Prequel to Left at the Altar

Just how had he got here? One minute he was hushing Alex as they hid from strangers and then the next he was in this huge empty desert.
Plisken stumbled as he tripped over a rock that had cunningly disguised itself with a sand colour. The vast expanse of the never-ending desert was laid out before him and yet he tripped over a sand coloured rock. As he saw the ground rush towards him and the strange weightlessness of falling, a firm grip grabbed his arm. The grip was cold and strong but familiar. With the knowledge that Plisken had- that the universe liked to smeg him about- the chances of this metal arm (which he assumed it was) belonging to a complete stranger was slim. His suspicions were confirmed when an old voice, husky and deep from years of smoking, spoke warmly, “Careful there old timer!”
Plisken looked up and in annoyance rather than the surprise most people had when faced with an identical version of themselves, felt his mouth fall open. The metal arm (for it was) that had grabbed him belonged to Plisken, just not himself. Plisken-2 was similar in every obvious physical way apart from a smarter looking style of dress - he wore the same grey/blue greatcoat, wore the same brown tattered hat, and had the same silvery beard, the same metal arm and, by the looks of the silver chain that was attached to a fine black waistcoat he wore, the same broken pocket watch.
“Well Mr. Plisken,” said Plisken-2, “Who’s going to be the first to dra-“
Plisken kicked up his rifle from the dusty desert floor and into his ready hands (he was agile for a 70 year old) and squeezed the trigger, the semi-plasma bullet flying threw the short distance to Plisken-2’s leg. Plisken-2 dropped to his knees in pain, his old battered pistol that he had failed to pull the trigger dropping to the sand. Plisken-1 pulled back the bolt on the rifle, the spent cartridge flying out the breech.
“Hm, guess we both had the same idea,” said Plisken-1 as he dropped down to speak to his other dimensional counterpart.
“Oh, you’re right about that,” laughed Plisken-2 as he clutched the wound the seeped blood onto the sand, turning the golden yellow ground to a dark crimson.
“Huh, so we both made the same mistake in life then,” said Plisken-1 as he tore a strip of material from his shirt to help with the wound.
“Why do you think I use the name Plisken?” Plisken-2 took the stand-in for a real bandage and tied it tightly around his leg, “But are you still embellishing the story, is the question.”
Plisken-1 laughed as he searched his pockets for his pipe, “Are you saying you tell people the true version?”
“Never said that,” chuckled Plisken-2 as he also searched for his pipe.
The two old men shared a light, each lighting their pipes and puffing away. The sun was high in the sky but that told little of what time it could be on this planet. The dune that they sat upon provided little shade from it and it was getting increasingly hot. Their vantage point did, however, provide an excellent view of the town below.
“So, how do you think our universes differ? Or at least how do we differ?” asked Plisken-2 as he broke the silence.
“Look sonny, you and I both now better than anyone else that our pasts aren’t something we want to be digging into.”
“Let me guess: Medusa Cascade, Hinterlands, Q-Bomb, Wolf 359, Sirius Civil War, New London Riots?”
Plisken-1 shook his head as the memories of those four years came back, “51th tour of duty. That was a tough tour.”
Plisken-2 dug into his pockets and produced a small hip-flask. It was silvery but tarnished from use. “It belonged to Alex,” said Plisken-2 in response to Plisken-1’s questioning face, “but he won’t need it where he is- my Alex that is.”
Plisken-1 took a deep swig of from the flask- feeling the cheap, harsh drink burn its way down his throat. “Gods, that’s some strong stuff!”
“I know. It came from Phil’s bar on our Blue Dwarf.”
Plisken-1 handed back the flask, Plisken-2 taking a gulp.
“So what age are you now?” asked Plisken-1, checking that this was another him and not an imposter of some sorts.
“We’re both 70ish, but who’s counting? But yes, I, like you, was born 300 years ago- not including the 3 million in stasis.”
“Correct answer,” laughed Plisken-1 as he remembered how old he actually was. And Jay thought he was old.
“Hold up,” said Plisken-2, interrupting Plisken-1’s laughter.
“You feel it too, huh?” Plisken-1 said, a calm and collected demeanour settling over him.
Plisken-2 began to turn the sand over his pool of blood, burying the blood stained grains to hide their presence. Plisken-1 picked up the spent cartridge, the brass coloured shell still hot to the touch but his metal hand felt no pain. It was simple tricks like picking up cartridges that had saved Plisken, and many of his other dimensions, lives. It came naturally to an old soldier like Plisken, 10 years in a S.B.S. unit would drill some things into you that you wouldn’t forget.
“WORM SIGN!” shouted Plisken-2 as a large bolt of lighting struck or erupted from a large, moving sand dune.
“Seriously? I know we like that book but-“
From the ground came a huge eruption as a massive monster burst from the ground. It measured around 120 feet tall (just from what the 2 Plisken’s could see) and its mouth was lined with teeth.
“Yep,” said Plisken-1, “That’s worm sign.”

Both Pliskens dashed across the sand dunes, Plisken-1 following Plisken-2’s lead. The sandworm was behind them but it could move a damn sight quicker than either Plisken.
“Here, take this!” shouted Plisken-2 over the heavy thundering sound of the worm’s movements. He tossed a small hand grenade to Plisken-1, who caught it with a sure grip. The grenade was hand made and didn’t look very safe, the outer shell was made out of a tin can and the pin a piece of string. But there was little time to ask about the safety of using such a device; the worm was closing fast and not likely to give up soon.
“When the worm opens its mouth!” shouted Plisken-2.
Plisken-1 nodded in acknowledgement.
The huge sandworm burst from the sand and collapsed onto the desert floor, nearly knocking the two men over with the shockwave. Plisken-1 waited until he saw Plisken-2 pull the pin from his grenade before doing the same. Never in all his years of service had he seen anything such as this. Well, that’s not true but also it doesn’t matter. The worm got steadily closer but just before it was close enough to close its jaws; both Pliskens pulled the pin of the grenades and tossed them into the open maw of the worm. The two men were sent flying forward as the explosion blasted through the worm. With a huge cry of pain, the worm reared up and then buried itself into the ground.
“Did we kill it?” asked Plisken-1 as he picked himself up from the desert floor.
“Oh no, it takes something a lot bigger to kill one of those. But it won’t be back for while. Come, I’ll take you to my home – its not far.”

Plisken-2 was not wrong- the small shack that he called home had only been an hours walk from there position. The little house sat quietly on top of a tall rock face, over looking the desert some 50 feet below. It was made out of some kind of shell, probably one of the sandworms. There was one large window made from what looked like a cockpit of a Starbug. In fact, the generator that was nestled net to the wall of the house was also a Starbug component: one of the engine drives. A large aerial, made from cannibalising the communication system of a Starbug, stuck out of the roof and various dishes clouded around it. In front of the house was a pathetic attempt at a garden. A few plants had tried to grow with help from Plisken-2’s irrigation system but only 2 had blossomed into flowers. The door of the house, also from Starbug, slid open noisily – almost like it was in pain. In truth it just needed fixing.
Inside the house was an array of monitoring equipment and terminals. Each terminal gave read outs on weather patterns of the planet or local activity in the town. On the far wall was a large homemade map of the area. It showed the location of the alternate Dwarfers crash site, the village and high concentrations of worm movements and troop deployments and patrols. From the ceiling a gas lamp swayed on a thick piece of rope and on the floor a dark red carpet was laid out. Plisken-2 limped to his chair in front of a large radio set.
“Welcome to my home,” he said as he fiddled with the dials of the radio set. He held an old looking headset to his ear, listening for transmissions.
Plisken-1 opened a door on the far side of the room to reveal a winding staircase that led down into the rock face that the house sat upon. The stair case led to a huge lake of water. On a planet like this, water must be very valuable- little wonder then that Plisken-2 had made his home here.
“I trade it,” said Plisken-2, joining Plisken-1, “I trade the locals in the village the water for information of things that the others need. Or any interesting pieces of technology that get washed up here.”
“Washed up?”
“Yes, this planet it sits on rift of some kind. It attracts portals to other dimensions. Sometimes things are washed through the portals. The locals call them Chaapa’ai. Ra, their god or ruler or whatever, used some technology to create the weapons the soldiers use.”
Before Plisken-2 could go in any further or show more of his house (which went another floor down), a gunfire cracked across the air. Instantly the two soldiers ran up stairs and for their weapons. Outside was a strange robot creature. If nothing else it seemed out of place – the sleek modern look of its body work didn’t fit with the rest of this world. On its chest were the words A.L.T.A.R. -5.
“Careful,” warned Plisken-2, “I think this thing has been looking for you.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Plisken-1 as he smashed the glass window with the stock of his gun and let of a few rounds into the chest of the robot.
“I’ve been watching others like this in the desert. They’ve been looking for something but they never attacked before but now you’re here and so is it.”
The robot marched forward, undeterred by the bullets from the guns. Soon it had made its way to the door, bashing it down with ease. A large metal vice of a hand grabbed Plisken-1 by the throat and hurled him outside. Plisken-2 did the only thing that he thought would damage the creature- poured the remaining liquid from the hip flask into a small grill on the back of the robot. The strong alcohol reacted with the sensitive workings of the robot, sparks flying out. But it did not stop it- merely damage it. Plisken-2 felt himself hit the back of the room, feeling his back ache from the impact. He watched as his counterpart was carried off by the strange robot that had attacked. Plisken-2 knew that whatever Plisken-1 was wanted for, it was not good.

<OOC- That was, as you might have gathered from the title, a prequel to my last post.>