Part 2:

The Cargo, the Passenger, and the Mayor

1

A loud booming noise woke him. Briggs raised his head from his steering wheel, the shock and adrenaline wearing off. He felt hollow, worn out, those last hundred miles felt like a journey of a thousand instead. He unbuckled himself from his seat, rising from his small throne, his legs were shaky, but his mind was starting to clear. Climbing down from his driving perch was an easy thing, his left leg almost failed him once, and his strength was starting to leak back into his body. He dusted off his jacket, and his mask, and wiped a slight bit of residue from his goggles. Even though this Rig was mostly airtight, road dust always found a way into the common areas, it vexed him so. He could still hear the storm raging outside, the loading docks would still be closed even if they did let him in. So, he had earned himself a small bit of R&R. He trudged into his living quarters, passing by the armory, the small bathroom, and part of the kitchen.

He disrobed after entering his quarters, his small personal bathroom awaited him. As he threw his garments into a small container next to his personal desk. He would have to run a load of laundry soon, cleanliness helped reduce the smell of the Rig. Living, working, eating, and driving in a large metal can did have its disadvantages. One of which was that the air scrubbers, as well as the AC, did not filter out the bad smells of the outside world, it constantly got wedged into your nose. He turned on his shower, the internal piping coming to life, his water reservoir tank pumps humming to life. He stripped down to his birthday suit, throwing the last bits of his clothes into his metal hamper; the one article that was spared from the wash was his armored duster. That piece he hung on a metal hook sticking from a nearby wall. His hands traced over the well-worn cloth, its multiple pockets bringing back wisps of memory of their use, he patted the thin flexible plates in the back, small puffs of dust kicking up by his touch.

‘Thank you for saving me, I know it’s been hard, but I am glad I dug you out of that old, rotted storage locker. Thank you again, my friend.’

He waltzed into the shower, letting the semi-warm water cascade over his sore body. It felt like a small bit of heaven in this turbulent world. The small led gauge on the shower wall read fifteen percent. Sighing internally, he sped up his otherwise enjoyable shower, he did not have the water to waste on this nicety. He scrubbed his hair, its shortcut scraping against his palms, he then pulled out a bar of soap and started to lather himself from head to toe. He rinsed off, turned off the water, and exited his shower. He stood in front of his sink, looking at himself in the mirror, his own image looking back at him. He looked tired, with bags under his eyes, even the powerful color of his green iris was not enough to hide the bloodshot sclera noticeable even in the low light. His fingers traced scars that criss crossed his body, a roadmap of betrayal, pain, love, loss, and everything in between. He made sure that the two metal plugs that laid over his heart did not have any water damage. All in a day’s work, he supposed. He pressed another small button next to his mirror, the room becoming awash with loud wiring, the air being pushed up from small grates in the floor. He was dry in mere seconds, his body feeling the small prickles of heat from the vents. He left the bathroom, and no wisps of steam followed him. He walked over to a small dresser beside the bed, pulling out his sleeping attire. Dawning them he sat down at his small desk next to the bed. He inserted a small cylinder key towards the edge of the desk, and a series of small locks clicked open as he did. He opened the top drawer and set the medium-sized tome on his desk. The words read ‘Rig Ledger.’ He opened the page marked with a ribbon built into the book’s spine, he pulled out a pen and began to account for the last leg of his journey. He finished with a final note, noting damage that might have been incurred by rushing the walls in the middle of a dust storm, then closed the book with a small thud. Placing it back in its drawer, he pulled out a much smaller, but thicker book from the drawer below it. He left it on his desk as he locked the drawers again. Slipping into his queen-sized bed, sleep took him almost instantly.

His eyes sprang open, his forehead lightly clammy with sweat. Reaching a hollow spot in his bed frame, he pulled out his six-shot .357 revolver, leveling it towards nothing but shadows. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes darted into the darkness, trying to separate his own nightmare from reality. He could still see the white lab coats, the whispered words behind closed doors, their own meaning fading from his sleep-addled brain. Even though it seemed so long ago, the memories still haunted him occasionally. He flipped on a light, its mild illumination bringing clarity to the room, he lifted his watch up, noting the time. Sighing, he put his revolver back into its hiding place.

‘Looks like it’s almost eight in the morning, so that means I slept…almost 9 hours. Thank heavens for that bloody nightmare only waking me up at the very end. I wish my ghosts would leave me alone, or else I am going to start charging them rent.’ Briggs thought.

He got up from his bed, going through his morning routines like clockwork. He entered his bathroom, brushed his teeth, applied a form of deodorant, and went over to his wardrobe that sat flush with the wall. He dressed, put on his duster, picked up the book off his desk, put it into his inside pocket, and headed to the kitchen. Like most things in his Rig, the kitchen area was spartan and well-used, and most appliances were bolted down for constant travel. He flicked a toggle switch next to his blender, and soon natural light poured into his larger living area on his Rig. The built-in metal shutters coming to life let the outside world peek into its smaller more manageable habitat. It looked like the storm was over, the large wall of the City-State handled the blunt weather, and he noticed a few pieces of damaged segments here and there. Nothing new, easily fixed in the long run.

He made himself a small breakfast of eggs, toast, and what he hoped for was sausage made from pork. Or at least it tasted like pork, the man who sold him his provisions in Mile Town was not the most reputable of sorts. He ate his breakfast at a leisurely pace, watching the massive docking structure outside light up with movement, people of all shapes and races started to come out into the yard. A good number of them bore large machines strapped onto their backs, sucking up large quantities of the dust that the storm deposited. It was breakfast and a show all rolled into one. He put his plate into a sink, already laden with a few plates as it was.

I need to clean out the sink, maybe when they are unloading the cargo.

He walked back up to the bridge, climbing the combination of stairs and finishing with a short ladder. He buckled himself into his driver’s seat, and after a few deft movements from his hands, the engine roared to life once more. He started going over a short mental checklist, checking cameras, monitors, equipment, his radio, and everything else that would take almost a day to go over everything with a fine-tooth comb. It seemed briefly that he had lost only two cameras to the storm, which should be easy enough to fix. He pulled his Rig forward; he could hear the jackknifed trailers starting to work their way back into a straight line. The sounds of rugged tires scraping on concrete elicited a loud screeching. He could see several workers holding their heads in their hands trying to block their ears from the sudden intrusion. In a matter of moments, his Rig was aligned again, all couplings on his monitor read ‘green’, and everything was in proper tolerance. He pulled his radio off its hook, one easy flip of a switch and it crackled to life once more.

“Loading dock 12, loading dock 12, this is Briggs, Rig ID number 104-BAV. Thank you again for keeping the gate open for me. Do you have a dock for me to unload? Over.”

The radio crackled for only a few seconds this time, a different voice from last night answered him. It was gruff and sounded like it belonged to someone with a no-nonsense attitude.

“You are either the luckiest SOB out there or something from on high has its eye on you.” There was a wheezing crackle that echoed in his cab, he turned down the volume just a bit, “Yeah, we have a dock for you Briggs, go to dock nineteen, a dockhand named Hammond will take stock of your cargo. Make sure you declare everything; you know the proper procedures. Over”

“Roger that dock control, pulling into dock nineteen, quick question though. I thought that the major handoff of goods was done by the supply counselor. If that has changed, I need to get an update. Over.” Briggs started to pull his Rig towards dock nineteen, large plums of dust rolling off his Rig, dislodged from its jarred movement.

“The battle was going on for almost a full day, a lot of people were moved to their muster stations. Most of the higher-ups are getting moved out of the bunker, so we must do things a bit… old-fashioned.” There was a slight pause, leading to more coughing, “Sorry for the coughing fits, the dust storm kicked up a heck of a ruckus. My lungs aren’t what they used to be. Over”

“That’s fine Dock control, sorry that you are having a rough time, at least the attack force has something else to worry about. Those storms are no joke. Over” He slowly started to slide into a cavernous space, the large yellow-painted nineteen sitting in the middle of the d. This place could easily accommodate a Rig five times the size of the Long Haul. He shook his head trying to fathom what kind of skill it would take to drive such a monster.

“Yeah, spare me your pleasantries, glad that you made it to us in one piece. It looks like you’ve dragged in a couple of bastard raider’s vehicles. There is so much scrap sticking to your undercarriage it’s a wonder that your drive train didn’t seize up. Over.”

“I most likely dragged them in when I plowed through the blockade. Sorry about the mess, I more likely than not tore some divots into your pad. I might need a repair crew and the use of one of your repair bays. I might be here for just a little bit before I move on. Over”

“The good news is, due to the storm, a bunch of incoming cargo got rerouted to safe zones. You literally have the run of Loading Dock 12 for a few short days. The bad news, you will have to submit a request for the bay, then have it signed off, you know the drill. Over”

Briggs sighed hearing that news, going through the proper channel was always time-consuming, however in hindsight Horizon Vision was one of the safer cities in the Midlands. So, jumping through a few hoops was never something that really irked Briggs. It was just another hurdle to go through to get paid, and then get another contract.

“I have another request for Dock Control, I need a medical team down on my dock, I have a wounded passenger that needs immediate attention. Over”

He did not even bother to listen to the response, he put the radio down, clipping it back into its spot. He could not dwell on the paperwork nightmare that was to come. First, he had to get ready to offload his cargo, then tend to his wounded passenger. He just hoped that she did not hate him for ignoring her last request.

******

Hammond gathered his equipment as he headed down to loading dock 12, he was in a good mood today. For one, the attacking army had finally been quelled by the avenging dust storm. Two, there was a shipment to process from the ‘Long Haul’ that had somehow managed to survive the storm, break the blockade, and somehow against all odds, make it through the gate when it was just five grooves. It was an unbelievable miracle; these Rig runners are something of a special breed that is for sure. He rounded his last corner, finally getting a good look at the ‘Long Haul BAV-104’. From this distance it was quite an impressive-looking machine, it was three cars long, it was large, wide, and heavily armored. It looked like it could almost haul an entire city behind it. He knew however that the notion of a Rig hauling a city was pure fantasy, it just seemed like some of these large machines could do that. It was nothing like the ‘Thousand Dunes’, or the ever famous ‘Midnight Runner’, those machines were even larger than this one. The one thing it did have going for it was the driver himself. He was told of the legendary Geller Briggs, the one-man mover from way out west. A man who could do the impossible. Hell, he had done the impossible, he managed to make it through a class five dust storm. Hammond was almost giddy with excitement.

I’ll finally get to meet a legend of the road, in the very flesh. I am so stoked that I managed to get the day shift. He mused to himself.

He slowed to a trot as he approached the operator’s cab in the front, looking up over the one-story tall wheels that just filled him with awe. A small speaker attached to what looked like the outline of a door clicked on. Static cutting through the hustle and bustle of the other docks. The static seemed to oscillate for a moment, then it settled on a tinny-sounding voice.

“Testing, one, two, three, I hope this bloody thing is still working.” The peeved voice said, “I take it, you are the guy coming to check my load?”

Hammond took a calming breath, letting his heart rate slow down from his short little jog. When he finally mustered his courage, he responded.

“Yes sir, the name is Hammond, Dockyard Hammond, it’s a pleasure to talk to you, sir.” He all but saluted as he spoke.

“Look kid,” Briggs said, followed by a short chuckle, “You don’t need to call me sir, I am not your pappy or someone that pays you. I am just a hauler, a Rig runner, a seat jockey. So cut out that sir nonsense you get me?”

“Yes sir…I mean yes Mr. Briggs.”

The speaker let out a long hissing sigh, the man on the other side sounded tired, worn out, and trying not to get frustrated with his green newbie self.

“Look…Hammond, I am tired, dog tired from making it in last night. The storm alone was killer. I have some broken electrical lines in my baby, and to top it all off I must make sure that my Transmission lines, as well as the main axle, did not get damaged running into those raiders. So, I appreciate the goodwill gesture in showing me some respect. Just call me Briggs, no surname, no Sir, no anything but Briggs. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, loud and clear Briggs.” Hammond all but smiled.

“Ok I am going to open the second car up; I will meet you at the main goods service lift. Meet me there, also if you see any medical coats running towards us let me know. I need to give them something from car one.”

“Roger that Briggs”.

******

Briggs moved towards the second car; he noted some small bits of damage from the inside of his Rig. There were a few hairline cracks that had let some dust seep in. Nothing that could harm the overall protection of the cargo. It was just enough, however, to get on his nerves. He liked to keep a clean house, free of pests, raiders, and accidental spills. Either one of those problems could cause issues down the road. Issues lead to delays, and delays lead to not getting paid the full amount. He opened a small hatch that emptied into the infirmary, it's off-gray walls clashed with the bright red cross he painted on each of the four walls. It would be hard for anyone to miss the purpose of this room. He walked past three empty beds that were bolted into the floor, they swayed gently as he walked by them. He touched the fourth bed, making sure that the gyro-stabilized motor was still running on power. The bed moved just a bit but otherwise stayed level with the floor. He stared at the bandaged Hund woman resting on the bed. She was still breathing lightly, the EKG monitor beeped with a small regular ‘ping’ every few seconds.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Glad to see you made it through the storm darlin. I am sorry that I had to do a rushed job of patching you up. It was the best I could manage before we had to burn rubber to get away from those damned bandits. I hope that you might forgive me for not killing you out there. Lives are precious. Briggs slowly stroked the side of her face, a small modicum of tenderness crept into his features.

She was a pretty thing, he had to admit. Briggs could respect all the beauty in this world. Men, women, young or old, everything that managed to survive the ‘fore times' seemed to be a blessing in this new world. He pushed past the large medical lockers that dotted the far wall. In the middle of it all was a small panel, he opened the well-oiled lid. His hands flew across the buttons placed within. A small prompt lit up, asking him a question about bed number 4. He pressed ‘Y’ and the bed hissed. It slid on a track that terminated into the wall, the armature of the hammock-shaped medical bed moved into the wall, then onto the ceiling, clearing the floor by about five feet. The bed smoothly ran along the track in the ceiling, all the while keeping the bed level. The large cross on the eastern-facing wall opened with a pop and a hiss. The small room beyond was the medical service lift. It was a pain in the backside to get this all to work, but in the end, it was worth it to Briggs. He has just about automated everything in his Rig, and this was no exception. The bed was locked into place in the lift and the door closed behind it. Now it just looked like a regular wall again.

Ok let’s not keep this kid waiting for me, I know what it’s like waiting to unload something. He walked into the second car of his Rig.

The cargo car was like the main engine car, it had a similar layout overall with a few big changes. For starters, you could see most of the car from the entryway, a gangway that leads you down to the bottom of the car. There was a gantry that ran along the entire upper area, giving anyone a perfect view of the storage area, you could walk all the way around without ever going to the main floor. It was a good way to do an easy check on all the goods that were being transported. It was not a foolproof system, but it made checking cargo a breeze.

Briggs moved to a ladder towards the eastern wall. Climbing down was an easy affair, his metal boots clacking on the metal rungs. To Briggs, it always sounded like a musical number, the slight echoes reverberating from the metal-reinforced paneling all over this car’s interior. He got off the ladder and moved over towards the exit door, with a simple flick of his hand the door hissed back on well-oiled hinges. It locked into place with a solid ‘thunk’, and he stepped out into the semi-humid air of Horizon Visions.

Briggs panned around looking for Hammond, he saw him staring in awe at his Rig, however, he was still staring at the first car. Briggs chuckled to himself, I guess this guy was a little green, he must not realize that the first car did not hold cargo. Briggs let out a high-pitched whistle, pulling the young man’s attention toward him. As he trotted over to Briggs, he finally got a good look at the young dock worker. He was of average height, maybe an inch or two below six feet. He carried a small spare tire under his stained overalls. Patches of short blond hair poked out of his bandanna. His face was a well-sculpted affair, nothing like a handsome god among men, but shaped in a way that you would love to tell him your life story. Overall, he seemed like a good kid from just a short glance, but that illusion was usually spoiled as soon as some people opened their mouths. He skidded to a halt right below Briggs and after a ‘come here’ gesture by Briggs, he scuttled up the short ladder to stand next to him. Briggs lowered his scarf and smiled.

“Sorry for making you take the long way from the front car, I should have told you on the intercom,” Briggs chuckled.

“It’s ok si… I mean it's ok Briggs,” Hammond stammered out.

Briggs shook his head softly, “Yeah trying to unlearn a bad habit takes a bit of practice yeah? Even if that habit is meant to show respect.”

“I know, it might take me a little while, however, I am a man that is up to the challenge,” Hammond grinned wolfishly.

“Let’s get this over with kid, I know you’re a busy lad, and I really want to start this whole unloading nonsense. I must have done these hundreds of times, but coming in on the front of that storm really has me going a bit stir crazy ya’kin?”

Hammond nodded frantically, his bandanna rustling as the movement. “I can understand the need to get out and stretch your legs. Plus, I have lived in Horizon Visions my entire life, it’s one of the safer city-states out there. Or so I have been told by travelers.”

Briggs started to turn towards the door he came from when the sound of a small siren caught his attention. The blaring of the tune was all too familiar, it sounded like a trauma team. He held up a hand to forestall anything else Hammond was about to say. The brick-like trauma van cleared the corner of dock eleven, rocketing towards the Long Haul, it was at the foot of his front car in a matter of seconds. It skidded to a halt as half a dozen men piled out of every corner, men and women of all shapes, races, and sizes. There were at least two lupins, one human, and three kits. All of them were wearing matching medical-grade rubber scrubs. Their faces and muzzles were covered in rebreathers that terminated in an off-white canister on their backs. One of the Lupin males looked up towards Briggs, his voice echoed out of the rebreather sounding like a mix of tinny speaker, and steel wool running up and down on a cheese grater.

“Are you the Rig that asked for medical assistance?” The man said looking Briggs up and down at a distance. “You look perfectly healthy to me.”

Briggs sighed internally, “I guess this is why they pay you the big creds around here, take one look at me and realize that I am in perfect health.” He grimaced, “The call was not for me,” he opened a small hidden panel next to the cargo connection cables. He pressed a few small buttons and then pulled a lever. The medical team almost jumped out of their scrubs as a hissing of steam precluded a small personal lift. It descended from the first car, settling on the floor of the Dock. Briggs saw the Hund woman shift a little in the hammock bed; she was not quite lucid enough to figure out where she was.

The trauma team looked dumbfounded, then their training kicked in, and they became a flurry of movement. He could hear one of them exclaim, “Hold the crates, is that Marigold? I thought she was sent out with the courier buggy to get help.” One of the lead technicians started to examine her more closely.

“Yeah, it’s her,” the lead tech said. “I thought she made it to safety, I guess the bandits must have run her down,” he pressed two fingers to her wrist as another nurse checked her eyes with a pen light. “I am amazed that she is alive, given her condition. She looks like hell.”

One of the female kits opened her mouth to inspect the source of the dried blood, her cat ears twitched as she examined Marigold’s mouth. “It looks like she lost a few teeth, some swelling in her gums, and her tongue looks pale. Everything else seems to be where it should be.” She nodded to the head tech.

The rest of the team slowly extricated her from the hammock bed, taking great care to place her on a transport gurney. They strapped her down with great care, the human male started to run an IV drip as they moved her towards the trauma wagon. The head Lupin tech looked up towards Briggs.

“I don’t know how to thank you Trucker, but you might have just saved that girl’s life. Did you find the buggy that she was driving?”

Briggs nodded towards the man, “Yeah, I did, it was beat up badly. I claimed salvage rights to the buggy, so you’re not getting that back. No way, no how.”

“It’s your right to claim legitimate salvage. Thank you again for saving Marigold, this woman is like a sister to me.” The tech looked over towards his team, slowly piling back into the trauma wagon. “If the committee deems it, there might be a reward for bringing a courier back in more or less one piece.”

Briggs shooed them off with a hand gesture, “That is all well and good, but get out of here and get that woman some proper medical attention. I just had enough time to stop the bleeding and knock her out before I had to run. For all I know that chase at the end, and the storm could have hurt her even more. I just pray that my medical bed is good enough to keep her secure.”

The lead tech saluted to Briggs, a balled fist over the center of his chest, he bowed just a bit, not exceeding ten degrees. “You have our thanks.” Then just like that the Trauma wagon peeled out, its sirens no longer blaring. Briggs put the level back in the starting position, the personal elevator hissing back into place, leaving not even a trace that it was even there. Briggs turned back towards Hammond.

“Sorry about the delay, I just need to take care of an injured lady. The road out there is a dangerous place ya’kin?”

Hammond just stood dumbfounded, mouth agape. Briggs waved a hand in front of his face to snap him out of his stupor.

“Ok, Hammond, let's go check out the cargo.” Briggs turned and opened the service door to the cargo car.

The door hissed open to the cargo hold, both men stepped inside. Briggs kept his tone neutral and his facial expressions bland. Most people always told him the same thing, at every port without fail.

Welcome to ‘Blank’ our town is known as the ‘Blankest, blank that ever did blank’. It’s the same spiel everywhere I go. No town is different, the only real difference is what you can get away with before they throw you out. He dusted off his coat, bits of dust falling into the breeze.

He pulled out a medium-sized notebook from his inner jacket. The title read ‘Main Cargo Manifest Number Fifteen’; Briggs flipped it open to a bookmarked page. All the while he looked over to Hammond, “So you say, I know the town is safe, kid. Everything is safe, till it’s not.”

Hammond’s face turned a slight shade of red, and the indignation on his face turned into a calming grin, all in a heartbeat. “So, you say Briggs, most of the other towns and well as government bodies are usually toting the whole. ‘Yes, we are safe, we swear’, is ideal. I think we have better things to discuss.” Hammond countered while looking at the rather stocked cargo hold. “So, what did you bring us Trucker?”

Brigg’s finger trailed down the paper, he mouthed out some of the words, then he finally settled on the middle of the page.

“You’re in luck my boy, I come bearing all sorts of goodies,” he tapped his finger on the first entry, “So let’s begin, shall we?”

Hammond looked around seeing the overall size of this cargo space. He touched the nearest cargo crate. It was stamped with ‘Port of the Angels’, along with a few other faded stamps, time, and weather all but stripping the lettering to faded rags.

“You’ve been all over the Wastes, haven’t you?” Hammond remarked, his gloved palm touching one of the strapped-down crates.

“You know, after a while, it all starts to look the same. No matter where you go, no matter who you meet. It’s all about the job, it’s about the cargo. It’s about surviving to see another sunset.” Briggs remarked, his finger stopping on one of the many items that he had brought. “However, Horizon Visions is the last stop for a little while, I need to take the lay of the land. In a manner of speaking.”

“I hope that you brought us everything that we needed then, otherwise we might be in a bit of a jam in the long run.” Hammond cleared his throat, “Not to be a downer, but how are we going to get all these crates out? This entire room is sealed, and there are only a few small doors that lead out to the docks. It’s going to take us all day with our unloading devices.”

Briggs smiled to himself as he walked over towards yet another panel, it sat on the northern wall between car one and car two. He pressed a few small buttons and flicked a few analog switches. The panel started to hum, then glowed with power. The floor began to shutter with hidden motors, then the entire eastern wall started to hiss and vibrate. Before long, the entire solid wall moved as one, letting the outside light of the docks flood into the dimly lit cargo space. Briggs turned to see Hammond’s mouth almost dragging on the floor, he was beyond awestruck. Briggs patted the man on his shoulder, a small puff of dust billowing off his dock worker’s attire.

“So, Hammond, do you have any other silly questions? Or can we get this process underway? I know it takes a while to unload, process, and finally pay me. So, I just want to get this underway. We can gossip, and you can ask all your questions after this hold is empty. Sounds good?”

Hammond slowly closed his mouth, took a short breath, then put on a smile that had been passed down from customer service representatives over the years. “Sure, thing Briggs, let’s start with the crates from ‘Port of the Angles’”.

******

It took almost a full hour to go over the cargo manifest, both men working in tandem to both checks, inspect, and properly disconnect the crates from the floor, then finally unload them. It was a task that Briggs enjoyed the most of all the steps in a run. It was the grand payoff, the final leg of an otherwise lengthy trip. This one trip was a long time coming, he had hit almost seven different city-states over the course of four months. Looking at the trade networks, seeing what was low on the buyer’s market, and what was selling for a tidy sum on the other end of the line. It was a challenging puzzle, one that Briggs loved to solve every single time. If you were a good runner, you could just run from city-state to city-state, making small stops along the way. Not really venturing out too far, staying in a small little pattern. The ones that had been in the game the longest, knew how to make the most out of what was called a ‘triple run’. You start in one city-state, go to another one, and then when you unload your cargo go towards a third city. After the third city, you can loop back to your starting point, bringing goods from the third one. That method had some risks, but nothing as bad as the third and scariest method.

Briggs used what was called ‘String hauling’, it was by far the riskiest of all the major methods. Going coast to coast, from sea to shining sea. All the while picking up cargo along the way, no backtracking. This was one easiest way to gather a boatload of credits, however, if you got hijacked, or had some cargo stolen at one city-state, then it was game over. However, if you make sure to radio ahead, check the market listings, and keep using your profits to buy more expensive goods for the next city-state. Then by the time you saw the ocean again, you would have enough credits to last you for a few years. This was how the world worked, it was just risk and payoff. Nothing in between.

Briggs walked over towards Hammond; the final crate being slid into place on the unloading device. The forklift monstrosity pulled the crate into its cargo hold, it then lowered to the ground as it connected with a large engine tug. In a few brief moments, the small land train started to pull all the crated goods away from the Long Haul. Then all was still, the sounds of the constant clatter of construction and repair were still evident, it was just his corner of the world and the docks going back to normal.

“So, Hammond, how did it all look?” Briggs grinned, patting his coat with his dirty gloves. “I know the usual song and dance; it’s going to take a bit to process everything. Until then I must stay on my Rig until I get the green light.”

Hammond wrote a small note into his book, “Yeah that is about the just of it. I figured you might have done this once or twice?”

“Yeah, you could say that, like putting on an old pair of boots. You think you forget how to wear them, then when the time comes it’s all automatic. So, was anything damaged at all? My Rig took a short beating thanks to that storm, as well as that blockade that plowed into.”

Hammond handed him a small slip of paper; it had the words ‘Paystub’ written on the top. Then he placed his book into his overalls.

“From what I could tell, I didn’t see anything broken. The cursory checks are always less than adequate, however when everything is finally tallied and sold. Then you can get a more astute number.”

“I guess it’s just the waiting that I can’t stand really,” Briggs smiled as he took a short sip from his canteen. “I would rather be on the road really; everything is always in motion. You always have a purpose out there.”

“I guess I can understand that I would rather stay in the safety of the City-State’s walls. It may seem monotonous, doing the same thing, day in and day out. I think there is a kind of peace in that as well. Your days have a sense of circular wonderment. Just when you finish one task, then you move on to the next one. After it’s all said and done, I go home and eat something that my wife made especially for me. Then go to bed so I can wake up and do it all over.”

“That sounds nice, in a simple droning-on kind of way. Having a home-cooked meal does sound rather nice. I guess I will work on a late lunch after we are done here.” Briggs walked over towards the wall panel, setting the cargo walls to close. The shutter started again as the massive panels started to slot back into place, cutting off the light.

“I must admit, coming home to the love of a good woman does sound wonderful,” Briggs mused out loud.

“I don’t see why a strapping man like you couldn’t find the love of a woman.” Hammond remarked as he walked towards the exit door, “You are a living legend in some circles. The Rig runner that can’t be stopped, no matter the odds.”

Briggs followed him to the door, stopping in the frame.

“I only wish it were that simple Hammond, I don’t want to buy love, I want to give it freely. The only real issue is who I am. I am a runner, a man that gets things done. In this world we find ourselves in, no one wants to live a life moving from place to place. People want stability. That is what I bring.” Briggs smiled a sad self-loathing smile, “Thank you for your company, Hammond, you will go far as a dock worker. I can feel it.”

Hammond bowed to him, then smiled as he shook his hand, he marveled at Brigg’s strong grip. The two men parted ways, leaving Briggs standing in the door to an empty car, this sense of accomplishment was short-lived. Looking at this large empty space filled him with a need to replenish his stores and make the next run. He quashed the notion in his mind, akin to the machines he had built, and maintained, he too needed time to rest.

‘But first I need to get some food in me, I am just as hungry as I’ll get out.’ Briggs wandered his way into the kitchen compartment.