Three nimble cars scampered around Jones in noisy flies. They did not stop for a second. The mechanic thought that he could let go of the steering wheel and freeze - and the opponents would just kick up dust.
- Guys, I'm already tired! Let's get this over with. I'll leave with the damn box, and you will clean up in one piece! - shouted the Mechanic at all radio frequencies.
The strangers did not answer.
“As you wish,” Jones said wearily, reluctantly unrolling the remnants of his weaponry. One of the opponents slowed down, feeling threatened, but the other two only rushed more violently into battle, not trying to plan their actions.
“Nerds,” Jones sighed.
Dealing with them was painfully easy. Jones was sure there were youngsters in the cars. Too arrogant for experienced fighters. One killed himself when he allowed the caterpillars to fall into the crevice and get stuck in a hail of bullets. Another went to the ram, like a madman, quickly lost the armor plates, underestimating the strength of Jones's wheelbarrow, and dutifully exploded, scattering pieces of metal around. The third one realized that the case smelled like kerosene, and just ran away. Jones was grateful to him.
And all this is due to a box of uranium ore.
When the escaped raider's car disappeared into the distance, Jones pulled into the quarry and slowed down to catch his breath. The water in the flask was almost hot.
The sunny copper was crawling towards the zenith, and Jones, glancing at the map, went to the gathering place. The half-shot shield banged against the body every time the car bounced on the rocks. Jones swore and pulled the car out to the side, where the off-road was smoother.
- Forgive me, girlfriend. You got hit right after the repair, ”the mechanic muttered, casting an almost loving glance at the dashboard. The cursed box gleamed in the rearview mirror, tied tightly to the chair by a strap.
Jones understood why Duncan had made an appointment away from the inhabited Wasteland, on the border with the zones of anomalies. In such a wilderness, you can only run into a freak from the Order of the Fallen Star or a traveling gadget. Duncan has always loved secluded places.
In the middle of the way, when the polished solar disk was about to dive for the horizon, the excitement of the battle subsided and the mechanic was able to think soberly. Jones twisted his arguments, chose words, not knowing how to express his concerns. Should the Engineers get involved with the Children of Dawn? Jones did not want to bury his comrades again because of other people's ambitions.
Thoughts were interrupted by the awakened radio:
- Jones, it's Foxy! How do you hear me?
The signal is clear - not far from the site.
“I hear great, Foxy. Coming closer to you. Something happened? Welcome.
- Checking to see if your ass is intact. Welcome.
- There is nowhere more whole, dear. Is Duncan with you? Welcome.
- No, he will be later. Waiting for you. End of communication.
“End of communication,” Jones chuckled, reaching for the panel and twisting the vernier on the receiver with a bang. Maybe the Dawn's gadgets will come in handy after all.
Soon a plume of smoke appeared in the distance, and Jones smiled.
