Suddenly, it all seemed so futile. All the work, everything. What was the use of setting up a perimeter-alarm? He was one, and they were many. Sooner or later it would all be over, one way or another, he'd be Grendler meat! Dead! He hated being alone in the dark! Hated the memories that were bound to come. They always did when he was alone. He found a beer-cag, and opened it, swallowing down the tasty brew in big gulps, straight from the spounce. The combination of beer and self-pity soon had him thrashing about the place, fighting the demons of his mind, ramming his fist into a pall of machineparts. The pain sobered him up a little, and he felt even more sorry for himself, having hurt his hand too. But who cared? By noon tomorrow, Walman and Baines would be safely back at the basecamp, telling their stories of how the Grendlers had taken him... And by then it probably would be true. He'd be eaten. Alive. And Bess... Another surge of self-pity washed over him, sending him face first into his bed, crying. Sometime during the remains of the night, between feeling sorry for himself and finishing the beer-cag on his own, Morgan's brain started easing an idea into his fuzzy consciousness, anchoring it firmly; Build your own L.T.V. You've got the parts, a repairs manual, and all the time in the world. You built the perimeter-alarm without knowing how, so why not a light terrain vehicle? With the navi-com hooked up, you'd have no problem finding them. You know the co'ords, don't you? What are you waiting for? No one's going to come and rescue you. They don't know where you are. They think you dead by now. Prove them wrong! Help yourself for once! DO IT! He woke with a startle, the words still ringing in his ears, alongside a heavy, thundering hangover that sent him crashing out the door, emptying his stomach round the corner. «Well, there's got to be a first time for all...» He moaned, as he stumbled shakily over the empty cag just inside the door, seeking refuge from the merciless sunlight hurting his eyes. «Blast!» He found some pain-blocks in the first-aid kit, swallowing it down with the last water from his canteen, then sat back waiting for the drugs to kick in. «I've got to find some water too, else I'm in real trouble.» He told himself, unaware that he had fallen back to his old 'station-habit' of talking loud to himself. He moved carefully, making himself some semolina for breakfast. It was tasteless enough that he could force some down without retching. He tried to drink some canned milk, but just the smell of it was enough to make his stomach threaten to return his breakfast up the way it had come down, so he stopped trying. He dozed off for an hour or two. And when he woke this time, he felt well enough to try to venture outside, to look for some water. He stood in-front of the pod, shading his hurting eyes. His sunglasses wasn't of any much help either, but it didn't matter. He had to find some water. If only he could get up high enough to scan the area... Over the trees... His still sluggish brain, protested against his attempts of thinking, but slowly gave in, helping him out. If he could make himself a ladder, he could climb up on the roof, using a distance-gauge for a Jumper... The packing crate from yesterday! He had taken it apart, to use it for firewood. If he nailed the bits together differently, it would become a short, but usable ladder. He soon regretted his excitement as a powerful dizziness, companied by a solid headache, almost laid him to the ground. Another pain-block and some milk later, and he felt slightly human again, going about his task. Thankful for once for his bureaucratic habits of cutting expenses by using things over again, he had no problems finding nails for his job: he had saved most of the ones that held the crate together. He found a hammer in a tool box, and set to work. Even a simple construction as a ladder is no easy task for someone who was raised in front of a computerscreen, and fighting a hangover, but he felt pretty pleased with himself, when he some hour later placed his self-made ladder up against the wall, and it held his weight. It was a little to short, but it was no problem getting up. Stretching out his back, he stood up on the roof, taking a deep breath. It felt good. Suddenly he started laughing. «Look at me. I'm not afraid of falling?!» He spread his arms out, as to embrace the world, lifting his face to the sun, actually enjoying it. For a moment he really understood the feeling of joy Bess felt when she got up every morning, looking out on a new day. He shook his head, smiling. «What's happening to me? Must be the hangover. Probably something in the beer.» He quickly scanned his surroundings. A blink of metal in between the trees to his left, caught his attention. Was that... He found the distance-gauge, and zoomed in on the object. It was the life-pod! Had to be! Then the brook was only a coupple of hours away! And so had his rescue been! Morgan climbed down of the roof, setting himself down heavily on the lower rung of his ladder. «Well, at least I'm not that lost anymore, and there's water nearby.» He sighed, fighting not to let his self-pity get the best of him this time. It was to late by now to venture out to get water, and the thought of walking the distance, with all the Grendlers lurking near by... He started to study the L.T.V. repair manual instead, busying himself to keep his mind occupied with something worth while. «You got to be kidding.» He looked to the manual again. «They actually come in sections, ready to snap together, fasten the bolts, and voilà, you got your very own, custom made L.T.V. ?» It couldn't be as easy as that!? But, the manual said so, black on white. And there was only one way to find out if it was true. He got the inventorylist, brought the trolley, and started picking up all the different parts he would need. «Wow, there's enough parts to make at least three whole vehicles, and still have spareparts to go.» He smiled, as he checked off on the list what he had taken with him. «Ever the bureaucrat...» The smug voice in the back of his mind teased, but he ignored it. He started unwrapping the modules, checking the serialnumbers up against the numbers in the manual. «Right. Now how do we do this...» A partly forgotten memory of a childhood school-friend, surfaced in his mind. Something about a electronics-set, and how his friend had struggled to put together a simple electro-engine, not succeeding in making it work, assembling and disassembling it over and over, until he in frustration had thrown all the parts into the box, showeing it in-under his bed, marching out of the room, enraged to tears. The then eleven years old Morgan had secretly fished the box out again, assembled the engine without the plans, remembering what his friend had done; and it had worked! He had attatched the battery, set it spinning, and it caught, humming steadily. Easy as nothing. Happily, he fetched his friend, showing him the engine, thinking he'd be glad too. But his friends features had darkened, grabbing the front of Morgan's shirt he had hissed «Show off!», and punched Morgan in the face, breaking his nose. Soon after, his friend had 'wanished'. It was about that time that Morgan had begun to understand that he was somehow different from the other kids. He just couldn't see how. Or why. Concentrating again on his work, he called up images from his memories of how Danziger went about fixing the vehicles. More than once had he stood watching, as the blond mechanic laboriously had put the greasy parts together again after cleaning and oiling them, thinking what a sticky job that was. Danziger had usually chased him away, though, throwing oily rags at him telling him to go do something worth while, or pest somebody else. Morgan did as he remembered Danziger did, and worked all night in the light from the halogen-lamps and the moons. By daybreak, the L.T.V. was ready for the first test drive, and he angled it's solar-panels towards the first rays of sun to charge it. Making shure the perimeter was secure, he headed inside the pod, dropping down on his bed, to tired to even eat.
They arrived in front of the mess-tent just after midday, when everybody in the camp were resting after dinner. Danziger stretched himself and got up from his makeshift hammock outside his tent, and came over. «Well?» He greeted Baines and Walman, giving them a hand with their equipment. «Everything OK ?» They just grinned back, and pulled their shoulders, and Danziger took that as affirmative. Morgan climbed slowly out of the vehicle, looking around him. «Bess is out with the kids, picking some fruit in the woods over there, they'll be back by nightfall.» Danziger smiled, patting Morgan's shoulder. «Go take a quick shower in the meantime, you guys smell like you could need one. Phew! What you do? Roll in Grendler shit?» He waved them off towards the washing-place. «I'll take care of this.» He pulled the Mag-Pro from Morgan, and placed it with the others in the backseat of the L.T.V., jumping into the drivers-seat, and driving it of to park it with the other vehicles. «Come on, big guy. Shower's waiting.» Walman pulled Morgan with him, following Baines into the shower.
Yawning so bad he was afraid his jaws would pop out of their sockets, Morgan stood in the doorway, trying to wake up. He had found some cans of ready-made coffee amongst the contraband's, gulping down one as it was, heating the other carefully over the flame of the gas-oven. It tasted just as awful hot as it did cold, and he knew from experience that his system didn't take kindly to coffee. The two cans he had drunk probably contained enough caffeine to keep him awake for two whole days, since he held some intolerance to the stuff. Staying awake, was the desired effect. What it did to his stomach was not. He gathered the empty beer-cag, his canteen, and some water-cans, and stowed it in the back of his L.T.V. He had chosen not to put any extra seats in it, apart from the drivers-seat, leaving him lots of storagespace. He eased himself down into the seat, looking over the manual board. Closing his eyes, he saw how the others worked the dials and switches, in order to make it start. «OK. Here we go...» The engine hummed smoothly, catching right away. «Yesss!» He grinned, carefully setting the vehicle moving. He had added the navi-com. to the standard equipment, to help him find his way. He stopped just before the perimeter, pressed a button on his comm-sole, and saw the faint-blue strips of light blink out. Driving through it he got stated that the remote switch had worked. Once outside, he turned the vehicle round, pressed the button again, and drove carefully by the side of the perimeter, heading towards the brook. The whole trip down took less than an hour, and he parked the L.T.V. in the sun, to charge it. Having filled up his water-utensils, he decided to take a bath, while he was at it. Without a second thought, he stripped naked, and dived head first into the pool at the river bend, splashing around. But the water was so cold, he soon hurried up again, shivering. Stretching himself out in the warm sun on the thick grass beside the brook, he let the sun dry him, and he almost dozed off, not seeming to have a care in the world... Suddenly, a distant howl woke him from his daydreams, and it took him a few seconds to realize, it was his perimeter alert. Jumping into his trousers, and throwing the rest of his cloths into the back, he swung his vehicle around, giving full throttle back to the supply-pod. He was within view of it, before he realized what he was doing. It probably was a Grendler, or a Koba. And he was heading straight towards it?! «I must have lost my mind!» He whimpered, using the remote button, coming up to the perimeter. The awful howl ended, and he pressed the button again, reactivating the system as soon as he was inside. Carefully he got out of the L.T.V. with his Mag-Pro ready. Nothing inside the fence. But there were Grendler-tracks all around the outside. Some scorched hair and pieces of cloth told its tale. «It really works.» Morgan sighed, relieved, heading back to the pod. Leaving most of the water in the vehicle, he begun packing some food into his 'private' contraband-crate, choosing dried foods, high on energy and vitamins. Carefully he placed the knap-sack with the dress, the shoes and the jewelry he had found for Bess, in the special compartment in the lid, filling up the rest of the space with some of the gourmet foods and snacks. He couldn't bring it all with him this time. He had to make priorities, should he manage to catch up with the Advance Team before to long. Just him, alone, knowing most of the way, it shouldn't take more than about a week, he calculated. A tent! Dang! He had almost forgot. He hurried into the back of the pod, finding himself a small one-man tent and a hammock to go with it. It would have to do.