Chapter 9: Esto Perpetua

“Are you sure you’re safe, amigo?” Videl asked through the comsat.

“If we’re talking, it means we’re out of their scrambler range,” Greg replied.

“I’m contacting Salt Lake City Dome and letting them know what happened ... maybe they can send another team to find the wreckage of those ... asesinos.”

“Do it. I’m passing the coordinates to you. They might not find much, but it’s worth it.”

“Si, stay safe amigo.”

“You as well.”

It had been just over ten minutes since the battle. All had been quiet after Greg completed his talk with Videl through comsat. The man looked around, noting the bullet holes that persisted in the cabin. Spent shell casings rolled around on the floor. A hole in the bottom front windshield could be seen as well, which was plugged up with a rag. The moving rig continued its long drive to its next destination.

Despite all of it, the scenery was somewhat extravagant. The weather was calm when passing the next valley between the low mountains leading to the nearest town. Whomever the bandits were, it was becoming clear that they weren’t coming back.

“Thank you,” Greg said to Gip’grenda.

The Itrean seemed surprised to hear that. The M3 Grease Gun was neatly placed on her lap, almost as if she were ready for the next attack to come.

“Is it safe?” she asked him.

“Yeah...,” he explained. “I’m still trying to get out of this area at best possible speed, but I think we’re clear.”

“Good ... they were scary.”

“For someone that ripped out another’s throat, you seemed like you handled it well.”

“Yes, but ... not happy doing it.”

“That ... is something we can agree on. You said that you left the body of the boarder on the container’s roof, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, assuming she’s still on there by the time we reach the next destination, Twin Falls might get an unexpected surprise.”

“The humans ... they didn’t need suits.”

Greg shook his head. “I don’t know how it’s possible. Nobody can survive out here like this unprotected. Even if they were living in those mountains, their resources were surely limited. Yet, there they were. Damn lucky they didn’t do any more damage.”

“They were crazy.”

“Those are raiders for you. Can be a lot of reasons why. Our people have become so isolated that we don’t know what the other looks like. They didn’t react to your appearance either, right?”

“One of them called me lizard meat.”

“Heh ... Either they’ve already seen an alien or are too insane to notice you. Whatever the case is ... you held your own out there ... helped save Autumn and us in the process. Good job.”

“Thank you,” she seemed happy to hear that.

There was a brief pause. “There’s some things that I should tell you...”

“Yes?”

“About me holding preconceptions when it’s not needed. Some of us give up ... leave this world, and never come back. Everyone that I hear will say the same thing. They go on vacation to Cebravis or Palora, Aphadus; God knows, anywhere else but here ... that usually becomes the last thing I ever hear from them. Weeks later, I see them packing up, and the dome has more rooms available than ever. Earth ... the United States, it deserves better than this.”

“I know.”

“When your people came here, I see the same thing that I saw in Earth’s past, ... opportunists. Those that don’t care about the people, only themselves and how to exploit it. I hear every story and everything about it. Yeah, you get some good Itreans, but once you let them in, then what’s left of the original population is all but gone. Even if you fix the environment, you did it, not us. Where was our saying in it? Is it even going to be the same as it was hundreds of years ago?”

“But, we make things better, right?”

“My point is that you at least understand where I’m coming from,” he looked at her. “If this is to continue ... what’s going on now, I need to set aside my preconceptions about you, at least ... and to tell you that I’m sorry for holding any prior hatred towards you.”

The Itrean did her quick nods. “I understand. My people ... my village ... they do the same. They are scared of outsiders.”

“Yet, you have races there.”

“That is true, but ... I remember my history,” she made a few clicks in her voice. “They fear lots of Itreans moving in ... change us. Many disagreed with our elders, until they see that no harm was made. Sometimes, outsiders like us ... become mates.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father ... is New Atrean. Yes, he comes from the same planet, but not same region. He comes from the city of Kolip’ja. He traveled to my village to help repair the village racing lights and equipment. He met my mother ... I think that is how your language works.”

“Yeah, he fell in love with the local village girl, right?”

“Yes, he moved in and settled, mated ... be happy.”

“I imagine he was...”

Gip’grenda nodded her head and looked forward. “Humans are scary ... but not all humans. Many good humans ... Itreans choose humans for mates not because of disease ... but I think of my father. I remember him telling me, ‘Choose love ... not fear or hate. Choose life.’”

“Good words to live by...”

There was a long pause as Gip’grenda looked around, observing the sloping hillsides as the roads cut through them like a river. Despite how much the highways had been abandoned, much of it was still in acceptable condition. Greg looked at his gauges to ensure that nothing else was damaged.

“The mountains are pretty,” she said.

“Yeah, they most certainly are,” he remarked, looking at them. “I wish the others could see them.” He looked at his tracker. “Looks like we’re going to reach Wells in another twenty minutes. From there, we’re turning right and heading straight north.”

She squirmed a little bit in her seat. “I need to pee.”

“Me too. Let’s wait until we’re past Wells. Then we’ll stop. I don’t want to take any risks if we’re still being pursued.”

“Ok...”

The travel was long, well over two hours. Everything seemed quiet except for the radio playing recorded soundtracks from the 1960s. The theme consisted of Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire. It was played louder, enough that the man was tapping his gloved hand on the steering wheel.

The weather remained somewhat calm. Some of the dirt was muddied and caked to the tires of the moving rig. The clouds were slightly darker than usual, but they were clearing up to produce a light gray color instead.

Greg seemed somewhat bored but attentive to the road. The scenery had been mostly elevated flatland. The dead sands would often disguise the small former road. The occasional broken-down houses of farms were all but forgotten. The innocence of the countryside served as a reminder of the glory days of nature and a people who tried to raise their crops in peace.

The rancher looked over to Gip’grenda, who was fast asleep in the passenger seat. She never bothered to put her boots back on as her small stature caused her talon feet to rest above a set of guns lying on the floor beneath her seat. Her comfort echoed in how she was splayed back, her head and snout looking toward his direction with her eyes closed.

The man looked at her, noting the innocence of her position. He never noticed the small scar on her left hand from the prior battle after being shot at by the bandits. His eyes befell the chest, which would rise and fall from her breathing. The hint of a mild snore came from her nostrils. In all of that, the man did gaze at her breasts. They were nothing big, but nothing small either. They pressed against her black shirt, showing a hint of cleavage.

There was a small hint of a cardinal desire in the man’s thoughts, which he did his best to suppress. His eyes looked down at her stomach. It was a desire to put something there, but he quickly pushed it away and looked ahead toward the road.

The CB radio on the rig had activated, awakening the sleeping Yutilian. Her eyes opened, and she did a light yawn, looking at the new scenery around her. She could see that the truck was slowing to a stop at the incoming crossroad ahead.

“Attention, incoming vehicle,” a harsh male voice echoed from the radio. “We spotted your presence. Please ID yourself to us.”

“Like clockwork,” Greg said as he picked up the microphone and held it to his mouth. “This is Greggory Benjamin on the Autumn heading to your location.”

“Got it. First time seeing a vehicle come from due south of us. We didn’t have any vehicles scheduled to head that way either. What are your intentions, Greggory?”

“You can just call me Greg. I come to rest for a moment at your dome. Been traveling for hours in my diesel rig. I’m on my way to the Boise Dome.”

“You making some sort of field trip in a thing like that? Ha. I don’t know what’s more nuts, you traveling in that relic, or you actually heading to Boise. Whatever. Where do you come from, Greg?”

“Las Vegas Dome. Just made the trip from Salt Lake City Dome.”

“Las Vegas man, huh? That’s pretty far.”

“You don’t happen to know a person that’s a cousin to Owen Michaels?”

“Big Owen? Shit, man, yeah, you’re talking to him. I’m Security Officer James Michael. Hell, if you know my cousin, then head on in.”

“Where’s your dome? You obviously have me on your sensors.”

“You’re not that far,” James explained. “Surprised that the Balanced Rock Bridge still held up that big rig of yours. Take a left at Highway 30 and just keep going. We have our main dome at Filer and the checkpoint station next to the main portion of Twin Falls. You won’t miss it.”

“Roger that. I’m also going to need somebody from your base that can do an autopsy.”

“A what?” the security officer questioned.

“ ... I’ll explain when we get to your place.”

“ ... Alright. Head straight into the dome. Keep in mind that we don’t have a garage for a thing that big.”

“I brought my home with me. Don’t worry about it. I’m on my way.”

“Understood ... and, Greg? You know what I’m going to say next, right?”

There was a short pause as the rancher seemed to think about it. Gip’grenda almost seemed clueless. Finally, it dawned on the man.

“If I’m a threat, you’ll destroy my truck?” Greg answered.

“You got it,” James explained. “We might not have much here for defenses, but we still have the means to defend ourselves.”

“Don’t worry. Just have a coroner ready.”

“Got it. Welcome to Twin Falls, Greg.”

With that, the rancher placed the microphone back on the radio and began accelerating toward his destination. The slow-moving truck made a small turn at the upcoming ramp, leading to a left-hand turn.

“Where is the dome?” Gip’grenda asked.

“I think it’s that,” Greg pointed at a small rectangular structure in the distance. The rig was gaining momentum.

“So small.”

“It isn’t supposed to be. Sometimes, we have people band together and try to move outside the dome ... use the smaller towns to create a settlement. Doesn’t usually work out, though.”

“Why?”

“Resource intensive. People hope to loot the buildings and homes, but the domes still need to be self-sufficient. The problem is that even places like here can be looted over time. If the population isn’t large enough, they can end up giving up and returning back to the main domes. Of course, a lot of that was long ago. Haven’t really seen attempts to colonize outside the dome in a while.”

It didn’t take long before Greg could see his place of destination while Gip’grenda undid the seatbelt and began putting on her boots. The “dome settlement” was little more than a prior building reclaimed and rebuilt into a shelter off the main highway. It was mostly rectangular, built with circular walls that wrapped up to the roof to help protect from the dust storms. There was already activity that was taking place. A few electric trucks and operator cranes could be seen parked outside the structure. Lights shined in various directions. The original fence leading into it had been long torn down. A single old heavy twin gun emplacement was parked far from the structure, most likely slapped there by the inhabitants and left there as a showpiece defense. Despite the isolation of the settlement, there was a sense of relief in seeing people again in the wasteland countryside. Even now, Greg could already see a few people dressed like him who were walking around outside, moving equipment from one of their trucks to the main entrance.

The few humans outside turned to look at the old military truck pulling in. Despite using older electric vehicles, the ancient relic of a vehicle was enough to make a few people stop and look. The flag continued to wave in the horrid dust in the air. Greg made a few turns as he brought the truck around to the side of the massive building, ensuring that he wouldn’t have to back out when he needed to leave.

“Gip’grenda,” Greg spoke to her. “You mind if you climb up to the roof of the container? Assuming the body is still there, when I tell you, roll it off.”

“Yes,” she said. “Happy to see more humans.”

“Same here, but we got some work to do...”

The rancher put the truck into park before powering down the entire truck. He noticed that the main fuel tank was nearly empty. He undid his safety harness and opened the door while Gip’grenda followed suit.

Upon stepping onto the dirt, Greg looked around at the scenery before closing the door. The Itrean climbed up to the top of the spare wheel assembly and onto the roof.

A pair of humans came walking out from the main entrance, both dressed in survival suits similar to Greg’s but in green and brown colors. The rancher debated about grabbing his rifle but decided that the 1911 pistol would have to do. Anything else might only spook the population. Even Gip’grenda did her part by climbing to the container without her M3 gun, almost as if she knew that they were in friendly territory.

One of the two, possibly a woman due to the hint of breasts pressing against the clothing, carried a pump-action shotgun. The other person waved to Greg, causing Greg to wave his hand back to him. The pair stepped up to the rancher.

“You must be Greggory,” the man said.

“You’re James Michael?” Greg asked.

“Yep.” He used his thumb to gesture to the woman. “And this is my wife, Sandra.”

Sandra remained quiet as she only nodded her head to him. Greg only nodded to her.

“What ... brings you to my dome, Greg?” James asked.

“Just temporary refuge. I’m stopping here for a few hours ... maybe more. I need to do repairs to the truck and refuel.”

“What’s with the bullet holes?”

“We got attacked by some bandits on our way here,” Greg looked up at the roof. “Gip’grenda, do it.”

The Itrean stood up and kicked the dead remains of the female over the side of the container. The corpse rag-dolled and plopped onto the dirt hard, causing the pair of security personnel to give surprised reactions.

“And up there is my ... partner, Gip’grenda,” Greg introduced her to them. Sandra walked up the dead body and kicked it.

“Where did you encounter them?” James asked.

“About an hour from the city of Wells south of here. Your older cousin called them the ‘Dustmen of the Damned.’ It’s why I asked for a coroner to help check it out.”

“Right, Finnegan is not exactly the type to leave the confines of the building. He’s provided a stretcher so we can bring the remains to him.” James changed topics and looked at the battle damage on the truck. “Looks like it was one hell of a fight you had. You need to do repairs, sure, do it. But we don’t have the fuel for your contraption.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Greg explained. “I have the fuel. I just need to load it in the main tanks. I might need a crane unit to help move the reserve tanks, along with a pump unit.”

“I imagine that’s why you went to Salt Lake City Dome. We can provide the equipment to help you. One thing to keep in mind is that we do have a big dust storm expected to hit here in a couple hours.”

Greg tapped the wrist computer on his survival suit. He began to look at the projected data to confirm it.

“Alright,” he said, looking at James. “I’ll get started with the repairs first before refueling.”

“Where you headin to?” James asked.

Greg seemed to think about it for a few seconds. “How about I explain all of it to you as we move this body inside?”

“Ok...” James sighed. “Finnegan certainly has some work to do ... let’s get started...”

It had been well over an hour as Greg finished welding a set of small metal plates over the truck’s bullet holes. A fellow staff member was adjusting the crane unit to help move one of the reserve fuel tanks. All of it was used to help replenish the truck’s main depleted tanks.

There were already signs of the impending dust storm that lay ahead. The shifting sands were starting to pick up more and more, and the wind had been steadily getting worse. In the vast distance to the west, Greg could already note that the skies were becoming almost dark gray. The haze in the air was knocking down visibility more and more.

The rancher did his best to fix the damages, but the prior holes allowed dust to settle in the interior cabin. Greg used a vacuum unit to begin cleaning up the mess.

A beeping sound could be heard from Greg’s survival suit. He checked his wrist computer to see that the mask filter for his headcover was used up. He took a deep breath, reached for the filter, disconnected it, pulled out a replacement from his pocket, and slipped it on. It connected nicely before a green light and differential tonal beep could be heard.

“Need another one?” the worker asked him.

“Yeah,” Greg replied to the man. The worker reached into his pocket and pulled another one before tossing it to the rancher to replace his other filter. When Greg looked at the used filters, he could see the orange and brown residue on the fabric. He closed up the two pieces and placed them in his pocket for later cleaning.