drawn into this latest situation, and spent some time meditating on how to best approach the farmer and find out what the problem was, with the goal of helping them seek a solution.
Early the next morning, Bill Ferris led his new employee out to the barn. He introduced Joe to the few animals they kept, and the semi-dilapidated equipment that was Bill's tools of the trade.
"Have you ever farmed cotton, Joe?"
The new farmhand shook his head and grinned. "No, sir. But I'm perfectly willing to learn."
"Uh-huh," responded the farmer noncommittally.
Ferris pointed out a large pyramid of hefty sacks laid out on pallets near the back of the barn. "Tell you what. We'll start you easy. I need you to haul those sacks up to the hayloft. There's a tackle and pulley on the back to help you. Think you can handle that?"
Joe's grin grew wider. "No sweat."
Bill cocked an eyebrow at the man's enthusiasm, then decided to check back with the man after a half-hour of carrying the heavy sacks. He might not be so eager then, he thought.
Sure enough, the farmer swung by the barn from his chores roughly 30 minutes later. He stopped at the entrance, and heard his jaw click as it dropped.
Every single sack was gone. As he watched, Joe slid down the ladder from the hayloft above, holding the outside of the ladder with his hands and using his feet on the rungs to control his fall.
Joe saw his boss and walked over, dusting his hands. "All done, sir."
"You put all the sacks up there already?" Bill exclaimed incredulously.
"Just like you asked. No sweat."
It wasn't until later that Bill recalled that, true to Joe's word, the farmhand had not even broken a sweat from the work.
The next few days filled the Traveller with a peaceful sense of joy.
He learned the details of his tasks quickly as Ferris took him around the farm, and he put all his effort in helping the farmer any way he could. He was careful not to overuse his extraordinary abilities, but he couldn't help but enjoy taking whatever chore his boss gave him and putting a little extra effort into it.
He'd come to the farm just before planting season, and most of his jobs involved preparing the ground for seeding. He took pleasure in working the soil, holding the rich earth in his hands and feeling the promise of life flowing from it.
He'd finally been able to work out the details of what was bothering Ferris from the man. There was this big agricultural concern, AgroCo by name, which had blown into town planning to buy all the land in the vicinity and putting up some sort of automated factory-farm. Their methods had migrated from soft- sell to hard-sell tactics and were starting to sink to some subtle and not-so- subtle arm twisting.
A couple of farms had already sold out, but Bill was adamant. "My family's been working this land for generations, Joe. No men in fancy suits and shiny machines are going to make me leave."
The Traveller was not sure how he could be of assistance, beyond providing the work he was already doing. As he went around casually doing the work of ten men (in Bill Ferris' private estimate), he bent his mind to the task of coming up with some way he could be of greater help.
Sarah Ferris was washing the dishes after dinner. A light rain was falling outside.
Suddenly, she stopped and peered out the window. She called out, "Bill, come here."
"What is it, Sare?"
"Just come here."
Bill went over to stand behind his wife. "What, hon?"
She pointed with a soapy hand. "Look out there."
Bill Ferris stared intently out the rain-slicked window, trying to make out what Sarah was pointing at. Finally, he saw it, too
A person was standing out on the bare patch of ground in front of the barn, feebly illuminated by the security lights. I was Joe, his head back and his arms out at his sides, letting the rain come down on him.
Sarah looked at her husband quizzically. Bill shrugged. "I guess he likes to feel the rain on him."
His wife snorted and returned to her work. Bill wandered back to the living room and the table full of bills, puzzling over the strange sight.
The Traveller was washing his hands at the pump when they came.
He was the first to notice the plume of dust. Focusing his will on his eyesight, he was able to expand his range and inspect the approaching vehicles.
There were two off-road trucks, filled with men. They carried what looked like various clubs and other objects of mischief. The Traveller had no problem guessing their intent.
He walked quickly over to Bill Ferris, who by now had also seen the dust kicked up by the cars and was looking curiously in their direction.
"Bill? I think this may be trouble. When I tell you, head straight for the house, and protect your family."
The farmer glanced at the Traveller in confusion, then turned back to face the cars as they arrived, his face turning hard as he saw the men inside.
The occupants of the trucks hastily dismounted and formed a rough semicircle as they faced Bill and the Traveller.
The group numbered seven, six carrying tire irons, chains, and baseball bats, and one standing somewhat authoritatively slightly behind them. The Traveller focused on him, supposing he was the leader of this motley crew.
The leader stood tall, wearing a heavily studded leather jacket, no weapons, and a fierce look on his face. It was he who spoke first.
"You dirt clods just don't get it, do you?" His tone made the question rhetorical. "Someone offers you good money for this pile of mud, you should take it. I'm here to see you do."
The Traveller placed a hand gently on Bill Ferris' tensed shoulder, hoping to defuse the situation without any combat. "Whatever it is you're planning, it isn't going to work. The best thing for you to do is turn around and leave and no one will get hurt." He concentrated, trying to convince the roughnecks by strength of will.
It seemed to be working. The punks hesitated, obviously confused by his confident speech and forceful manner. The lead thug scowled and struck the nearest accomplice in annoyance. "What are you waiting for, you dumbasses? Get to work."
The toughs jerked into motion, heading for the house and barn. The Traveller spoke fiercely at his boss, "Go, Bill!" and leapt to intercept the group.
His leap carried him past, placing him in the path of the two brawlers leading the pack. The one on the left swung his baseball bat. The Traveller brought his forearm up and blocked the blow easily. The punk's eyes goggled as the bat bounced off his opponent's arm as if it had struck a steel beam.
The second thug swung the heavy chain partially wrapped around his arm. The Traveller caught the chain and pulled, lifting the man toward his waiting fist. Before the unconscious body could fall, the Traveller used the chain to drag it around and swing it at the first attacker, bringing both of the two punks to the ground in a still heap.
Bill had hesitated for just a moment when his companion had called to him, but he spared only a quick glance at the developing brawl as he rushed to his house, furiously trying to remember where he had stored his shotgun and the box of shells.
The Traveller stepped over the unconscious duo and faced the remaining thugs. "Changed your mind yet?"
The four bruisers stopped, waiting for something the Traveller could not guess.
The only warning he got was the sudden pressure of onrushing air. Before he could turn, a weight slammed into his side, sending him flying to unceremoniously land on the soft ground, digging up a furrow as his body slid to a stop.
The Traveller fought to regain his bearings. He registered a voice gruffly complaining about "having to do a job yourself" as a shadow darkened the sky above him and another crushing blow came down on his injured side.
He hurt. The fact that someone was landing blows on him capable of actually getting through his defenses acted like a splash of cold water. He rolled away as the imposing figure tried to strike again, using the momentum to rise to an unsteady combat stance.
He was able to make out his opponent through his blurred eyes. As he had suspected, it was the leader, the one who had disdained carrying weapons, standing with a leer on his face.
"The name's Megaman, boy. Just wanted you to know who's going to kick your sorry ass all over this mud hole." The man's face split into an ugly grin as he leapt into the fray.
The Traveller was ready this time, blocking Megaman's swing and using the arm to lever him into a throw. The superpowered thug flew over his shoulder, then to the Traveller's surprise, continued flying until he landed on his feet a distance away.
"I'm gonna dance an earthquake on your face, farmboy!" Megaman snarled as he rose up in the air and swooped back to the Traveller.
This time, the Traveller chose to meet the onrushing attack head-on. He threw a straight punch, flashing through Megaman's outstretched arms to hit him smack in the chest.
The blow was hard enough to stop Megaman's rush. He fell back, staggered by the punch. He regained his senses quickly, though, and, snarling, he jumped back in, smashing the Traveller with a flurry of blows.
The Traveller found himself frantically blocking the barrage of fists and feet, unable to regain the offensive. With the element of surprise gone, he was sure he could guard against Megaman's crude fighting style, but for how long? He quickly sketched a plan in his mind as his body continued his frenzied defense, thudding as the odd shot got through.
A potential strategy formed. It was risky, but it was better than the alternative. At his first opportunity, the Traveller ducked under one of Megaman's swings and, leaning back, kicked out with his feet, catching his foe and sending him back a few feet to land on a particularly muddy spot on the field.
Megaman leaped up, ranting as mud clung to his jacket in clumps. "You're going to pay for that, dirtbag! I'm going to peel you like a grape!"
The tough rose again in the air and flew like a missile toward the waiting Traveller. So far, so good, thought the Traveller, as he side-rolled clear of Megaman's flying tackle.
Megaman climbed in the air and turned to repeat his attack. Gauging the angle, the Traveller waited, poised. When Megaman was almost on him, he pivoted, grabbing the onrushing foe and altering his course toward the water trough next to the hand-pump.
Megaman squealed as he smashed into the wooden trough, sending water and lumber flying and causing him to auger into the mud. Okay, calculated the Traveller, his agility in flight is about what I expected. Now for the coup de grace. He sidestepped quickly, placing himself at the ready.
Megaman stood up, encased in dark, stinking mud. "You're dead! You hear me?" Fully enraged, he shot as if from a cannon, headed directly at the Traveller.
At the last possible moment, the Traveller leapt up. Megaman's gaze instinctively followed his target's movement then shifted back to his path and what had stood behind the Traveller. He had less than a second to scream as he plowed into the side of his truck.
The car flipped several times, the side staved in from the impact. The Traveller rushed over to it, finding Megaman embedded in the door, stunned. Taking advantage of his opponent's predicament, he summoned all his willpower on his strength and delivered a mighty blow, which sent Megaman into, if not peaceful, at least deserved unconsciousness.
Breathing heavily, the Traveller turned to the group of thugs, who had watched the whole combat without moving. When they noticed this, the four quickly piled into the remaining truck and peeled rubber down the driveway, making a hasty exit.
Seeing that the danger was gone, the Traveller let himself drop to a sitting position, leaning against the ruined truck and its slumbering prisoner. He carefully held his side, wondering whether his capabilities included accelerated healing.
The police had been called, the assailants carted away. A tow truck had even dragged the demolished truck away, no doubt to be the object of curious scrutiny at the body shop.
Bill Ferris sat silently on the old wicker chair on his porch, watching the Traveller as he rested on the chair swing, still favoring his side.
"How are you feeling?" asked the farmer quietly.
"Much better, thank you."
"So, you're one of them, superheroes?"
The Traveller gave a wry smile. "No, I don't go around wearing tights and leaping over rooftops, if that's what you mean. But yes, I have abilities beyond human ken."
Bill grunted. "Huh. So, what now?"
The Traveller sat up. "They will be back. There's no doubt AgroCo was behind this attack. And you may not be their only target.
"You need to call the other farms. The only way you can fight this is together."
"And you're going to lead us into glorious battle?" Bill's tone left no doubt as to his opinion on this matter.
The Traveller gave Ferris a level stare. "No. This is not my fight. This is your land. If you're not willing to make the effort to keep it from being taken away, why don't you just take AgroCo's offer and leave?"
The farmer nodded silently to accept the rebuke.
The Traveller shrugged. "I'm willing to be as much of a help as you want me to be."
Bill Ferris gave the Traveller a lopsided smile. "Well, I suppose if we're going to tackle a big corporation, it won't hurt to have some heavy ammunition on our side."
The Traveller smiled back, his mind already laying out the potential strategies to consider.