Little Rock

A settlement in the middle of an ancient necropolis, Little Rock has long been dominated by audacious scavvies plundering the ruins. But all things change. Another addition to the scorched earth materials.

Justice demands it!

Matt Taibbi of Rolling Stone fame plans the establishment of a new, improved Supreme Court to rule in cases of assholedom and fuckhattery. I think it's about time someone took care of that. Judges will get cool outfits complete with ibex-horned helmets and flowing robes. I'm quite sure that there will be other perks. If you have some legal experience or think that you are a preeminent scholar of assholism drop him a line - you might just be selected to be one of the nine that will become members of this august body.

More important than the Nobel Prize

At least I think so and you know I'm right. The Beast presents it yearly shitlist, the 50 most loathsome Americans of 2010. It's all you need to read to keep up with American politics and culture. Via the Beast.

The sprat talks

The feral scout, handcuffed to the Conquistador, keeps his sullen silence. He does not even give his name. At some point Zed Memphis has had enough “Quite the joker you are. Not only do you bring spears to a gunfight, but you also enter a motorcycle race on foot. Then you enter question time and don’t say a word.” As he strolls over to his trail bike, he glares viciously at the captive “Maybe I should chain you to this here bike and drag you through the shrubs for a bit. Maybe then we can talk, huh?” The others look on uncomfortably, but no one says a word. Zed seems to be quite serious “What do you say? We talk now, or I use your sorry ass for clearing bushwork and we talk then.”

The young man swallows. Zed fiddles with his bike and a tow cable. “Alright. Alright. I am Spinoza, with the HanHan.” Mal Porter nods at Zed and says “Okay. Zed, I’ll take it from here. Spinoza, we just want some info, and if you don’t lie to us, nobody is going to harm you. But if you start to bullshit us, I’ll leave you to Zed’s tender mercies. Do we have a deal?” “Alright. I am Spinoza. I came to the road because a saw a large dust cloud moving west. I am the lookout and wanted to see if there were any tracks, or if the vehicles dropped something. The hollows here are a good hiding place.” “Yes they are. Have you ever seen someone wearing clothes like this?” Mal points at Rod, who shows his benefactor garbs. “No?” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “You live at the old junkyard, don’t you?” Spinoza nods “Had any visitors lately?” “Some hunters tried to drop a lone traveler a month back or so, but he was able to convince them somehow to bring him before our chief, Ghost Eye. Ghost Eye struck him dead.” “What?” “Ghost Eye is our chief and our greatest warrior. He looked upon the man, and before the stranger could even speak, Ghost Eye went for him with bare hands, and the stranger defended himself. But it was over in a second – Ghost Eye struck the man’s neck with his fist and he fell down. I saw it myself.” Mal ponders this “Did this visitor have any strange gear on him?” “I don’t know. He was dragged into Ghost Eyes tent, and when we burned the body it was naked.” Mal glances at the others. Dan seems to be impassive, but the others seem to share his impression that this visitor might have been their false benefactor. “This Ghost Eye – how did he come to be your chief?” “Ghost Eye – he is more than a man. The old women say that he is a demon made from sunlight and dust, but he is the best chief we ever had. Two years ago, he just enters the junkyard. It was a hard time then. Men coming from the jail had killed or chief before that, and we were suffering. Some old warriors even talked about giving up the junkyard and trying our luck elsewhere, maybe go into the Dog Mountains. He sneaked by all our guards and just walked up to our chief of the time. He challenged him to a duel mano a mano – that’s how we elect our chief. He punched the guy just once, and he fell down, puking blood. And thus he became our leader.” “And he does good in that position, huh?” “He is not only a great fighter. He is also very smart. He knows medicine and saved many HanHan with his art. First, the women talked that he was a stranger, a demon. But when he saved their children from the fever, that talk stopped. He also gave us new rules – Who to attack on the road and how. That didn’t sit well with the warriors, but he made them understand that the men from the jail would come again and again if we kept up our old ways. He said that we would still raid, but only selected targets. Those traveling alone. Those not belonging to the jail, or any other big group. He said we would raid smarter and better. He said that nobody cares if five percent are missing. We did as he said, and we prospered. The last two years were good years.” “Five percent?” “That’s what he told us.” “A nice guy all around – What can you tell me about the guards at the junkyard, traps, fortifications, that kind of stuff? Come on, don’t be shy!” While Spinoza was quite outspoken on the achievements of his great leader, he now returns to stony silence. It seems to be dragging time, but Mal Porter relents.

He leaves the captive and huddles with the others “I think we have found our false benefactor, and he is dead. But Ghost Eye seems to belong to the same club. The mindset, the skills…he fits the profile of these agents perfectly. So one false benefactor is in the ground, and the other is on the throne.” Rod nods “The question being: Why is he doing what he is doing? Is he grooming the HanHan for greater things? Is he trying to destabilize Refugium by aiding their closest enemies?” Zed chimes in “But why did he kill the other the guy, if the belong to the same team. Spineboy here said they didn’t talk for a second. Ghost Eye sees the man and decides to kill him then and there, and that’s that for our benefactor.” Rod says “Well, one of them off the table and that is always good news. But I would like to learn more about this Ghost Eye. How do you propose we proceed?” Mal says “We return to Refugium and share the good news. Spinoza comes with us and stays in custody, or he’ll wander back home and warn Ghost Eye about us. The monks can keep him in one of their many, many jail cells.” Nobody objects, and the men walk to their vehicles. Another talk with Ling awaits.

Going for pike, getting a sprat

Father Ling meets them in the old prison cafeteria. He seems to think that they are reasonable men, or maybe he wants to show the trust he puts in his guests. And he gets to hear quite a story: Benefactor Rod tells him of the false benefactors travelling the Desert Heart, dangerous men following an unknown purpose, infiltrating various communities. He confides that one of these agents seems to be targeting Refugium - maybe to subvert the society of the monks to his purpose, maybe to destroy it. Maybe he is after something held in Refugium's walls. Mal Porter chips in: The monastery seems to be very difficult to break into, and it is quite possible that the false benefactor is hiding someplace close, biding his time and looking for weaknesses. The false benefactors are patient - it is quite possible that he has been hiding in the waste around Refugium for weeks, trying to find a safe way in. Father Ling seems to be unmoved by these revelations, even if he utters his concerns and offers his thanks for the information shared. He seems to understand that the visitors preferred to observe Refugium for a while before coming to him with this story. The monastery and the group have a common interest - find the false benefactor and take him out.

A deal is hammered out - a serious deal paid in ammunition, not in scripts. Father Ling offers hundred rounds of rifle ammo, if the group neutralizes the false benefactor, meaning that he is driven off or killed. He puts twenty rounds in the pot if the group does some heavy-duty searching around the monastery, even if they do not find the false benefactor. Mal locks horns with the old master of Refugium (the false benefactor being one of the most dangerous beings walking God's earth, Mal and his people risking - nay, forfeiting - life and limb, being the only ones who are willing and able to tussle with such an entity, remunerations for mercenaries of their caliber being what they are; while on the other hand one could argue that the visitors are just doing what they came here to do, that the false benefactor will surely have some interesting gear on him, that the protection of Refugium and is a long term investment everyone can get his head around, that, contrary to the first impression, the monastery is not rich, not by a long shot etc. etc.) and gets Ling to promise reparations for any damaged armors and depleted first-aid bags - up to a point.

When Balthasar Cut's tanker caravan leaves the next morning, the Nissan Conquistador and a motoscout on a black trail bike follows them. The additional vehicles ride very close to the last tanker's plume of dust, vanishing from sight. When the convoy reaches the hills to the west, the jeep and its escort are gone. A young HanHan, charged with keeping an eye on the route, sees the dust cloud and the glint of moving metal in the early light and starts the long hike towards the road, if only to count the tire tracks.

“What now?” says Dan Hawking. The jeep is hidden in an old canal running parallel to the ancient road connecting Refugium to the world. The decades have it filled its bottom with sand, and all sorts of shrubs cling to its concrete walls. They are about five clicks west of Refugium. “Now we wait.” answers Mal, while he begins to cover his car with camouflage netting “We check our surroundings. We make sure we can move without being seen. If we are lucky, we might even spot him from where we are. It’s one of the few places in this valley where you can easily hide a car – or a small camp. But let’s wait for the dust to settle first”. Hours pass. Mal, Dan and Zed Memphis lurk at the lip of the canal, binoculars scanning the flat country around them, while Rod sits in the jeep fiddling with his grenade launcher.

“Visitor. One guy, slightly to my left, five hundred meters.” Dan whispers. They all see him after this warning. A feral moving carefully from bush to bush, moving with a peculiarly crouched gait, homing in on the ancient road. Rod has joined the men at the top of the canal “Is he alone?” “Maybe” Mal answers “Hopefully. He probably just wants to check out the road.” “What now?” Zed chimes in “I say we take him and ask him some questions about the goings on in these parts. Maybe his mob saw our man and can point us in the right direction.” “Well, it would be a start.” The young man has come closer. Small, sinewy, close cropped black hair. He wears some kind of rusted metal armor, blending into the dusty brown background. A quiver with slender throwing spears hangs over one shoulder, a linen bag over the other. Looking through the binoculars, Mal mutters “Car parts. Lots of car parts. Nice rims on that one.” Zed crawls to the bottom of the canal and starts to prime his trail bike. When the scout is about twenty paces from the canal, he suddenly stops, sniffs the air and draws one of the spears from his back. Mal whispers “Damn, he’s on to us, ” but by then, Rod has already risen from his hideout and made two steps toward the feral, his arms stretched wide, a smile on his face. He looks right at the feral and announces “We come in peace, young man!” The feral casts his spear at him, a powerful throw that misses the benefactor by a yard. In the canal, a small engine revs up. The feral draws another spear and turns to run, as Mal and Dan rise. Then, Zed jumps the lip of the canal on his bike, going after the feral in hot pursuit. The others just watch, as the man from Memphis rams the feral with the bike and goes down with his victim in a cloud of dust. This is not a boisterous youth from the streets of Demeter trying to test his limits but a hard-bitten survivor of the wastes. Nonetheless the outcome of the struggle is never in doubt: After the cursing and kicking is done, Zed returns to the canal, dragging the handcuffed young feral by his neck. “Okay, bub, question time.”

Holy Flame City

The Holy Flame burns bright, and its light shines far. If you are not west of the Great White, you will feel its influence, not as strikingly as LAW's grip or the roar of the railer's trains on the Vever, but it will be there: In sureshots, marvellous trade goods - and steel coin. The judges say that a good jhat will go anywhere, but when they get there, the all-powerful Value is already waiting for them. This addition to the scorched earth materials post describes this mighty city.

New Year, brilliant new webcomic

Romantically Apocalyptic is a real find: High quality artwork (no stick figures here), coupled with wry humor and a large dollop of madness. You should definitely give it a look. Via io9.