《Wandering the Wasteland》


 Dust to Dust

    It started some 200 years before our hero was born. With the decline of the natural world, earth began to dry up. But as with all things, there is a cycle. Things live, and things die. And this is no different for our civilaztions, or the planets themselves. And a cycle... Is where we begin.


    The rapid put-put of a large engine was where we find ourselves. A clang and the sound of a backfire and it settles down to a gentle purr. Within the engine compartment lay a grease spattered cloak of a dark and dusty yellow color. Trim legs tapping impatiently against the floor before pulling their owner from underneath the fuselage of the engine. Here we see our hero... Sort of.


    His name was Jahwan, and a couple incidents of dangerous objects being too close to his face, the thin and wiry young man began to wrap himself in bandages and leather straps from the tanned hides of creatures he had found near oasis'' in the wastes. All that could be seen were the shiny yellow reflection of tinted goggles and grease stained fingertips, covering any chance of even knowing the skin tone of Jahwan.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    His flexible goggles moved as he squinted at his hard work. The engine would surely be fine for a while again. At least until he could find an Outpost. The half mask that covered his mouth and helped filter out dust and sand from the wind storms quirked down near the edges showing a sense of dissatisfaction. He wished that he could get some good parts for his old rust bucket. But that would need skill in metal working far above his own, and metal casts on top of that.


    With that out of the way, Jahwan tossed his wrench onto a nearby shelf in the engine room/workshop. Passing through a bulkhead his stick thin form was revealed, a pair of dirty black jeans with a couple of hanging belts on each leg, a thin torso wrapped in carefully woven leather straps to make a chest plate of sorts, combat boots, slightly tattered, with leather straps running across them for more traction. All could have been seen as the still air was disturbed, but refused to move and grabbed intangibly at his cloak as he crossed the bulkhead threshold, causing it to flutter briefly.


    The night had come and so he pulled on the brake lever, and with a scraping sound the junker took off. With the sun now below the horizon the wasteland would cool off, it was the perfect time to make headway after the harsh sunlight beat down upon the land.


    The wastes awaited.

 Dust in the wind

    Jahwan gazed down the front ramp of his big old rust bucket, tiny planters full of compost from his... personal refuse pile in the back was used to give nutrients to what few plants he ad managed to grow. to either side of the walkway and above the long planters was a row of four porthole windows, allowing light to get in. Thankfully while not the greatest thing to make, he was a decent enough glass blower to be able to fix up the windows as needed. It was simply a shame that he had to waste fuel to get the engine hot enough to smelt the glass.


    Currently Jahwan rhythmically pumped a bellows leading into his engine, the incinerator door having been closed as he didn''t need to make any parts as of the moment. To the left and right of his bellows foot pump were port and starboard windows, allowing him to see the wastelands outside. Sadly it was a windless night, so he had to use fuel if he wished to reach anywhere in good time. One hand remained on a handle leading to a safety line, in case of hitting bumps or rocks. Sometimes the sand dunes piled up in strange ways, causing the usual route to be a bit less than smooth. Sadly he didn''t have a scoop on the front of his like some of the trader families did. While most people were nomadic, the traders usually had much larger ships that were able to push sand piled away and smooth out the path. Their rigs we''re considered top of the line despite being rusty as anything else.


    Jahwan sighed, a murmur from beneath his facemask as he looked out the port side window, noticing a few clouds drifting lazily over the visage of the moon. It was a nice night all things considered. But it would still be several hours before he hit the SteelPile. Centuries ago it was supposedly some sort of hub of mechanical effort and wonder, a steel producer unlike any other. Now it was just like every other used to be industrial site, rusted, crumbling steel beams, a treasure trove of material to fix rigs. Jahwans rig was crafted after a legendary beast known for the ability to spear it''s enemies, the mighty narwhal. But this was information that was more legend than fact now. Few animals remained, and even fewer nomads ever saw this creature called a narwhal. But to Jahwan... It was a legendary hunter. It took him a lot of work to finally attach a tow cable above the bow facing porthole, and even more time to make it aimable and able to fire. He still needed to figure out a way to make it cheaper, but right now he was certain that his was one of the few medium class rigs that could take down a scarab shark.


    Scarab sharks were hulking behemoths that if slain, didn''t start to decompose for months, allowing a decent sized rig to haul it behind them and use it for food, if they squeezed the fat from it, they could also get a couple barrels of fuel. But the real treasure was the chitin plates. If you could attach them to your rig, it would often scare off smaller more agile predators, and it even could mildly camoflage you from other scarab sharks. Although any larger than your ship may actually take offense of another scarab shark being in it''s territory and attack instead  so mostly large ships covered themselves in chitin. Jahwan awaited the day he could get a rig like that. A man''s rig was his pride! It was also his survival, BUT MOSTLY PRIDE! a man with no rig was often pitied. Even the settlers kept their old rigs in good condition. After all it was your home, and often would be passed down in the family.


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    Jahwan was feeling rather thoughtful tonight, as many a night it would happen. After all he was all alone on his rig, with only his thoughts to keep him company. Some may consider it a curse to be so alone. And in fact, among nomads, going solo was usually unexpected. After all, the more hands to drive, stock, and fix a rig, the better. The more efficiently you could continue and find more fuel, more food, more scrap... And most importantly... More Aether. Aether was a clean burning resource, but it grew sporadically and no one could tell if it was finite or not. It simply popped up in clusters of crystals and once mined may pop up again the next day, or not again in that spot for years. It was always difficult to tell where they may appear. But it was valuable, a single crystal was about the size of jahwans arm, and would slowly burn for hours past when a full barrel of fuel would, and on top of that, it would burn hotter.


    Some nomads ground their Aether up and mixed it with their fuel, it worked wonders to keep their mileage up. It also reacted with the ash held in an incinerator, absorbing the ash to burn longer. So a great time to use a crystal was for a long journey with a lot of ash in the engine. It cleaned it right out, and let you chug along for miles on end. Some nomads even just sold their ash to other nomads, not having a need for ash as they had no crystals, and not wanting to deal with the wear and tear of an ash gunked engine for longer than three months. Jahwan knew that letting it build up any longer was a terrible idea, and could cause pressure issues with the engine. He was lucky he found a condenser coil to collect water. But he didn''t wanna waste it on his hose and then have to fix his engine on top of that.


    He squinted his eyes as he looked out the wide bow window, giving him a decent view up front, even if it was through his bedroom. His workshop was just above that, and the stairs leading down to the ramp where right by the door to his bedroom. The front was rather compact for a three story vehicle, but Jahwan didn''t mind. It meant he could get around his rig faster. In the distance he saw large thin objects in strange orientations silhouetted against the deep purple-black of the starry night sky. He was close. Tomorrow he could scavenge for some steel, if necessary he could pull down a couple girders and haul it into the ramp. Thankfully he had thought ahead and kept the welder on the bottom floor, along with some scavenger stuff he may need to cut things up.


    With a stifled yawn, Jahwan pulled the brake line, listening to the gentle slither of metal as it slid into place, followed by a think as it caught the ground. Poking at the fire in the incinerator he banked the fire, letting it slowly eat up fuel to keep everything going for the rest of the night. Tomorrow he would hunt for steel. But for now... It was time for bed. And so Jahwan closed the grill on the incinerator, walked into his room, and plopped down in his bed, stretching and putting his hands behind his head on his one pillow, it was kinda lumpy and needed a good set of feathers from a rafless bird, but it would be a while till he hit their foraging grounds. Looking out the window to the bow, he saw the stars in the sky above. He''d heard tales from his grandfather about how supposedly, back before the world became what it was, people couldn''t see the stars, he said how their spirits were blinded and so could not see the heavens above. Jahwan could not understand this. What could blind a person''s spirit to such beauty? He saw such beautiful colors of blue and purple, and tiny lights of red, yellow, and white. Truly their ancestors were cursed, to lose such a sight, and for the wasteland to overtake the world. At least now there were trees every now and then. And supposedly up north there was a Grove of trees. A whole Grove! It sounded so wonderful. Who could ever guess in one place a person could see ten or twenty trees. All growing! It was an amazing concept. So many trees.


    And with that as his final thought, Jahwan drifted off to Dreamland, groves of trees all over his dreams. Spruce and birch, the willows and oaks. All the things his grandfather said we''re supposed to be real. Things he''d seen in a book. Things he''d read. And so Jahwan dreamed of trees....

 3. Touring the Narwhal

    The mighty Narwhal sat just outside the range of any falling pillars of the steel pile, should it become destabilized. However that also meant a grueling seven minute walk just to get into the shade of the steel pile around almost noon. And roughly noon it was as Jahwan rolled over to escape what light came in through the bubbled wide bow window.


    Thunk


    with a groan, one leg still on the bed, Jahwan awoke from glorious sleep. He couldn''t head in until the afternoon, but he should probably check his pantry and make something on the griddle. With a few minutes of upside down staring at his cieling, and less directly the doorway to the rest of the narwhal, he stopped hoping food would magically waltz it''s way towards his mouth. With a grunt of dissatisfaction he pulled himself to his feet.


    Or tried, his hand slipping off the desk just to the side of his bed he fell into a pile near his spare parts he studied, with a couple clanks the small but precarious pile of items tumbled across his form. Jahwan was the epitome of not morning person. Most people were in the wastes. But somehow Jahwan''s lack of corrdination after just Awakening in the morning trumped all challengers. One time he had been staying in a small commune for a while, doing g manual labor to get more fuel, when he woke up one morning, stumbled over his welding apron, fell into the engine room as it got caught in his legs, and managed to stop himself for only a few seconds by catching the steam release whistle cord and woke the whole commune. In doing so, startling himself, and faceplanting into the metal floor of the engine room. Sadly it didn''t end there as after getting food and washing the one of only five plates he had managed to scavenge or buy, he had been walking towards the ramp to head out for his morning work, opened the ramp, and caught his shoelace on the release lever. He then tripped, and tumbled down the entire length of his ramp to taste the local dirt. What he found was it seemed more dry than he remembered.


    But this morning he was in luck as he only stubbed his toe and burnt his fingers while trying to get the griddle locked in over the banked coals of the incinerator. Perhaps not healthy, but most stuff he burnt was wood or crystal anyway. He preffered to sell fuel to others in return for wood or crystal. Strangely crystals did leave a funny flavor on his morning tubers. It tasted sweet but gritty. Although compared to the typically bland flavor of sliced tubers, it was arguably an improvement. His grandfather had said they were some sorta variant of potato, but had less flavor. He also said something about being able to grind d it into dust and add water or something and eggs and he could bake it. Jahwan never did understand that. On a good day it already tasted like dust, why would he want to make it look like it too? And water was too much of a commodity, even if he had been able to increase the basin size. Then it might taste like mud. Which may also be an improvement.


    At some point Jahwan promised himself to tame some of the whakacacks. They were flightless tiny birds that enjoyed eating what bugs could be found near plants. But he knew he''d need to trade a lot of crystals to get a breeding pair. Supposedly the eggshells were also pretty decent for things. Some said they were good for pottery if you smashed them up with water and dried them. Others said they burned nice and slow. Good for when you go to bed.


    Jahwan finished his sliced tubers, and finished with that, began his daily chores and checks;


    Plants: still greenish. Growing and the soil was still magically damp. He was glad he had thought of that drip feed pipe to put on top. A hassle, but we''ll worth it.


    Incinerator fire: a quick stoking and the coals glowed a little fiercer, they would be fine for a few hours still.


    Bedroom: he looked in the door, kicked his spare parts back into place, and walked away, bed still a mess.


    Stairwell and travel pole: thinking about it, he decided to head upwards. He could grab a broom and dust everything out on his way down today. And so up he headed.


    Top floor corridor: the top floor corridor was rather narrow with closets and storage on either side, but then expanded into a room all it''s own with a large water tank. Inside was his pride and joy, he had been around with his grandfather when he found something he called a "frij" and said that there was a part called a condenser coil. Having salvaged something for the day they finally headed back with their spoils, the condenser coil being what his grandfather called prime loot. Of course at the time Jahwan had no idea what made that piece of metal so special to others. But as he spent time with his grandfather his ability to engineer and under components rose to a masterful degree! At least considering the world''s state.


    They had worked long into the night to get the coil set up and able to work with the power supplied by the incinerator. But it had been worth it. Before they could support three people. Or two people and their little array of plants. But afterwards his grandpa had said they would be able to support as many people as the Mammothfish rigs. That was a lot. A mammoth rig was at least three times the size of the narwhal, and the narwhal was meant for three people tops! Now he could support five people and the plants for them, and maybe even let everyone get a bath on a daily basis! That was extravagant for him. As it was now though he would clean the pool daily and fish out chunks of ice. What a wonderful when he saw that for the first time!


    Young Jahwan looked to his grandfather, a knobbly kneed stick of a man, but his wiry muscles we''re well defined under his own leather wraps. The old man was peering through his rather overengineered goggles. They had extra peices of glass. When Jahwan had asked why, the old man had said; "sometimes I need to be able to look closer at things." Jahwan just assumed his grandpa was finally going blind. It certainly explained why he bashed his head on shelves so often. Didn''t explain his sailors mouth though. That was a whole different barrel of fish.


    The old man had taken the clear chunky thing that they had found floating in their water tank a few weeks after having set up the condenser and smiled to himself. He turned to his grandson and said, "why don''t you see if you can fish out a couple more, we don''t want those sticking on the condenser, keep that in mind while you do your rounds boy."


    Young Jahwan nodded solemnly and turned to the tank of water, the play of light reflecting off the gently swishing water from the vibration of the Narwhal''s engine purring away downstairs, his back to his grandfather. As he reached for a price of what he now knew as ice, he screamed as his grandfather cackled! The old man had pressed the ice to the nape of his neck!


    Thinking back on the memory Jahwan smiled to himself. The will old bastard had taken any chance he could to play harmless pranks on Jahwan. Like that one morning he had rushed into the bedroom and yelled in his hoarse voice, "fire! We got a fire on the top deck boy! Geddup! We godda put out the fire!" Waving his weathered old pipe he used to get around frantically. Jahwan of course had tripped over his own feet, and ran up to grab the hose, when he came out on top of the Narwhal, there was no fire to be seen, but he faintly heard cackling of a will old bastard down at the breakfast table.


    Jahwan finished knocking ice off the condenser, then turned to the machines beside it, one was the hose, he was lucky he had found such a long hose for this with his grandpa when they were younger. Since then he had made sure to keep a spare in storage once he''d found one. The other was a welder charger. By the power of finger sized crystal shards and a rechargeable battery that could charge off the incinerator, he had a mobile welder. Using the energy to start up a flame, and the crystal as fuel, by manipulating air and pressure it was able to produce a decently hot flame. Worked well too for starting up the incinerator when he let it die too. He had batteries downstairs, but those were mostly for emergency. Though he did need to run them down about once every 60 days to make sure they were fine. But they didn''t do anything to help the incinerator start back up. Oh no, it was either the welder or flint and steel.


    With his inspections done he checked the closets. Everything seems to be in place. So he grabbed the welder, hooked it to his right belt loop, and headed back towards the stairwell. On the other side sat a warehouse area, lots of hooks. It was very well insulated, even if it did look patchwork. His grandpa said something about cold storage, but he said they never found enough condensers. An unfinished projects he supposed. Looking in he saw a couple of steel drums, rather unprofessional in appearance, as they had been made by Jahwan, but they were water tight and had a loop, from which they hung on hooks in the cieling. He could never figure out why there were hooks in here. But his grandfather had said, to hold meat. Which was strange. When you had meat you needed to cure it with salt. But his grandpa was usually on the money. Maybe it had something to do with condensers. He wouldn''t know until he had more. Oh well.


    Everything in place jahwan opened the roof hatch with a bit of hesitation, this was liable to suck. And sure enough as he climbed the stairs to the top deck he immediately felt the pressure of the sun beating down mercilessly upon him and his poor rig. He had a set of sails that had been see together by him and his grandfather, just before the old fart had passed away like a fart in the wind. But that had been a couple years ago. Those first few months were truly the toughest for him. But his grandfathers teachings had helped him pull through. All those lessons with pipes and hand forged spears, the ways to hunt larger creatures, smaller creatures, and most important, how to scavenge. Jahwan looked across the bowsprit and saw the SteelPile in the distance. Seven minutes of hell he would be walking that. But not now. No he had to clean the stairwell and check on the lower floors. And so with his check on the sail and it''s mechanisms done, he headed back down, sealing the hatch behind him.


    On his way down to the engine room he grabbed the broom and swept on his way down, looking into the engine room, he saw the flicker of the incinerator, waiting, ever hungry for more. And then he promptly turned and walked into the kitchen. Inside the kitchen was a distillery which took water from the tank above, boiled it, turned it back into potable water, and then stored it in a big brass tank. Back when he was but a tiny little ball of bandages his grandpa would tell stories about making a flammable liquid using plants and water. Something he said they would drink. He remembered his naive way he looked questioningly at the fuel barrels. His grandfather roared with laughter, and said it wasn''t the same thing. And that if he ever really wanted to try, he should do something with his tubers. He still had the instructions, he just didn''t think he should do such a thing. However his grandfather also said it makes a good weapon, you put a strip of bandage in the top of a breakable container full of it, and you light it and throw it. He planned to test it if he ever found a Warren of beasts. But not today. He''d have to change over the output and clean the system out afterwards.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The little metal chairs and table he had here in front of the pantry we''re normal as always. Somewhat rusted, but still kinda shiny. The upholstery ruined by the weather where they scavenged it. So they had to tear it out and give it banded metal to be even mildly comfortable. Opening the pantry Jahwan counted his food rations. Lots of tubers, some peppers, and many jars of preserved veggies and pickled goods. Closing the pantry he wiped an oil stained finger across the top of the stove. It was set a bit low and wasn''t as good at heating up quickly like the griddle over the incinerator, but it was useful for pickling things and boiling water. Soup was pretty good, but he always felt the need to fry up some time slices before putting them in. Dusting off the top of the half size stove he then opened the tiny little thing his grandpa always called an oven. It wasn''t very big, certainly not enough for the big pot he cooked with. But he always wanted to use it. His grandfather had told him to scavenge whatever wires he could just outside the narwhal while he made them a treat. He said it was something from the family "cookbook". He was claled back in and had something he''d never tried before. His grandpa called it potato bread. Then looked off to the side and amended, tuberbread.


    He still had the family cookbook. Called it an air loom. Whatever that meant. He tried to ask but was told, "it means my pappy gave it to me, and his to him, and now, I give it to you. Try out some recipes if you ever get the chance, and put new ones in. Its how our family works. Then someday when you find a nice girl, may e you can make her a nice meal." Jahwan just stared at his grandfather bewildered, after all, why would he ever want to do something like that? He knew his grandpa would make fun of him for it. "You must really like this girl, putting on your welding apron and breaking out the family cookbook!"


    Looking back he wished that that moment could have happened. He would have been happy if he could bring a girl to see the old codger. Maybe get a few jokes in at his expense and say he''d have to teach a new generation how to be old and wise as the dust storms that come out his butt cheeks. Sadly that was never gonna happen. But he had an old picture of his grandpa. It was kept in a tiny metal and glass frame. It had cost them a bit of crystal to get one of the eccentric herbalists of the west to use his plants and pottery dyes for something like a portrait. But it was a good likeness, even if it was on chalkstone. It showed the old man, one arm around his grandson, as he knelt in front of the Narwhal, one hand on his whoopin'' pipe, and one on the far shoulder of his grandson. His smile broken from yellowing teeth, his flyaway white beard, coated with sand. It had been a good day. He kept the picture in the sill in the kitchen, a little hoop kept it chained in place in the middle of the bubble window. Much like an old 70''s car it bubbled outwards from the vehicle, giving space for something to hang. Like an herb pot. Jahwan kept a memory there. A very good memory.


    Jahwan took a mildly clean rag and dusted the window before starting at the picture for a few seconds. He now wore his grandfathers old cape. It was a memento of a happier time. If not better. The one he had work. As a child was brown, made by his grandfather, hard worked leather, it was a good cape, but he outgrew it. He kept it in the closet near his workbench. Folded up, awaiting it''s own child to protect from the wind and sand. But not now. Now was another day to survive. Jahwan blinked behind his goggles and swept the kitchen, pushing it into the stairwell and then down the bottom layer. Following his chaotic pile of dust down the stairs he looked around at what was both storage, and garden space. He nearly forgot he needed to check the restroom. Standing back up he looked at the one door in the stairwell that was most important for survival. THE BATHROOM. His grandfather had taught him much about everything necessary to keep the narwhal running. And especially how to make compost. Thankfully that was all pushed down the garden. It didn''t make it smell better in the bathroom, but it helped the plants grow.


    Slowly stepping back up the stairs, his boots clunking dully on the metal stairs, he opened the bathroom door. Stone tiles carefully chiseled and put into place using a mixture of clay and water. They''d been lucky to find that. He still had some. In case he needed to fix the tiles, or make pottery. His grandfather had told him that pots we''re important. He wouldn''t say why but he said they were decent for storage. Or plants. By that time Jahwan was a bit older and had started to wonder if his grandpa wasn''t going senile. He''d heard tales of the old farts hearing words in the dust storms. Nonsense and crazy juice.


    Walking in he examined the toilet. Seat seemed to be fine. Probably cold considering the sunlight wasn''t shining in on it. The shower curtain was nothing more than a waterproof skin of leather cut into a square and hung from a metal bar. But it worked. The tub itself was something they had scavenged later on too. Before it was a tiny little thing made of hammed metal plates. Now it was a solid brass tub. It sadly did not see much use. Soapmaker he may be, but water was a commodity. For most people. He could probably water the sands outside for a while if he chose. But he was stingy with his water. After all, if his condenser ever broke then what was the big plan? He even hated that the toilet flushed using water. But his grandfather said if it didn''t, then the system wouldn''t work right and he''d have to either move it himself, or starve when the plants started to die from lack of nutrition.


    So he put up with it. It usually sat in a container on the bottom level, an air vent to the outside world allowing dust in to absorb water, but also the horrid smells to get out. And over time it would break down into soil. Luckily in order to not deal with the new and the old mixing, he had a press inside. He just pushed down with the lever and it would push all of it to one side away from the pipe leak back to the toilet. That kept all the new stuff to the backside. And the fresh soil could be shoveled out onto the plants a couple times a year. After sweep the bathroom and wiping down the toilet with a soapy rag, he moved to the sink. The bathroom itself kinda jutted into the kitchen, as the engine took up all the space it could. Didn''t seem to be an issue as the wall of the bathroom abutted the back of a counter, after that was the stove, and another counter. On the other side of the room not being stolen by bathroom space was the sink, a counter, and finally at the rear of the narwhal was the pantry, with the door by the sink counter. Most all sources of water flowed to the ''night soil'' breakdown point. However the rest just flowed out through the trickle crop system. He had managed to put a filter on it to keep solid objects from passing it, making sure to put a T-junction pipe with a valve on it if he needed to change filters or just close the system for repairs.


    With the bathroom finished he stepped out, closed the bathroom door, and once more stepped down into the belly of the Narwhal. Sweep the stairs as he went down with more dust, he contemplated sweeping it out the ramp, or putting it in a garden bed. Ultimately he ended up sweeping it outside. And so with sweep done, he stood at the ramp, staring off at the collapsed pile of steel in the distance, the wind warm and blowing against his face. He wished it we''re at least blowing from the back and off to the side. He hadn''t been able to use his sail for a week. It was starting to feel very costly.


    Closing up the front ramp Jahwan checked on his plants, harvest a couple tubers, grabbed some gingots, and planted some cutting from them back into the soil. Gingots we''re a strange plant, like if a carrot had extra carrot. But it had a sharp flavor and did wonders for the sinuses if you ground it up, the color was a splotchy orange on a pale background. There was a time his grandpa had squeezed some peppers and mixed it with ground Gingots... His nose ran so much, his grandad said if they could harness it, the Nawrwhal would never need to stop again!


    Stuffing the Gingots into a pouch on the inside of his cape, he moved over and knelt before a seedling he had been growing. It was a strange one. He wasn''t sure exactly when it was supposed to be done growing, but his grandpa had said that it needed a few years. By this point it was about the size of a tall bush, but had nothing to cover near it''s roots. Based on stories of old he would have said it was a tree if it hadn''t stopped getting taller last year. He noticed that it had made flowers a few months ago, but then they had died, and all that was left was some sort of nub on the end of many branches. Maybe it would be good for fuel, or it might actually grow something. He left it be. He wasn''t in dire need of kindling right now. Or usually ever.


    Squatting at the next planter, he grabbed up cucumbers and peppers. His grandad said that he had been surprised these buggers hadn''t changed a lick since his days as a kid. Jahwan merely gave a mental shrug and he pocketed the ripe ones. He could pickle these and sell them at the next camp. After that he had a strange gourd tree. His grandfather had said he''d planted it when he were but a boy himself, and that when he turned 48 the thing finally started to produce. The gourds were surprisingly hard on the outside, but if you break them open along the top, you could scoop out the sweet fruit flesh inside. It was a treat he enjoyed once a week or so, and experimented with one or two other times. It made many gourds, but not all of them were ripe. They were shaped kinda like a banana if it were straightened, but larger and with rounded ends. The fruit flesh itself tasted like orange sorbet, and when left to chill in the water pool for a couple hours tasted even better.


    Rounding out his crops was what looked like a couple fields of grass. These were all on one side. It was a mixed planter truthfully. This one was what his grandfather had called a grain. And after growing some he had bought some rough stone, made a wheel of it, stuck a handle on it, and then put it in the belly on a little table. He called it a millstone with the base he carved later. Jahwan never quite understood what he meant by grain. But they usually ate it as a boiled meal. Sometimes he would come back in and find more crispy crunchy bread, but he never found out where it came from. The one last thing his grandfather had taught him was to care for some tiny ball he kept in the kitchen, but he said it only needed some grain once a week. Speaking of feeding things, he needed to look through that cookbook later. He was a quarter of the way through, but it always made him hungry so he had to put it down and get food. Then he forgot because he had to keep traveling or fix something or scavenge or hunt. Always a busy day.


    Jahwan brushed the grain apart to see the second crop in the planter. These were a root plant, they were totatos. These tiny brownish red things were said to be like sweet potatoes. So said old man grandfather. He also said that it''s juices reminded him of a tomato. Jahwan knew not either of these things, but he did know you could juice the totato for some stuff that was orange in color and went pretty well with tubers or even gingots. But it REALY went well with meat. Otherwise he usually just sliced them up and friend them on the griddle, or he just baked it near the incinerator. Doing so caused it to lose all it''s juice, but it brought out a delicious slightly sweet flavor from the totato.


    Some of the most difficult of his crops we''re actually hanging near the high windows, they made little bushes of leaves that all pointed at the window, and down the backside they sprouted out long vines which grew wierd pods. You could eat the pods, but most of the time you wanted to boil them. Teeny beanies were a strange thing. They made his grandpa fart all the time, and one time he made this stuff he called chili, which was really good, but another time he went through this relaly long process of soaking and straining and made this little reddish-brown cube and it tasted funny. Not bad, but it was funny. His grandfather said it was like a normal bean for baking got hitched with a soy bean, and the kids turned out alright.


    Plants getting married. That time they were in a village and so he had someone else come check on his grandfather. They laughed and said he was okay, he was just weird, and that all the old people said things like that. This just made it seem more likely that something was wrong with his grandfather because if it was common among old people then that meant it had to do with being old right?


    He tried that logic on the adult and even his grandpa cackled and said, "technically he''s not wrong. It IS related to being old!" And then he laughed some more. Jahwan never did find out the answer to what was going on, but he learned it was mostly old people of a certain time. As he grew up he met other old people, and they usually just talked about how the dust was better when they were young and aether was cheaper to bargain for. It still made no sense, but it was a different kind of nonsense than his own grandfather, so he figured it wasn''t JUST being old that caused it.


    Collecting his hard eat he walked back upstairs and into the kitchen, where he busied himself with getting a pot of water over the stove and set it to a slow simmer, before adding in veggies and totato sauce. If he left it to simmer down until night fall he''d have some veggie chili for dinner. Looking forward to that he went to the incinerator, tossed in a forearm sized crystal, stoked the coals to a more fervent life, and then set off back downstairs, opening the front ramp, and seeing the sun beginning to set, started off for the SteelPile.

 4. Into the SteelPile

    The SteelPile stretched out before Jahwan, mere minutes away on foot. And yet the truth of what a SteelPile meant was so much more than scrap. Danger lurked in the SteelPile. All steel piles. It was a refuge from the sun during the day, often one of the few spots that had something other than sand for the first five feet of topsoil. And because of this... Creatures lived there. Sometimes you would get lucky and find a pill mole. These little buggers we''re barely larger than a hamster, a bit timid, but also tameable. Not a lot of food, but some could get by with a farm of them on their rig. Jahwan preffered bigger creatures. Not too much bigger. But something usually above ground as well. Though supposedly if he could find insects it may help his septic tank.


    Going up the ramp he looked over to a case he kept just over the exit, almost out of reach, his fingers pressed on a clasp, with a pop the locker opened, it was set longways on the wall, and once opened, the door flopped downwards, a ramp all it''s own, just long enough to seem like a large toothpick dispenser, but without the height to hold more than three. However instead of even three, it only held one. The spear that was made for Jahwan with his grandfather help. He remembered the day they forged it. But now was not the time. Now was time to hunt and scavenge.


    Jahwan grabbed the spear, a solid thick pole of steel, the tip smashed flat, molded into a spearhead, and hammered to a fine edge, before being sanded to show the shine of the metal along the edge, almost like a sword of two metals. The spear tip was meant for stabbing, slashing, and the shaft could be used for mild blunt damage. The spear itself was just barely taller than jahwan, but it''s versatility was unmatched. It might not be all that bendy, or even springy, but it was solid and sturdy, which meant a lot against most beasts.


    Checking his belt loops to make sure he still had his welder, and hefting the spear over his shoulder, Jahwan took his first step of the day towards the steel pile, looking to all the world like a self assured hunter.... Until he stopped five steps from the ramp, looked back, and saw his mobile cart still strapped in the belly of the Narwhal. With a self deprecating sigh, he defeatedly trudged back up the ramp, dragging the butt of his spear.


    Twenty minutes later however, Jahwan BURST down the ramp, one foot on the back of the cartsledge, the wheels that were just inside of some steel sleigh tracks retracting with the pull of a cable, latching it in place and clasping it closed. His momentum carried him forward for a good fifteen feet. And then physics reasserted itself like a cranky old man with kids sledding in his yard. After that, just like in simile, all sledding stopped.


    Jahwan crumpled backwards, his entire body language simply groaning at the unfairness of life as he got off the back of the sledgecart and started to push. This was nothing like that time up north when they had created a rise and found a SteelPile downhill. Of course he also knew he''d be having a bitch of a problem just like back then if he got a load of steel and had to push it''s fat ass back UP an incline, but on the way down he wanted to enjoy himself. Though also of note was that time they had been able to have his grandpa hold it in place while he ran for the tow cable. After that they both just sat on the sledgecart as it was pulled back to the narwhal. But they still had to push it halfway up the hill first. That was before he got the extension cable installed. He reminded himself to return up there sometime for steel and meat. Yes. Steel and meat. Nothing more.


    Jahwan kept an eye out as he got closer to the SteelPile, his spear in a special quick release holster on his back, able to drop it out and bring it around in a diagonal upwards slashing motion to draw his weapon if need be. With the barest thunk, the sledgecart was resting beside a girder, laid out in all it''s mildly rusted glory. There wasn''t much in the way of water on the outskirts of any SteelPile, though some occasionally held such treasures deeper within. Often times it was the center of some mean beasties territory. But the tell tale signs of a watering hole or beasts territory we''re relatively clear. Scrape marks and lots of rust. Either one were good indicators of where a smart scavenger should stop.


    Jahwan was on the hunt for prime steel, but that basically meant the entire SteelPile. So he pulled out his welder, barely thirty minutes from the Narwhal, as he''d had to hunt for a piece that wasn''t part of supporting another, before he started harvesting. Turning on the welder he went to work. The process of cutting through the girders was slow work, and one always needed to be aware of their surroundings. Though some scavengers went for standing girders instead and cut them down like trees, climbing up, attaching a belt around a portion, and then cutting halfway up to let the loose bit fall to be gathered much easier. But that took relatively special equipment. Of which the Narwhal currently did not have.


    Jahwan was half way through the girders when he heard a skittering sound, nothing large, certainly not dangerous. But always important. These were arguably the most important creature for a scavenger to know of. Simply called the Skitters, these were packlike little mammalian creatures. Fluffballs with snouts and eight short little legs that kept them from sinking into the sand. They also had claws to grapple across various surfaces, but they weren''t very sharp, kind of like a sloth. Long claws, very little purpose outside climbing. Most everything that existed was simply another thing to climb on for them. It was all surface to them. And while they themselves we''re nothing to worry about, it''s their actions that were important to note.


    Skitters would congregate around most creatures that weren''t necessarily hostile, they were very curious little fuzzballs, and this meant that so long as he heard skittering, his local area was safe. Even as the welder hissed through the steel girder, the background of little scratches was a melody of peace and safety. Its when the skittering STOPS, that you need to worry. Many smaller creatures, carnivores included, ignore Skitters. It was the larger beasts that preyed on them all. As such, Skitters were great warning signs for the entire lower layer of the ecosystem when big creatures were coming. But not all. Oh no...The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    The ecosystem of a SteelPile was usually different, somehow most still had Skitters. The ones that didn''t had no lower ecosystem. There were only big creatures, and deadlier areas. Even the herbivores that made up the lowest rung were extremely hostile towards others. But in some SteelPile the Skitters had a symbiotic relationship with one credit that was considered the Big Brother. Though the Skitters were little eight legged fuzzballs with snouts, and mostly ate moss and various other forms of vegetation, and even cleaned other creatures, there was the nigh alpha of any low tier SteelPile. The Prowler. This big beastie was like saying that Skitters were the youngest child of a mafia household, and the Prowler was a Hitman to protect them. The Prowler was a six legged scaled beast, with a very snaggle toothed crocogator appearance, having both sets of teeth jutting outside the mouth in what seemed to be random order.


    Some poor scavenger somewhere likely had figured it out, but in doing so lost it''s life. They were antisocial towards humans. You could pass by on the other side of a street and be fine, but if it seemed there were a chance of accidentally touching the Prowler, you''d be dead before you knew it. Low to the ground, but with stubby legs and claws of it''s own, it was a very capable creature, getting around the SteelPile was no issue for this creature. Its skeleton was supposedly flexible, stories told of how a Prowler would disappear down a path too narrow for it''s body like a snake. The other defining feature was the tusks and horn on it''s snout. One central horn, and two downward facing tusks. They weren''t all that long, due to otherwise dragging across the sand, but it was larger than it''s other teeth.


    With a dull think the girder fell, cleanly cut through by Jahwan. The skittering in the background grew. Louder as the Skitters seemed to grow excited. They seemed to have short attention spans, or maybe long attention spans and short memories. Watching Jahwan shift and push the hunk of steel onto his sledge was apparently a high point of entertainment for well over thirty Skitters, all lined up along crooked girders.


    Once he had finished heaving the steel into place he pulled it around and started to push it out of the way before he heard it; a deep reverberating sound, almost like if a giant were snoring. With a slow glance back he saw that the girder had apparently blocked a hole in the ground. Within he saw a pair of yellow slit pupil iris''. With great care and trepidation, he leaned backwards against the sledge, slowly pushing it back the way he came. The gentle "shhhhhhhhhf" of the sledge sliding over sand a gentle counterpoint to the "ticca ticca ticca" of many skitter claws. As he backed away, the now lighter leftover section of girder shifted as two tusks and a horn appeared in the slowly dying light, followed by a great green snout. Two slit nostrils opened and then closed with a heavy breathed snort.


    A gentle "tump, tump, tump" could be heard coming from behind the deep rumble that seemed to focus around the eyes. Slowly it moved forward as a reptilian head nudged the remainder of the girder to the side with a bit of effort. This Prowler seemed to only be about an adolescent, but it was still large enough to be able to take off Jahwans leg. Though something the size of three chickens could probably take off Jahwans leg too. Like an ostrich. If those even still existed.


    The rumbling growl of the Prowler grew louder, and with every step out of the previously blocked burrow, Jahwan took two. Barely keeping pace with the monster even as it seemed to not be making any direct, hostile actions. Merely a warning. It''s body was nearly halfway out, 10 feet of long sinuous muscled midrift was revealed to the twilight as the Prowler left the den. Two sets pf legs now visible. Jahwan kept backing up, nervous sweat sliding down the side of his goggles. His welder at his belt loop, forgotten since he returned it to move the girder. His spear held in it''s holster, useless against even an adolescent.


    Jahwan knew his life was hanging by a thread, if the Prowler wanted dhim dead, one twist of it''s body, and it could launch like a snake and snap him in two. So he kept pace, trying to give it space, and in doing so, keep his life. The Skitters seemed to be in a frenzy, of rage, of joy, Jahwan wasn''t caring enough to figure it out, his entire being focused on the death in front of him. And then all hell broke loose and terror threatened to overhwelm him as the Skitters flooded into the small clearing, running over his sledge, his girder, each other, and then him. A tidal wave of feet and grasping little dulled claws appeared and dissapeared in his vision. Almost against his will he noticed some had teets, must have been a pregnant skitter he mused, even as his mind focused on the gaps gap between Skitters to keep the Prowler in his vision.


    Then it was over, the Skitters had passed him, a surge of fur and snouts broke against the wall that was the Prowler, a rock that would never break as it''s last two legs exited the den, and then it was covered in Skitters. They slowly nudged and climbed over one another looking for anywhere they could get to on the Prowler. Even as it whipped it''s long tail out of the den, an appendage that was one third of it''s body length, and easily able to wrap around a creature and crush it like an anaconda. And yet the Skitters held onto it''s scaled hide effortlessly, even as it lashed it''s tail back forth in what seemed an impatient gesture. The Skitters were no longer anywhere but on the Prowler, and some dim part of jahwans mind questioned how close a relationship these two species had.


    Once the Skitters all settled into place on the Prowler, a harmonized keening cry rang out and they began to shake with abandon on the Prowler. The sound would have been adorable, like if a cartoon potbellied pig had tried to sing. But the situation was not one where Jahwan could appreciate the sound of a hundred or more Skitters all crying out in unison. The twisting and shaking of the fuzzballs on the Prowler made it look ridiculous, like it had a fur coat that was pretending to be in a washing machine. Jahwan steadily continued to step backwards, pushing the sledge. The sound of the Prowler a rumbling baseline under the "KEEEEEEEEE" singing of many Skitters.


    Suddenly it was over. The Skitters dispersed towards the surrounding girders, leaving behind only one skitter, snuffling at what looked to be the green skin of the prowler. Except now instead of green, it was a deep dusky blue. Had it just been covered in moss or mold? Jahwan was unsure of what had happened. But the prowlers eyes never left Jahwan the entire time it had apparently been cleaned. It took one last look at him, snorted dismissively, and slither walked out in a gap between leaning girders. Jahwan was confused, and exhausted, the nervous energy having dissipated when the Prowler had left. He then gathered what was left of his wits, grabbed the sledge, and pushed, it was time to get the hell out of the steel pile. A near run in with a prowler and he lived? Any more would be pushing his luck. He could hunt tomorrow. He had plenty of food still, and needed to make a few traps too for some passive hunting.


    Jahwan had just got the sledge back in as night truly fell. Gazing back upon the SteelPile he wondered just how close to death he had truly been. Had he lived because he had freed it? Or had only the grace of the cleaning skitter been what kept him from a gruesome death by accidentally breaking the cover of it''s den? He was unsure. But he felt like it had been stuck for a while based on changing color during the Skitters acts. Truly the world was still full of mysteries.

 5. Patience is key

    Having returned from the SteelPile, Jahwan hooked the sledge up to the tow cable at his earliest convenience, sitting on his new hunk of steel, eyes to the horizon, his spear in hand, gently sliding back towards the ramp of the Narwhal''s open mouth, the tow cable much like a tongue, slowly dragging it''s prey into it''s open gullet. Jahwans eyes scanned the brown and yellow Sandy wastes, occasional spots of dead land appaearing like an undead oasis, no water, only rock, stone and hardened soil to show that there was anything there at all. Only the deeper brown any sign of a difference in the shifting landscape caused by the winds. Every now and then a dust devil would swirl forth, buffeted by the breeze to carry part of a dun somewhere else.


    Most creatures stayed within the SteelPiles, places where life could take root from the sun, where occasionally water may be found. With the stars above shining brilliantly in the night as the sun sank further below the horizon, Jahwan lifted his gaze skyward, even the night skies had their own dangers. But it was possible to spot them against the backdrop of the Galaxy of stars far above. These winged creatures of the night we''re both a boon, and a bane. With care, a breeding pair may be caught, and then you could farm them for eggs and meat. It was difficult to Do with wild ones, but possible. Though taking their offspring and training them was much easier, though it also meant you needed to grab a second wild pair for others to not cross breed too closely.


    Depending on who you talked to, they had many names. The old ones called them batrices, some sort of chicken bat they said. The old timers used strange terms indeed. The adults, and young adults typically called them baggers, as they would swoop down on something, and close their wings around it, like a bag. The truly young simply called them nightmares, the unseen horrors that their parents warned them to stay inside at night for. The batrices were nocturnal, and when they went to sleep, the males would hang from anything they could, while females would make a nest to sleep in, and guard the young with. This gave the male great visual radius, and the female had little to worry about the young falling from a high perch just yet. Batrices were quite capable of climbing most surfaces, though metal was a touch harder to dig claws into, much less keep a grip in with their claws.


    But Jahwan kept an eye out, half a mind to capture, the other to kill for defence and food. But he knew if he really wanted to have a breeding pair he''d need some Mulbits, these tiny little vegetarians we''re diggers without a seconds hesitation. Big mole mits and mild wide claws for digging let them scoop and tunnel as they pleased. They mostly ate gingots, which typically grew in great supply anyhow, so they would be fine. But catching a Mulbit was much harder. As you typically needed an air snare and a net to keep them from escaping.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Finally the sledge made contact with the ramp, and the release button slid out the front caster wheels, allowing it to glide up the ramp, until the second button made contact, and the sled runners stopped making contact with the sand outside, the second casters lowering and snapping into place. With this done, Jahwan hopped off the sledge and kept guard while it continued up the ramp. Once it was fully inside, he closed the ramp. Soon enough he''d need to start cutting it into chunks to melt down and make into playing for the repairs he needed to make, and then the wheels needed more reinforcement before he could head into the next zone. After all, not only would it have more troublesome weather, it would also have many angry plants. Covered in thorns and spines that would gouge out his large rubber tires. He''d had to spot melt a rubber chunk into place over the hole and then smooth it out again after he got out of the patch lands. So named cause anyone who went in unprepared needed patches. For their rig, for their tires, or for those really dumb, for their own flesh. It was not a safe place by many means.


    The ramp shut, he hung his spear up in it''s locker, much easier to reach with the ramp closed. With it secured he gave a cursory glance over his plants, stealing a few ripe gourds to help sweeten his meal. Tomorrow night would see more meat, and maybe with some effort he could have a smoker up and running. The hard part being what could he get to produce a smoke that wouldn''t kill him. Or maybe he could get a different purifier up, and he could run mineral water through for some salt. Then he could salt the meat and make jerky. But that was usually something only bought from old coast settlements. Back where the seas had drained from they could find great salt deposits.


    Jahwan hauled the sledge back to it''s straps, locking both sledge and steel girder in place. Once this was seen to he moved up to check the incinerator and make some porridge in his cookpot. A bit of grains, some gourd juice, and a touch of fruit helped make it a rather decent meal, for porridge. Kind of like an oatmeal with fruit. After that, jahwan busies himself with designing a salt separator on his work table, paper wasn''t cheap, but leather based canvas was. And so he worked through the night, drawing with ash and charcoal the designs and dimensions he thought he would need for his salt separator. Using an electric wire mesh, he figured he may be able to get some salt out of water he had picked up from the oasis, he kept these in storage barrel up top as well, they were good for brine and pickling, but salt was necessary for storage. Winter wasn''t particularly a thing, but the storm season was. And storm season.... Was coming.

 5. PAAAAAATIENCE YOUNG GRASSHOPPAAAAAAA~

    With a yawn and a stretch, Jahwan slowly climbed out of bed, his leather wraps now with a few more charcoal and soot stains than yesterday. Taking care once more this morning, he only stubbed his toes twice and tripped and bruised his ego on the way to the bathroom. Along with getting a nice big knot on his head in the process.


    Closing the door behind him, Jahwan took his time to help fertilize the crops. Meanwhile the rolled steel of the bathroom door was looking extremely impressive today, the bulkhead and even the doorframe having been ripped entirely out of the ruins of a prewasteland submarine, found crashed into the mountain of the deeplands near the Great Crevasse!~ the bulkhead was a strange color of faded blue in comparison to the mostly gunmetal grey of the rest of the Narwhal. Though some spots had been painted by a young Jahwan in a now faded red color. The floors had bolts set every six inches, bands running down the length of the narwhal at a distance of one band every 14 inches.


    Suddenly the toilet flushed, and the sound of vigorous hand scrubbing could barely be heard behind the massive bulkhead. Unfortunately during installation, the frame was put in a bit loosely, allowing sounds to transmit between the bathroom and other rooms. It did not help that most of the rest of the frame of the narwhal was just as soundproof. Although ultimately it did help in telling where the fire was during a hailstorm. The bulkhead opened and Jahwan stepped out, readjusting his black jeans, before closing the bulkhead and moving into the kitchen to reheat some porridge. Sweet porridge for noonfast was a delicious start to the day.


    The Narwhal''s exterior was a scratched and patchwork mess of various bits of steel, all bolted together. And looking through the kitchen window, one could see Jahwan slowly eating porridge with a crooked spoon that looked to be self forged. The bubbled window of the kitchen was a perfectly circular frame, with a less than circular arch for the bubble, it only came out about half the radius of the frame. And from the outside seemed like a barnacle of some sort growing on a large mechanical fish. While the front seemed mildly cycloptic with the one large bubble window at the front, a monocular narwhal contraption would be a great way to describe it in three words. Once Jahwan had finished his porridge, errant bits stuck to his face mask to show he hadn''t been especially careful, he washed his bowl and spoon, before seeing his reflection in the few reflective things in the narwhal, namely, the glass holding the portrait of him and his grandfather. Cleaning his face at the sink, he checked once more and decided he was good to go.


    If only he would clean the oil from his leather like he would his porridge, he might well have been propositioned by some young lass at a settlement when he was last there a few months ago. But Jahwan preffered his hard work, survival was very important. And he didn''t have the hide of a beast good enough to use in a ceremony of family acceptance yet either. Nor the dyes he would need to give it the vibrant colors it should have, and would keep for generations.


    For now, Jahwan busied himself with his day to day checkups, storing of vegetables, and pickling of others. By the time he had realized it hours had gone by and it was mid afternoon already. Deciding to get a start on his salt separator, Jahwan took the welder from his belt loop, sheepishly realizing he had never put it back. Somehow not even realizing it wasn''t in place when he checked the machine to make sure it was working. Checking the charge he sighed in relief, he''d have enough for a little while.


    Jahwan moved down to the sledge and unstrapped the belts that held the girder in place. Once that was done, he took a careful look outside the belly windows to check the time, he had several hours of work ahead of him. Working diligently, Jahwan sliced off girder like it was a roast ham, each and every slice, delicate, immaculate and meant for the furnace. He''d gotten a grand bunch of slices off the girder when he felt it was time to move on. Luckily his grandfather had been smart, and had a solution for moving heavy junk upstairs. A pulley system had been set in place for a long time, originally to help Bui the narwhal, and then to help fix it. Most of the time it was a second system that could be put up instead of the sail, as they would typically conflict in range of motion, though both could be put up at once if the sail needed to be stitched back up.


    Now however, when the gantry was down, like the sail, it sat perfectly in line within the hull of the Narwhal, and allowed stuff to be moved between floors by the stairwell. The opposite side of the bathroom was where the gantry was able to pull things up, usually it was just a wall with a slide panel, not really there for anything other than not falling in. But now Jahwan pulled open the second floor shaft, and stepped in, his feet on the pallet that cargo rode upon, and slowly lowered the winch down. Once at the bottom floor, just below the cieling, which was quite high in the belly, in case of larger projects, and hooked the belly winch cieling cable up to the cargo pallet, lowering the gantry cable until the belly cable was taut, he then disengaged the gantry cable, and grabbed the pulley ropes from the belly cable control, and replaced the gantry ropes with them. The entire system was a bit convoluted, but it worked a lot better than one cable going through the entire ship, cutting it nearly in half.


    Pulling along his pallet he lowered it down to pile chunks of sliced girder on, before tugging on the ropes, heavier backwards to haul himself back up, and then moved back to the gantry point. It worked much like a dumbwaiter anywhere but on the third floor, as the second and first floors all had their own pulleys. To use it on the roof meant extending the crane outside. Reconnecting everything, and pulling it taut once more, he swapped back over the the gantry, and slowly went up the dumbwaiter shaft to the first floor stairwell. Once there, he stepped out before pulling the pallet a bit higher, and then he latched it in place, wandering off to grab the second floor pulley system and smelting bucket. Pulling it back by hand, as the system was less intensive, Jahwan tilted the pallet and slid all the girder pieces towards the edge, where they were caught on a lip, from there he tossed them over into the smelting bucket one by one, before closing the dumbwaiter once more.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Pulling the bucket full of steel bits over towards the incinerator, he stoked and banked the coals to get it hot, but not overly hot. This thing would try and eat through the cast iron of the casting bucket if it could. Pushing the bucket in with a metal rod and closing the grate on the front to let the heat roil around inside, he got to work on making clay moulds. They would probably just break, but he could use the chunks of clay to help break up the soil in a planter fpr better irrigation. Although to be safe he used a mixture of sand and clay. Making sure it was flat and square to have a nice sheet of steel, he unlatched the grate on the incinerator, and pulled out the bucket of molten metal. Sadly it wasn''t exactly steel any more, but that''s fine. It just needed to be durable metal. Now it was iron once more. Probably weaker. Or stronger, depending on how much carbon it kept. But he poured it into the molds, one at a time before pushing it back into the incinerator to stay molten. The first sheet cooled a bit, becoming a sludge as it set. He then poured into another mould, before pushing the bucket back into the incinerator. At this rate he might get some 5 plates out of it.


    With effort he dragged Ann anvil over to the middle of the room, and using a set of large tongs great the first of the cooling iron sheets, before slamming a hammer down on the moulding, cracking it. The sheet and some moulding still held by tongs, he set the sheet on the anvil, and readjusted his tongs, letting the rest of the moulding fall into the pile on the floor. With his tongs back in place, he swing upon the sheet, bending it over a curved part of the anvil, bending it into a semi circular pattern, slowly feeding the sheet across the anvil, his hammer blows sending Sparks flying as he worked. Slowly the sheet took form, and then he placed it upon a small edge of the anvile that separated two surfaces by a half inch at best, and began making the sheet half as thick at the edge, giving it a decided lip, and then he turned it over and did the same on the opposite side of the curve, so one lip face outwards of the curve, and one faced inwards. If there were two it would fit together like a tube. But it was only one.


    Once the curve was set, he slowly narrowed one end into a cap, hammer welding it in place. It wasn''t done and needed some more touch ups, but for now, he had more work to do. And so he opened the grate to the inside, the heat bursting out enough to make his bandages dampen in sweat, and immediately dry too. Jahwan set the almost cooled metal on the grate, before moving on to the next mold, to repeat his actions. As Jahwan worked on the second half, the first one began to think in the great heat from the incinerator, beginning to glow a gentle reddish orange in color. It had almsot turned yellow when Jahwan swapped it out for a colder identical twin.


    Once more with gusto, sweat poured down his thin frame as he hammered upon the creature of the once tube, now seeming more like an egg shaped hill that got bashed in, or half of it at least. On one edge he began to poke holes with a part of the anvil probably better suited for rings, but Jahwan used it to make bolt holes all along the half thickness lip, before dipping it into a barrel of oil, it didn''t have much use outside of smithing, but he refused to use the oil for the incinerator. It would only clog it up.


    He then repeated the process with it''s now yellow twin, that rested upon the grating. Grabbing a second pair of tongs to pull out the now solidly cooled half of his salt separator. The second half hissed as it slipped below the oily surface. He turned away to begin on the third and fourth sheet. With this one he merely pounded and bent it until he had a solid looking pipe, with an experts eye hidden behind goggles, he dipped it in the oil. He knew how to spot weaknesses in iron. And steel. Considering he worked with them to get raw material, or figure where he had to patch the narwhal. With the fourth sheet he made a bucket of sorts, upturning the edges and rounding it out. Excess material was cut away with the welder at his hip, and tossed back into the smeltery bucket. It would be good for spare parts.


    The fifth sheet, was not a sheet at all, I stead it was moulds for nuts and bolts, and extruded iron wire, with the remnants of the fourth sheet that had melted he made hinges and pins with yet more molds. It wasn''t the best of quality, but he didn''t have the technology of some settlements. Some had been lucky to find old world steel Mills, and had family members old enough to have had worked there to pass on the knowledge and skills. Few advances had been made, but it was still a good business. Trade with steel mill settlements was often very lucrative for them. New parts for many different kinds of rigs, and even custom parts. It all flowed out of steel mill settlements.


    Jahwan had completed the first step. With the second, he bolted the two half domes together. Third, he used the blow torch to cut a small round door in the front of two halves of the eggshell, and then set the door upon the incinerator grate, the smeltery bucket, now done, had been pulled out and left to cool out of the way. Once the cutout had been heated up, he beat a lip into the outer edge of that, while the dome now rested on the grating, awaiting it''s turn at further improvement.


    Once that was done he hammered a few bolt holes into the top of the cutout, then set it in oil, then came the eggshell, which was much harder to manuever now, but he managed to beat a lip into it, and some bolt holes near it''s top as well. The cutout of the eggshell went halfway up the top of the dome like structure. The entire thing was quite heavy, but the anvil was right in front of the furnace like any good blacksmith would have. So getting it in place wasn''t the most difficult process for Jahwan. With this done he swapped the two pieces in the oil bath. And attached half of a hinge to the likely oblong half oval door of the new separator. The rest of it cooled he pulled it out of the oil and added it''s half of the hinges. Then he slid them together, put a bolt in, and checked to see if it would work. It opened and closed the smoothly. But that might be due to the oil.


    Jahwan set the bottom of it on the winch system, to call it a bucket would be a gross overestimation of it''s height. It was more like a pan. A tall pan, but a pan none the less. With that on the winch, he then heaved and set the dome portion on it, straining to get an edge on, before pushing it the rest of the way, with a dull thunk, the separator was on the winch. This was going to be difficult to move to the gantry in the dumbwaiter shaft. But Jahwan pushed forward with it. Guiding it along the track until he was at the dumbwaiter. Opening it he lowered the dumbwaiter to a slightly lower level, just under the lip to the second floor, and latched it back into place. With a deep-seated groan, Jahwan pushed the separator to the edge of it''s little box, huffing and heaving, he tilted it back, and pushed it forwards, getting it to slide over top and then pushed it onto the gantry. With this done, he lowered the dumbwaiter down to the very belly of the bottom floor, and closed the dumbwaiter before going to lay on his bed. He needed a nap. And then probably some food. Gazing halfheartedly out the window, he still had a couple hours before night. He''d be fine.


    And so thinking, Jahwan sprawled upon his bed, muscles weary, and went for a quick nap.

 And in this trying time, we find a caravan

    Somewhere else in the world approximately unknown miles away, someone else''s day started with the continuous rumbling of an engine, clanking of hanging metal, and the shuffle of sheets and blankets. With a yawn a young girl with dirty brown hair woke sleepily and shuffled out of her room. Not very large it held a bed and had a hanging pipe with homemade hangers. With a yawn and smacking of lips she pulled on some ragged looking cargo jeans, burn marks and patched pockets in a Sandy grey color, too loose to show off her figure, and a shirt of washed out dark green. She then grabbed her cloak, a dark maroon color, and stepped out her door.


    Just outside her door was a hallway, leading mostly to other bedrooms, a bathroom, and finally ending at a kitchen, which further lead into the rest of the rig. Blinking sleepily she made her way to the bathroom, and luckily finding it empty, she got a small basin of water filled with water, and scrubbed her face and hair. Her daily ablutions complete, and feeling much more awake, she made her way back down the hallway, knocking loudly on doors, banging away to wake their occupants. Her hazel eyes dully stared down the hall towards the kitchen as she trudged her way forward. Six doors her fist did bang upon, and six doors did open. And then a flurry of activity as more energetic youths made their way about, and two more used to such things as early mornings. A total of ten people were awakened, all family of some kind, married in or of blood, but family they were.


    Four adults, six children. Similar physical builds could easily be pointed out between some of the children and adults. Two of the youngest, fraternal twins, Benjo and his sister Holly were not quite fat, but weren''t thin either. Healthy was a good term. Full of energy they sprinted for the bathroom and slammed the door, taking their time to wash each other''s face and hair.


    Next was the brothers, barely a year apart but they shared a room, Talger and Reeju. They were fit and rather muscular based on a diet of sand skeevers and hard work, and looked much like their father.


    Next came Samuel, he was a tall young man, and had his own room, thin as a stick but very dexterous, he learned from his uncle the ways of the workshop, he wasn''t quite a master Craftsman, but assembly was his forte so long as it was light. He had a sister, Annyal, her long hair flowed down her back, and was quite well done she was more of an artist, doing things like carving, glass blowing, and otherwise made utensils and day to day useful items. She held herself with a small amount of arrogance, more haughty than actually being above someone else, almost like she held herself to a standard and felt others should too.


    Then came the parents. The parents of Benjo and Holly, her aunt Shacko, and her uncle by blood, Marik. Aunt Shacko was raised in a settlement and as such had a rather stable diet allowing her to become somewhat plump by starving standards, it was easy to see the healthy body of Benjo and Holly came from her. Uncle Marik on the other hand almost looked like he needed a cane, but that was because he slouched on top of his thin figure, but make no mistake, the man was a hunter of great reputation.


    The other two were the parents of Talger and Reeju, uncle Edmond was the forgemaster of the rig, he taught his sons everything he knew, and the man knew seven hundred ways to swing a hammer... Or so he boasts. She could never tell the difference, and neither could his wife aunt Jumi, she did needlework more often, and it was thanks to her anyone had multiple sets of clothes. She was a bit on the thinner side, though she could work a spear as well as she could a needle, which made her not to be discounted when the hunts began in the SteelPiles. She also did a little glasswork, though her neice took to it far better than she did.


    With everyone finally up, our heroine made her way to the kitchen, as she let the family scramble for bathroom cue and morning routine. With a rig so large they were well and truly able to have a veritable farm set on the upper level of their rig, her grandparents called it a greenhouse. Which made no sense. It wasn''t green and houses were all in ruins. They merely laughed at her when she pointed it out, saying it was the house of plants, and plants were what made it green. She held some doubts but didn''t argue. After all it was grandma Milthruel that taught her about cooking and making tasty things like bread and noodles.


    As they say, a shlorkel doesn''t steal the fingers off a hand that feeds. Not that she ever wanted to go near the dog sized arachnids, even if they were why she had a cozy blanket. Supposedly it was the effect of radiation on sheep and spiders that caused a rather sharp hooved creature with four eyes and a propensity to grow wool and shoot silk to be born. They were creepy to her. It didn''t help that they chewed on her hair as a child. They mostly ate grass and veggies and, for their rig, waste vegetables, but they also ate bugs as and when they got a chance. So they often strayed up and down the ramps between their pen and the compost heap.


    Their rig was a large one, as evidenced that 16 people we''re needed to run it comfortably day in and day out, though 6 could do it alone if they had to, as proven by her parents, who also, she would complain, sprouted her younger brother and sister Samuel and Annyal.


    "Melli! Are you making toast? I want some too!" Annyal shouted from the hallway. Melli, short for Amelli, rolled her eyes as she made herself some breakfast.


    "Make it yourself it''s not hard to fry some up in the pan. Or you can ask auntie to do it!" She yelled back. She barely heard a groan of annoyance from the hall. Her sister was rather impatient when it came to breakfast. But while they were busy trying to get the twins to hurry up, Melli made egg in toast, and put it on the plates her Grandpa had made for his grandma. Made of clay with little bits of colored stone to give it a pattern, it was some of the nicest gifts her grandmother had ever received since ''the event'' and she had fallen for him as his charm grew on her.


    Taking several plates balanced on either arm with an egg on toast in her mouth, she made her way down the ramp, stifling a shiver as she weaved around the shlorkel herd that were on their way to their pen near the front of the rig. The clickety clatter of their feet beat a staccato rhythm as they moved forward towards their breakfast.


    Her mother, father, and both grandparents worked at night and during the morning to make sure they got where they wanted or needed to be, giving them more time to scavenge at these new areas. Grandpa was a wizard with clay and making paints and dyes, as in often as they were able to get them, but they lasted longer than one would assume for crushed rock and oils. His other hobby was in making alcohol, supposedly it had been a past time of his family before the world dried up. He was over 100 years old. So he grew plots of various things and small trees and he said he fermented them. To her it seemed he just let them rot in a different place. But they could use it for fuel if need be and worked better than a lot of other things. It also made the adults act funny if they drank it. His wife was more about her gardening, together they made the greenhouse an interesting spot. Though she always thought it was interesting. It was up on the fourth floor, and was mostly windows. She always wondered why it never broke when they had to go through the storms. Instead of grandpa Emanuel and grandma Susan, this was typically answered by grandfather Harold. He said it was reinforced glass, and said their we''re wires inside. And when she looked closer she noticed it. He also that it was mostly cause they had shutters they could slide over it but the reinforced glass helped them have at least a little time when an unforseen hailstorm hit. His wife was grandma Yanma, she enjoyed her herbs too, but she used hers to keep everyone healthy. Often times she would find three of her grandparents in the garden, looking at plants and talking.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Grandpa Harold though was often near the incinerator working on teaching glassblowing or smelting. But he was a kind, if gruff, old man. And often couldn''t help but do whatever he could for his grandchildren. Melli''s mom and dad were mostly mechanics, Stephan and Rosemary, and often both had a welder on hand and a spare in the charger, they weren''t the greatest at hunts, but were well enough at mechanics to have modified some ancient schematics on bolt throwers into a chargeable version and make their own bolts. There was no fletching, but the heft of the bolts often did enough to scare any creature that wasn''t hit. The charged part of it was mostly to rotate a drum that set a new bolt in place, and pulling the cable back automatically, so it fired pretty quick. The bolt throwers did a decent amount of damage, and we''re easy to make more ammo for with a single stop at a SteelPile.


    At the second floor was where the incinerator was, and here she found grandpa Harold, handing him a plate he smiled as she moved on. Inside the workshop was her mother and father, talking happily as they made replacement parts for some of the older portions of the rig to be put in later. Taking their plates they smiled at their daughter, ruffling her hair her father pushed her back towards the ramp, a clear indication to either head all the way up, or more likely, all the way down. The bottom floor of the rig was a large open warehouse area wilhich had compost from the animals and toilets pushed down here. There were a few bugs that buzzed around, but also many webs that would need to be harvested today. Her grandparents were all working on bagging the more composted of material, as one of them slowly wound the shlorkel silk onto a spool, to be dyed in the future no doubt. Leaving any silk that had caught an insect, and a few to support it as well for the shlorkel.


    Waiting until they had finished, she watched them rinse their hands in a sink kept on the lower levels to water the shlorkel if they needed it, or wash hands, like in this case. Once complete, she handed off three more plates and finished her own egg on toast before walking up to the front and sitting down, peering out a hole in the bow. Her grandfather was at the helm, so to speak, by being at the incinerator, and as such, going forward into the workshop, and further still to a small water basin which they kept some fish they had found in the low seas, some sort of catfish they were called, he had access to view where they were headed.


    This small pond of fish was also used for growing, and many mosses and giant green leaf plants floated upon the surface of the basin, their clean water was kept in the far back of the fourth floor, going through boilers and being further filtered by silk nets woven to be extremely tight. After the filters we''re used they were sometimes emptied into the compost, possibly burned, or turned into rags. Other times the same silk weave was used to make pillows full of wool, or even blankets and comforters and cushions. Thankfully they also had cotton, which was a bit more difficult for them to process, but allowed for a more uniformly fluffy material for padding. And using this, they made a cover for when it hailed, it was a large rolled up silken tarp full of cotton, and it could be pulled out the backside of the rig from a storage hatch swing arm, specially crafted by the forgers and tinkerers of the family, and then the blanket could be pulled out to cover the rig. Some areas though had other tube like sections that opened up and merely draped down a blanket, instead of needing to be pulled over the backside. Sadly the back top of the rig had mostly exhaust stacks, so there was little that could be done other than hoisting up a box of blankets on supports, and rolling the last square into place.


    When they ran across hailstorms the family had it down pat, one would shut everything down, lock the brakes, set stabilizer harpoons, and generally batten down the interior, the rest of the family would push on the hatch button from the insides and flop out the various covers, only her father went out to do the exhaust stacks, as a person could be caught in the hail if they weren''t fast enough. The top front side had two pipes down the middle which we''re relatively fast, the brothers would often run out, grandma would open the hatch from the inside, and they would haul the covers out and roll it down the edge, and then two more for the greenhouse glass, but grandma had usually hit the switch by then to put the metal shielding over it, it slowly moved forward to cover it, usually a delay, and then over the course of a minute it would cover the glass. But that made it simpler, open the hatches, attach the eyelets on the covers to the shutter, and let it go, while her father was halfway through the stacks, the brothers would be done with the top and the greenhouse would cover itself. Everything on the sides was simply open the hatch, and push.


    The real time consuming part came afterwards, with having to hand crank all the blankets back into a roll, and checking to make sure there were no cuts, tears, or rips in them, and finally making sure the winches still worked. The rest of the caravan usually we''re smaller vehicles, two man crew tops to keep up with the family big rig. They opened a single hatch on top and then put out stakes to hold the covers they had bought taut, to bounce hail away, or catch it, and then use it for melt water. The convoy consisted of five vehicles, many would say it was a mobile settlement. Especially since one of them was roughly the size of the narwhal, but was entirely dedicated to raising their own farm animals. Though the term is used loosely as they kept a school of fish in the entire back half of the second and third floors. Cutting down on the actual capabilities of their craft, even with three people, there was no workshop, at least not on the second floor, it was in the first floor, which was also their warehouse. Much like every other rig.


    Their water tank was kept on the front of the third floor, since the fish took up the back two floors. Other rigs however we''re all rather unique. Some rigs had a gantry crane that was used regularly, so the warehouse was on the third floor with an openable roof. Much like a garage door it would slide open. There were also some that were considered rather posh families, having larger rigs they used the a fourth and fifth floor as an open air balcony with retractable roof and awning. Though many of those same families were excellent hunters and would harpoon beasts from miles away with ballistae that had installed at the bow in same said balcony.


    But all feared the storms, and as such had shutters for even these strange and often recreational use locations. Its said there was a rig ran by many families and had something the old folks called a ballroom or dancing floor. Others denied it saying it was a dojo for training in combat! Others still said it was an arena for captured beasts to be used for sport and training. But none ever actually saw this. So only rumors abound. But all say that this Great Rig was from far north on the highlands, but the highlands often saw greater storms, so fee traveled them outside the old waterways said to have once existed.


    Melli gazed out the window, her grandparents often talked of a place called Canada, which was said to be just north of the byways they used. Truth be told, were a map to be pulled out, they would be in what remained of the great lakes. While just off south from them would be a lonely little rig, all it''s own, fliudnering towards the greatest SteelPile the highlands had heard of. A place once called.... Pittsburgh. Though some of the older folks said the greatest SteelPile is Detroit. A difference of roughly 200 miles, or a few hours at decent speed.


    While Jahwan made his way to one SteelPile, Melli and the Ironwalker clan made their way to Detroit. One much closer to the traveler in question than the other. At his speed... Jahwan was still a few days away, roughly the same amount were the Iron Walker''s to go straight there, and that''s considering Jahwan only travels for ten hours tops, while the Ironwalkers are ever on the move unless the convoy calls for a halt. Melli hugged her knees as she wondered what the world held for her.


    Meanwhile... Jahwan questioned how he was going to fix the axle powered by the incinerator. A small crack may be nothing, but a crack it was, and a fix it did need.