GIRL INTERRUPTED.

August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 4:00PM, Sunday; December 16th, 2007)______________________________________________________________________

Technology still had a ways to go in my opinion.

At the crossroad I was presently at, I was sorely tempted to get my spare blaster out from underneath the workbench and just shoot the damned bike!

Fuck-! I was so pissed at the thing!

The intake valves were fixed and the filters cleaned, but then something else reared its ugly head and I had even more work to contend with. (Honestly? I didn't even know how Calis did it half the time. The old man was a wizard when it came to machines and stuff like that. Me? I was just a green novice. An ace pilot for the Viper X-1, but a stinkin' greenie with hoverbikes. I remember the times my mom would always yell at me to take care of my "at-home" equipment even better than I did my auto-frame. Calis cautioned me on the same subject many times over--but I was hard of hearing; and often (than I care to admit), I paid for my follies.

No, this time, the fuel pumps themselves were the sticking point. And without them fixed, I had no way of making it out to the Mile Road marker 200 clicks out from the home fort.

My bike would die out in the middle of nowhere squared and most likely I would to--even with the proper precautionary measures.

The tiny valve-compressors and the drive-piston assembly were the problem--with the latter hopelessly gummed up with sand.

Nothing I did could alleviate the problem.

The only solution was to head into Shark's Bay for a replacement. Stratos City was a secondary possibilty, but without reliable transportation, I was screwed every which way towards next Thursday.

And the 450-mile journey on foot was like asking me to commit suicide or something. Roving bandit gangs would pick me off faster than the elements would in a heartbeat.

But I knew then that in order to make the call, I would have to think of a way of improvising on the spot. There just had to be something in this shed that I could use as a replacement for the pump's lining mechanism. This was what caused the fuel pump assembly to conk out of commission.

However, I believed that Calis and I had already shielded the pumps from the harsh elements; but I guess not now. The damaged pumps were proof that more work needed to be done.

I spent some time contemplating the problem--trying to pull a miracle out of my hat. The compressor valve was the easiest thing to replace--I had parts for that. So did Calis.

But it would take me more time to replace the compressor--and that was something I didn't have the time for. So the lining was the only thing which presented itself to be a quick fix.

The only problem was that I didn't have a replacement lining pad which could fit in each of the valve compartments.

Unfortunately, someone opened the door at that time and it turned out to be my brother, Trell.

Naturally, I yelled at him after I threw my jacket on the fuel pump assembly. I didn't need anymore headaches than I had now. I had just spent 4.5 hours working. Trell did apologize for what he did and just wanted me to know that it was time for breakfast.

I had too much work on my hands to worry about eating--and looked at my handiwork in general.

Trell was hoping that I would come so he could take a quick shower and get to work on the comm screen. I immediately turned on him about the whole thing--which he in turn pointed out that I had sent him to bed before he could effect repairs.

Arguing about it was the last thing either of us wanted--even though my youngest bro informed me that he managed to jury-rig the whole thing. The repairs wouldn't last long--as he told me--so I'd better hurry up.

But it made me wonder why mom didn't just scrap the whole contraption and invest in a new comm system. I know we didn't have enough money--and I could've loaned her some for a new comm--but the thought still remained in my head for a while longer.

I offered my next solution as a way of an informal truce between myself and my youngest sibling; informing him that I would join him for breakfast.

'Let's go before mom thinks I've jumped ship,' I recalled Trell telling me on that day.

Of course, I figured that a refueling op might be just the thing I needed to fix the pumps.

So I let my brother take the lead.

At least...just this once.

Isis