Crank reaches his favored spot on the dunes and drops heavily onto the sand. One knee is bent, while the other leg is straight out in front of him. Imitating Simone's signature pose, Crank reclines backward on the palms of his hands. The position is strange but not uncomfortable. He has found himself doing it more and more.

Gazing out into the distance, Crank surveys the sky for signs of another impending storm. So far, nothing. Storm or not, Crank knows they will still be in this place of nothingness when the sun rises again. All of his hopes of leaving soon have been thoroughly dashed. The energy transporter will not work. Despite the turning of the waterwheel, no energy is being generated. There is no energy to collect and convert. It is as if the wheel were not really turning at all. Just as with the ooman power generator, almost everything in this place of dust and waste is useless.

Crank closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. He slips into a state of deep contemplation. Thoughts, scenarios, and ideas tumble without difficulty in the young warrior's mind. He is trying desperately to salvage another plan.

His devices may have enough power to rig a miniature transporter. If only to send Simone back. But such a plan is not without risks. Where would he send her to? What if he managed to send her back-- just for her to be taken prisoner by the rogue hunters? How could he help her while stuck in this horrid place? To make matters worse, the short energy burst needed to generate a transporter jump field might even electrocute her. Simone could be killed.

Crank let's out a short growl and shakes his beaded head. No. He will find another way. He will find a way to transport them both. Maybe even the other oomans-- and their animals as well.

A gust of wind carries a familiar scent on the air. The soap Simone uses to bathe. Crank prepares to stand. A ray of light from the setting sun glints off of a metal object in the distance. Crank turns to peer in that direction. The recent violent dust storms must have uncovered something very large. Another wagon wheel? Or something else?

Crank climbs heavily to his feet and moves toward where he saw the glint of metal. He hopes whatever is out there proves useful.

-

-

Crank climbs the top of what he believes to be a small hill. It is the spot where the glint of metal shone in the sun's setting light. Crank scrutinizes the area under his feet. Unlike his favorite dune, the sand of this particular hill is packed hard and does not shift easily. Crank lifts his foot and brings it down hard. There is a loud metallic thud.

Dropping to one knee, Crank removes sand from the area where his foot came down. After a small amount of digging, he uncovers a rusty metal panel. The symbol on the metal is one that is familiar to him. Crank shakes his head and continues to dig, exposing more and more of the metal object. An agitated growl escapes his lips as he reveals yet another symbol. This cannot be.

Moving slightly to his right, Crank removes his gloves and scratches furiously at the sand. His clawed fingers catch on something definitely non-metallic. This texture is one he has come to know very well. Dry, brittle bone.

Using a palm, Crank clears away sand from the dried out skull of what was once a majestic steed. He keeps going until more than half of the horse's dry bones are visible under the last rays of the day's sun. He shakes his head again. Disbelief and a sense of unimagined dread creep over his body. None of this makes any sense. These bones look as if they have been in the sand for many years. How can that be? Could the violent storms have done this?

With another frustrated growl, Crank shifts his objective. He digs relentlessly at an area above the large portion of metal. He hopes against all ooman hope that he will not find what he expects to find. He does not get his wish. After nearly five minutes of digging, Crank uncovers a single ooman hand. A skeletal female hand bearing a solitary ring.

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Crank's mind goes back to the diner, to the ooman female with hair like fire. The ooman who had inadvertently led him to Simone. Jane Calamity. The young ooman who'd been a spitting image of the fierce Calamity Jane--Paul Bunyan's long lost lover. The young ooman female had worn a ring like this one. Albeit, on the other hand. And Jane had worn hers on the very hand he is now uncovering.

Growling angrily, Crank digs with renewed energy. He uncovers Jane's arm. Her drab jacket is now tattered and bleached by the sand, sun, and storms. When he gets to her head, Crank drops back on his heels in the sand. Jane's mane of fiery red hair is no more than a few patchy tufts. The expression on Jane's sun-bleached skull speaks volumes of her final moments--the teeth of her mouth spread wide apart in a scream of abject horror.

Crank gently strokes what is left of Jane's hair. A small patch of hair comes loose and sticks to one of his clawed fingers. Crank briefly stares at the clump of hair, before removing it from his hand and placing it back on Jane's skull. A sudden gust of wind blows the tuft of red hair away and it tumbles through the air. Crank watches the piece of hair until he can see it no more. Suddenly, wearing Jane's skull on his mesh doesn't seem like such a humorous idea. In fact, he wishes he had never made such a wish at all.

-

-

Simone has showered, and is preparing for bed, when Crank enters the farmhouse. She sits cross-legged on their nest of blankets, a towel tied around her body. Turning toward the door, she lowers her hairbrush.

There is no fire going in the fireplace, and the room has very little light. Even so, Crank's posture gives Simone room for pause. His shoulders are hunched and he walks very stiffly. Almost in robotic fashion. She decides to infuse humor into the moment, hoping Crank is simply feeling depressed about the way things are going--and not because of anything more.

"And where have you been, mister?" Simone teases. She rises to her feet and moves toward the door.

"I was...Scouting," Crank utters softly, very little intonation in his voice.

Simone reaches where Crank stands and wraps both arms around his neck. She gently touches his right cheek.

"Are you okay?" Simone says.

Concern pushes Simone to study him very carefully. Crank's eyes are downcast and he refuses to meet her gaze. Something is clearly wrong. Simone releases Crank's neck and grips his right arm in a slender hand. She attempts to urge him toward their sleeping area, one hand going to the knot at the front of her towel.

"Crank...Come on," Simone insists. "Come with me. Whatever is wrong...We can talk about it."

Simone is taken aback when Crank reaches out a hand to prevent her from exposing herself. He places his hand over her hand, which is situated at the front of her towel. He shakes his head resolutely.

"No," Crank says. He finally makes eye contact. "I don't think...That is a good idea."

Simone's heart pounds in her chest and she searches Crank's face with her eyes. There is a choked sound to her voice when she speaks.

"What do you mean...It's not a good idea?" Simone questions.

Simone's mind does cartwheels trying to think of what she could have possibly done wrong this time. She can only think of one thing. The kiss between her and Paul Bunyan. Had Crank observed them? With his ability to become virtually invisible; how would she know? Did he wait around to see what would happen? Or did he leave before it was all settled? Did he think she had betrayed him? Had she betrayed him?

She hadn't meant to let Paul kiss her. Or, to let it go as far as she did. But, the feeling had been so familiar. Like stepping back into a past life. The warmth of human lips against hers--instead of a mask. It had felt good. But it is Crank she loves. Not Paul. Are things over between them? What will Crank do?

"Crank, please," Simone pleads. "What is going on? Why won't you talk to me?"

Crank hesitates before reaching up a hand to gently cup Simone's cheek. His eyes have no shine to them and his voice is a dull monotone.

"I...I need some time alone," Crank says. "To think."

Simone's mouth droops and she reaches up to caress Crank's face.

"Crank? What...Is...Wrong? Please tell me!" Simone stresses, fear in her voice.

Crank lowers his head and kisses her softly on the mouth.

"I just need some time," Crank says again.

He release Simone's face and backs away. Simone remains riveted in place, watching him with a doleful expression. When Crank turns to walk in the opposite direction, Simone follows his movements with her eyes. He is nothing like the confident youthful yautja she has known all this time. He appears sad and broken, his gait slow and measured. He seems older and wiser beyond his years. As if a great battle has been fought in his very soul.

Once Crank disappears from view, Simone goes to the area where they have slept together many nights. She plops down heavily on the blankets. One hand strokes the place where Crank usually sleeps. Angry at herself, more than anyone else, Simone slaps both open palms against the bedding. Tears stream down her face as she lies down and stretches out. She is almost certain that she has lost him. All because of a stupid kiss.