Visions in the Wind: Walkabout by Ed Becerra. ----------------------------------- Some days later... "So this is what things looks like when you've got rain on a regular basis. Kinda beautiful." said Edward Anthony Coyote. "Bit damp for the likes of me, though. Funny to see _green_ grass everywhere, instead of brown buffalo grass, cactus, and tumble weeds." Kickaha had left his native dry, wind-swept desert prairie far behind him, and had just reached the edge of the Great Plains that lay next to the Great Forest. He still had a ways to go before he reached the forest and could start looking for the village of Knothole and it's famous Freedom Fighters. He lifted his muzzle and sniffed at the wind. "I smell water. Good thing, too. Been a long way since that last water hole. Cain't hardly eat jerky without water. Gotta refill my water skin. Hmmm... Smells like it's in that direction." He turned in the direction the scent was coming from, and limped slowly off towards it. He was moving a little stiffly. His back and legs were bothering him again. It was the damp climate. He looked around. "Better start looking out for those furshlugginer SWATbots. I'm a lot closer to Robotopolis, now. Probably got regular patrols out this way, hunting for any poor fool dumb enough to leave the protection of the forest. And right now, that means _me_. I wonder why I haven't seen any already. Robotnik's usually quite the paranoid. Used to be he'd have 'bots patroling out along the edge of the prairie. But that stopped some time ago. Something's happened. But what? He's evil and a more than a little stupid, but not careless." Kickaha pondered these thoughts as he walked, his cane thumping rythmically on the ground beside him. The scent of water was growing closer. The conclusions he was coming to worried him. He didn't like that. "Dammit! The tribes just don't have enough information on how the rebellion is going. I _told_ the shaman that, more than once. We need connections to groups who are closer to the fighting. Well, once I get ahold of this 'Davey Crockett' Old Man Coyote wants to talk to, maybe I can convince Princess Sally to share what her freedom fighters know with the Wild Pack." he growled to himself. He sighed. One more job to do. Didn't the work _ever_ end? Wasn't it enough that he was mashed up in that stupid accident? Hadn't he done enough, already? He snarled angrily. All he ever really wanted out of life were a few good books and a little time to read them. But duty called, in a tone he couldn't resist. He could hear the babbling of the small creek now. And, in the distance, an odd, whining noise that was rapidly coming closer. *Crud! That's a hovercycle! SWATbots for sure!* He yanked a camoflauge tarp from his pack, wrapping it around himself. He dropped to the ground, looking for all the world like a clump of grass and dirt. He gripped his cane tightly. *Okay, maybe they haven't noticed me yet. If so, then I've got the advantage of surprise. Best use it for all it's worth. One coyote against several Swats ain't good odds.* he thought. *Gonna need every advantage I can get.* Looking underneath the edge of the tarp, Kickaha could see the cycle coming in for a landing near the edge of the small creek. The whining sound stopped, as the Swat piloting it shut down the engine. There were two of them, the pilot and one Swat riding shotgun behind it. REALLY riding shotgun! *Damn! That's gotta be the biggest shotgun I've ever seen! From here, looks like a USAS-12 12-guage fully automatic assault shotgun. With a ten-round clip, at that. And it's carrying plenty of extra clips. Old Man Coyote is REALLY gonna owe me for this one. I'm not a fighter anymore, just a crippled-up ex-soldier and shaman-in-training. Oooh... just wait 'til he gets my bill! I'm gonna demand an entire library for this one! May the fleas of a thousand prairie dogs infest his fur! May he... Whoops, here comes one!* The SWATbot with the big shotgun dismounted from the hovercycle, and started circling around it, searching the area in an ever widening pattern. *They must have spotted me, or they wouldn't have landed and started a search. But they're not certain where I am. That gives me a chance. Not much, but it's better than nothing. Better let the Swat come to me.* He could hear the clanking of the SWATbot's joints as it approached his hiding place. *Heh. It's joints sound even noisier than mine. Guess it could use a little oil. Well, so could mine. It's almost here. Get ready... Get set... * he thought. Then something happened. A huge black raven swooped out of the sky, pecking at the Swat's eyes. The SWATbot raised it's shotgun and turned to fire at the attacking bird. *HEY! It's back is to me!* This thought flashed through his mind as he leaped from under the tarp, gripping his cane with both paws. One claw touched a stud hidden among the carvings that decorated it. A twelve inch long steel spike with razor sharp edges shot out from the base of the staff. He jumped up behind the Swat, swinging his cane overhead, like the short spear that it had become. A heartbeat later, the Swat had a full foot of blade buried through the back of it's head. Kickaha looked down at the dead 'bot. *I really must remember to thank the Timber Wolf tribe for this cane. And compliment them on the quality of the steel they make. They _said_ it would cut right through a SWATbot. And they were right.* Pulling his cane out of the swat's head, he pressed the stud again, retracting the blade. He took note of the weapon the 'bot had dropped when he had spiked it. *Humph. Be a cryin' shame to let a perfectly good shotgun like this go to waste.* He picked it up, and unbuckled the belt full of extra ammo clips the 'bot had around it's chest. He slung the ammo belt over one shoulder, and checked the weapon. *Hey, HEY, hey! There's a round chambered, the clip's full, and the safety's... off. Whoa! Lucky for me it didn't go off when it hit the ground. Thank the Great Spirit for grip safeties. And the selector switch's set to full auto. Stupid 'bot.* He reset it to single shot. *Guess they just don't program SWATbots like they used to. Now to go 'bot hunting!* He dropped his pack to the ground. The raven who'd saved his life hopped over to it, and pecked at it. "Quiet, bird!" he whispered. "Do ya want that other 'bot ta blow yer head off?" He slipped into the tall grass on the bank of the creek, circling in the opposite direction from the defunct SWATbot. Moving slowly, cautiously, he spotted the remaining swat waiting with robotic patience on the cycle. *Can you say `Dead Meat', Mr. Swatbot? Good. I knew you could!* He stepped out of the concealing grass with the shotgun raised. The 'bot on the cycle whirled around when it sensed his approach. But not fast enough. Kickaha pulled the trigger three times. The slugs hammered the swat's chest in, knocking it backwards over the seat of the hovercycle. When it tried feebly to rise, he let it have four more rounds. These shots ripped completely through the 'bot's body shattering it's chest, and tearing the 'bot apart. "Hey, HEY, hey! Looks like I can _ride_ the rest of the way to the Great Forest. Finally, a little good luck, for a change!" he gloated. He walked forward to dump the second swat's body from the seat. Suddenly, he heard a hissing, crackling noise coming from it's corpse. "Oh, crud! Not again!" he growled, dropping to the ground, and rolling quickly into the nearby creek. ! ! ! B O O O O M ! ! ! The SWATbot, and it's hovercycle, exploded in a fireball of destruction. When the flames died down, there was nothing left but a few small pieces of metal, a lot of ashes, and a small crater near the banks of the creek. Edward crawled out of the small creek, covered in water weeds and mud, his fur soaking wet. He still gripped his cane and the SWATbot's shotgun, though. _Kickaha's_ shotgun, now. He bent painfully, and fished the ammo belt from the bottom of the stream. He turned toward the smoking crater, and gave it a dirty look. "Damn! Must have hit the power supply. Or a booby trap. Guess it's still the old Leather Personel Carrier for me. Well, no use crying over spilled oil. At least I came out of this with more than I came in with. This shotgun's gonna be pretty useful if I run into more SWATbots. Speakin' o' which, gotta grab my gear and get going. If that blast didn't get the attention of every SWATbot within ten miles, then I'm Snivley's brother-in-law!" He shook the water and mud from his fur as best he could, and headed towards his backpack. "I _hate_ walking, I do, I really, really do." he muttered. "Well, that's not true. I _like_ walking. It's the back pain that I really _HATE_!" When he got to the spot where he'd left his pack, he saw the large black raven was still there, perched on top of it. "Hey, guy! Thanks for the help, but I gotta run now. And so should you. Pretty soon, this place is gonna be hip-deep in SWATbots." He reached for the pack, folding up the camo tarp and stuffing it inside. He turned to say goodbye to the raven, but when he saw what was happening to the bird, he couldn't get out a single word. The bird's body was blurring, stretching, and changing. A golden light surrounded it. It grew larger. Before Kickaha stood a four-legged coyote, as large as a small pony. Then it changed again. From four legs, it went to two. It's fur peeled back. It was as if a human was crawling out of a cocoon of coyote skin. When it was done, a man stood there, wearing what seemed to be a coyote-skin headdress, complete with the coyote's head. He smirked at Ed. "The Cheyenne call me Wihio, the Sioux, Iktome. The Blackfeet call me Napi Old Man. The Cree call me Saultaux, the Micmac, Glooscap. I am the Great Hare on the East Coast and Raven on the West. But you can just call me..." "...Old Man Coyote! What are you doing here?! I'm already _doing_ what you asked!" Edward growled angrily. "You didn't need to check up on me! I keep my word and pay my debts, Old Man. You _know_ that." "I'm not checking up, I'm apologizing." "... huh ...?" "Those swatbots were my fault. I knew you were still having trouble walking. So, I decoyed one here so you could count coup, and take his hovercycle. But two showed up, instead. Two swatbots again one coyote with a bad back is unfair odds, so I lent a hand. But I didn't plan on the cycle exploding." "Oh. Heh! Well, neither did it! I'm not hurt, I counted two 'bots, and I've taken trophy from one." He held up the shotgun and ammo belt. "I've lived with the pain before, and it hasn't stopped me yet. So, I might as well get a move on. There's a Great Plain to cross before I can reach Knothole and find Davey Crockett." Kickaha shrugged, picked up his pack, slung the shotgun and turned to go. "But it's nice to know you still care... Grandfather." He trudged off towards the Great Forest, cane in paw. Coyote watched him go. Kickaha was almost out of sight, when Old Man Coyote left. He blurred into the form of a large black crow. And as it flew away, the wind whispered... "Take care of yourself... Grandson." To Be Continued... ----------------------------------- Now for the legal stuff. Princess Sally, Knothole, et cetera, Copyright by Sega. Davey Crockett & the Wild Pack Copyright by David Gonterman Kickaha & Timber Wolf tribe Copyright by Edward Becerra Coyote is a spirit of the native peoples of the Americas. Please respect him as you would your own beliefs.