Buried 5

~ start a1f2793e-c09a-4764-9f10-624228b37d46
if is_quest_accepted
	Narrator: *The corridor isn't going anywhere and neither is the light. What you're carrying has to go west (location 6,13).* [#end]
else
	Narrator: *You stand in the corridor a while longer with the bundle under your arm.*
		*The generator holds its note. The strip light holds its dim. Nothing else down here is going to explain itself to you.*
	Narrator: *You can't read a word of it. Wren can.*
		*Her camp is a long way west of this rock (location 6,13).*
	Narrator: [#quest_info=c9011325-b384-433b-802c-b3f566d9c8ae]
	if is_quest_accepted:
		Narrator: [quest: accepted] [#end]
			*You leave the engine running. It seems wrong to shut it off after somebody kept it ready that long.*
	else:
		Narrator: [quest: declined] [#end]
			*The bundle goes into your pack regardless. You're not leaving it down there.*
=> END

~ start bedbea7a-10ae-48f9-8748-c62e18410763
if is_quest_accepted
	if are_quest_requirements_met
		Wren: *She's on her feet before you're past the camp line, and she's looking at what's under your arm, not at you.*
			That's from inside. That's from inside, isn't it.
		Wren: *She gets the crate onto the table and starts lifting things out of it. The notebooks come first. She reads the way people read when they aren't really reading yet - covers, dates, back pages.* [#complete_quest]
			Eleven. Sequential. Ten years of primary record and it's all one hand.
			*Her voice is doing something it doesn't usually do.*
		Wren: *The photograph is in with the charts. She takes it by the corner and holds it flat, the way you hold something you don't want to mark.*
			Second from the left. That's my grandfather.
			*Then she stops talking for a while.*
		Wren: *When she starts again, it's quieter.*
			That's him old. That's him the way I remember him - the face he had when I was small enough to sit on his lap.
		Wren: *Her voice goes careful.*
			He's missing his left eye.
			*She turns the photograph to the lamp. Then away from it. Then back.*
		Wren: I knew him until I was nine. I have his hands memorised.
			He had both eyes in every year I can remember, and he had both eyes when they buried him, I was th-
			*She doesn't finish it.*
		- It could be a bad print
			Wren: *She doesn't look up.*
				It isn't the print. There's scar tissue. You can follow the line of it into the eyebrow.
		- Someone who looked like him
			Wren: *A sound that starts out as a laugh and doesn't finish.*
				I know that face better than I know yours.
		Wren: *She sets the photograph face down on the table and puts her hand flat on top of it, and leaves it there.*
			Leave the rest with me.
			*A pause that runs slightly too long.*
			Please.
		Wren: *Her hand hasn't moved.* [#end]
			Come back in a few days. I'll have something for you by then.
			*She doesn't sound like she believes it.*
	else
		Wren: *She looks up, and keeps looking past you at the road.* [#end]
			You went down there. What was in it?
			*A pause.*
			Bring me all of it. Notes, tape, anything with writing on it. I don't care what it weighs.
else
	Wren: *She's at her table with the survey map still weighted at the corners, working the same three points she worked last week.* [#end]
		Any word from the east range?
		*She's asking about the coordinates. Not about you.*
=> END