Fourth Earth

Prospecting On The Past

        The fall was short to be honest. No brutal crippling injuries or things like that. Always a good thing, though. I pulled out my flashlight, looking around. It was a long corridor, ending and beggining abruptly. At the front of the plane there was a glass dome looking into mud and bugs. A gap in the dom allowed a large gun to poke through, though the ancient device was buried in mud and debris. But then I spotted the true prize: Two large wooden crates. Well, the crates weren't the prize. But what was in them would be. Military gear, maybe even mortar rounds I could sell to the local militia. Three lemons on this slot machine, bitch.

        Manuevering through the structure was difficult with the metal supports getting in the way. I managed, however. I got to the crates, and pulled out one of the few tools this trade requires: a crowbar. I use the cumbersome tool to pry the aging wood apart. The wood pulls away easily, weakened with age. Upon opening the crate, a tiny avalanche of styrofoam peanuts pours out. I quickly dig through them, the zeal of success being all that mattered in that moment. From all the digging, I found my prize: MRE's and utensils. And the second crate was full of even better gear: respirators. The Militia was going to lose a lot of money on these. 

        I less than gracefully climbed out of the bomber, where Buck was waiting rather impatiently. I opened his rear saddlebag, stashing my new treasures. I scanned the horizon once again, on the lookout for predators or other unsavory things. I then went to work, dissasembling the fallen wing of the plane, harvesting as much precious metal as I could. It fell away from the structuring in neat little squares. I was about a quarter the way down when my blowtorch ran out of fuel. I went to Buck's side but threw down my tools in frustration. I forgot to buy extra fuel cans! Satan-Damned forgetfullness! I may or may not have threw a tantrum for the next several minutes.

        After my severe lapse in logic, I brought myself back to reality. I slowly collected the pieces of metal from the ground. About 20 kilos. Buck is gonna throw a fit. I lashed it to his back, and he tried to kick me , but he missed. I swung myself up and rode northbound. Time to get this to market.

        The ride to Lytle Cuckoo would take about an hour. In the mean time, I focused forward. Worrying about what was passing was a good way to fall off. Buck was definitely not in a good mood. He tried to pull the reins from me, stopped out of nowhere, among other annoying things. 

        I could clearly see the small town now. The mudflats would be behind me for a few hours. As I pulled up to the gate, pulled on the reins, stopping Buck from running straight into it. He sneezed loudly. One of the giards spoke to me.

        " Bubbles!" I hated that name, "Ah' let y'all in right away," He scrambled for the switch that opened the rusty gate. With a metal-on-metal screeching, the gate slid away. I gave him a nod of the head, and rode buck into town.

        Lytle Cuckoo was a sad mix of completely random events. It looks like Satan's dumping ground. Everyone says this place use to be a dry dock (whatever that shit is), and that that's why it looks like eight or nine boats fell out of the sky. The rest of the structures were rammed earth, sometimes adding walls to the nava structures, whilst others were their own structures. It was rather confusing. Luckily, I grew up here, so I knew it like the top of my horns. It the center (if you can call it center) of town, there were fifteen or so open stalls were merchants sold their wares, callig prices, and haggling with the  cheapos. It was rather loud, and very annoying. I rode itno the market, dismounting gracefully, and hitching buck to a post. My favorite merchant, No-Bark, immediately ran towards me.

        "Bubbles! How lovely to see you. And I can see you have a lot to sell. Very good indeed," he said quickly.

        "Hey No-Bark.  It's good to see you too. Been almost two weeks. Salvage is growing thin, and I have to go further every time. But I have good stuff. Although I'll have to find a seperate buyer for the scrap,"

        "Well, McCoppin's always buying. Although at a slightly lower rate than normal. SO what have you got for me?"

        "Well, I found a stash of military supplies. MRE's and respirators,"  I said, knowing it would seal the deal that was about to transpire.

        The look in his eyes was rather jovial. He knew this meant profit, including for me, and we were good friends. "Well, I suppose I could take those of your hands, and for a rather generous price," he knew this would seal the deal for me. Money was important to salvagers. Including me.

        We spent the next half hour or so after trading discussing life and how things had been going for the other. Small talk. But then a huge explosion sounded, follwed by the graoning of ancient metal.