[Celuien]

Think, think! PT Cruiser with twenty-five trollbellies of petrol at fifteen to twenty-five miles per trollbelly. Little French Car with eleven trollbellies at thirty-five and forty-five miles per trollbelly. What does that make? Panakeia tallied up the numbers. Fortunately, running a business had made her good at arithmetic.

So a PT Cruiser could go 625 miles on one tank, but the French Car only 495 at maximum. Furthermore, the Little French Car looked suspiciously flimsy, not much more than a golf cart, better suited to an easy jaunt over well-kept green fields than Mordor’s hazard ridden Interstates. And could the driver of a PT Cruiser even see the diminutive lawn-mower of a vehicle if she were to choose the French contraption? Undoubtedly, a PT Cruiser is the better choice. She ran ahead, unapologetically tripping over Fléin in her haste.

Spotting a particularly shiny PT Cruiser that appeared to be in better repair than the others, Panakeia rushed to the door, tossed her sample case into the rear, and sat behind the wheel. "I've never driven before. This should be an adventure," she said to no one in particular. Recalling that she had only seen Orcs piloting these particular means of transportation before, she added half jestingly, half in genuine worry, "I only hope I don't turn into an Orc."

Panakeia stared at the dizzying array of controls and dials in front of her. Watching the Orcs spin through the streets of Lûndûn, she assumed that driving was a simple thing. But now that she was the one sitting in the driver’s seat, she felt differently. She longed for a way out of this challenge. “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” she cried, before sheepishly recalling that she neither had a kingdom nor any great skill as a rider. “How do you start this confounded thing?” she called. Lûgnût simpered and pointed to a rusted key dangling from the side of the steering wheel.

Panakeia turned the key. The SUV sprang into life with a roar and blast of exhaust. And suddenly, Panakeia felt herself changing. She watched in horror as her carefully polished fingernails lengthened into thick, yellow claws. Her hands grew rough and warty, and she was sure that she felt her ears lengthening. With no small amount of trepidation, she glanced up at the mirror fixed to the center of the Cruiser’s ceiling to find that she had indeed been changed into a particularly hideous Orc. Her wrinkles were now massive sagging folds in her face that no amount of Wrinkle-Away would cure, even if it were a genuine product.

With the physical transformation there also came a change in personality. Panakeia’s temper suddenly seemed to have been turned up from a low simmer to a full boil. She screeched at Anakron, her voice raspy and harsh, berating him in no uncertain terms for this less than satisfactory makeover.

“Only Orcs may drive automobiles. As it is necessary for you to drive, it is also necessary for you to be an Orc.” He turned to leave.

“But for how long?” she protested. Anakron didn’t hear her. He had already moved off and was speaking with another member of the Offending Party.

Lûgnût cleared his throat. “Prepare for your RET. This will be a brief exam, designed to assess your suitability for the undertaking of the task of operating a motor vehicle.” He opened a small book and began to read in a solemn voice. “Mordor Drivers’ Licensing Exam, Version Five A. Instructions. Cheating is strictly forbidden. This includes, but is not limited to, requesting assistance from other licensing candidates, requesting assistance from previously licensed drivers, or attempting to obtain copies of the exam in advance. For this reason, multiple versions of the exam are given, such that drivers are not necessarily tested in any consistent fashion. Is that clear?” Panakeia nodded. “Good. We shall proceed with the exam. One. Turn on your vehicle.” He paused. “As you have already completed this step, we will dispense with it. Two. Locate the steering wheel.” Panakeia placed her hands on the wheel. “Three. Move the vehicle to the location of your choice.” She fiddled with the various controls and pressed on a pedal on the floor. The Cruiser unexpectedly jolted backwards, knocking a pile of tires over of one of the Little French Cars. She slammed her foot onto the other pedal and the car stopped. Having no wish to run over anything (or anyone) else she quickly turned the key again and stepped out of the car.

Lûgnût sauntered up to her. “Congratulations! You have passed the RET. Sign here, please.” He pointed to a line at the bottom of a small rectangular card. The number 9 (or was it 6?) was printed in the corners along with a red diamond. There was another, larger red diamond in the card's center with her name neatly etched over top of it.

Panakeia scribbled her name on the line. “This is your drivers’ license. Keep it with you at all times. Do not lose it! Do not permit unauthorised drivers to use your license.” He handed Panakeia the card. “And now, if you will excuse me, I have several other exams to administer.” Lûgnût left her standing by the PT Cruiser. Now that she was out of the car, Panakeia slowly began transforming into her ordinary shape.

A moment later, all traces of Orcishness had left her. What a relief! At least it seems transformations are limited to driving. She laughed. Maybe that’s a good thing. No one will recognize me like that. I can drive as aggressively as any Orc, and no one will ever know it!

Panakeia snapped into action. She grabbed the nearest tire and proceeded to put it into her SUV, working on what she hoped would be an ample supply of spares for the journey ahead.