The Frontier

Marshal pulled her cruiser over atop the mountain overlooking Jackson Lake. In one fluid motion, she threw her leg over the bike, sliding her lever-action from its holster on the bike and transferring it to her leg holster as she drew her scanner from the saddlebags. The gravel crunched under her boots as she walked towards the edge of the winding pass overlooking the valley. She attached the scanner to the side of her helmet, letting it survey the landscape and transfer the data to her visor’s display.

She saw that the lake levels were still stable, vegetation was growing at a reasonable rate, and the lodge had been adequately fortified. Her Rangers had been hard at work while she was gone, and for that, she was proud. Marshal had missed her Rangers, and we had missed her. Marshal’s absence had been necessary, though, as she worked diligently to set the stage for our grand finale of bringing order to the chaos that was The Frontier.

Our world had not been undone in any spectacular fashion. There were no asteroids or nuclear winter to bring about our demise, merely humans being human. It was a systematic decay over years and years that had driven us to the collapse. Some had said big business was destroying our society, while others lamented that it was corrupt governments. They were so busy squabbling about which was to blame for all our problems that they failed to realize it was simply two sides of the same coin. Atop our society was perched a privileged few playing power games amongst themselves with the fate of all our lives in the balance. We didn’t see the signs as the gaping chasm steadily grew between the few who controlled our society and the many of us forced to live under their rule. For years and years, resources grew scarcer, and prices continued to climb as those in power sought to squeeze every last drop from those at the bottom. It was a slow fade until it wasn’t.

What had been decades in the making made its full effects known in a matter of weeks. Our governments could no longer sustain their massive bulk. Our corporations could no longer meet the demands of the people. Our society had stretched itself too thin, and when the collapse came, there was no support to stop it. Unlike the fall of Napoleon or the Roman Empire, though, our society was no longer one state but one world. We had grown together, forming a global society where each depended on one another. When the first domino fell, the rest all followed. Grocery store shelves were the first to empty. They were quickly followed by communication towers going down as power grids began to fail. The calamity cascaded across our world. Cities descended into warzones. There were a lucky few able to escape, but the vast majority were trapped in the churn. The face of our civilization was reshaped in a fortnight, and that’s when the real upheaval began.

No power vacuum lasts forever. Immediately, those few left with the might and resources swooped in and snatched up any stretch of land worth having. Seemingly overnight, 3D-printed walls rose up around once glorious cityscapes as new regimes moved to forge a new empire upon the ashes of the old. Technology had advanced enough for urban areas to be largely self-sufficient, needing trade only for minor necessities or lavish novelties, but the hierarchy only intensified from before the fall. The coalitions which replaced the old powers cared even less about the common folk, caring only about solidifying their place atop the ash heap.

Outside the walls of the new world order, the jungles grew wild for a time. Those of us fortunate enough to already be in the wilderness were spared the harsh cruelty that befell our urban kin, but our journey was filled with its own peril. In the collapse, much of the world had abandoned us, and with no one to lead, it was up to each of us to fend for our own survival. Tribes began to form, as they always will. Humans are nothing if not creatures of habit. Small pockets of civilization reformed amidst the wilderness, but none of them had the resources or capabilities to create more than a mere settlement before the Inners ventured outside of their walls and began creeping across the jungles. Even the ruler of all things wants more eventually, and the wilderness was indeed more. They cared not about the land, though. The Inners only wanted that which could enrich their dominion back inside their beloved walls. All the trade between the various Castles was made via air or sea as the land was too dangerous to transport goods, but that didn't scare their Striders one bit. Equal parts soldier, diplomat, and broker, the Striders were, above all things, ruthless. They first set out to reclaim any refineries or reactors they could, but despite their ruthlessness, they weren't all competent in the early days.

Mistakes were made, and the wilderness bore the scars. It didn’t take long for the kinks to work themselves out, though, and when they did, the settlers paid the price. Part of the churn is that the effective and efficient always rise to the top. Such was the case with us settlers as with the Striders, Striders like Marshal. She carved a swath through The Frontier, establishing the most dominant outposts and prominent supply lines the Inners possessed, allowing them to reach out into every settlement and impose their will on the people of The Frontier. Marshal, though, was playing at something much more significant than supplying her ruling Inners. She wanted her old life back, her life before the fall, but that wasn’t possible.

Marshal’s left hand found the chain around her neck, stroking it gently as she continued surveying the landscape and uploading the data to the Rangers’ server, the chain which held the heart-shaped locket tucked under her body armor. Marshal didn’t bother pulling the locket out. She seldom did anymore. It was all she still possessed from her life before the fall. She’d hated the thing when her partner first gave it to her. It had been an intentional joke that was meant to be overtly cheesy and affectionate with pictures of their family and a cliché phrase etched on the back. Her partner’s plan had worked. Marshal couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough. At the time, Marshal had jested that she would throw it away at the first possible moment. That was back then, though, before the world turned upside down and her family was taken from her. She kept the locket after that. For the first few years after the fall, she would look at it every free moment she had, longing for the family she had lost. Almost three decades have passed since our society imploded, though. Each year she looked at the locket less and less. Now it rarely ever surfaced from beneath her body armor. She still missed them, but no amount of longing would ever bring them back.

What began as a journey of mournful survival had grown to a quest for redemption. Marshal could not bring her family back, but she could forge a new one, us. We were all scattered across the Frontier when Marshal first found us. We were but wolves with no pack, lost souls all just trying to do something that would mean a damn before we were dirt. Marshal gave us purpose, gave us hope. When she brought us together, we had no idea what it would grow to be, but she did. The Rangers were Marshal’s long game, her new family, and her chance at redemption.

She had committed atrocities she did not care ever to remember, all in her duty as a Strider. Those duties, though, had taken her far from the Inners in their blood-stained Castles and out into The Frontier. It was scarred and broken, but it was also beautiful. Part wasteland, part wonderland, The Frontier was a new beginning. It was a chance for her to give back for all the things she had taken from the world and for our society to redeem itself for the terrible stewards we had been before.

At first, our mission was simple; fight back for those who couldn't. That was easy enough. It was what we had each been doing on our own before Marshal. Slowly that mission grew, though, as we began seeking out injustices to correct, building a network with which to establish our movement, and establishing bases from which to operate. What started as a ragtag bunch of vigilantes trying to write simple wrongs quickly became the Rangers, an entire organized movement spanning the whole of The Frontier, working in concert to give people back all the liberties they had lost. Marshal's role as a Strider gave us knowledge of the Inners to strike exquisitely efficient counterattacks to their new empirical outposts, slowly reclaiming our lands from their grasp. For years we have liberated settlement after settlement, pushing back against the Inners brutal campaign.

That was where things went from skirmishes to all-out war. The Inners couldn't risk sending the full force of their ranks into The Frontier, but they certainly weren't going to let us simply dismantle what they worked so hard to steal. The Frontier wouldn’t be free overnight. We had battled for many bloody years, wrenching free from the Inners’ tyrannical grip every last piece we could. There have been losses, though, grave ones. Some of our best have fallen against the encroaching horde, but Marshal has kept us focused and resilient through it all. She brought us together, made us family, and gave us purpose, leading us all the way to our penultimate attack at the heart of the Inners’ major outpost in The Frontier. We had liberated the Tetons and dealt a crippling blow to the Inners, but a wild animal is most vicious in its dying moments.

Our lieutenants were forced to scatter after the victory, and Marshal had to return to her Castle to receive her subsequent commands. All of the other Rangers had done their part in her absence, working to sure up all our defenses for the coming battle. As that horrifying day dawned, our leader had finally returned along with us, the scattered lieutenants, for the final hour was at hand.

Marshal considered removing her helmet to feel the breeze of the mountain air as she steadied herself for what must be done, but she refused to let herself relax; not now, not when we are so close to our goal. She let her hand slip from the locket, gravel crunching under her boots again as she turned to her cruiser. Now was not the time to reminisce, for the drums of war sounded across the horizon. She tossed the scanner back in the saddlebag as she returned her lever-action to the cruiser's holster and mounted her metal steed. Then she rode down the mountainside to join her Rangers as we make one last stand for The Frontier.