Disclaimer: I don't own DP.
BGM: "Last Ride of the Day" by Nightwish.
Deadland Carousel
"Agh," she groaned. "It just never ends."
"Look on the bright side. At least we're not lost," replied her traveling companion as he tapped at something on his PDA.
The girl glared him into silence. The effect was aided by the streaks of machine oil on her face and arms, not to mention the hefty-looking wrench in her right hand. "Nice going, Tucker. Haven't you ever heard of Murphy's Law?"
"Of course I do. 'If there are two or more ways to do something, and one of those ways can result in a catastrophe, then someone will do it,'" he finished smugly.
She blinked. "What? No. I meant 'If it can go wrong, it will go wrong.'"
He started in realization, looking up from his PDA. "Sam, that's a simplified version of Finagle's Law, not-"
"Tucker! You see this face?" Sam pointed to her face. "This is not my 'give-a-crap' face. I could not care less about that right now."
"Then why did you ask me about it?" he asked. Her face did look kind of frown-y and scrunched up, but he wasn't going to tell her that. His arm was already in pain, and there was no Danny handy to stick his foot in his mouth and take the heat for him. No need to risk it.
She groaned, putting one hand on her hip. "Because you and I both know that the minute someone says that something won't happen, it will happen. If Danny is glad it's not raining, it will start pouring. And right now, thanks to you, we're going to be lost!"
Tucker scoffed, "You're kidding. I just fixed the Specter Speeder before we left. We've got enough charge to last a week, emergency food for three weeks-"
"Three days, the way you eat. And there had better be something healthy in there."
He raised an eyebrow. "Because you like how cardboard tastes?"
"No," she replied matter-of-factly. "It's because you never eat health food, so I know there'll be something left for me."
He gave her a hangdog look. "That's cold."
"But true," she rebutted, then yelped in surprise as a bit of falling debris hit her shoulder. Brushing herself off and checking for bleeding, she barked, "Tucker. Make yourself useful and help me with this!"
"How? In case you haven't noticed, I kinda can't walk right now." Tucker gestured broadly at his legs. His shoes were off, along with his left sock. Said foot was wrapped tightly in several layers of bandages, and he had it propped on the arm of the copilot's seat to elevate it. Thank the technology gods for icepacks and non-aspirin.
"Yes, you can."
"Not if I want this sprain to heal anytime this week, I can't. Didn't you sprain your wrist a few years back? If I mess with it before the swelling goes down, it'll take even longer!"
She narrowed her eyes at him and muttered, "Fine. Just don't blame me if I mess up the repairs."
"How many of Mr. and Mrs. Fenton's lectures have we sat through over the years?" Tucker deadpanned. "I'd be worried sick about the poor Speeder if something vital got hit, but it's mostly cosmetic damage as far as the hardware component goes."
Mutely, Sam pointed at the hole in the side of the weapons bay (which made up most of the Speeder) that she was trying to fix.
"Okay, it's not all cosmetic," he backtracked. "But considering that's the worst of it, and we just escaped from an upgraded Technus without help, I'm calling it a win overall."
"Just because you keep saying it doesn't make it true!" she snapped.
"I know that, but someone has to be reasonable, and you're too mad to think straight right now. It's not Danny's fault his parents dragged him off to visit his Aunt Agatha. He only spent five hours ranting about it."
"It wasn't five hours."
"I timed him."
She looked at him quizzically. "Why?"
"So I could use it for blackmail material later. Duh."
She sighed. "Fine, it wasn't his fault, but I still hate being in the Ghost Zone without him."
"Hey, when the Keeper of Records says he has an urgent message for Phantom and Phantom can't come, Team Phantom's gotta step up," he remarked, grinning cheesily.
The Specter Speeder's cockpit was quiet for a minute, save for the buzz and whir of machinery, the quiet tapping of Tucker's pen, and squeaking and clanking noises from the soon-to-be ex-hole in the wall.
"Tucker, I had to literally drag you aboard the Speeder, and you only agreed at all because of Rule 9."
"Hey," he whined. "It wasn't that bad. And what's Rule 9, anyway?" Sam turned to look at him, and he explained, "I forget what it was."
She sighed. "'Humans are not to enter the Ghost Zone without backup under any circumstances.'"
Tucker smirked. "You forgot about Rule 9a. 'That means you, Sam.'"
"Yeah, I – hey! Tucker, when I finish this patch job, I'm going to introduce your head to this wrench."
"No!" he yelped, ducking down in the seat and putting his arms over his head. "Not the face!"
Sam definitely didn't smile a tiny bit at that. "Too late for that, Tucker. You're already hideous."
"Noooo…" he wailed piteously.
She rolled her eyes. "Just fix your end, okay? I don't know Java from mocha."
"Sam."
"What?"
"Java is a programming language. Mocha is a fancy coffee drink."
"I know that, Tucker. I was joking."
He pursed his lips, face set into a disapproving scowl. "You don't joke about computers, Sam. You just don't."
"Why not?" she muttered absently.
"Do I joke about your volunteer work?"
"…No."
"That's why."
Sam grunted in response. That was the closest he was going to get to an apology, but whatever. He knew what she meant. Discussion over, Tucker turned back to his PDA.
"Virus scans are done."
"Did they find anything?"
He reached up to adjust his glasses, absentmindedly replying, "It's Technus. There's always something that gets by. I just have to find and destroy it with extreme prejudice before his malware from hell takes over my PDA." Or worse, the Speeder, but some things really didn't need saying right now.
His eyes widened. "Oh."
Sam started. "Oh? That didn't sound like a good 'oh', Tucker."
"That's because it's not," he said flatly.
Now Sam was beginning to worry. Tucker was the reigning drama queen of their group. If he was being quiet and serious, one of two things had happened. Either lives were at risk, or something other than his PDA was beyond salvage. Since neither of them was really injured, that left the second option.
"How bad is it?" she asked as she put the wrench back into the toolbox and latched it shut. She grabbed a rag and wiped off her hands as she climbed back up to the copilot's seat.
Tucker looked over at her, wide-eyed. "Promise not to hurt me?"
"Is it your fault?"
"Not technically, no," he trailed off. But it was his responsibility. "The navigation system's shot."
Sam slumped. "What."
Tucker muffled what was either a groan or a curse, and explained, "Look, when Technus tried to take over the Specter Speeder, he didn't completely fail. He left a few 'presents' behind. My antivirus got most of them quarantined by now, but not only is the main interface malfunctioning, the navigation system is completely screwed."
"And by screwed, you mean…?"
"I mean I'm a technogeek, not a miracle worker. He's completely wiped the database. Oh, we can still orient ourselves," he said in a tone that completely failed to be reassuring. "We just have no map to use the compass with."
The Specter Speeder's cockpit was silent once more, the kind of silence that happens just before lightning strikes or a bomb goes off, where even the surroundings seem to sympathetically freeze in fear.
"WHAT!" Sam roared.
"Ow, right in my ear," Tucker whimpered.
"No map, no map – you idiot, I knew you jinxed us," she fumed.
"Hey, technically the damage was done before I said that," he shot back. "Besides, there's nothing I can do about it."
"Why didn't you back it up?"
"Besides the obvious?"
"What's so obvious, then? Go ahead, enlighten me," she said venomously.
"I can't put backups on my PDAs because they keep getting melted, possessed, crushed or otherwise destroyed. I can't back up the map in the lab computer because the program needed to view the map is a spacehog, and there's a risk Danny's mom would find it. I can't back it up on my home computer because my parents won't let me customize it on pain of being grounded 'til I'm forty. I can't back it up on a CD because…"
"Because?"
"Oops. I may have left my CDs at home." At the thunderous expression on Sam's face, he hurried to explain, "I thought this was just going to be a routine run! Go in, take the message, deliver it to Danny and then wait for the chaos to start. Most of Danny's enemies are dangerous in an in-your-face kind of way, punches and explosions and possessed stuff, and those CDs are really fragile in comparison."
"In comparison to what?" she snapped.
"To any Fenton tech or anything along those lines, ever."
So, he might have a point. "I'm still going to hurt you as soon as we get home."
"Way to motivate," he griped, turning back to the PDA with a frown. "I think I can fix some of the interface problems, though. At least enough that we'll be able to drive it."
Another sigh. "Small blessings."
"Oh, that reminds me! Sam, when we get home-?"
"When we get home, what?" she urged him to continue.
"Can you ask your Grandma Ida for that dumpling recipe? I want to see if Mom can make them."
Sam's right eyelid began to twitch. "Fix the damn Speeder."
"Yes, ma'am." Baiting Sam was a nice distraction, but without Danny to mediate, it wasn't worth the trouble. Oh, yeah, this was gonna be fun. Not.
A/N: Yes, I'm starting yet another new story. The good news is, it's not planned to be very long. 3-5 chapters, most likely, but don't hold me to it. The genre is going to take a swift left turn at Albuquerque soon enough. Oh, and I will explain why they haven't just called for help soon.