Even though it's just the early morning hours, the road we're following is unusually busy. As I sense the first group of strangers coming up behind us, I'm briefly worried for the safety of my companions. Said companions don't even realize someone's approaching until the other tanks come into view behind us, but even then they don't seem worried either.
“Oh!” Morris exclaims in a pleasantly surprised voice, “Look, Artie! They must be going to the celebration, too.”
That statement actually confuses me. I wasn't aware of any celebration happening at Tow currently. Is that the reason these two wanted to travel there?
Now that I get an actual line of sight on the strangers, I can see the group of five driving along at a leisurely pace. One of them has hoisted plain grey strips of fabric on each of their radio antennas, signalling that they're non-hostile to anyone who might see them. The unsteady morning breeze tugs at those lazily, making them seem almost like living beings that stir every now and then.
Even despite their slow driving speed, the strangers catch up with us eventually and pass us by with polite waves. My fellow travelers wave back enthusiastically.
“A celebration?” I quietly ask them as soon as the group has driven past.
Morris turns to me and nods. Artax elaborates:
“That's not why we're headed there, though.” He seems to suddenly have a thought. With a tilted turret and curious optics, he looks me up and down. “Have you never been to that celebration before?”
It doesn't seem to ring a bell, yet.
“Remind me, what is it about?”
I notice that Morris' gaze turns concerned, and maybe she's starting to add two and two together about my mental state. She responds instead of her partner, almost gently:
“It's another anniversary of the town's generator, Fletcher. I'm sure you've heard of him?”
Trying to find a possible memory attached to that name in the depths of my core, I direct my gaze forward and allow myself a thinking pause before replying.
The fortified walls that surround the town of Tow start jutting up in front of us. My optic ridges furrow with curiosity as I notice that the wooden palisades are adorned with hempen ropes - knotted together in elaborate patterns - to which countless colorful strips of fabric have been tied. The morning has advanced already, approaching noon, and the road is getting even busier now. Funneled towards a notably small gate by strategically placed tank traps, an entire queue of vehicles of all shapes and sizes has formed. There's a strong wind picking up, making the antennas of the tanks waiting for entry into the town dance; some of them seem bothered enough by the whimsical bouncing that they make an effort to tie the elastic antennas down to their frames.
The decorations on the walls are affected less overtly, the heavy ropes holding their own against the wind pretty well still. The dyed fabric tied to them however is fluttering every which way, seeming animated - like panicking birds caught in a camo net.
The two tanks travelling with me brighten up at the sight. Morris in particular vocally declares how lovely the decorations are, and Artax at least nods along.
My gaze rests on them for a moment before it returns to the town walls. I do feel some comfort at the sight, as well. But not because of aesthetic reasons; I simply enjoy the thought of being somewhere else than inside the crosshairs between dark and lonesome trees right now. I might even get some sleep... But even if I welcome the unusual multitude of company that is currently entering the normally quiet Tow, I can't help but wonder about the occasion.
I turn to my companions and mention to them in a casual tone, "Strangely busy here today, isn't it?"
Morris throws a puzzled look at me.
"Well, it's the day of the celebration," she begins to reply light-heartedly, but at my clueless expression, she trails off with the rest of the sentence, "...after.....all."
I raise an optic ridge. A celebration? That doesn't ring a bell.
"What's that about, then?"
It's strange and rather alarming how Morris starts to outright frown with obvious worry at my response, and doubly so as Artax joins her.
"The one about Fletcher. The town's generator..." Morris says, her voice weirdly troubled all of a sudden. She and her partner even stop driving.
Doesn't take an MBT core to figure out that something is wrong. And I'm getting the feeling that this something's wrong with me.
"Remind me, who's-" I try to politely carry on the conversation anyway. In a rather awkward manner, Artax joins by cutting me off.
"Am I imagining it or didn't we just have this conversation an hour ago?" he says with an uncomfortable chuckle. It seems like he doesn't know for sure whether he should be scared for me or of me.
All I can do in this situation is to try and control the damage. Without realizing, I have halted as well when the others did, but I am now kicking my engine back into gear and pushing ahead towards the town gate more urgently than before.
"Please excuse my absent-mindedness," I say over my fender mechanically, "it's been a rough couple nights."
The travellers stay behind just for a moment in which I clearly overhear Artax whispering to his friend, "Told you, he's looney...", in a tone that sounds like he's concerned for a team mate's well-being.
The queue at the gate is barely moving, but curiously, the tanks lining up to be let in move out of the way voluntarily as they notice me approaching purposefully. Some very wary looks are thrown in my direction, and the two travellers in my wake trundle along befuddledly while apologizing repeatedly and profusely for skipping the queue to the tanks they pass.
As I reach the guards by the gate, they have already taken a defensive stance, as if ready to deal with an armed conflict after witnessing my hulking hull skip to the front of the queue. But I am just halting in front of them and looking at them with a neutral - if tense - expression. It's clearly the moment where I am supposed to state my business when entering a fortified town. But the reason for why I came here seems strangely just out of my mind's reach right then.
"Oh, it's just you," one of the guards suddenly notes casually and makes way for me to pass through the gate. The second guard looks wary still, but the other one (presumably the more experienced one of the two) gives a dismissive gesture and explains, "That's the Scarecrow, it comes here every now and then and it may look fierce, but it's docile as a truck."
I nod quietly, having nothing to add. That does the trick and the younger guard moves aside as well.
"Enjoy the celebration!" he says politely. I just frown at him for a moment as I set myself into motion.
The what now...?
During the short exchange, my companions have somehow managed to catch up and I can sense them following closely behind me until the guards notice and confront them. A “hunting party” is mentioned in the brief exchange that ensues and results in the travellers being allowed to enter as well.
Ahead of me, the streets are a flurry of all sorts of vehicles bustling about. The buildings are all covered in elaborate nautical-themed decorations. All of this noise and movement is a lot to take in for my exhausted core. I find my sensors shutting down in self-defense almost immediately, and I have no desire for now to force myself to be immersed in all this overstimulation. As a side effect, I slow down my driving considerably as well, feeling utterly lost. A familiar voice piping up beside me all of a sudden ends up being a pleasant surprise, anchoring me back to what I know.
“How exciting! This year must be a special anniversary!” Morris gushes, a side-glance at her revealing that she has clasped a couple of her claws together with delight. Artax is by her side, of course, though he seems busy adjusting the straps of their luggage bags.
“Keep an eye on your things,” he murmurs to her with a frown, “Some very long arms in these busy towns.”
Morris looked startled and mortified, and hurriedly checked all of her bags for closed latches.
“Good meadows, Artie...! What would I do without you?”
With most external sensors on standy, my focus briefly shifts to my internal ones, and I can't help but notice my fuel gauge having gotten a bit too low by now for comfort. This reminds me of the initial nature of my relationship with the two dorky travellers.
“About my payment-” I start to rumble at them, and it makes them both look at me with expressions that give away they forgot all about that.
“Right- uh, well, we were going to drop our things off at the hunters, I'm sure they'll have some fresh fuel for us there!” Morris quickly chimes in.
“I imagine I'll be asked to join them, too, for that favor,” I reply, having doubts about whoever those hunters may be handing out free fuel to random strangers. I'm also not sure about following the travellers around further based on the repeated promise of possible fuel somewhere else, though I can't say I mind their company that much, per se.
“If they don't want to give you any, I'll make sure to get some for you,” Morris says with conviction.
That seems acceptable to me, and I nod, then trundle after them as they spot and follow signs pointing to those mysterious hunters' gathering place.
