Mi Casa, Su Casa
[Music playing from the buggy's radio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IN0HAjM779M]
Isha had never actually left the jungle-stricken part of the city ruins before in her life. She had heard wondrous tales of lights that don't need fire to burn, of vast deserts, of something called "snow" which was everywhere up north, and of an ocean to the far east. As Kara drives away from the vegetated parts of the city ruins, Isha seems on edge, sitting still with a duchess' lean but with an expression like a scared cat.
Kara is a bit glad the princess is quiet, even if she is still annoyed that she has to signal the tollbooth operators and their guards sooner or later. The music coming from the buggy's radio is just loud enough to catch their attention and quickly get them identified. The IRS agents who look over the pair seem confused as they look at Isha, a barbarian-looking girl with green hair and clothes made of leaves that are held together with strong strings and beads. Their expressions can't be seen under their helmets as they mumble jargon toward each other and clear the buggy forward to the toll booth.
The attendant at the fortified building steps out, a woman in a dirtied suit who orders her two helmeted goons to collect a standard light vehicle toll from Kara, who complies.
Isha cocks her head at what, to her, seems like extortion. "Miss Kara, what are we buying?" she asks in a worried tone as the short Latina hands over the local currency. "Quiet down for a bit," she says quietly as the tax woman counts the bills and points her men to where the buggy came from, allowing the two through.
Just as Kara is about to step on the gas, Isha steps out of the vehicle with a brave expression. "Excuse me, but I demand to know why you took our money and gave us nothing in return," Isha says, trying to project her royal authority.
Sadly, her royal demeanor only earns a laugh from the woman as she tucks the money away. "You're buying passage, barbarian. You should be lucky Kara is kind enough to pay your way through."
Isha is left stunned by this woman's insolence. As the tax woman walks back into the fortress, Isha reaches into her bag but has her other hand grabbed by Kara. "Not worth it; you've got people to live for. Think of your mission," the Latina whispers to Isha with a curt tone, who holds her hand on the way back to the buggy and fumbles with her seatbelt before the pair drive off on nice, cleared roads.
Kara sighs, turning the cheerful music off and tugging on Isha's ear. "La princessa, those were IRS men. Not the kind of people you want to get in a shootout with. I happen to have a good reputation with them, and I'm not gonna have you ruin that just because of you getting heated over a bit of money."
"But they acted like bandits! It's absurd that they expect every person coming through there to pay them just to pass!"
"Because they keep the roads clear of bandits, and they can't keep doing that without money," Kara says, trying to be patient with the tribal.
"They put guns in our faces! If a Razorhead did that, he'd have a knife in his throat before he could even-"
"Those weren't Razorheads! They were IRS goons who probably had three times as many buddies in that fortress ready to blow our brains out if we tried to get around paying them! This ain't your little jungle bungalow home where you can do what you want. You have to follow the rules where we go; I don't care if that means you think you're getting robbed, cause that's just the way the world works, princessa," Kara says, her frustration with the girl's lack of common sense spilling out.
Isha's hanging sleeves droop as she looks disappointed at having angered the woman. She looks away, folding her hands in her lap and nodding.
"...We're gonna stop by the Tech Mines for something I want to check on. Hopin' to pick up a better vehicle you can earn your keep in."
Isha nods like a scolded daughter as Kara turns the music back on, softer this time. Seeing the tribal girl getting down in the dumps like a kid makes her sigh in resignation. "God, stop looking like I took your dog away from you. I'll get you something nice if you follow the rules, okay?" she says, trying to sound compassionate.
Isha immediately brightens up. "Yay! What will it be? A new bag? Maybe a new sharpener? Will we be getting my sneaking robe fixed? It does have tears and loose threading on the upper left side of the tunic. Oh, or maybe another fish to eat? Or maybe..."
Kara can't help but smile a little as Isha lists off in impressive detail the damage to her survival gear, putting repairs and replacements at the same value as a steak.
(Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SN39TfC1xL4)
The Tech Mines stood in a wasted and polluted area, the result of their need for large heaters and their ability to import food from passing Triangle traders. Many of the boarding houses were scrap apartments, made for certain shifts so they could all awake together. This blighted land makes Isha shiver. She could smell diesel and silicone in the air and see a field of grey scrap buildings, open excavation pits filled with rubble and salvage, and the dirty, rough men who pulled all this tech out of the earth after it had been blasted down there by the apocalypse.
Kara looks for the market, where the slightly better-dressed scrappers hawk their goods and the parts they've found as investments. After they find a place to leave the car under guard, the Latina turns to her passenger: "La Princessa , just stay put while I pick something, ok? Don't let anyone mess with the buggy if I'm not with them. Got it?"
Isha nods, her bag of high explosives slung over her shoulder, as she tries to sit still and follow the rules. She could tell she stood out a lot; her skimpy green outfit attracted eyes with its every move as she spied some frustrated-looking workers having an argument by where she was parked.
A little Kara on the princess's shoulder said she shouldn't move, but the hero in her was not one to resist at least asking what was going on. She strode up to them, gathering her charm and grace as she did.
"We can't fuckin' afford mercs for this shit, Robby! And the guys on our shift are so shit in a fight with how rough this dig has been that we'd just be feeding the fucking things if we tried to clean 'em up without pro's leading the charge," a gruff man in overalls says to two other gloomy men.
"Well, we don't have a choice! You know the investors aren't gonna be happy when they see we stalled because of some fuckin' trogs."
Isha instantly grabs their attention as she approaches and looks them over. "Greetings, might I be able to help with your problem? I have experience hunting mutants in the jungles to the west."
The men look over the girl for longer than needed, her provocative attire sheathing her body like a weapon of attraction against a sea of dirt and grime.
"Yeah, sure, girly, give it your best shot. Shaft 10's where the trogs are; we'll come up with somethin' to pay you with if you actually pull it off, promise," the leader of the men says with a laugh, expecting the girl in front of them to back out when her bluff is called.
They are surprised to see her already moving toward her destination, unlatching her bag of fun and getting ready to unleash it on some poor mutants.
Kara looked over the object of her dreams for the past few months with the eye of a discerning chef. She was trying to find a good reason to pay less money for the large food truck that had been excavated and fixed up enough to run. It was no beast of a vehicle in terms of combat, but it could hold enough fuel to haul across the desert and stop on the way to make money off of extra ingredients in the settlements that usually survived off of a steady diet of shoe leather and recycled piss.
The cab had been connected to the driver's seat, with the cab in question widened enough for people to be seated and served via a counter that connected to the small kitchen. She lacked some tools needed for more complicated or fancy dishes, but it was miles better than the long setup times she dealt with hauling burners, coolers, and other tools in the back of her little buggy.
She looked to the man who was selling to her, a short and thin mechanic with small brown eyes and a roughly shaven beard covered in enough grease to be a fire hazard. "100 trade dollars plus my old buggy still the deal?" Kara asks.
The man shakes his head. "Was a real pain getting all the parts for the cooking appliances, chica. 120 plus the buggy to cover lost time," he says coldly.
"We already agreed on a price, come mierda (shit eater). If you couldn't handle the work, you shouldn't've agreed to do it. If you broke your spine putting her together, that's on you," Kara says, refusing to budge.
The man snarls, "Look, chica, the lowest I can go without losing money is 110! I'm not taking a loss just because you woke up on the bad side of the cot today."
"100 and the buggy, or you can try selling this to someone else while it sits in your garage, huevón."
The man sighs, looking over how much space the vehicle was taking up. He could be fixing an excavator, or minecarts, or any amount of faster-cash vehicles because he got talked into modding this thing by the Latina midget, who was regarding his kindness to with a steely and immovable look. "Fine, deal."
Kara offers her hand to the man for a handshake to seal the deal. "Pleasure doing business with you."
Isha creeps about in the excavated tunnel as she observes her foes: mindless troglodyte mutants that chew at the corpses of a few miners. Their clawed hands and crazed looks are familiar to the jungle princes. She quietly sets the fuse on a pipe bomb, counting in her head the perfect time to throw it to get as many of the scum as possible in the blast.
The explosion only rocks the tunnel a little bit, but three troglodytes are turned into paste by shrapnel. Isha leaps out with a throwing knife in both hands, sending it sailing on the wind toward two more monster throats, causing them to fruitlessly convulse as they bleed out. A loud roar bellows from the base of a cave as a larger troglodyte with a big rock in its hand as a simple weapon that it tries to smash the dexterous jungle bunny with. Isha dives backward and shields her face from the dust, digging in her bag for her detonator and pressing the button.
A deafening cry of chemical explosives planted above the monster mangles its spine and crushes its skull with falling debris. Isha is already ahead of any of the other members of the pack, letting a well-placed firebomb spread and killing them through cleansing fire.
As she checks around for any stragglers, she stumbles upon their nest. A collection of stones and scrap metal arranged like a great crow's nest that lacked certain features, like the strung-up animal skeletons the large omnivores use as threats to others who try to claim their territory. She digs through it but throws aside some of the metal junk, which she saw as trinkets that would weigh her down. After finding nothing, she strips any usable meat she can off the troglodytes she killed cleanly.
She skips through the streets of the Tech Mines' surface after climbing her way out of the mineshaft, the smell of gunpowder and smoke on her as patches of dried blood decorate her dress. The men from earlier look toward the cute little amazon with surprise, seeming shocked that she's alive.
"W-Wow.. we uhm... were rootin' for ya!"
"Yeah... how about a drink as your reward?"
"I have to decline, gentlemen. I'm quite vulnerable to alcohol. But... I would like to know what you do here, if it's not too much of a bother," she says, sitting down and crossing her legs elegantly as the men see a chance to get off cheap with a lecture. They explain that an old pre-war city is under them. The fruits of a bygone age of advanced technology are under their feet and for the taking for crews willing to excavate deeper and deeper into the earth. They describe moving fortresses of metal, giant metal birds driven by just one man, smoothly shaped weapons of precise devastation, and the lost entertainment products of a more civilized time.
Isha is entranced by the stories, bombarding them with questions and asking them if any medical miracles have ever been found in the Tech Mines.
"Never heard of medical stuff bein' found. Most of the doctors have other ways of getting their info."
"There is that one traveling one."
"Dr. Crane?"
"Nah. Came from a bunker. Remelia Rochefort was her name; patched up some of our boys a few days ago after an accident for cheap."
Isha gives them a bow. "T-Thank you! I.. don't have any money to give... apologies."
One of the mineshaft owners seems to want to pounce on her for a chance to get some of her things in lieu of payment, but the other stops him. "If she killed a den of trogs, she can kill your ass way faster. Let the barbarian bitch walk," he whispers to him as Isha skips back to the buggy to keep watch like a loyal guard dog.
Isha runs around the restaurant crawler in wonder as Kara hauls it toward Port Steel. It was a large vehicle that would have made a formidable mobile gun battery or siege vehicle for a raider gang, but its space was used for seating and kitchen supplies rather than guns and ammunition. Its loading bay was the dining area, where guests would be seated and have their orders taken. Kara hadn't the time to make menus but did find an intact chalkboard to write the daily specials. Kara's domain was the kitchen, a cozy compartment where all her cooking supplies and food would be stored that also had a window so people could watch her work and request alterations, and so she could make sure nobody tried to dine and dash. For now, it appeared to be a rusty pre-war hauler with little decoration on the outside and inside. This would be her new rig for the foreseeable future: the Iron Ladel.
As Kara finds a place to put the vehicle in a parked state, its size oddly freeing when she finds a spot where the guards would patrol, Isha stumbles upon two single-room dormitories, deciding to take one as her own room. She smiles and kicks her feet on the bed as she unpacks her jungle leaf bag, organizing her stockpile of explosives and checking her survival gear.
Kara peeks in on the princess before going to the other room, her personal home away from the Wooden Ladel. Her spare clothes were hung up, with her rifle in the driver's seat. She puts down a box of hand-made tools for managing her hair: a comb carved from dead wood, a brush she bought from a farmer in Goldacres a few months ago, and some rough ribbon to help tie off braids and ponytails. She wasn't much of a woman for luxury.
She did have another appointment before she had her grand opening: a tailor she heard about over the radio advertising about quality clothing and fitting. She had originally just wanted something that looked more like the kind of girls in the bunker ads that were hard not to find. Something to help her seem more refined than some slop seller in a big crawler. Of course, that was before Isha decided to stick around, and while she wasn't Kara's type, she certainly was blessed with some measure of beauty.
"Princessa! Get down here, and let's get going. I want you to come pick up your reward for that shit from before," the shorter woman says as Isha pokes her green-haired head out of her room.
"Yay! Lets go!" Isha says like an excited child, leaving her bomb bag in the crawler while some throwing knives were in the belt that cinched her waist and kept her dress pressed tight against her.
Kara couldn't help but chuckle at the little ray of sunshine, but she tries to reorient herself to the realities of life as they head into the bustling port town to a small building with a rickety neon sign. "Lemaz Threads". Its green light glows in the early night, with Isha amazed at the variety of people and steering away from the metal demons in human form that walk among them.
Kara cocks her head as Isha watches a passing cyborg like she was staring at a raider pointing a gun in her face. "Hey, princessa, something wrong?"
"They let RAZORHEAD DEMONS in here! We should conclude our business quickly!" she says hushed tone as she bends down to Kara's ear.
The woman sighs and pulls Isha inside the tailor shop by her sleeve. The man at the counter bore plenty of cybernetics, causing Isha to freeze.
"Lemaz, yeah?" Kara says, undeterred by the man's imposing appearance. His mechanical eyes focus on the two women. "Yes, you're a customer, I hope?"
"Kara Ramirez. Sent in an order a while ago through Booth's Speedy Delivery. I got a last-minute request with my payment. Isha here needs an outfit like mine fitted to her."
"I will not have a demon lay its hands on me! He'll-" Isha starts, but gets her back pushed forward into a greeting by Kara.
"Look, Miss Isha. I get my appearance is off-putting, but if you want threads, this is the best you're gonna get," the man says, extending a hand in peace as Isha looks back toward Kara.
"You still owe me the damage you did to my buggy, princessa, and I think you could pull off the pre-war waitress look pretty good. Now suck it up and let the 'demon' get your measurements," she says in a more serious tone, an attempt to command the wild woman.
Isha nods meekly and politely, letting the man measure her all over. Before he disappears into the back to quickly scale the design he used on Kara's outfit, he throws her the outfit. "May as well try it on. Port drunks tend to leave this place alone this time of night."
Kara nods, taking her familiar road clothes off and slipping into the blouse, jumper, and apron. If not for her severe face, she'd look 10 years younger than she really is.
Isha looks at the outfit curiously and says, "But you'll get too hot in that. Is that supposed to be a night dress?"
"No, princessa, it's a waitress's uniform. Back before the war, girls would bring food out to customers and handle orders all with a pretty smile, sometimes even on roller skates. 'Sides, I'm used to the heat. Not gonna be any worse than going through the desert with a flat or living in the humid pit stain that is Goldacres."
"So you're going to do work in something so stifling?"
"Yeah, and so are you."
Isha looks confused and alarmed but is ready to be told why.
"Think of this is as my way of charging you rent for hitching a ride with me. It's not gonna be hard work, but you're gonna work. Just prance around all cutesy-like like you usually do, tell me what the customers want, and give it to them when it's ready, okay? The outfit's for catching eyes and will just emphasize the traits people want to see anyway."
Kara looks at herself and surrenders to whimsy for a moment as she does a twirl in the dirty mirror laid against the wall, the skirt flowing up and laying down like a pre-war actress'. She smiles for a moment before turning to Isha. "We're starting late, so should be an easy night; just come back to the kitchen window if you have questions, ok?"
"I have lots of questions!" Isha says. "The big, dark blue expanse we saw walking here... what was that?"
"...That's... that's that ocean thing I was tellin' you about..." Kara says with a sigh, sitting down and explaining why Port Steel is called a port to the curious tribal.
Isha and Kara sit in the unnamed crawler, the shorter Latina using a bucket to soak Isha's messy, wavy emerald locks.
The princess winces and shivers while Kara brushes her hair out, showing its true length as it extends down to the middle of her back. Her looser strands are braided just over her ears, giving her a refined and clean look, something very rare outside of a bunker. Isha feels her hair, which is smooth and clean compared to the usual dry waves of itchiness it had, and is in a state of wonder.
Kara smiles with a motherly aura as she puts a hand on Isha's shoulder. "I'll go turn on the lights and set out the sign. You greet whoever comes in, ok?" she says, Isha nodding as she stands up, her wide skirt bouncing with every elegant step she takes.
While the chef gets something nice-smelling cooking to draw in the illiterates and the drunks, Isha invites anyone she can see inside, using a line Kara taught her to say: "Good, cheap food, served in safety and comfort!" Some guests come in for the food, others for the tribal's odd anecdotes and promises of "personal service".
While Kara multitasks three different dishes, firmly in her element, she notices a few notable guests and gets a peek at how her princessa handles them as customers.
Ricky Booth was a shifty but reliable payer who seemed more interested in checking out Isha than the food. His jokes asking for her to kiss his food to make it taste better are met with the princess leaning down and doing it. He puts a tip into her apron with a wink and a lewd comment that Kara is sure the tribal misinterprets as some kind of compliment.
Another courier comes by, though she runs cargo by land. She seems grateful for a good meal given how some of the fisheries in the Port can be about scrubbing the rads out of their product. She seems interested in the princess's story more than her looks.
"You're gonna be hard up for a doctor, princess. At least one to fight something like what your tribe's dealin' with... If you see Remelia Rochefort, tell her I sent ya."
"Thank you, Miss Ruby!" Isha says with a gentle bow as she chats with her a bit more, getting a small lesson in desert survival before the red-haired lady heads back to her crawler.
Kara leaves the kitchen for a moment when she sees Queen Bee and her posse of strung-out hedonists that follow her.
"No trouble, Comprende amiga? And the waitress is off limits; not into your type anyway," Kara says to her as she asks for payment in advance.
"Sounds like a challenge," the scantily clad raider says as she approaches Isha and asks for tonight's special and a kiss. Kara walks by Isha and whispers something in her ear: "She ain't good news. I hear she fucks Razorheads AND Blackhearts."
Those words seem to activate some measure of modesty in the girl as she turns her nose up at Queen Bee. "I'll not lay with a woman, let alone one that lets her body be polluted by mutants and demons!"
While the raider girl tries throughout her meal, even stuffing a tip in Isha's apron, to get Isha to agree to take a "break" out back with her, she is met with the graceful patience of a princess as Isha explains she would poison her food but was told not to harm any guests without Kara's consent.
The next eventful customer that came by was one Isha had heard of and been looking for. When the traveling doctor, Remelia Rochefort, introduces herself to Isha, the princess does her best to collect herself. "Miss Rochefort, I... represent the Verzon tribe, and Ruby. And while Ruby does not need the help, my people are dying..." she says in a lower tone, the doctor seeming to take pity on the clearly tech-illiterate girl.
"...You're describing a virus, something I... don't have the ability to stop."
Isha gives her desperate, clinging eyes, saying better than she can with words that she'll take any kind of help.
The doctor cracks after a moment. "Fine, fine. Show me where your tribe is held up, and I'll try to make it in there and help. But you really should look for a robot named Hope; She's better equipped for this kind of problem."
Isha nods, giving the woman a hug, making the other customers jealous. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I promise I'll get Miss Kara to make the meal free of charge!"
"T-Thanks, Princess... Could you get off me?"
Isha separates and gives the doctor a grateful bow as she trots off to do her job, a slight smile crossing Kara's lips as she agrees to a discount on the meal.
Kara worries when a barbarian from the North by the name of Magnus Wang traipses in with a fresh kill on his back, asking if Kara will accept the carcass of a mutated animal as payment. While she is normally not averse to working with mutated meat, she typically only offers discounts for bringing in your own ingredients rather than a free meal itself. She is about to say no to his offer before she notices Isha drooling at the sight of the massive, chiseled man. The cook pinches the bridge of her nose: "You get a half portion, and if the waitress is forward with you, you turn her down. Comprende?"
"Of course," he says with a nod, sounding strangely relieved. He puts the unskinned carcass in a thankfully empty freezer. It still stinks as much as he does, but meat is meat.
Isha inevitably flocks toward the strong man. She's enthralled by his description of snow, massive furred beasts, and the cold beauty of the north. She practically hangs off his arms and forgets her job.
Kara shoots a mean look toward Magnus, who eats quickly and takes his leave of Isha. "May we meet again, Princess. You'll find your desired mate soon," he says with a pat on the princess's shoulder. She looks ready to cry as he respectfully rejects her, but another man puts an arm around her waist.
He is the opposite kind of man to Magnus but bears the same well-built body. He is Quinn Chase, a famously wealthy and inventive bunker kid who came up from his paradise for adventure, and he seems to have found his next conquest.
Isha looks up at him like he's a god of some kind, melting in his arms as she stammers for some kind of attractive response to his forwardness.
Quinn shushes her: "No need. You want me, right?"
Isha nods quickly as Kara gets swamped with orders, almost in disbelief that a princess is this easy to charm.
"And I've heard plenty about you, Princess Isha. It's a shame to see you work so hard, so why don't you come lie down with me at the Inn by the port?"
Isha clings onto his arm. "Take me as your prize for the night, then~" she says with a wink. Quinn smiles back at her and notices the furious look Kara has as she steals a look at them between her cooking duties.
"La cuidaré por la noche, me quedaré con el cambio y no te preocupes, volverá por la mañana," he says after consulting his watch and putting the price of three meals plus tip down without hesitation. He takes Isha in his arms as Kara is overwhelmed by both the amount of money offered and the amount of business she's getting.
"Puto!" she shouts back to him before focusing back on her work, now having to do two jobs at once like usual.
Kara waits outside the Iron Ladel, dressed in her usual road clothes with a case of bedhead, as she watches the haulers leave for the other ends of the triangle. Her mind isn't on the amount of ingredients she needs to restock, as she's made more than enough money to get whatever she needs on her next trip to the Goldacres. Offering a mobile but safe place to eat with a rep like hers seemed like a recipe for success.
Rather, her mind was on her slutty passenger, Isha. She was under the impression she might have more care for her mission than to just disappear for a night and lay with a stranger, and the fact the girl was so dense that she would trust a stranger like that, even a wealthy one, was absurd. She had half a mind to go knocking on the door of every inn and track Isha down herself to make sure the lazy tramp got a good talking to about some new rules, since clearly she'd have to teach what her mother should have taught her when she was a teen.
The cook is both relieved and irritated when she sees a tired-looking Isha walk toward the vehicle, her green hair a mess as she has a dumb smile on her face. Kara marches up to her and smells her for alcohol, but she detects none.
Isha waves toward Kara. "Good morning," she starts, but the short Latina woman drags her by the ear inside the mobile restaurant.
"Alright, you look here, la princessa. If you're going to stick around here, you're going to treat your job and yourself with more respect!" Kara says, talking over Isha's protests and silencing her.
"And I don't want to hear that he promised to marry you. If he didn't wake you up, then he's just a fling. Something you're VERY LUCKY did not end in you getting robbed and taken away! And before you say anything about how you're looking for a suitable husband, not every hunk is going to be a good person who just wants... to experience you for a night. Besides, you just walked off in the middle of your shift! I had to do the job you were supposed to do for you!"
Kara sighs, giving Isha room to explain herself. "B-But... did you see him? He was perfect... and he was so smart... His watch is truly a blessing from the towers..."
"Did you wake up next to him?" Kara asks, her eyes in an aggressive slant and her hands on her hips.
"N-No... He left a note... but it was a nice note..." Isha says, still blushing intensely.
"Then he used you for his pleasure. He's not coming back to complete those "trials" you rattle on about, princessa. If you're going to do that sort of thing while riding with me, you tell me where you're going and who you're with, and you do it on your own time! Is that understood?"
Isha nods guiltily, seeming to calm Kara down.
"C-Could... we go see the Rumors-of-the-Wastes? Mister Quinn was nice enough to show me where his shrine to the towers was," Isha asks, hoping she earned enough good will from the grumpy chef to accommodate her journey.
"Fine. I need to go drop off a care package for him anyway. But then we're getting back on course," Kara says with a sigh.
The chef turns the engine on as she tries to understand Isha's thought process. She's looking for some kind of superior specimen of man to lord over her and keep her pregnant, which sounds more like voluntary slavery to her than any kind of dream. Of course, the princess seemed to at least have the sense to keep her main task in mind, even if the way she did things was frustratingly mystical to the jaded Kara.
Lance's usual preparations for a broadcast were interrupted as he pulled his head out of a cable box, the earth shaking slightly. Earthquakes weren't unheard of around the city ruins, but they were certainly not common. It was more likely a passing hauler getting a bit too close for comfort as he worked to stabilize his fragile instruments and antennae. When the rumbling stopped, he looked outside and blanched a bit. A big crawler had stopped right in front of his humble radio station. Its doors opened, and he gulped, fully expecting a raider or a taxman to come and extort him.
He contemplates running for his weapon before he sees someone he has heard much about step out of the rusted crawler. Her flowing green hair and otherworldly outfit were proof positive that Princess Isha had come to his station. Where he once felt despair over the amount of money he was going to lose today, he now feels the full smile of fortune as he runs down to greet the girl. He leaves too soon to see Kara step out to see how the vehicle is holding up while Isha talks to her prophesized contact.
Lance had heard this girl was also a bit of a luddite, with a few radio towers turning to rubble on her watch. A fate he hoped to charm the princess to overlook enacting on his livelihood.
Isha looks for the appropriate markings of holiness on the antenna, which gave this building purpose as a dwelling for signals, as the white-coated man opens the metal door for her. She gives him a short bow as she enters.
"May I ask your name, mister?"
Lance adjusts his glasses and kneels down, kissing Isha's hand. "Lance is my name, Princess Isha. I've heard quite a bit about you and your tribe and their sealing of the trade routes. Perhaps you have time for an interview?"
"Oh, well, I'm in quite the rush to see a person who runs Rumors-of-the-Wastes... Could you direct me to them, Mister Lance?" Isha asks politely.
"You're speaking to the sole proprietor, princess," he says, causing Isha to hug him.
"Our meeting has been prophesied by the signals. If an Interview is your price, then I will give you what you want," she says with an energetic and determined smile.
Once she had finished her delivery to Lance, Kara busied herself by looking over the suspension of her converted battle wagon. It was somewhat enjoyable for her; she found the chilly, briny air of the coast better than the dry and suffocating heat of the desert or the endless humidity of the jungle. The radio is on loud enough to hear as the intro jingle to "Rumors of the Wastes" plays, signaling her to take a short break as the short woman climbs back into the driver's seat and lowers the radio volume.
"Welcome, one and all, to Rumors of the Wastes. Before we get to our usual programming, we have a special guest on today's program regular listeners might have heard about. If you'd like to introduce yourself..."
"My name is Isha, 11th Daughter of Chief Nurgle of the Verzon tribe. A pleasure to be in such holy space."
"...Holy? What makes you say this is a place of holiness?"
"It's a hub where signals rest and find their destinations. My people know these signals as divine guidance, and thus more important to understand than any other knowledge."
"I... see. And the reports of you blowing up other radio towers... what was wrong with those places?"
"They were marked with blue, green, or pink logos. Our wisdom stresses that the true towers bear red logos; all others corrupt the signals, which are conned into entering their domains."
Lance laughs nervously. "W-Well, don't worry, Princess, this tower has a red logo on it," he says hurriedly.
"I wanted to speak to you about your tribe closing its trade routes. It's caused quite a stir. Would you like to elaborate on your father's reason for such a drastic measure?"
"Y-Yes... It's in fact why I sought you out, and please keep this secret... My tribe is dying; a strange plague has rendered all but me incapable of doing anything more than wallow in misery... So I beseech you! I... I've been told that a demon... er... robot that specializes in healing others is my best hope of saving them. Her name was said to be Hope, and If I don't find her... then..." Isha starts to cry a bit.
Lance tries to be soothing. "Princess, I... sympathize with your problem... If I told you that I could set you up with not only her location but payment for her services, would you do a great deed for me?"
"Of course! My-My tribe has rested their hopes in me alone; I must endure whatever challenge you demand of me!" Isha says bravely.
Lance smiles almost audibly. "Your quest is to find a satellite uplink device that I believe was lost in transit from the Big Dig to here. If I were to have such a device, I could spread my... pure signal across the whole world, maybe even beyond! All the listeners at home can hold me to this-"
Kara shuts the radio off and leans back in her chair. There was a lesson here, one she should have figured out faster before things spiraled into what she saw ahead.
Don't tangle yourself in someone else's drama, even if they are a jungle princess with access to a crazy amount of super-fruits.
It was simply unreal to the grizzled chef that Isha had given a secret not only over public radio, but over the most popular show in the whole wasteland.
She could drive away right now and leave la princessa to die the death she probably deserved for such an act of stupidity. Natural selection and all that.
But a part of Kara relented when she remembered the determined and righteous side of Isha. The part of Isha that took on the mantle of a heroine and dared to try and live up to it, the part that ignored the words of doubt and the stares of sick bemusement she got everywhere she went.
She would never save her tribe without a vehicle. She would never complete Lance's absurd request in time on her feet, but she'd die trying.
Kara takes a deep sigh as she looks at herself in the large mirrors of the crawler. A moment of introspection to give her the strength to go against her well-tempered survival instincts.
She waited for Isha to come back, knowing she had chosen a path much more likely to end in an early, painful death.
A caravan of cars stalls out from an overheated engine, and in its covered back are crates of salvaged tech from far up north. It was specialty parts for certain buyers. People who had paid figurative arms and legs for their share of the bounty of Big Dig.
They were going to stop in Bad Water until they heard the broadcast. The mutants had gotten to it, stripped it of materials, and eaten its inhabitants.
They were trying to make a risky long haul past the town, hoping to sidestep the army of monsters before they lost their payday, either to impatient buyers or angry superiors. The mechanic burned his hands with every touch toward the engine, using the ration water to douse it in some hope of getting it to run again.
By the time they saw the shadows on both ends of the horizon, it was too late. A mutant stood elevated above them, staring down on his prey.
The traders grabbed their shotguns and sprayed as many bullets as they could, uncaring of the money wasted. Every single mutant they downed was simply replaced by one that was hungrier and uglier. The mutants approached with obvious glee at the appetizer that fell into their lap.
By the time the shooting stopped, the traders' bones were picked clean, their truck stripped for parts, and their cargo taken by the mechanists of the Mutant Army.
Karnak slavered over one item in particular.
A satellite uplink: A key to broadcasting using pre-war satellites laid in the Earth's orbit years ago in a more civilized time, ready to serve new masters.