HOME | DD

Description
Part IV
Borken watched the gnoll opposite him go through a weapon assembly and disassembly drill. His stubby, clawed fingers were nimbly working away on the large assault rifle that passed as standard issue. Although each gnoll was provided a weapon built from a standard design left over from the days when the race were no more than foot soldiers for a globally dominant super power. Each weapon was adapted over years, or decades, of use. With repairs made with make-shift parts, modifications added to suit the user and the odd decoration to mark an achievement, each weapon, vehicle or piece of equipment was made unique in its own right.
With practised efficiency the gnoll took the scattering of parts in the small table in front of him and built the weapon up once more. This one had a highly decorated carved wooden stock, grenade launcher and a few long fangs hanging like totems from the barrel. The swaying of the vehicle had apparently little effect on his progress.

Borken tried to ignore the light nausea that lurked inside, threatening to take him over. The windowless insides of the APC jolted and swayed to his dismay as it travelled onwards. He was a scholar by trade and a sauren by birth. He was a data miner. One of those odd people whose occupation was a hybrid of archaeology, hacking and potholing. Their jobs were invaluable.
The old world had made many breakthroughs in science and technology, as well as many records on anything from ancient texts to satellite imagery, all of which would be invaluable to those striving to improve life in the now barren, irradiated wastes. Such stores of information mostly came in the form of data centres. Rows and rows of server stacks, in specially constructed rooms. Most of which were kept in the basement levels of buildings, and as such, were shielded from the worse of the bombs that has scared the landscape above. Decades of neglect does take its effect though. Sometimes water would seep in, ruining low lying equipment. Sometimes the damaged roof gave up and collapsed thousands of tonnes of masonry onto the rooms. But sometimes there would be a gem. Usually found glistening in the shattered and makeshift remains of the old international telecommunications network, the backup power still running to the abandoned hardware. One tiny signal of life flashing on an obscure IP in a long-thought disconnected or non-existent network.
Borken would not normally travel in such conditions. Normally he would not have been so impatient as to forego one of the regular passenger trade trucks that travelled the roads from the various towns to Carthage, the capital of the region. Normally he wouldn't have been this excited however. Normally he would not have much of interest to report from his work. Most importantly, he was not normally carrying anything away from his excavations that he hadn't brought in with him.
He took another pill from one of many pockets of his long coat and swallowed it down hard, hoping to suppress his travel sickness at least until he was in a more convenient location to expel his dignity away quietly.

The find was a great one. A wonderful and dangerous piece of technology found in the bowels of a long forgotten research facility. He'd have to write up the paper the night before the conference, he couldn't concentrate in this contraption. Too much noise and-
He had to brace himself as a wave of nausea rose over him once more.
He looked desperately round of a bag or something to use. He closed his eyes and tried to think calm, relaxing and steady thoughts. It gradually faded, to his relief, but Borken became aware of eyes upon him. Apparently his internal battle didn't go unnoticed.
"Get the passenger a bucket or something. He doesn't look a healthy shade of green."
There was sniggering and a small, plastic bucket was produced from somewhere and passed to him. He took it sheepishly.
The sauren species had bifurcated some time in the past into two races. One native to the wetter, more vegetation rich areas of the world and one became adept at living in the more arid regieons. This had given rise to the tan sauren, who were normaly a sandy brown, sometimes with darker stripes across their back and upper parts of their limbs, and the green sauren who were just that, green. Borken was, of course, of the latter creed.

Suddenly the radio croaked into life. The dry, rasping voice of the gnoll clans matriarch and commander spoke. "We are going on high alert. We'll be passing into the valley imminently so gunners, get to your positions. Be on the watch for anything suspicious."
Borken gulped.

Description
Part IV
Borken watched the gnoll opposite him go through a weapon assembly and disassembly drill. His stubby, clawed fingers were nimbly working away on the large assault rifle that passed as standard issue. Although each gnoll was provided a weapon built from a standard design left over from the days when the race were no more than foot soldiers for a globally dominant super power. Each weapon was adapted over years, or decades, of use. With repairs made with make-shift parts, modifications added to suit the user and the odd decoration to mark an achievement, each weapon, vehicle or piece of equipment was made unique in its own right.
With practised efficiency the gnoll took the scattering of parts in the small table in front of him and built the weapon up once more. This one had a highly decorated carved wooden stock, grenade launcher and a few long fangs hanging like totems from the barrel. The swaying of the vehicle had apparently little effect on his progress.

Borken tried to ignore the light nausea that lurked inside, threatening to take him over. The windowless insides of the APC jolted and swayed to his dismay as it travelled onwards. He was a scholar by trade and a sauren by birth. He was a data miner. One of those odd people whose occupation was a hybrid of archaeology, hacking and potholing. Their jobs were invaluable.
The old world had made many breakthroughs in science and technology, as well as many records on anything from ancient texts to satellite imagery, all of which would be invaluable to those striving to improve life in the now barren, irradiated wastes. Such stores of information mostly came in the form of data centres. Rows and rows of server stacks, in specially constructed rooms. Most of which were kept in the basement levels of buildings, and as such, were shielded from the worse of the bombs that has scared the landscape above. Decades of neglect does take its effect though. Sometimes water would seep in, ruining low lying equipment. Sometimes the damaged roof gave up and collapsed thousands of tonnes of masonry onto the rooms. But sometimes there would be a gem. Usually found glistening in the shattered and makeshift remains of the old international telecommunications network, the backup power still running to the abandoned hardware. One tiny signal of life flashing on an obscure IP in a long-thought disconnected or non-existent network.
Borken would not normally travel in such conditions. Normally he would not have been so impatient as to forego one of the regular passenger trade trucks that travelled the roads from the various towns to Carthage, the capital of the region. Normally he wouldn't have been this excited however. Normally he would not have much of interest to report from his work. Most importantly, he was not normally carrying anything away from his excavations that he hadn't brought in with him.
He took another pill from one of many pockets of his long coat and swallowed it down hard, hoping to suppress his travel sickness at least until he was in a more convenient location to expel his dignity away quietly.

The find was a great one. A wonderful and dangerous piece of technology found in the bowels of a long forgotten research facility. He'd have to write up the paper the night before the conference, he couldn't concentrate in this contraption. Too much noise and-
He had to brace himself as a wave of nausea rose over him once more.
He looked desperately round of a bag or something to use. He closed his eyes and tried to think calm, relaxing and steady thoughts. It gradually faded, to his relief, but Borken became aware of eyes upon him. Apparently his internal battle didn't go unnoticed.
"Get the passenger a bucket or something. He doesn't look a healthy shade of green."
There was sniggering and a small, plastic bucket was produced from somewhere and passed to him. He took it sheepishly.
The sauren species had bifurcated some time in the past into two races. One native to the wetter, more vegetation rich areas of the world and one became adept at living in the more arid regieons. This had given rise to the tan sauren, who were normaly a sandy brown, sometimes with darker stripes across their back and upper parts of their limbs, and the green sauren who were just that, green. Borken was, of course, of the latter creed.

Suddenly the radio croaked into life. The dry, rasping voice of the gnoll clans matriarch and commander spoke. "We are going on high alert. We'll be passing into the valley imminently so gunners, get to your positions. Be on the watch for anything suspicious."
Borken gulped.