In terms of transportation, the locals relied on anything what moving, so almost everyone had at least tractor, if not car: both necessary in Pandora's conditions and inexpensive, given the possibilities of digital construction. Most, however, kept tractors that could be used for work in the fields, not just for riding.

  This was evident from the burned-out hulks near the settlement.

  Naturally, the bandits could not help but make a mess of it.

  There was no way to reconstruct these remains. Only complete material destructuring and re-creation, but I didn't have a license for that.

  In terms of transportation, for travel, there was another option. A station for digitizing vehicles, or simply "rent-a-car". There was one nearby.

  ...The key word was "was." Despite the fact that most of it was made of metal comparable in strength to my shovel, and all the relatively fragile parts were protected as much as possible, the bandits had managed to destroy it as well. I say "bandits," but there were bite marks on the metal. It looked like human teeth, though.

  ...No, I just won't think about it.

  In any case, I was left without anything to use as transportation.

  I glanced at Claptrap.

  ...Nah. While the idea is funny, even ignoring the fact that I don't want to succumb to the madness, it's too slow and uncomfortable.

  Though if you add jet engines to it....

  I shake myself up, determined to drive that nonsense away.

  So, what do we do? There's no point in staying in the ruins of the settlement, but it's quite possible, actually, to cross three dozen km of a wasteland swarming with skags and bandits on one's own two feet. Even for a normal Earthling, and certainly for an inhabitant of this galaxy, it's more of an inconvenience than a real problem. The digital construction even solves the problems of food and water... There is danger, of course - especially since skags aren't the only local life form - but with caution and the use of a turret, it should be quite possible to cope. I'll also gain experience, of both kinds. If I'm going to survive, much less return to Earth, I'm going to need it...

  I pressed my lips together. Okay, I'm not gonna drag this out. I'll check a few things just in case, and get everything ready for the trip.

  I glanced at Claptrap again and sighed.

  So, let's check the licenses available now and at the next level. Filter: vehicle related. Filter refinement: vehicle creation-related.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  ...Really?

  I was hoping for a posted open license for some kind of clunker, at least, I don't know, a moped or something. Or at least an engine that could be attached to a cart with a crowbar and some kind of mother.

  The only thing my ECHO found was a bicycle. A Bacon model.

  I rubbed my temples. Well, I guess it's better than nothing at all.

  At least it wasn't a push-cycle.

  Jerome had three on four wheels, and we had two on three. Valiantly traversing the dusty paths of a distant planet on an iron horse... Even though it's "meat" in name.

  Still, whether it's the idiotic situation or the planet itself, something about it definitely affects the clarity of thought.

  - Yahoo! - yelled Claptrap, who had brazenly grabbed the rear bumper of my vehicle and was taking advantage of the opportunity to ride at someone else's expense. - Carry me, oh my iron horse! By the way, what's a "horse"?

  I hit him with my shovel without looking so he wouldn't yell.

  - Oops! Got it, classified information - the robot said. - Oh! On the left, we can see an endemic of Pandora: the electric cactus. This not rare and not a plant is very useful if you don't have a high voltage source at hand and you want to cook the national Pandorian dish, "Shocked Skag-odka".

  I tapped him with the shovel again.

  - Oops! Okay, changing the channel. DJ Claptrap presents: Tubs-Dubs-Dubs-Dubs-Dubs... Oops!

  I frowned and stopped the swing. This time I didn't get to hit him...

  In the next second, I heard a rumbling and dragging sound from somewhere behind me. The source became obvious almost immediately: a small car was quickly catching up with us. A buggy, or something similar; four wheels, metal frame body, one seat for the driver, and another by the machine gun turret overhanging it.

  Both seats were occupied by crazy-looking men with green Mohawks and white skull paint on their faces.

  - Bro, you see that too? - yelled the thug at the turret, over the noise of the engine.

  - "Bacon," the driver read the inscription on the frame of my transport just as loudly. - An undertaker on a meat bike is taking Claptrap to robot hell... Bro, I think we've been hanging out with psychos too much! We're already seeing glitches!

  - We should take a vacation! - yelled the gunner.

  - Agreed! - the driver replied in the same tone. - Let's turn towards the fucking islands!

  ...

  - You see, boss! - Claptrap said smugly, as the buggy disappeared from sight and the sound of the engine was no longer heard. - My disguise worked perfectly!