Ⅳ Bentley of Kvartero Ⅳ

On the road again

Just can't wait to get on the road again

The life I love is making music with my friends

And I can't wait to get on the road again

On the road again

Goin' places that I've never been

Seein' things that I may never see again

And I can't wait to get on the road again

On the road again

Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway

We're the best of friends

Insisting that the world keep turning our way

And our way

Is on the road again

Bentley turned up this vintage human classic every time it played from his truck’s SD card mixtape. He especially liked the line about being the best of friends, which was a sentiment he reserved only for his closest friend of all- his mate. They had met when Bentley was only 29 and graduating from Arbaro Corporation’s Truck Driver’s Academy. The first time he laid eyes on her freshly waxed skin he fell instantly in love.

“Only 206 stops left to go! We’re halfway done, sweetie,” he gave his mate a firm pat on the wheel. The chain horn dangling beside him was too much fun to resist. He gave it a tug and honked twice in response just for shits and giggles. “I totally get what you’re saying,” he agreed.

Most Arbaro truck drivers hated their lives. Bentley loved his. He went to bed and woke up early every day to rush back to the warehouse and spend extra time washing and cleaning his shiny delivery truck. She had a metallic charcoal-gray coat of paint and a dozen lovingly placed stickers on her behind like expensive tattoos. Her wheels were firm and round. The best part by far was her seats, fully leather without a single scratch and vacuumed weekly. Bentley could fit up front with no struggle, everything was the perfect size so he could stretch far and still reach the pedals. The silver trimmed interior sparkled when the sunrise hit it just right.

In Kvartero, people complained about the uniforms at their jobs destroying their sense of individuality. Bentley kept his ironed and maintained in pristine condition. He checked himself out every morning in his little studio apartment, turning each way to judge if the green and gold details on his work shirt had faded at all or if his boots needed repair. The colors stood out beautifully against his spotted-dark complexion. In an effort to feel somewhat normal to the other Kvarteros, he kept his dark coils of hair in medium length locks wound with strings in every color of the rainbow. It was a last ditch effort to get people off his back about expressing himself and inviting some creativity into his life. Truth be told, if Bentley expressed his real feelings, he would have told them to screw off and let him work in peace. 

The roads in the forbidden territory on the coast of Kvartero were unmaintained, full of potholes and cracks that couldn’t be repaired with Anteno technology. Kvartero construction workers tried to fill them in with cobblestones, which sometimes made the issues worse. Tires were reserved for the only automobiles in the world- and those belonged to Arbaro drivers for delivery purposes only. Bentley tried his absolute best to keep his tires intact as long as they could last. 

Dodging every hole in the road he finally reached his destination. Deliveries weren’t legally allowed to stretch into disputed territories, but that didn’t stop Arbaro’s corporate leaders from sending their drivers into them for the gold. After all, if it wasn’t their holier-than-thou asses breaking the law, was it really so bad? 

Bentley parked under the shade of a tree and hopped out the side of the truck. He whistled as he walked around the side of it, caressing the smooth paint under his fingertip and checking for dust. He pulled the back doors open and reached for his next delivery box. He laid his clipboard over top and scratched off the next line with a stick of graphite before heading up to the porch.

The residents who lived in this part of Kvartero were partial hybrids, the grand-children of those who mated with freaks from Septero. Bentley was slightly wary of them and their makeshift shacks that slowly sunk into the marshland. He’d heard rumors about criminals from the border raiding delivery trucks like his, which was why he always kept his keys in his back pocket ready to grab.

An elder came to the mesh door and peeked out, motioning for Bentley to step closer and hand the box off. He took a nervous breath and reached forwards, extending his arm so they could receive it. One time he was delivering in Septero, and a mutant with five fingers brushed his hand during the process. He shuddered remembering it.

“Thank you kind driver,” the elder beamed. “Can I get you a cup of water to drink?”

“Ah, no thanks,” Bentley said, eyeing the polluted bayou just past their house. “I’ve got a lot of deliveries today. Maybe next time.”

“Take care.”

Bentley was heading back to his truck when he saw a dingy washing up towards the shore all by itself. He raised a brow and took extra precaution to lock up his truck before scoping it out. Why would there be a dinghy in this part of Kvartero? Swimming was prohibited in the marshlands, and travel was out of the question. He considered alerting the Unutero police force, but he wanted to check it out for himself first. Maybe he’d find a treasure chest of gold!

Instead of treasure, there were two people and a fox lying on their backs in the bottom of the boat. Bentley stood there, boots sinking into the wet sand, staring at them in disbelief. They did not look like they came from around here. The one had olive skin and messy curls and was built like a soldier. The other was a skinny, helpless looking thing with hair so dark she must have barely spent a day in the sun. If Bentley was a total idiot he would have thought they’d come all the way from Oktero and Kvintero!

Esther and Pepsi sat up. Clearly their plan to hide had failed them. Bentley saw a fishing pole in the boat and was puzzled. “Why the hell would you go fishing in the toxic marshlands?”

“Toxic? It’s not toxic! Do you understand the depth of history that can be excavated from these marshlands? I catch twenty relics a day in these waters! Don’t you tell me where I can’t fish, clown-”

Esther slapped her hand over Pepsi’s mouth before she could say anything else. Bentley glared and put his hands on his hips. “Even if you don’t care about toxic waste it’s still illegal to fish in Kvartero. You must be mentally challenged, or from somewhere else if you’ve never heard that rule before. Get out of the boat. I’m taking you to the warehouse to file a citizen’s arrest.”

Esther’s lips parted. A jolt of adrenaline got her talking after the pause. “We didn’t mean it! We’ll just leave our boat and head down the road, and we won’t bother anyone.”

Bentley laughed. “And have me risk my career because two idiots wanted to eat dead fish for dinner? I don’t think so.”

Esther let go of Pepsi, who huffed in disapproval. “I’m warning you,” Esther threatened, her voice lowered. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Bentley reached for his keys and held them between his fingers. Esther responded by unsheathing a gigantic golden sword and pointing it in his face. Bentley’s mouth dropped open and his keys clattered to the ground. “Help!” He screamed. 

“Stop screaming!” Esther yelled and poked his palm with her sword.

“Help! I’m being attacked!”

Esther poked him again. Bentley was too terrified to move from his place of surrender. Esther groaned and held the blade up to his throat which caused him to shake more and cry in fear. “If you won’t let us walk there, give us a ride to Septero in your carriage.”

Of course they wanted to go to Septero! They had to be criminal drug dealers. It all made sense now. They were fishing drugs out of the bayou, weren’t they! That didn’t make any sense, but Bentley was too bent out of shape at the moment to think clearly. “Fine, fine! I’ll take you to Septero,” he said, knowing the warehouse wasn’t far from the border. As soon as he let them off he could call every police branch in Unutero to surround them and get revenge for their unruly behavior.

Bentley stared Esther in the eyes as he lowered himself down, palms still up in surrender as he reached for his keys. She glared at him as he stood back up and poked him in the back with her sword when he turned around.

“Stop stabbing me!” Bentley whined.

Esther laughed, entertained by him. “I’m not stabbing you. You’d definitely feel it if I was. Toughen up a little.”

Pepsi’s eyes opened wide in the presence of such a vehicle. It was an ominously perfect ancient machine. “I don’t understand how this is real.” She declared her suspicion. “This is an automobile, isn’t it? How do you have one so new?”

“She’s not just an automobile, this is my mate!” Bentley argued. He opened the door and hopped into the driver’s seat, trying desperately to get it to start fast in case he could just drive away before they got in.

“Hurry,” Esther whispered to Pepsi. She didn’t want her fear to get her left behind. She helped the smaller one into the high seat and sat with her in her lap. 

“Your- your mate.” Pepsi was processing that.

“Been together for five years now, and she’s still revving the same as always.” Bentley stroked the wheel proudly. Esther and Pepsi gave each other a look. 

“What are all these for?” Esther pointed at the strange technology built into the front of the truck. Pepsi had shown her ancient pictures of machines beyond her understanding in the archive, but it was much different being so close to a real one. 

“Don’t touch that, it’s the self-destruct button!” Bentley yelled at her. It was actually the air conditioning control, but he didn’t want her playing around with the buttons anyway. Esther gasped and pulled her hand away. Bentley mumbled to himself as he made an aggressive 3-point-turn and started driving towards the main road to Septero. 

Pepsi took out her notepad. She drew every symbol she could find in the car and started building a diagram of everything she could see. She didn’t trust Bentley to explain it to her, he seemed kind of unhinged. The only teachers she ever trusted were her trusty two eyes, ears, and eight fingers. “Incredible… How peculiar…” she whispered occasionally. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bentley felt irritated by the thought. “You’re thinking, oh what a loser, caring about the duties of being an Arbaro truck driver. Well I’ll have you know that I do in fact enjoy what I do. Sure it’s frustrating and downright painful at times. What’s life without pain anyway? If it wasn’t for Arbaro, I wouldn’t have half the inspiration to write misery-poetry about the depth of my emotions. Working makes me unique, you know. People don’t understand the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of being a truck driver. And I bet you think the other truck drivers think I’m crazy, and you know what? They do! But that’s just because they’ve never felt the real love that can only exist between an Anteno and his truck.”

“I wasn’t actually thinking any of that, but okay.” Esther said.

“Ha! I knew you wouldn’t understand. You Septeros never do, with your looking on the brightside and toxic positivity. No wonder you eat fish from the marshlands. You just like to minimize problems while other people, good citizens of Kvartero who are hard workers like me, have real issues to think about. Maybe if you stopped drug dealing and got a job with Arbaro you’d be sadder.”

Esther sighed. This man was clearly insane. “You’re right, some people do have real problems,” she mumbled under her breath.