“The cockiness,” the Ranger said, “is something he picked up on his own.”

###

“Doctor,” Freddie said over the Machine Ranger’s communication link. “I’ve got surprise for you.”

There was a whirring noise overhead.

“Hey, another plane!” Ben said.

“Another drone!” Captain Olympia said.

“I streamlined some of the manufacturing processes,” Freddie said. “So behold … drone prototype number two … delivered in record time.”

“Freddie!” Machine Ranger said. “It’s beautiful! And you’re amazing—there’s nothing artificial about your intelligence!”

“Thank you Doctor, but on the contrary … I’m sure I couldn’t have done it without my superior electronic brain. If I had actual gray matter … I shudder to think.”

“You’re modest as always, Frederick.”

“Geez,” Captain Olympia said to Machine Ranger, “did you have to program him to be so cocky?”

“The cockiness,” the Ranger said, “is something he picked up on his own.” “Freddie—we’re kind of tied-up here. Think you can help us out?”

“Help you out? Will a laser melt metal?”

“Uhhh …” Captain Olympia said, “that’s a yes—right Freddie?”

###

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“Freeze, Machine Ranger. At this range, I can’t miss.”

“Rustler, you found me.” Machine Ranger put his hands up. “One thing, though—I thought you could miss from any range.”

“Why … you … no good … steel for brains … I oughta’ …”

The wind was starting to blow.

“Sorry pardner,” the Ranger said. “That sounded like beginnings of a mighty fine monologue, but …”

“But what?”

“But, do you feel that breeze?”

“Yeah? What about it?”

The Rustler’s black hat blew off.

Machine Ranger waved at him. “Bye bye, cowboy.”

The spiral wind of the Tornado Charge overtook them both, sucking them up like ants into a vacuum cleaner.

The Ranger shot a harpoon into the side of a building, to keep from being blown away.

###

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"They call me Powder Keg—alright?"

Powder Keg jumped up from behind the wall. “Hey there!”

“What the …” Machine Ranger said. “You’re not The Rustler … or Ragnar the Red.”

“Look who’s eyes are workin’ … congratulations on that, Machine Loser. Hey, I’m the new guy … an’ they call me Powder Keg—alright?”

“Well,” the Ranger said, his arm cannons sighted on the newcomer, who looked the part of a 1950’s street corner hood, “you were almost the Confetti Guy. As in, these guns were about to―”

“Blow me to bits? Whew! I’m sure glad that didn’t happen.”

“Didn’t happen yet, you mean. You with those other two, junior? The Viking … and the Cowgirl?”

“That depends!” The Rustler piped up from where he was crouched behind the wall.

“Yes!” added Ragnar the Red. “That depends very much on what happens next.”

“I’ll take the bait,” Machine Ranger said. “What happens next?”

“Some fireworks,” Powder Keg said. “Hmmm …”

He pointed at an automobile that was in a long line of them parked along the debris-strewn street.

“You know, I’m not so sure these cars are legally parked.” 

His eyes glowed red.

“Someone’s gonna have to move them.”

The car exploded in a fireball, and launched up into the air.  Then it smashed back into the Earth, a burning, smoldering heap.

“Consider me the valet!” He laughed in wicked delight. “A nice full gas tank, thank you very much.”

Then, he pointed at a pickup truck, and it met with the same fiery fate.

“I’m glad to see everyone’s not driving around on empty; running out is no joke.”

Machine Ranger, noticing how close he was standing to another parked car, took a few cautious steps away from it.

###

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“We’re pinned down!” The Rustler hissed. “We gotta get outta this!”

Ragnar the Red popped his head up and 

ducked right back down, a shot from 

Machine Ranger’s rotary cannons just 

zinging off his Viking helmet. “He’s 

coming for us! I’ll rush him!”

“No! Just hold yer horses, Red.”

The cowboy stole his own peek, and was

also forced back down by a hail of gunfire.

“New kid … Powder Keg … you’re up. You’re here for a tryout; you did 

a real good job blowing up the bank―but how do you handle

yourself in a fight, boy?”

“Actually, I handle myself pretty good in a fight.” He stood 

the collar up on his black leather jacket, then ran his 

fingers through his greaser pompadour.

“You do?” Ragnar chuckled. “Good. Because I hear the 

Machine Ranger can handle himself, too. Well … have at 

him.”

“Just watch out for his guns,” The Rustler said. “All of his 

guns.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Powder Keg said, his accent thick 

with Brooklyn. “I’ll follow it if you can, alright?”

“Danged kids these days,” The Rustler said. “Everybody’s a 

wise-acre.”

“Indeed,” the Viking agreed. “Everybody is.”

###

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“Oh man! He’s not dead!”

“That guy has to be dead,” Jake said.

Machine Ranger groaned.

“Oh man! He’s not dead!”

Jake ran toward him.

The orange glow had begun to diminish. 

Machine Ranger was wiggling his fingers and trying to pick his head up off the pavement.

“No!” the Ranger said. “Stop right there, kid!”

Jake stopped running, almost to him. “What? Why? I just …”

“I know. The problem is, I don’t know what to expect from this orange stuff I’m stuck in. The Rustler’s been known to booby trap his weapons; the dirty rat hates it when someone tries to help out a guy he’s taken down.”

“Oh … really? That’s pretty …”

“Cold? Yeah … stone cold. But that’s The Rustler … he’s vicious as a rattlesnake. And that horse of his is no better.”

“His horse?”

“Yeah—you saw him, kid. The two-wheeled kind. Those two are two peas in a pod … a low-life, dirtbag pod.”

“Um … are you injured, mister? You sound okay, but I saw them run you over …”

Machine Ranger coughed. “I don’t know kid … it seems like my battle-chassis is pretty much intact …”

“Battle-chassis? What’s a―”

“Battle-chassis. It’s what I call my suit, kid. You know, like a battle-chassis?”

“Uh … okay. It’s a battle-chassis.”

“Now you’re catching on, kid. Hey—maybe you can do me a favor.”

“A favor? Sure. What do you need?”

Machine Ranger smiled. “Kid, it’s always a bad idea to agree to a favor before you find out what it’s going to be.”

###

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