Tuesday, October 14, 2053

Work sucked again. The fraggin foreman was all over our dervits big time. All because we're way behind schedule (like it's OUR fault!). The new Cultural Realignment Facility is supposed to be completed in time for the big Novus Ordeus Day celebration. I think it falls on February 6th this year - hell I can never remember that political frelb.
Fact is, we'd be putting the finishing touches on the whole project next week except for one thing. The fraggin Antiquities Minister put a NoGo Order on the project, after the Excav-a-Tron turned up "the vault." It's not really a vault - that's just what we've been calling it. It's really just a big out-building that got buried nice and neat after a seismic disturbance 50 or 60 years back. Earth opens up. Sucks building down. Closes back up. Sealed up airtight, like a tomb. Can't figure out what all the fuss is about - can't be nothing in there worth holding up a state project as big as this one. Guess we'll find out tomorrow. Scooter and I are going in, soon as the biotech team's done with their sweep.
That's all I can write tonight. Gotta get some vituals (assuming the Replimatic's not on the fritz again) and maybe the Best of Springer is one I haven't seen before. Maybe I'll give Mona the Moaner a call. See what's hangin' with her…

Wednesday, October 15, 2053

Jeez Louise. What a day. In all my years in the con-force, I never seen anything like it. Soon as the bio-tech guys were out, the fraggin propagandzzi were all over us. Some kinda rumor was circulating over Sat-News-Net that fraggin JFK's body was in there, perfectly preserved, ready for the jumper cables. Scooter was saying maybe Marilyn's body was in there too - a much more entertaining proposition for us.
But that wasn't the case. Truth is, the vault's contents were much more interesting. First thing I laid eyes on: A big red metal box on wheels. More drawers than I could count. Raised letters on the front, some kinda name: "r-a-f-t-s-m." And in each drawer, the purtiest bunch of tools you ever saw. Not like you get from the tool exchange. These babies are smooth, shiny, precise. Fit your hand like a glove. Look like they'd take a beating, too. I was lovingly fondling a nice old torque wrench, when the Antiquities Provost snatched it outa my hand. "That'll be going in the museum, Cam. Where it can be preserved for the enjoyment of the masses."
It figures. Fraggin' Government Weasels. That's pretty much how they handled all the cool stuff we found. All kinds of useless but nostalgic old time gizmos like you see in the picture boxes downtown. Gizmos for planting stuff in the ground. Boxes of religious relics (many from the church of the burger king), primitive sex aids (from a company called Mattel). All crated up and shipped off to the Central Warehouse for cataloging. Every last item. Except for one. One that Scooter and I didn't uncover 'til after the weasels were gone.

Thursday, October 16, 2053

"03212.5" - That's what it said on the odometer. Three thousand miles and change. That's all that had been clocked on her. And she looked like she just rolled off the fraggin' showroom floor. The plate on the steering head said "December1998." That meant this gorgeous, perfectly preserved piece of fine machinery was more than 50 years old. But it wasn't just a motorcycle. It was practically a legend. For many, a favorite chapter in two-wheel history. She was a Yamaha V-Star Classic. And she was mine. Okay, ours. But since Scooter didn't have a clue how to even ride one, I figured she was mainly mine. Getting her home without being seen was the first challenge (fortunately she fit perfectly in the back of Scooter's Chevy Speculum II). The other problem: Gasoline (or the lack thereof). Getting her converted to Synth-ahol might work - there are those adapter kits from JC Whitney. It looks like a standard ion discharge propulsion unit might fit in the same space as the transmission. Can't wait to get wrenching…