(2016-04-11) How to Make Drone Soup
How to Make Drone Soup
Summary: Mon wakes up with flashbacks, and rather than try and sleep again, goes to talk to Terry. Who is awake, fortunately.
Date: 2016.04.11
Related: None

It's the middle of the night, and Mon's woken up with flashbacks again. She sighs, knowing full well that she needs to wait a little while and calm down before she sleeps again, or the next ones will have her screaming, so she gets up and knocks on Terry's door softly, hoping that if he's awake he'll hear, and if he's asleep, he'll sleep right through it.

The door opens before the second knock is through. "Hey, Mon. Come on in.." Terry gestures indicatively. His tone is warm and inviting.. or, at least, that's how he tries to have it come across. He wasn't sleeping, per se.. more checking his eyes for light leaks. He's used to catching Z's wherever and whenever he can, thanks to Uncle Sam.

Monica is, for once, completely unarmed. She trusts Terry completely. Plus, post-flashback jitters, not a good time to be armed. "Hi," she says softly, and clears her throat. She hugs Terry softly. Hey, at least she smells reasonably good this time.

Terry does note the reasonably good smell, but doesn't pay it too much heed. His sense of smell functions, but he's learned to deal with odors, thanks again to a certain Uncle. A good bit of who Terry is now is thanks to that Uncle. "Hi." He returns the gesture loosely, not wanting to accidentally squish Monica. "What can I do for you?" He inquires, gesturing again. "Please, make yourself at home."

Monica sighs softly. "I thought I had. I was awake… if I sleep now, the flashback just gets worse, so I figured I'd see what you were up to. Hunting any drones lately?"

"Not today, no. Just the occasional fish, and squirrel." Terry shakes his head. "I've been thinking about cutting back to maybe once a week.. hunting and all. I've been having pretty good luck, but I don't want to over-stock the supplies.."

Monica nods. "Or over-hunt the fields." She sighs and lets go of Terry. "I sometimes lie awake thinking about how fragile all this is. If the hunting goes bad, we have to move. End of discussion. We don't have any way of producing enough calories to keep us all alive without game meat. I'm thinking about how to talk to Bob about all this later. He put my electrical power project on hold pending a vote, since it puts everyone at more risk." Mon is trying, really hard, not to sound frustrated, but there's no hiding it. No matter how much she thinks Bob is probably right, she's frustrated that her project is stalled again. "So I was thinking that figuring out drone batteries could save a lot of trouble. I know you said you brought one down. You hit it with a .50 BMG?

"Multiple times, plus half a dozen rounds from other rifles and handguns." Terry nods. "No small feat, taking down a drone. They're tough bastards." He gives a luxurious stretch, several joints popping and cracking as he loosens up. "But hey, we're tougher," he notes with a smile.

Monica screws up her face a little. "Great. Now I have to make a cannon and grape shot. And even then, I don't know if black powder's got the energy. Or maybe just a big butterfly net and a baseball bat, I dunno. I'd love to get inside one of those things though. I have the dead power cell that was in the bus. Was that from your drone?"

"I've taken down a few, since this whole thing started." A beat. "It might be." Terry responds, with a light shrug. "…It feels like it gets harder with each successive drone. They seem to learn from us, so we always have to adapt.."

Monica nods. "So you've handled power cells while they're live? And no unusual cancer or anything?" She looks at Terry's hands briefly.

Terry shakes his head. "I just administer the high-speed long-distance injections.. leave the retrieval to other folks. Once I get into position, I don't move around much, if at all. It throws things all out of whack."

Monica hmms. "Okay." She ponders. "I gotta come up with better sustainable guns. So… if you wanted to hunt one, what would you do? Just… sit and wait for it to wander past and blow holes in it while it's not expecting anything? Then what happens?"

"Me, personally?" Terry arches a brow. "Yeah, I'd figure out where they're likely to pop up, find a nice shooting spot, and…" Another shrug. "Wait. … Once I've got it in my sights, I start laying down some fire."

You say, "Does it pop, or blow up, or just fall down and go thud? And you said handgun fire was penetrating the one everyone was shooting at?""

Terry says, "Like I said.. the drone is tough. My weapon's made to handle tough situations. I put a chink in its armor, gave it a weak spot. You get past the armor, makes it much easier to bring down. Easier, not easy."

Monica nods. "Like I said. John Browning designed the thing to shoot armor. World War I armor, but armor nonetheless. I started reading up on him when I got into gunsmithing. I always wanted to have cartridges named after me. Unless there's a lot more civilization left out there than it looks like, I might get my chance. Now that I have a machine shop it gets a lot more practical to experiment with." She thinks back to what Bob talked about. "Who were the Reyes family, and what happened to them? Bob mentioned they got blown up."

Terry says, "A family of migrants from down south. Seemed nice enough. … Back in November, a kid showed up at the Reyes camp, out of the blue. Some folks from the Reyes camp went to grab Doc from our camp, and while they were gone, the kid went jihadi. Sleeper agent, or something. That's the reason behind the big-ass crater.."

Monica whistles softly. "That's a big-ass crater for a bomb a kid could carry." She looks skyward. "I wonder if a drone could carry one of those? I mean… if we could catch a drone alive and stick one of those bombs in it, and get it inside the mother ship… you gotta figure it's going to make a mess. Maybe two or three…"

Terry nods. "We could go all 'Independence Day' on them, yeah… that'd be interesting to see." He agrees.

You say, "And then it'd be just… us. Until the next mother ship arrives. And somehow we'd have to be ready for them. So we'd have to have a technological reach beyond what we had before." Mon blows out her cheeks. "Work the problem, work on what's going to kill us today, I guess.""

"Yeah… One day at a time. Not a _bad_ way to live, really.." Terry nods, rolling his shoulders in a shrug.

You say, "But we have to plan ahead, too. Gasoline and diesel go bad. We have about another year." Mon yawns softly. "I think I'm safe to sleep now." She gives Terry another hug. "Thanks for sitting up with me.""

Terry offers a weak smile, as his sleep cycle finally catches up to him. He yawns as well. "You're welcome, Mon. Any time.." He gives a quick salute.

Monica raises an eyebrow. She steps out of the hug and gives Terry a salute of her own, palm out, elbow at shoulder height. It would look British style, probably, but somewhat more fluid. Of course it's Civil War vintage. What else would it be. "Sleep tight."

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