Narration Room: July 2012

Driving Lesson Chapter 6 Page 3

"Paint grenades," Tricia replied, "The paint-on-the-windscreen trick doesn't always work, though." She loaded her grenade launcher.

"What'd we do if we're hit by one?"

"You'll have to drive with the front cam." Tricia took a glimpse over her shoulder. "And is this the fastest you can go?"

The boy glanced at the side mirror on Tricia's side. One of the two remaining buggies was closing on their right. Two of the occupants, armed with rifles, leaned out and opened fire. Bullets clattered on the side of the Vixen vehicle.

George let out a squeak of surprise. He was being shot at! Oh wait, they were shooting at the other side of the pickup.

"Try to keep them on the right," Tricia said. She switched to the assault rifle. Leaning out to the side, she took aim. "Damn it, I'm not good with the left hand!" Nevertheless, she fired a burst.

"Uh, Tricia." What George saw on the side mirror had him worried. "The other's coming up on the left."

Tricia grabbed the grenade launcher. "Hold it steady, I'm going to block your view for a moment." With a hand holding her weapon and her other gripping the roll bar above for support, she reached out of George's side of the vehicle. "Hah, right hand!"

George lowered his head so he could see under Tricia's arm.

Tricia took careful aim and fired a shot. Through the side mirror, George saw a flash accompanied by a snap. There was a puff of smoke on the side of the opposing vehicle.

The Vixen fired another shot. That one must have gone in through the side window for George saw a burst of smoke through the windscreen of the other vehicle. That buggy slowed to a stop.

The occupants were probably still alive - George saw a moving arm poking out of a window. Plus they were likely to be wearing armor.

"Keep your eyes on the front," Tricia reminded him.

Their last opponent drew closer on the right.

Tricia tried to aim out her side of the vehicle with the grenade launcher. "Ugh, can't aim this left-handed," she muttered.

She switched her weapon to her right hand. Then, as she pressed her back against the windscreen, she steadied herself against the back of her seat. She leaned out the window. The Vixen immediately drew back to avoid a burst of gunfire.

Once more, Tricia tried peeking out the side. Seeing a chance, she snapped off three shots.

Suddenly, the buggy dropped back.

"Are they gone?" George asked.

"We're not in the clear yet," Tricia replied as she reloaded the grenade launcher, "The armored one's back."

George glanced at the rearview mirror. The station wagon was indeed back. The wasters had somehow cleared enough of the paint from the windscreen.

"Pull over and surrender," the waster on the loudspeaker demanded again. That time, the ultimatum was accompanied by a burst of gunfire that shook the Vixen pickup.

More bullets, larger bullets were flying! George drove harder.

Tricia sighed. "Looks we'll have to pull out one of our own." She pushed a few virtual buttons on the datapad.

George heard something behind him whir. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw a large gun sliding out of the narrow box between the back seats. "We had a machinegun!?"

Tricia concentrated on her datapad. "It's a high-caliber gun with light recoil compensation. The vehicle will swerve if it's fired to the side. I didn't want to bring it out until you're ready for the added challenge."

Another short volley of bullets hit the back of the pickup. George squeaked again. He leaned further from his windowless side of the vehicle.

Driving Lesson Chapter 6 Page 2

Tricia slipped her datapad into the bracket in front of her so she could see its screen while keeping her hands free. "Wasters!" she said.

That one word immediately had George concerned. The possibility of bullets flying had considerably increased.

"Miss Hiddenhill, I really, really need to go now. It's hard to hold two conversations when I can't pull the mouthpiece away from me."

Tricia pulled out a grenade launcher from a hidden compartment beside her feet. The weapon looked like a large caliber rifle.

"Okay, bye." Tricia ended the call. "Finally!"

"Mab's aunt?" George inquired.

"No, her mum," Tricia said, "Concentrate, we've three waster vehicles coming in." She turned on the ballistic computer on her weapon. Then she checked the sights.

"Unfriendly?" George asked.

"Likely."

"What would they want with us?"

"Spare parts, fuel," Tricia answered. She pulled out an assault rifle and checked its ammunition magazine. "It's necessary to bring extra fuel out here. Fuel production in the wastes isn't much so it's valuable."

It was a race to escape. George was going to give it his best effort, especially if he could avoid having bullets fly at him. He had an advantage - their vehicle was made with urbanite technology, which should be better than what the wasters had access to.

The pickup's engine abruptly died.

Tricia stared at the driver. "How did you even manage to stall a moving vehicle!?"

"Give me a break! This is my first time driving under stress!" George pointed out.

"Just restart the engine and go!"

Guided by terse instructions from Tricia, George managed to restart the engine before the pickup slowed to a stop.

Tricia watched the datapad in front of her, which fed video from the camera at the back of the pickup. She double-checked with the rearview mirror at the top of the windscreen.

"Three sets of wheels," the Vixen summarized, "That armored one is going to be trouble."

George glanced at the rearview mirror and saw their three pursuers. Two of them were fast dune buggies with little armor. The station wagon in the middle had better protection than the other two, and it had a mounted machinegun. It also had the large wheels typical of vehicles out in the wasteland.

"Stop and surrender!" a man's voice was heard from the back, likely from a loudspeaker on or in one of the vehicles.

"Does anyone actually stop?" George asked.

"The people who do are probably dead," Tricia replied.

George stepped harder on the accelerator.

Tricia opened the glove compartment and took out a magazine marked with an orange tape. She unloaded the grenade launcher and inserted the orange-taped magazine. "Let's hope this trick works." She turned in her seat. "Hold the vehicle steady while I fire."

"We've you outnumbered!" came the voice again, "Surrender!"

George gripped the steering wheel, determined to keep the pickup going straight for as long as necessary.

With a hand on the roll bar above her seat, Tricia pulled herself up and aimed. She fired five shots in quick succession then dropped back to her seat. She watched the camera view on the datapad.

"Huh, it actually worked!"

In the rearview mirror, George saw that their armored pursuer had turned and slowed to a stop. He had not heard any explosions. "What'd you do?"

Driving Lesson Chapter 6 Page 1

"Can I ask something?" George asked as he drove. Since he could not take his eyes off the endless sand in front of him, he tried conversation to take his mind off the dreariness.

He had reached that level of tedium, one which was attained by applying oneself for hours to the same monotonous task. All the excitement of control and freedom had long gone. He must have something new to experience, to think about, to learn.

"Ask away," Tricia replied.

"How did you, Mabel and Iona meet?"

Tricia in the passenger seat gazed distantly out her side of the vehicle. "Mab and I used to work for the Spears of the Singing Sheep - the Triple-S. Don't ask how that name came about," she told him, "It was one of the mercenary outfits in Covenant. Work was pretty boring - guarding convoys, guarding facilities out here in the wastes..."

The Vixen checked the information on her datapad. "Change our heading, will you?" She gave a new direction to George.

Once George had pointed the pickup in the instructed direction, Tricia continued, "Working out here, we knew that there was more to the wastes - mysteries and adventure, not to mention danger and treasure. Plus, we met Io during one of our jobs. She told us a lot about the wastes.

"We talked it over with a few friends in the squad. Only Mab and I were willing to quit our boring jobs to explore the wastes. We needed a guide out here so we contacted Io and she was interested in joining us."

"So it was just the three of you?" George asked.

"Laura joined a little later," Tricia told him, "She was bored with the comfy life in Covenant and we found her one day in Sandy's Last Hand, much like how we found you."

So Laura was recruited from that bar in Covenant. Could it be that George had seen her before? Which of the other bar's regulars could she have been?

"How does Laura look like?" Asking was the best way to find out.

"Small, spiky black hair."

George did not recall any small woman at the bar with that hairstyle. More details would be helpful. "What about her body shape?"

Tricia looked at him. "Well, she's a small person, slim. Or are you interested in her breast size or the shape of her rear, perhaps?"

"Erm, never mind." George turned away. It was unnecessary since his blush could not be seen through his mask.

"Keep your eyes on the front," Tricia directed him.

The boy continued driving in silence. After a long while, when he felt that his embarrassment had been forgotten, he tried another question, "How did the name 'Scarlet Vixens' come about?"

"Oh, that. That was from Mab's aunt," Tricia told him, "She's been exploring the wasteland much longer than we have..."

Their conversation was interrupted by a beep. It came from within his headgear. George was not sure what the sound meant.

"Someone's trying to call us," Tricia said as she examined her datapad, "Slow the pickup."

George slowed the vehicle as instructed.

"Hello," Tricia said, apparently to whomever was calling them. "Tricia here."

A second later, the Vixen greeted, "Hello, Miss Hiddenhill." There was a pause. "No, Mab's not in trouble or anything. She's on a job."

"She must have shut out external contact to her wristcom. She doesn't want any interruptions on her job."

"Well, she needs to be quiet on this job or she'll be in trouble." Tricia glanced at the cloud of dust in the distance.

"Uh, I've got to go." Tricia turned to George. "Speed up!"

George shifted into gear and accelerated.

"I'll tell her you called," Tricia continued, "I need to go now." She turned to George again. "Faster," she urged.

"What's the hurry?" George asked.

Beat Kamikaze Pigs

Finally beat the last level of Kamikaze Pigs. The hidden level. The one with the Baconator 2.

It was so frustrating. It seems that I can win only if I get a 6 star rating. That means collecting all three out of place stars on the map and beat everything including Baconator 2. Everything is hidden in shadows, and the pigs did not turn on their lights this time. These made it harder to see how they were positioned.

It depends too much on luck. First, hope that the first bomb would catch many fliers close to Baconator 2 to do damage. Then use the second bomb immediately when it is available to collect the remaining stars. After that, really, really, hope for a third bomb to finish off Baconator 2.

Nearly rage-quit a few times.

Monday, July 30, 2012

Driving Lesson Chapter 5 Page 4

"This isn't something I should improvise a replacement," George decided, "You'll have to order a new part."

"Nights are going to be trouble without that," Dr Havillund grumbled.

"I'll just remove the broken piston," George said, "The generator should still work, just not as efficiently."

"That's something at least."

"I'll note down the part number." George looked through the manual for the required number, then dragged the detail to create a note on his wristcom.

Dr Havillund took out his own wristcom. "Sure, send it to me."

Once the data was transmitted, Tricia spoke up, "We should get going."

"Can't stay any longer?" Dr Havillund asked.

"No, we've other tasks to finish," Tricia told him.

After George had packed his tools, he remembered the small packet Iona had given him. Dr Havillund must be the person the tribeswoman called 'Old Man Have Ill'. George reached into the pocket behind his breastplate and took out the packet. "Iona wanted me to pass this to you." He said as he extended the item to the other man.

"That tribeswoman!? What does she want?" Dr Havillund accepted the packet and opened it. He took out an oval object and held it up to the light for a look. "It looks like the bulb of a Lilium mutalidae. Why would she give me this?"

There was a pause. "Oh susbuckets," Dr Havillund swore quietly.

"What's wrong?" Tricia asked.

"The bulb's been soaked in some paralytic agent." Dr Havillund sank slowly to the floor.

Tricia quickly moved to hold him up.

"Curse that tribeswoman," Dr Havillund said weakly.

Iona must have applied something to the bulb. The poison must have been special too since the man was wearing work gloves when he examined the object.

"You can't move?" Tricia asked as she rubbed her nose.

"Yeah. Could you take me to my bed? I just need to sleep it off."

Tricia helped the man up the stairs. "Anything else?"

George followed them up. He felt a little bad to be a part of Iona's prank.

"Well, if you could make the antidote, it'll be helpful," Dr Havillund mumbled as he was carried, "Well, I'd have to identify the paralytic agent first. I don't think a general antidote will work with this one."

Tricia appeared to know where to go as she brought them out to the corridor and into another behind one of the other doors.

The scientist sighed. "It's easier to lie down. I need the sleep anyway."

"Why aren't we affected?" George asked as he followed behind the Vixen.

"Must be that awful drink Io gave us earlier," Tricia replied without turning around, "Could that have been the antidote?"

"You don't happen to have some of that with you, do you?" Dr Havillund asked.

"Sorry, no."

The scientist groaned disappointedly.

The living quarters of the facility were a pair of apartments. Each apartment had separate rooms for individuals. In addition to that, each apartment had shared living spaces, kitchen and bathroom. Since Dr Havillund was the only resident in the facility, he occupied only one room of one of the apartments.

Tricia carefully laid Dr Havillund onto his bed in his room. Strangely, the bedroom was cleaner than the rest of the facility. The bedsheets were crumbled but otherwise clean. The desk and end table had a little dust on them. The floor was clear.

The scientist sighed. "Do me a favor and set the defenses to auto before you leave."

"Okay," Tricia said, "Sleep tight." She adjusted the shutters on the windows to dim the room before she left with George.

***

Driving Lesson Chapter 5 Page 3

"Take these along," Tricia said as she tapped one of the empty crates with the tip of an armored foot.

Another burden for him to bear. Sigh. It was usually Mabel who bossed him around. The tall woman was making up for her fellow Vixen's absence.

Dr Havillund led them back out the corridor, to the first door from the one that led to the garage. They climbed down a set of stairs into the generator room.

"Why'd you bring those crates here?" Tricia asked suddenly.

"Because you told me to," George replied.

"You could have just left them at the door to the garage since we're going there later," Tricia pointed out.

George sighed and placed the crates down. He surveyed the room.

Those solar panels he had seen outside earlier were large enough to generate power for the facility. For cloudy days and dark nights, there was the generator and a backup battery for energy storage.

The boy started up the generator, which he guessed ran on fuel. A nearby stack of jerrycans, many filled with synthetic fuel, confirmed his suspicions. Immediately, there was a knocking sound coming from within the machine. "Something must be broken inside." He examined the output reading and found that it was not stable.

He stopped the generator. "I'll need my tools," he told the others.

"Don't forget the crates," Tricia reminded him, "Drop them in the back."

When George returned from the pickup with his tools, and without the irritating crates, he found Tricia and Dr Havillund in quiet conversation as they leaned against the wall. "So the surrounding vegetation has grown denser," the scientist was saying.

George went to the generator. He detached the interface port from his wristcom and plugged it into a slot on the side of the generator. Then he downloaded the manual for the machine.

"Trees are growing?" Tricia asked the scientist.

George took out a datapad from his toolbag and linked his wristcom wirelessly to it so he could view the manual on a larger screen.

Dr Havillund shook his head. "It's just creepers now, and maybe the occasional bush. But if this keeps up, the area will eventually be covered with vegetation. Eventually, it'll be a thriving ecosystem again."

"So the wasteland is regenerating itself," Tricia deduced.

That statement had George's attention. The wasteland would one day become a giant verdant park? It would be exciting to see such an abundance of greenery.

"That's what I said," Dr Havillund told the Vixen excitedly, "I estimate that we'll be able to see some real signs of reclamation in the next century!"

Over a hundred years!? George would definitely not be around to see that!

Losing interest in the conversation, George concentrated on his task. With instructions from the manual, he opened up the generator. He quickly found the problem. "Broken piston," he announced.

"Can it be fixed?" Dr Havillund asked him.

George looked up from his work. "Do you have spare parts?"

Dr Havillund shook his head.

Driving Lesson Chapter 5 Page 2

"Isn't the brown-haired one with you?" the scientist asked.

"Mabel? She's out on a job."

"Oh, that's too bad," Dr Havillund commented with disappointment. He bit off more of the cube. In between chews, he asked, "That crazy tribeswoman isn't with you is she?"

"Iona's with Mabel."

"Sure she didn't sneak in with you?"

"I'm sure. She wouldn't be able to finish her job otherwise."

"Well, that's a blessing, at least." Dr Havillund hit a red button beside the door at the top, which caused the panel to slide up. He held up his food cube as he entered. "You'd think they'd make this food soft so I didn't have to chew."

Tricia followed the man. "I think it's made that way so you'd at least exercise your jaws."

Dr Havillund snorted. "They could also do away with the fibers so I didn't have to..."

"I think that's on purpose too," Tricia interrupted.

George followed the two along a corridor. Light from the windows on one side provide enough illumination for him to see the many carelessly thrown pieces of packaging on the floor, among other trash. There were several doors on the side opposite the windows.

Dr Havillund finished his food and tossed the wrapper aside. He stepped to the last door and pushed a button beside it.

The door slid open and George followed the others into what was once a cafeteria.

Though many of the tables had been knocked out of position, they still had some vague semblance of the orderly arrangement that they once had. There was a wide window on one wall, which showed a thoroughly neglected kitchen. As with the rest of the facility George had seen so far, the place was covered with dust and rubbish.

"Put them here." Dr Havillund tapped on a dusty table. He pointed at a couple of opened crates on the floor. "Those're the old crates."

Their delivery had been completed. George was glad to be rid of the load. His arms were aching.

Tricia replaced the lids on the old crates.

"Why don't you hang out for a little?" Dr Havillund suggested, "I haven't had decent conversation for weeks."

"Do you have the time?" Tricia asked as she removed her mask and helmet.

When George removed his own mask, he was aware of the musty smell in the air, and some fairly bad odor. He quickly found the source of the disagreement to his olfactory senses to be the scientist. The boy inched away from the other man.

"I haven't anything important to do. I can spare some time," the scientist said, "Want something to drink? Something strong?"

"I'll pass," Tricia declined, "It's still a dangerous ride back."

"Oh, right." Dr Havillund swept the room with his gaze. He glanced sharply at George then shook his head and sighed. "I'm still half-expecting that crazy tribeswoman to appear out of nowhere."

"What's the problem with Iona?" George could not resist asking.

"She's always stealing a plant sample or messing with some equipment," the scientist answered, "It's not something valuable or irreplaceable. Just that she'd mess with one of my experiments or some such and I'd have to set up a new one and wait for the results. She'd cost me a few days of work, a few days with nothing to do but wait for the results."

Dr Havillund sighed again. "Where's that small spiky-haired girl?" he inquired.

"Oh, you mean Laura," Tricia said, "She's away on family business."

"That's too bad."

"You want her to take a look at something again," Tricia guessed.

"The power generator's making strange noises," the man in the lab coat said.

Tricia turned to George. "Squirt, can you check it out?"

George nodded. "I'll take a look."

Driving Lesson Chapter 5 Page 1

"Scarlet Vixens calling Dr Havillund, do you read, over?"

In front of the pickup, George could see a collection of four sturdy buildings built among a natural outcropping of rocks. There was a short tower at the top, with an external ladder leading to the lookout above. There were a pair of buildings below that. The first had windows at regular intervals, probably living quarters of some sort. The second was taller than the first and had fewer windows. There were solar panels installed on the flat roofs of both buildings.

The last building was below the others. It had a large entrance door. George assumed it was a garage for land vehicles. There was a gun turret above the entrance. Another turret was above the living quarters. It made sense that they had been installed to protect the facility from the anarchy of the wasteland.

"Maybe I should just text him a message," Tricia mumbled. She repeated her hail through the pickup's radio, using the microphone built into her mask.

Earlier, Tricia had told George that Dr Havillund was a biologist at the facility before him, researching plant life in the wasteland. The extreme environment had mutated flora to produce new variations. It was his work to identify and study those new variations.

The facility did appear to be big for only one scientist working on his own. According to the Vixen, Dr Havillund had acquired the complex from another organization who once had business out there.

"This is Havillund. Good to hear from you, Vixens," a soft voice greeted through the radio. The speaker sounded tired. "Here for the regular delivery?"

"Affirmative," Tricia confirmed.

"Come on in."

The entrance door to the garage rose. George drove in and carefully parked the pickup in one of the eight parking bays. Only one of the other bays was occupied - by a dune buggy. That dune buggy was not as armored as the Vixen's vehicle and had a smaller engine.

Tricia examined the information on her datapad. "Air's safe here, but keep your mask on until I remove mine." She checked her sidearm pistol and climbed out of the pickup.

George followed. There were plenty of discarded material on the floor - mostly light plastic. There were a few patches of oil and thick layers of dust everywhere.

Tricia buckled on her sword. "On second thought, it may be better to keep our masks on," she said as she noted the dirt on some tools.

The door at the top of the stairs at the end of the room opened. A man stepped out and climbed down the stairs to meet his guests. "Nice to have you here, Vixens."

The man wore a dirty lab coat. He had an unshaven chin and untidy hair, gray from a mixture of black and white. His hands and face were sallow.

One by one, Tricia took out a pair of crates from the back of the pickup and set them on the floor, one above the other.

Dr Havillund opened the top crate, picked through its contents and took out a food cube. He checked the packaging before tearing it open. "I was starving," he said before he took a bite.

"Don't you need to heat it first?" George asked.

"Heating means cooking. I don't have time for that," Dr Havillund said with his mouth full of paste, "I've other foodstuff but those need cooking. No time for those either."

The scientist looked at George closely. Then he turned to Tricia. "Got yourself a new girl?"

Girl!? George was sure that he was wearing male armor. And the scientist had heard his voice. So how could he be mistaken for a girl!?

Tricia chuckled. "This is Squirt," she introduced, "He's a he."

"Oh, apologies," Dr Havillund mumbled, "Well, the Vixens are an all-girl's team... and you're not very tall... and..."

"It's a good thing you didn't hit on him," Tricia added.

Dr Havillund lowered his head. "Yes, that." He glanced at the steps up into the facility. "Here, help me with the crates, will you?"

Tricia handed George a crate while she picked up the other.

George had got to get into shape. The crate, which the Vixen had so effortlessly lifted, was really heavy for him. He struggled as he followed behind the others up the stairs.