Delacroix looks at what Miri is drawing then asks, "So Miri do you have any brothers or sisters?"

She absently nods her head 'no' in response. Her hands fly over the paper, lines and shading start to take shape. A dark cloud on the paper is beginning to turn into a person. The image of an elf appears, a smiling happy elf, in his late twenties, with no cyberware or scars. As she draws the background starts to form, a farm house, with a porch and a rocking chare. The elf is looking at something to his right. His eyes are bright and happy, his face is tanned and worn, presumably, from a life on a farm. Her talent is nothing short of breathtaking. It doesn't take her long to finish the picture. The face of the elf is eerily familiar.

She signs the bottom with a big M. She stands, seemingly very pleased with herself. She places the picture in Grendels lap, and hugs his comatose form.

"Yeah, kid, that's pretty much it. That kind of ending only happens in pictures and sappy songs. The only face in my future is death."

For a strange, alien moment, the scarred elf feels a trace of panic. She knows. SHE KNOWS! Zoe, were she not under your auspices she would be dead. It takes him a moment to correctly identify and then kill the emotion. Then he begins to theorize on how this child could possibly know.

"Miri, who is that?", Delacroix studies the picture closely to determine who the recognizable elf is.

Quickly the elf responds. "Miri, why dont you talk? Are you just too shy?"

The little girl looks up and smiles, a mischievous grin usually reserved for the deepest secrets. She seems to get bored with the art and carefully puts away her supplies and tablet. She looks around expectantly and rubs her stomach.

Grendel's voice is dry over the commlink.

"For someone who doesn't speak, she's remarkably adroit at communicating her desires. Our rations are in the locker next to the microwave. Just don't feed her any of the energy bars."

Sharpe remains silent for the first leg of the trip, his eyes constantly flitting between the girl and the various windows of the Bison, scanning both the physical and Astral planes for any sign of danger.

Having sized up the elven pair and decided that they at least appeared to be competent, he turns his mind to the small girl as the kilometers slip by. His interest is piqued when she pulls out her art supplies and begins to sketch, and he quietly observes the results of her efforts with a critical eye, impressed despite himself with the obvious quality.

The town of Idaho Falls is saddled on either side of the snake river. The city of 15,000 seems some what deserted when Grendels Bison rolls into town at 0300 hours. The bridge crossing the snake river is a massive two-towered steel suspension bridge. A toll booth sits halfway across with a sign that reads in large red letters, "travelling discouraged, 15".

"Nice to see that some things never change." Grendel pulls off onto the shoulder of the highway temporarily, putting a call through to his contact at the Great Western Motor Lodge. The stopoff was neither great nor particularly western, but it was discrete and well stocked with supplies. The schedule called for a forty minute layover for gas and food and to stretch the legs, but they were running almost fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. It felt good to be on the road again. The tall elf surfaces from the network long enough to unlock the travelling safety on the assault rifle clamped muzzle down to the right side of his seat. He'd pay the toll, null sweat, but occasionally the bridgekeepers got unreasonable. Tasks complete, he accelerated away from the curb, keeping the Bison to a sedate forty kph as it crossed onto the bridge.

The man at the toll appears to be sleeping when the big Bison rolls up to the booth. They have apparently upgraded since last you where through here. Now they have an automatic feeder for wither NAN script or credsticks.

The side window of the Bison rolls down soundlessly, and remains open only long enough for Grendel to slot his certified credstick. In an effort not to wake the sleeping attendant, the bulky elf idles away from the tollbooth, only accelerating once clear. Five minutes down the road is the Great Western Motor Lodge, holographic neon advertising vacancy, diesel, and hot showers. The Bison heads in to the parking lot, pulling around to the side of the main building.

"All right, lady and gentlemen. You've got forty minutes to wander around, stretch your legs, and do whatever needs to be done. Don't be late getting back, or the bus will leave without you. I'm not expecting trouble, but keep the comm channel open. If anything comes up, I'll be here."

Delacroix opens the door and exits the bison. His legs and butt cramped from the sitting, he gets out and stretches. His body rejoyces in the form of a tingleing sensation in his lower half. The elf looks around. Keeping the door open so he can talk to grendel he says, "Well this place looks dead dont it?"

"Idaho Falls isn't the bustling metropolis that Seattle is. They tend to roll up the streets when the sun goes down." Grendel's voice sounds from inside the van instead of across the radio comms, the elf leery of making those transmissions while adjacent to the Motor Lodge's fuel island. He completes the transfer of network operations to his remote before opening his own door and stepping out into the chill morning air. Settling his longcoat about his shoulders, he prepays for the diesel fuel with certified cred before beginning the long process of filling the Bison's port and starboard tanks. His eyes scan the parking lot with its motley assortment of vehicles with restless intensity.

Grendel feels a tugging sensation on his arm. When he looks down he see's Miri standing there looking up at him, a large smile on her sleepy eyed face. She points over to the public restrooms. Apparently the light has burned out and the area around the door is very dark.

Careful to shield his left hand from Miri's view, Grendel calls over to Sharpe.

"I think your package needs to use the facilities."

As soon as the girl's face is turned away, he clips the baton he'd drawn back to his MOLLE harness.

Sharpe nods and walks over to where Grendel is pumping the gas. He reaches out for Miri and she recoils, clinging to the big riggers coat, trying to hide. She looks up at Grendel with pleading eyes.

"You've got two options, kid. Either you roll with Sharpe, or you wait until I'm finished here. Your call."

She nods, and doesn't move.

Grendel shrugs at Sharpe before returning his attention to the fueling operation.

"I don't know what you're game is, little girl, but so far your decision making ability hasn't impressed me. I'm a bad sort to fall in with. If you want to make it far in this life, you're going to have to learn how to chose your associates carefully. Musashi Miyamoto said: 'Learn to perceive that which cannot be seen with the eye.'"

She smiles up at Grendel. The kind of smile that says, "I know something you don't know". She waits patiently for a few minutes, then she crosses her legs and starts shifting her weight back and forth.

"Look, you chose to wait, don't blame me for any accidents. Life is pain, little girl, anyone who says otherwise is lying to you."

The fuel system's automatic shutoff picks that moment to engage, halting the refueling operation. Grendel glances at the pump's digital readout, comparing it to the volume calculated in his head. The two match within acceptable parameters. He replaces the hose assembly before closing and locking the Bison's refueling port. He motions with his left hand towards the restrooms.

"All right, let's go. And I hope you don't mind me waiting outside."

The reek of the bathroom fills the air with a foul smelling stench. Grendel's cybernetic eyes kick as he draws closer, the lowlight circuitry amplifying existing light to near daylight levels. The door is slightly ajar, a old sign proclaiming "women" is hanging of kilt. Miri stops before the door and waits.

Right hand hovering over the pistol holstered behind his right hip, Grendel pushes the door open slowly. Once he's certain that the room is clear, he steps aside to allow Miri to pass.

The dark haired little girl hesitantly stepped inside. She carefully looked both ways into the cramped bathroom before approaching the stall. Satisfied that it was safe she put her hand on the stall door. The plastic and ceramic door slammed open, knocking Miri into the wall and slamming her head, she screamed as she slid down the wall. A diminutive figure with white skin and bulbous gray eyes stood in the stall, crouched on top of the toilet. His toothy maw was filled with razor sharp teeth and bloody saliva.


"Dinnnn-errrr yuuumm."

Reacting to the new threat in the doorway, the ghoul steps over Miri's unconcious body, "this is my food fleshing, find your own!" It charges the bulky elf with an unatural speed, raking it's putrid claws at the elf's face and ears.

The elf's muscles react to the threat like a well tuned instrument. A tuning a life time of training bought and paid for. Grendel slaps aside the Ghouls hands and slams the creature in the throat with the ridge of his knife like hand. Gasping and coughing, spitting up noxious blood, the creature stumbles back.

"Trouble. Sierra stay with the vehicle. Delta to me, now."

Grendel sweeps aside his long coat, drawing the Browning pistol holstered behind his right hip in a single smooth motion. The touch of his palm to the weapon's grip brings the smartlink interface to life, the crosshairs tracking across his enhanced vision. The silenced pistol coughs twice, muzzle flash bright in the dimness of the restroom.

The Browning coughs twice, sending jacketed hollowpoints dead center through the ghouls chest. It screams in agony as large chunks of it's flesh splatter on the mirror behind it. The creature falls to it's knees, mouth working a now silent scream.

"No. This one is mine."

Grendel moves forward towards Miri, firing twice more.

The bullets pass through the face and throat of the Ghoul. The subsonic ammo disintegrating matter as they impact with muscle and bone. The ghoul falls face first, a lifeless husk.

Miri appears to be unconscious.

Holding his weapon on the ghoul, Grendel kneels and hoists the unconscious child over his shoulder before backing towards the door. A silent command brings a surveillance window alive in his vision, the false color image from the Condor overhead overlying at a fifty percent mask. No targets are noted. Grendel toes open the door and rolls out of the room, reholstering his pistol. Seeing Delacroix headed his way, he waves him towards the Bison.

"Ghoul tried to get her, I don't know how badly she's hurt. Check and see if she needs professional medical attention. Sharpe, keep the watch, I'm going inside for supplies. We're heading out of here in five minutes."

Sharpe nods, a semi-automatic pistol materializes in his hands as he steps into a shadow, all but tuning invisible.

With Miri safely stowed inside the Bison, and Delacroix tending to any possible wounds, Grendel moves across the parking lot towards the truck stop. Once inside he makes a quick pass through all the isles, plucking items off the shelves that strike his fancy or anything he thinks the crew might need for the next leg of the journey. Dumping the assorted pile on the checkout counter, he slots the certified credstick, conspicuously overpaying by five hundred nuyen. The flat gaze of his cybereyes focusses on the overweight, balding man behind the counter.

"Morning, Turk, how are the road conditions?"

"Oight, tis a lttle wet in some places, best drive careful," the fat indian says as youpay for the goods. His go a little wide as the numbers go up but he says nothing.

"And the traffic? Am I likely to run into anything unexpected?"

"Noiy, just the usual. Keep your speed down though, I heard patrol just installed some new sensors."

"Much obliged."

Grendel heads back across the parking lot, tossing the plastic bag of snacks onto an unoccupied seat in the Bison. Strapping in to the command couch, he shifts his network protocols back to the hardwired deck.

"How's our package doing?"

"She's good," Sharpe says to the elf as he sits down. "A little frightened and a bump on her head, good thing you were with her. Delacroix is back there now tending to her, you ready to roll?"

"Way ahead of you, friend."

Grendel's voice sounds over the internal comms as the Bison accelerates out of the parking lot. Once again, the heavy truck turns off the main highway, heading south towards their next stop in Reno.

The trip through southern Idaho is quiet and uneventful. Hours pass between seeing vehicles on the highway. The sun rises around 8 am, casting a cold, gray light on the highway. Red rocks and sand cover the area with parse tree's and few bushes. The scenery continues well into northern Utah. The Bisons NavDat display shows the vehicle on course, and two hours ahead of schedule.

A fitful Miri awakes from her trauma induced sleep just after sunset. Her spirits seem high as she makes he way to Grendels couch. She settles her art supplies on the couch next to Grendels form, and then climbs up. Making herself comfortable she starts dawing again as the vehicle travels through the high desert.

2 miles outside Carson City 0430 hours

After two days on the road the group is worn out. The last 24 hours in particular were difficult do to a massive snow storm in northern Utah/southern Idaho. Going was slow and the schedule had fallen drastically behind. To make matters worse the Bison was developing a 'grating' noise emanating somewhere from the rear axel. Despite the confined quarters and the limited variety of food, Miri was in high spirits. The little girl continued her drawing spree, barely sleeping or eating. Just sitting, often leaning, against the rigger as the trip wore one. Every hour or so she cranked out a new, highly detailed picture. At first she drew more of the smiling happy elf from her first picture, then it began to take on darker tones. Finally she started drawing pictures things she was seeing, she sketched to near perfect detail the entire inside of the RV. A long with portraits of Delacroix and Sharpe. Who was not particulary happy about it, "she's like a damn camera with those pencils," the indian complained.

A warning chime sounded over the network as the left rear transfer coupling dropped an additional two percent, from eighty one to seventy nine, just outside the maximum continuous range. Grendel routed more torque away from the coupling, unloading the system in order to prevent a catastrophic failure. The Bison's speed slowed by another four meters per hour. Repairs would be required soon.

Two timelines glowed in his displays, the one on the left counted down the times, speeds, and distances they would ideally have made. The one on the right reflected reality. With a thought, he replaced one with the other. They were now on a new timeline. It would be useless to attempt to catch up with the original schedule now that this problem had cropped up. To do so would only invite sloppiness.

Turning his attention to the comm interface, he opened up the local matrix guide for Carson City and began to search for a twenty four hour garage suitable for his needs.

While the indian seemed to find the little girls drawings an anoyance, Delacroix embraced the drawings, much like a father would. ...but the elf was no father figure. The thought came and passed, and the elf frowned.

"Thank you Miri. Your very good with that pencil."

"Grendel, whats our eta? I'm going stir crazy, being trapped in the RV."

"At present speed our ETA to Sacramento remains at 37 hours 18 minutes. However, the Bison's powertrain is now operating at less than eighty percent max efficiency. I cannot guarantee that we can sustain this level of operations for the required time period. Furthermore, even if we did, it would leave the Bison in an degraded state, which would pose an unacceptable risk should we encounter any opposition. I am in the process of arranging a suitable location to effect repairs. You'll have a chance to stretch your legs there."

Grendel routes a comm call to the LTG number listed under R&S 24-hour Towing and Salvage.

The automated message for R&S gave the address and instructions for using there 24 hour self service garage. It only takes about twenty minutes to find it and is located on the outskirts of Carson City. The building itself is somewhat dilapidated, the windows are boarded up and a fair amount of oil is has stained the drive. A automated machine sits in front of the large doors, a neon lite proclaims 'Pay Here'. There is a slot for cash or cred. The garage rents by the hour, at 150 per and a three hour minimum. Inside are all the tools and equipment a rigger could dream of. There just no as new or robust as they once were. Magnetic locks prevent the tools from leaving the premises, and it looks like the power tools run on the same clock as the timer outside. A row of vending machines provide enough soy food to feed a small army. And the bathrooms look usable if not pleasant.

After an initial surveillance pass by the Condor to clear the area, the Bison rolls into the parking lot outside the garage. Grendel buzzes down the window and pays for four hours of worktime. The rickety garage door cranks upward, revealing the dimly lit vehicle bay. The clearance is tight, but the Bison just fits inside. With a thought, the elf shifts all network protocols to his portable, releasing the five point restraints on the command couch and exiting the vehicle. Overhead, the Condor takes up a 500m radius orbit centered on the garage, its surveillance feed remoted to a corner of Grendel's vision.

"All right, I've got to take a look at the drive train. I'll have a better estimate of the repair time required once I get beneath the chassis. Keep an eye out and don't wander too far."

Leaving his long coat on the command couch, he pulls a wheeled dolly from a cargo rack on the garage wall. It's cramped for his bulky frame, but beggars can't be choosers. The elf disappears beneath the heavy truck, eyes scanning critically along the vehicle's drive train.

After a few minutes of staring up at the innards of his truck, Grendel hears a scuffing and scraping noise followed by some grunting. A glance down at his feet shows Miri struggling to get under the truck. Success shows on her face with a smile as she slides on up to the elf. She looks up at the RV.

After a moments pause, Grendel taps a finger against the clear plastic protective covers over his cybereyes. Then points to Miri, then to the wall where the garage's safety gear is kept.

Miri scrambled out form under the vehicle and over to the walls. It only took her a few moments to slap on the goggles and come running back to the Bison. Soon she was back in place beside the Rigger.

@ Delacroix,

The last day had you feeling better. A sense of purpose and direction had lifted your spirit. That cam crashing down after Grendel parked in the garage. Sitting on the bench next to the riggers couch were two drawings. Both were obviously of you. One was light and bright, a happy version of yourself, dressed in the uniform of a Tir Ghost. The other was dark and evil. You are dressed in all black and standing in a pile of bodies.

Once given a clear view of the left rear drive mount, the damage becomes obvious. The heavy strain coupled with the cold weather caused a spiral fracture of the second stage ceramic torque disc. The fracture was small, extending only half a dozen centimeters across the disc, but enough to require replacement. Luckily, the work was only a matter of a couple hours. He carried spares on hand for just this eventuality. Grendel slid out from beneath the truck. The rear doors swung open in response to his silent command, and he opened the spares locker.

"Good news, gentlemen. The repairs will not be difficult. We should be back on the road within four to six hours."