The Excavation

When the car came to a stop outside the gate to the fenced-in excavation, just north of Fresno, it was approached by two men with machine guns. Familiar faces, their own guards. There was Noldan Ahaghotu, the huge, black man from Vancovur up north and Tim Gartner, an Indian who had lived almost his whole life in the area. They were both tough and seasoned no-nonsense men, who Enola would trust with her life, if that should be the case.  

Pela winded down her window.
"Nice to see your ugly faces, guys! Now let us in, my sister and I are tired to the bones."
"What happened to your bikes?" Noldan asked whilst lowering his machine gun.
"Long story," Pela replied. "If you come to the Zebracross tonight, you might get to hear about it. Including the juicy parts if you are nice little boys."
"Ever the teaser," Noldan laughed and walked over to the gates, opening them up. "See you tonight then, sisters!" He made a salute and Pela kicked the car in gear again and slowly rolled in on the excavation area.
"I can't wait to have a shower," she stated.

As they exited the car, they were met by Ernesto Reginald and Augusta Rackham, two colleagues, who were bombarding them with questions about how it had gone in the capital and what had taken them so long.
"We were beginning to get worried," Ernesto said as he removed his sun glasses and started drying them upon his shirt whilst squinting at the sunlight, adding even more lines to his already weathered face. He was a tall man of all the races there was and then some, and he towered over Enola with fully two heads.
"We got a little bit, well, held up," Enola told the sixty something man in the gray bandana. We'll tell everyone about it tonight, but first we need to freshen usselves up."
"We've made some interesting findings whilst you were gone," Augusta added, pushing back jet black hair from her dark brown face, pale gray eyes contrasting oddly to her features. Her many bracelets jangled as she put her hands on her hips. "And then we have a slight delinquent with the authorities."

"Let's get to that, when we have at least had a shower and some cold to drink," Enola answered, irritation showing on her face. Then she slung her bike bag over her shoulder and started to walk down the dusty sand plane to one of the many mobile homes parked in the shadows of the huge lark trees growing at the edge of the area.

Before entering the one she shared with Pela, she stopped by a faucet connected to a green plastic water hose. She turned the tap and when the water emitted from the hose, she drank greedily from it before spraying some upon her hot chest. Even if the water was lukewarm, it felt like heaven. Then she picked up her keys, as she continued to one of the mobile homes, a battered Apache, which had seen way better days. Still it was home and she had missed it badly.

Unlocking the door, she entered a stale, smelly compartment, which was only barely larger than twice the barrack room, which she had dwelt in at the mutant camp. However it had two beds on a loft, a small cooking area and beneath the loft was an itty bitty hygiene booth with a toilet, a sink and most of all a shower. Kicking off her shoes and dropping her clothes on the floor, she pushed open the slide door to the 'bathroom' and entered the showering cabinet.

"Delightful," she moaned as she turned the faucets and felt the chilly water flush over her naked body, before taking out a flask with a shower crème, and pouring a dime-sized puddle of lemon-yellow gel in her cupped, left hand. Putting the flask away in its wall-hung basket, she started to work up lather. Then she used the lather, soaping in her body thoroughly, making sure she got every nook and cranny covered. She was extra careful with her private parts, however she was certain that it would take quite some time, before the impression of Idlewild would vane completely.

After that she took another flask, one with shampoo, squeezed some of the perfumed, matte-pink liquid into her palm and began to rinse her hair. Now, she heard her sister enter. Pela, the more patient one, had apparently had a short chat with Augusta and Ernesto.
"You done soon?" she called out at Enola, and the latter worked a few seconds more on her hair, before responding.
"Soon," she called out. "Do we have any soda cans?"
"I'll check. I best most fresh food has gone bad."
"We didn't leave that much. Some cheese, if I remember correctly. But we can eat at the Zebra tonight and then go shopping tomorrow. At least I don't feel like going downtown now."

She flushed the last of the shampoo out of her hair, grabbed a towel from a peg and dried herself off adequately, before exiting the bathroom. Pela was looking through the fridge.
"No soda, but we have some beer."
"That'll do," Enola grabbed a can. "Now, what was Augusta's news?"
"They've found what they think might've been a shopping mall. Or at least one of those Walmarts. And the tax authorities want to know more about what we found last month. They don't believe, we came up with that small an amount as we declared for. They think we sold stuff beside their eyes."

"Yes, we did squirrel things away. But it's for research," Enola complained, before she tore up the beer can and let the chilled liquid flush down her troth, elating her. She went on: "We can't hand our findings over to some dorks who just file it away or even worse, sell it to some bastard with money. It's our history, for Kel's sake! How should we understand our own time and the future to come, if we don't learn what was different back then? What they did, when it all went wrong?"
"Tell me about it," Pela replied before entering the bathroom, tearing off her top and also leaving it on the floor. "Times may change, but the government will always want your money."

--------------------------------------

Anthony's truck and the pirate vehicle suddenly moved straight at each other, all weapons blazing, except the shots were strategically placed to fly around the first vehicle and hit the ones behind. Meanwhile, Anthony turned the wheel and then slammed his fender into the tank-looking contraption. That was completely unexpected from their side, they had relied on their size and their sturdy-looking appearance to not be endangered like this.

The impact was hard, it made Anthony's teeth shutter together and he cursed.
"Now," he called into his radio, and got no response other than a short burst of static. That was expected though. A little less talk a little more action. And while the pirates were busy maneuvering their vehicle back on the road again, to be able to turn and pursue their prey, a slender hand reached out and placed an object upon their hull. A new burst of static in Anthony's ear confirmed that the deed was done and Anthony accelerated past the rest of the enemy vehicles, and in his wake the other two trucks followed fast.

Twenty seconds later, a loud bang echoed in the narrow canyon, as the first pirate vehicle was blown into smithereens,  when Meredith's sticky grenade went off.

"Was that our new wave maneuver?" shouted Ettore Trention, nearly standing on his feet on the accelerator as he followed Anthony towards the end of the ravine.
"You sound surprised," the voice of the last driver, Liberty Chrome, came over the radio. "This is the new way to fight road pirates."
"By being as ruthless as them?" Ettore prompted.
"They have to learn it's gonna cost them too much keeping this up," Anthony replied. "Or it'll never stop. We're taking them up on the arms race."
"So the kid glows are off now?" Ettore asked.

"And they'll stay off," Meredith confirmed. "The spirits of our father crave bloodlust, and I wish to sate them!"
"I thought you didn't do religion," Anthony rose a brow.
"It's a figure of speech from where we come," smirked her second, Cole Halifax.
"Actually, it's a figure of Cole's speech," Meredith corrected. "But it felt appropriate to use right now."
"I like it," Lunebleu Kovacevic piped up, as she took up the rear with her truck.

"They're still coming after us," came the voice of Res Blumenstein, driver of the second escort vehicle.
"Keep pushing," Meredith responded as she fell back with her vehicle, to if necessary be able to defend the trucks. "We'll dealing with them as soon as we are beyond these rocks. Better maneuver area."

"What's the catch?" demanded Ettore.
"If you don't follow my orders, then you'll end up dead that much quicker," Meredith answered bluntly. "Your choice."
"I'm in," Liberty affirmed. "I love to see this scum wiped off the face of the Earth."
"Now, pay attention girls and boys," Meredith said. "Tonight we'll analyze this battle and note the responses. Then we'll have to devise new ones based on what we saw here. I've been looking forward to this day for a long time."
"Are there any mutants among those pirates?" Lunebleu asked.
"Too early to discern that now," Res answered her.
"Who gives a shit anyway?" Ettore snorted.

Within moments, the eight vehicles exited the ravine and were soon out on the flat Nevada land, under the beating sun. There, Meredith ordered them to turn and split in two and then they were bombarding the remaining pirates' flanks, as their vehicles entered the fray, taking the foe totally by surprise. And one by one, the pirates were rendered out of action. Then the convoy turned again and without even looking back, they continued on their route east.

"All too easy," Anthony said aloud. "Then again, this time the good guys won. And we'll make sure they keep on doing so. Because the world deserves that."
"You know what?" Meredith laughed. "You should run for office, man!"

----------*

Anthony was shaken out of his revere by a knock on the door, and on his response, Cole Halifax came through the door. The gangly man with the mop of graying, black hair and gold rimmed spectacles, was the one who had become Anthony Muramaki's press and public relations manager. With a polite greeting, he took the chair Anthony advised him and then he went straight to business as was his usual manner.
"I've decided against a press conference," he began.
"Care to elaborate?" Anthony stapled his fingers.

"Foremost, because it would raise the importance of this matter with this mutant. And we would want to tone it down. We don't want it to look like we have a mutant prisoner to be used, either as some kind of guinea pig, or a political parade monkey. Neither do we want it to appear as if this person sneaked into the residence to perhaps perform some kind of attack upon you, Anthony. No, we'll state the truth, fair and square. That our Secret Service took care of a traffic victim, and that our medics nursed her life threatening injuries. Only later, did we find out that she was a mutant. That is the truth after all."

"Enlighten me how we explain, that we're keeping her in the residence, instead of booting her out. If she's not a prisoner, I mean."
"The truth again," Cole said mirthfully. "The same reason as you have people like Thor and Clara employed. To perform research and learn more. I will write in my press release, that this mutant has been asked and accepted to share her knowledge in return for safety of the government. Well, that's about the deal you made with Halie Kraitz, right?"

"Yes it is," confirming, Anthony nodded his head. "Still, I can never express myself as slick as you do. As you always have, since the first day I met you in that parking lot tavern outside Dallas, where you were meeting up with Meredith. You recall that?"
"Certainly I do. You were blazing with charisma already back then. But little did I know, it would bring us both here. Into the Grand Residence. You still miss her?"
"Of course I do," the president replied, whilst realizing that the ache in his heart over the years, had turned into a dull throbbing. But it was still there, and he wondered if it would ever go away.

"I understand that well. She was a remarkable woman. She would have made a fine first lady."
"I know. But the Commonwealth would have to remain a stranger to the concept of first lady for a bit longer."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Anthony."
"Don't be. There are more to life than love. And I'm dedicating my time to the Commonwealth and to the people who elected me instead of a family and children. That's the benefit of being a single man. Now, let's go over that press release in earnest, Cole!"  

*----------*----------*

"Don't you worry about it," Ernesto appeased, leaning against one of the supporting beams in the dig pit. "Monty is the best of us, in that, he speaks Bureaucratic. He can make these people understand, that there'll be less money in the future, if they force us to blow our storages now, to pay them off with what we got, instead of financing a continuation of the excavation with selling off the little things on our own."
"I am still worried," Enola replied and Ernesto frowned. "It's not just the money and future financing. It's the fact that it's our history down there beneath the rubble. The history to teach us the future. The history they force us to rip into shreds, to never become mendable again. "

"They don't see it that way," Pela said, where she was sitting, toying with her bracelet. She still had dark rings beneath her eyes, her fatigue even more prominent now when the adrenaline of the race to get to Fresno in one piece, had worn off. "To the authorities, this dig is just a gold mine. They take what's their right of the booty and then they sell it to the highest bidder, like that bronze bust of this Vader guy, which we found the other month. To us, that one carried a story. A story, I would have to loved to learn. To them, it was just a character with an odd headdress and face mask, an item, which some was willing to pay well for to put on display in a living room. So they could put some more money in their chests."

"Why do you care so much?" Ernesto asked, suddenly angry. "It's not like it ever has been different. Our race is a greedy one. It's all about the money and has always been. You're the same. You want to sell this sheet music to the highest bidder. Or have you forgotten that already?"
"To finance Venice!" she replied. "It would've make it worth it if we could have put that gain in the Venice pot."
"And you nearly blew that too," Ernesto snapped back.
"We did not," Enola scoffed. "We only failed to find someone to translate that language into Engla when we were in Vega. It doesn't mean, no such person exists today. And then we kinda got hold up."

"Because you had to drive through Mutant Country," Ernesto snarled. "You were lucky you didn't end up as poor Ismail Rackham."
"Those darn fuckers, I hate them!" Augusta made a face. "Without them my husband would still be alive."
"How can you be so insensitive," Pela snarled at Ernesto at the same time, seeing how the tears of remembrance were brought to Augusta Rackham's gray eyes.
"You could've been killed in there," Ernesto insisted.
"But nothing happened," Enola pushed her hands harder down her coat pockets.

"He is right," an accented voice interjected behind her. Nigel Colbert's curly brown hair fell over his eyes as he stepped forwards, drying his hands on a tready canvas overall, which had once been orange, and with some imagination could be called kaki these days. The slanted sun-rays illuminated his sharp features and revealing a smart pair of grey-blue eyes. "We need to be more careful, now with the mutants so close to us. We're almost in their fire line down here in Fresno." Two lifted fingers, thumb and index, making an almost closed circle in the air and Enola swallowed. "They crossed the bridge today."
"I know!" she spat. "I was there, remember!" Nigel gazed at her, confused.

"You saw the guy they picked up?" he asked. "The runaway?"
"It was no runaway," Enola replied drily. "It was a rapist. He was my and Pela's hostage to get out of mutant country."
"Don't blow the plot," Nigel protested whilst holding up a hand. "Tell us the whole story tonight instead. At the Zebracross."
"Right," Augusta smiled and dried off her tears. "I cannot wait to hear it either."

"Then show us that Walmarth structure!" Enola asked. "That was after all why we came here first hand. And the sooner we get to see that one, the sooner we can go down to the Zebra."
"Al right, this way," Nigel said and picked up three hard hats, put one on himself and handed the others to Enola and Pela with a gracious bow. When he smiled, those strange orbs he had pierced in his tongue caught the sun and gleamed faintly, and once again Enola wondered about them.

"Safety first as always though," he said. "Can't have your lovely heads and the treasures within these becoming harmed in any way!" Enola smiled back. Ever the gentleman. She went to tie her hair up, but Nigel reached out and stopped her. "It looks lovely down," he said.