"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.
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