Chapter 10: The Dome of Trees

The blistering dust storm hit the moving rig with sheer anger. At times, Greg had to do everything he could to maintain control of the truck during its long travel. Thankfully, the sheer weight of the entire rig made it difficult to topple over.

With that said, visibility was low. Darkness was sneaking in as the daylight was choked out by the constant haze of dirt in the air. Greg’s computer equipment all showed signs of dangerous toxicity levels. Small amounts of dust were already trying to sneak into the cabin despite the efforts made to keep the interior sealed off. The floodlights of the truck, despite how powerful they were, still had a hard time piercing the road. The wind howled so loudly at times that it cut out the music being played.

“How much longer?” Gip’grenda asked.

“I wish that you would stop asking me that,” Greg replied. “For the last time ... forty-six minutes.”

Greg was starting to wonder about all this. The western dust storms had always been erratic, and conditions were dangerous. There were brief moments when visibility would clear up, but a new wave of sand would come flooding in to block one’s sight. By now, the truck was traveling at around 20 mph. Gip’grenda could see that Greg was doing his best to monitor everything. With the road obviously clear of any traffic, the threat of collisions was low, but with the road almost nonexistent, the threat of careening out of it and into a ditch remained. The Itrean could see that the man’s gloved hands were tense, gripped like a vice over the steering wheel.

“Please pull over,” she asked him gently.

“I’m not pulling over so you can take a piss,” he replied.

“No. I’m worried.”

“Don’t concern yourself over this. We got less than an hour’s travel before we make it to Boise.”

“I race ... I take breaks. This storm is scary ... you need to stop.”

“We reach Boise, then we have a place to rest.”

“But, you’ll be tired ... tired and angry.”

Greg was thinking about it. He began to slow down more and more. She might have been correct. The prior battle with the bandits, having to stop at Twin Falls, and the constant travel were all taking their toll. Finally, he slowed to around five mph and moved off the main road. The sand remained firm underneath the behemoth rig. It didn’t take much longer before the man put it into park before he continued to think about it.

“Please,” she told him.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“We haven’t eaten since this morning...” He surrendered, reached over, and powered down the truck.

The wind continued to pound against the rig. Greg looked at the GPS tracker before he sighed.

“Level 4...,” Greg remarked. “It’s not expected to give in till three in the morning ... if anything, it’s only going to get worse through the night.”

“Can this truck survive it?” she asked.

“I installed the best filters for the engine ... hell, I upgraded them past their abilities, but even then, I don’t know. Earth has a peculiar way of eating away the things we love.”

“You are worried that Boise will turn you away.”

“Videl keeps trying to get ahold of them, but nobody will respond.”

“Does anybody travel to there?”

“Yeah. They still export their foods to help supplement their economy, but I don’t know when it comes to newcomers. Dome settlements have a tendency to fall into isolation. They get so used to working alone that it becomes their religion.”

“They become villages?”

“In a way, yeah. We were lucky Salt Lake City Dome and Twin Falls worked so well for us. They could have easily turned us down. The problem is that if Boise does turn us away, I’ll have no choice but to return to Salt Lake City and somehow try to get more fuel. This rig simply can’t make the trip by itself. We need ... we need unity again ... United we stand, divided we fall.”

“I like that saying...”

“And old phrase... 13 colonies became one. It was their only way that they would have survived against an Empire.”

“We have similar saying, too ... clan T’rintar believes unity.”

“Yeah...” Greg looked at the outside from his window. “Let’s head to the container ... rest for the night. Come on.”

The rancher ensured his headcover was snuggly fit before reaching for the door handle. Gip’grenda was the first to open the door as she undid her seatbelt. Greg waited for her to leave. Upon landing on the ground, she struggled to close the door. The winds proved difficult. However, she managed to put enough force to slam it shut. Upon doing so, Greg tried to open the door to his side. The amount of strength needed was immense as the winds continued to hammer it closed. Finally, Greg opened the door as dust came rushing in.

“God damn, I just got done cleaning this...” He opened the door and hopped out before letting the door go. The wind practically slammed it shut for him.

The man’s suit could feel the heavy winds. The digital panel on his suit was already showing that the dust storm was hitting him hard. Gip’grenda came running from the other side, her feathers and tail being pushed back. She practically had her eyes closed from the heavy dirt smacking her eyelids. Greg grabbed ahold of her arm and helped bring her to the container door. The man pulled out the metal stairs before she reached the door. Greg tossed the keys to her before she unlocked it. She pulled on the door handle and opened it.

“Clean yourself before stepping past that other door!” he yelled at her.

“I know!” she replied.

The door closed as Greg waited. He looked around him. The sun had already long set, causing the light to fade away rapidly. The growing darkness was haunting. The dark clouds prevented even the stars from penetrating through them. Only the hint of light from his suit indicated where he was. The distant hills and mountainsides barely provided any glimmer of landmarks, even in the dust-swept storms.

His suit alarms were all telling him to seek shelter immediately. The digital wrist unit was telling him that the level was almost inching into a Class 5. He wasn’t going to chance it. Even with the vast weight of the vehicle, he had to prepare for the worst. He ran over to a small arm unit and smacked a button. Immediately, two portside arms shot into the dirt with a heavy force. The powerful shots anchored the rig into place, embedding the entire truck into the dirt. Whether it would make a difference or not was anyone’s guess, but with such a primitive vehicle, he couldn’t risk it toppling over.

“Be a good girl, Autumn ... and don’t fall over.”

There had been enough time. Greg walked over to the door. By now, Gip’grenda had sanitized and detoxed herself enough that she stepped into the container interior. Greg was next. He opened the door and stepped inside.

Upon closing the door, the lower volume of howling sand became comforting. The Itrean had less on, but with Greg, his suit needed more attention. Dust particles covered his lining. He began the long process of detoxing himself, using the spray unit to clean his suit. The sound of his breathing through his mask perforated the scene.

If only things were better...

Greg lost track of time. Finally, the air filtration system showed that it was alright for him to pull his headcover off. He did so but continued to use the spray and foam, starting from the top of his head and down through his torso. It must have taken minutes, but Greg could see that he was clear enough. He set the shower head back onto the wall, waited for the drain to clear, and opened the door.

Upon entering the home container, Greg could see that Gip’grenda had already made herself at home. She had taken off her jacket and placed it to the side. Her pants and panties were lowered to the floor as she sat on the toilet, properly relieving herself. Despite the toilet not being properly made for Itreans, her tail had been neatly wrapped to her side. She paid no attention to Greg, while the man ignored it. The rancher remained preoccupied with taking off his suit, placing it on the hangar not far from the door.

It was like shedding skin. The interior container still had the sounds of blowing dust outside, but it became a calm hum. Greg seemed to close his eyes, knowing that he was safe from the outside environment. Finally, he was left with nothing but his coveralls. He placed his boots to his side before he walked over to the sink to flush his face.

There was a moment when he opened his eyes and looked at the Itrean woman. It didn’t take long before she reached over and grabbed a sliver of toilet paper to wipe her nether regions before she tossed it into the toilet. She stood up as the man briefly saw her vaginal slit. Gip’grenda seemed indifferent, as if it didn’t matter that she was a guest in a person’s house.

“Can I?” Gip’grenda asked.

“What?” Greg asked her.

“My pants ... they ... I don’t have the word ... Can I not wear pants? Is it ok?”

Greg almost gave a chuckle. “You don’t hold back, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Trying to proposition me?”

Gip’grenda walked over and put her panties on. She was about to grab her pants when the rancher lifted his hand.

“I don’t care,” Greg told her calmly. “ ... Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

“Thank you,” she replied. She walked over and took her shirt off. This left her with just her bra. However, she didn’t take anything else off before she sat down on the bed. There was a hint of fatigue in her eyes and face.

“Tired,” she said. “Rest, think better, less angry.”

Greg sighed. “I suppose going through a shooting match will do that.”

The woman put her scaly hand to her stomach. “Hungry...”

“Right...” The man left the sink and walked a short distance to reach the closed container. He opened it and looked at it before pulling out a small bag. He gave a confused look at the woman.

“My food,” she happily told him before reaching out with her clawed hands. “Give me...”

“How did you get it in here?” he tossed the bag to her.

“I never tell.” She opened up the bag and pulled out a small, closed plastic container. Greg wasn’t going to question it. He pulled out an MRE bag and closed the metal lid before walking over to have a seat next to her.

Greg began opening the bag and looking at the mystery meal inside. He noted the applesauce, rice, vegetarian stir-fry, and heating packet. He went ahead and snapped the heating packet and placed the stir-fry and rice together before reaching over and grabbing a metal canteen with water. The man sat back and let his meal cook a little bit while he watched Gip’grenda.

The Itrean had opened her lid. Inside the plastic container was what looked like dried cereal. Most of the pieces consisted of O-shaped letters and what might have been green marshmallows shaped like Yutilian heads. She was busy plucking each one and tossing them into her mouth.

“You’re eating cereal?” He asked her.

“Cereal?” She questioned, looking at him. “Is that the word in English?”

“Yeah, it’s cereal, dried cereal too. You’re having that for dinner?”

“I eat many things ... this is called Ifra-Os.”

“Is it supposed to be named after somebody?” Greg groaned and got up before he stepped over to his small refrigeration unit. He opened it to reveal another small canteen. He grabbed a spoon on his makeshift counter and sat back down with her.

“I’m going to do a favor for you,” the man remarked. He opened the container and sniffed the liquid contents before handing it to her. Pour this with your cereal and eat it with a spoon.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Milk, compliments from the cloned dairy cows of Las Vegas. Human custom is to eat milk and cereal together ... although that was for breakfast only. Don’t ask me why.”

“Strange custom,” she said, sniffing the milk before pouring it into the plastic container. The Itrean looked at the spoon and paused momentarily before she scooped up the cereal and began eating it. She seemed happy while she laid back on the wall.

Greg began mixing his stir-fry and rice in the makeshift paper bowl provided. He used a plastic fork to start eating before he, too, sat back on the wall and relaxed.

The outside winds made a momentary howl and hit the side wall of the home container. The wind speed was enough to lightly but briefly pull against the interior. They both ignored it as they continued eating.

“That Itrean at Twin Falls,” Greg remarked. “I hadn’t seen one like her before. Hiya ... vasa?”

Gip’grenda paused and glanced at him. “She is a ... Golarren.”

“Golarren? Supposed to be one of those thousand planets you guys got or something?”

“No,” she paused as she thought about it. “She is a Golarren ... a freak.”

Greg’s brow lifted. “Is that the proper English definition?”

She shook her head and made a chirp. “No, we don’t have a proper term for it. It means many things ... outsider, freak, mixed, deforming? ... I don’t know how to call it. She is ... disliked by Itreans.”

“Maybe the definition is correct ... Why?”

“Who she is. Her mother is Shal’rein ... her father was Yutilian. Children from different Itreans are rare ... not considered normal.”

“Ah ... so she’s both Shal’rein and Yutilian. Interesting, she didn’t look that bad.”

“She is very pretty.”

“Yet, you call her a freak.”

“My people call her freak,” she explained. “My village ... don’t care. I only learn because I become famous ... meet many Itreans and their beliefs.”

“You don’t agree with their ideals on how they view others?”

“I disagree with them, yes. But, my fame ... I can’t be too ... what is the word?”

“Vocal?”

“Yes. If I say too much, they might not let me race.”

Greg nodded his head. “Collective censorship ... So Hiyavasa and her husband moved to Earth.”

“Yes. She also told me that she’s pregnant too. I am happy for her.”

They continued eating as Greg considered it. Gip’grenda seemed interested in Greg’s food, her snout inching closer to his bowl.

“Your breathing is going to warm up my meal,” he told her. “You did clean your nostrils, too, right? I don’t want you to blow any of that muck crap into my food.”

“What are you eating?” she asked him.

“Vegetable stir-fry and rice mixed together. I wonder how this would taste with some beef mixed with it.”

“May I try?”

“ ... Yeah, go ahead.” He handed the spoon to her. She scooped up some of it, brought it to her mouth, and began to chew on it.

“Tastes ... salty. I like sweet.”

Greg went and handed the applesauce to her. “Then here’s some applesauce. Go nuts.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him and continued eating.

The rancher continued to eat and relax next to Gip’grenda. For a moment, he felt genuinely comfortable. His eyes would wander, looking at the interior of the home container, before he looked over at Gip’grenda. Her warmth was inviting, along with her scantily clad look. Finally, she looked over at him, noting that his eyes briefly looked at her body.

“Am I...” she questioned. “Pro ... propos...”

“Propositioning me?” he replied. “Well, I have to admit ... this is different than the hotel.”

“The hotel?”

“Itreans I slept with ... ones I was paid to ... you know. We sometimes spent a small amount of time together before we departed. I was used to getting in and out ... didn’t want to be connected ... didn’t want to...”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted him.

“For what?”

“You loved them,” she made a few clicks in her voice. “You wanted more, but the job stopped you.”

Greg groaned some. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“You want to travel ... you are traveling. It does matter.”

The man continued to eat his meal. He noted that Gip’grenda continued to look upon him as she ate her cereal. However, the rancher finally looked at the digital display screen mounted not far from the bed on the other side of the room.

“Want to watch a movie or two?” he asked her.

“Movie?” she asked.

“Don’t tell me that your village is that isolated.”

“No, I know what a movie is. You have movies ... what kind of movies?”

Greg leaned forward and grabbed a small tablet by the screen. He brought it next to his bowl and turned it on. The man looked at the list in front of him.

“Many of Earth’s finest movies of the last few centuries,” he told her. “Knowing this storm, looks like we got plenty of time to sit back and watch.”

He paused as he considered his options.

“What movies you like?” she asked him.

“Hmm ... the classics,” he told her. “Some of these movies you can actually see what Earth looked like before the whole shitstorm. ‘The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly,’ Let’s see ‘Tombstone,’ ‘Little Big Man,’ ‘The Quick and The Dead,’ you might like that one. Some of the late 21st-century Western flicks were really good, too.”

“Westerns...” Her interest seemed to pique some. “Any that deal with racing?”

“Hmmm... ‘Bite the Bullet.’ I also remember seeing ‘A Hundred Horseshoes,’ which was probably the best 21st-century Western film ever made. Has a little bit of racing in it, but more in a historical context. I tell you what. A little bit of both for the both of us. Consider it as a great example of what our civilization looked like.”

“Ok...,” she said with a smile.

A few hours passed.

“So what do you think?” he asked her.

“I liked both movies,” she said with a few clicks in her voice. “‘A Hundred Horseshoes’ is very good.”

“If you like the racing movies, I got them. There’s plenty we have, but not many that deal with horseback riding. In movies, you’ll get a lot of older vehicles like this. Can’t give you much else. I’m afraid the Earth movie industry is pretty much all but mute these last hundred years. Thankfully, the past library more than makes up for it.”

The windstorm outside was still holding firm. Greg had forgotten about it until the movie’s end credits were showing. The man reached up and turned off the digital display while moving any remaining garbage into the nearby trash receptacle.

“Thank you,” she told him.

“For what?” he asked.

“Everything...”

“Still question why you would prefer being out here traveling in some person’s rig on some apocalypse hellhole, meanwhile having to fight off...”

Gip’grenda’s response was to lean forward and press her snout to the man’s arm. Her clawed hands wrapped around them and lightly squeezed them. It was enough that Greg stopped talking.

The rancher remained quiet before he finally patted the woman’s arm.

“Let’s get some sleep,” he told her. It was enough that it stirred her to move again.

“Can I sleep with you?” She asked him.

“No,” he replied. “Cabin or floor.”

The man might have said those words, but it wasn’t as egregious and aggressive as it sounded. It was said almost halfheartedly. The Itrean did her quick nods as she got up and stepped away. Greg could see that the Itrean was looking at the door. She would have to exit the interior into the vicious dust storm to reach the truck’s cabin. The man seemed hesitant about what he had just said for a moment. However, his mind was made up, and the Itrean seemed to obey without question. He began the process of pulling up the bedsheets as Gip’grenda went and sat down on the floor far wall past the bed...

Hours more would pass as Greg stirred in his bed. The sounds of the dust storm had calmed down considerably. It became far more peaceful for him as his eyes slowly opened and his gaze peered into the wall, his body almost pressed against it for some reason. He could feel a hint of warm air upon the back of his neck. It was enough to stir him a little bit and flip him over to his other side.

Beside him was Gip’grenda resting peacefully on the bed beside him. Her snout blew warm air into his face. The man could see that she had been sleeping for some time, her clawed foot and tail practically almost lying off the side of the bed. Meanwhile, a hint of snoring could be heard.

“Ugh...,” Greg groaned. However, he didn’t feel like shoving her off the bed or providing any protest. Instead, he flipped over and looked back against the wall, his fatigue and exhaustion taking hold before slowly falling asleep.

It had been the following morning, just past 0800. The foul dust storm from the day before had cleared up. However, the dark clouds remained, as did the faint hint of dust and haze that followed. The illumination of the truck’s lights and overhead clouded sunlight was all that Greg had available.

Thankfully, the interior was made clean again, as the man’s headcover was off. Gip’grenda sat in the familiar passenger seat dressed as she was normally. She appeared to be finishing up something on her tilon. In her hand was her mini-drone that she had retrieved over ten minutes ago. She placed it into her bike jacket and looked at the human driving the truck.

“We’ll be reaching Boise Dome’s detection grid in a minute,” Greg informed her. “Assuming they hadn’t already spotted us.”

“They still no communicate...,” she commented.

“Well, they know we’re coming,” he told her. “Videl’s sent enough calls to them to fill a tablet’s memory. Even my call was ignored.”

“They are crazy to ignore you.”

“I admit that I’ve seen dome-to-dome resentment before, but it’s never reached that of outright ignoring another, let alone scaring its inhabitants away. There’s supposed to be almost 200,000 people living here in three large dome sectors. It’s one of the crown jewels of the central North American continent, next to Salt Lake City Dome.”

“You never been here before?”

“First time, just like Salt Lake City.”

The main highway led further into the outer boundary of the former city. Like any other former state capital, its glory days had been long over, replaced by ruins of former human activity long, long ago. The former houses and farms had been battered and destroyed by countless heavy storm fronts. Some of the damage and erosion was even worse than Las Vegas ever reached. Countless cars had been stripped or eaten away both by natural and human activity. Even now, Greg could see the toxicity levels in the air were still quite high.

“Attention, incoming vehicular rig,” a harsh male voice said through Greg’s comsat device. “Identify yourself immediately!”

“Looks like somebody finally caved in,” Greg remarked as he slowed his vehicle down. He fished the comsat device out of his pocket, held it to his mouth, and spoke.

“This is Greggory Benjamin on the Rig Autumn,” the rancher greeted him. “Whom am I speaking to?”

“I’m Security Officer Casimir of the 2nd Dome Sector of the Boise settlement,” Casimir explained. “You’ve entered Boisen territory. Power down your vehicle or leave at once.”

Gip’grenda gave a confused look at Greg, seeing him shake his head.

“Casimir,” the rancher explained. “I’m on a long voyage from the Las Vegas Dome settlement. My partner, Videl, has been trying to contact you for well over a day to notify you of my arrival.”

“Hmmm ... I recall no such messages ... standby...”

There was a pause as Greg brought the truck to a slow halt. The rancher noted that one of the fields had a large autogun turret. His truck had practically floundered not far from it, at least forty meters from the main road to his right. However, the unit was exposed to the elements. Its condition seemed poor to being outright abandoned. Greg looked at his GPS unit and highlighted the weapon platform near him. The computer system almost didn’t even pick it up at all. He began scanning the system, even if the civilian unit was still basic in its sensor capabilities. The results seemed surprising to him.

“Benjamin,” Casimir called out to him.

“Just call me Greg,” the rancher replied.

“I’m the one speaking. Not you, duster!”

“You just call me a duster?”

“Upon reviewing your statement, we can find no messages left by this Videl. You’ve entered Boisen settlement perimeter. Our sensors pick up a weapon turret on your vehicle. You are hereby ordered to vacate our territory immediately.”

“Hey!” Greg began to raise his voice. “I came here in need of fuel. Got money and willing to trade. I’m an outsider from another dome settlement.”

“I cannot allow you or that vehicle into our territory to pose a danger to us. This is your final warning. Vacate our territory or power down your vehicle. If you continue forward, you will be fired upon.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Greg showed anger in his eyes. “You’ve ever seen a truck before? You ever had relic hunters scouting around in vehicles? I’m an Earther, God damn it.”

“Under orders from Minister Orias, no person or vehicle is to be armed upon entering our territory. Your vehicle has been tagged by our authorities. Power down your vehicle and prepare to be incarcerated or leave!”

Gip’grenda could see anger on Greg’s face. It was obvious that he was expecting some sort of resistance to his arrival, but not to this degree. To her, these humans seemed outright hostile, willing to engage in a fight with Greg at a moment’s notice. Her head turned to look at the weapon emplacement on the side. The rancher looked over at the emplacement as well and pressed the mute button on his device.

“They’re out of their minds...,” Greg remarked to Gip’grenda. “I didn’t come here just for them to give me the boot.”

“Do we leave our guns?” Gip’grenda asked.

“Fuck no. We don’t know the intentions of these assholes.”

“They will attack us ... we need fuel for this truck.”

“I know.”

“Hey!” Casimir called out on the device. “Is there any response? I’ve given you an order. You have the count of twenty before I ordered our defenses to engage!”

Greg thought quickly. Gip’grenda was correct about one thing: Fuel was going to be needed for the rest of this trip. However, Boise wasn’t going to cooperate and had already made their intentions clear. He was left with few options, but one.

“So what are you going to shoot me with?” Greg asked.

“Our planetary defense weapons work, duster,” Casimir remarked.

“Are you sure about that? My tracker already reported that the nearby defense battery is inert. It’s inoperable. Who’s maintaining your defenses? Is it supposed to be you?”

There was a pause. Gip’grenda could see no activity from the nearby defense gun. Greg was correct. It was a gamble, one that Greg was going to capitalize on.

“Our authorities are en route to you,” Casimir said.

“How about this?” Greg replied. “I want to talk to somebody, a supervisor. I want to talk to Heather Orias or your logistics officer by the name of Jalen Smith. I’m the elected leader of the Las Vegas Dome, here to negotiate trade with your people.”

Gip’grenda gave a confused look at Greg. He said it rather convincingly, but was it enough?

“Is that supposed to be a joke, duster?!” the security officer replied. “I can see you from my camera unit. You came in that bucket of bolts armed!”

“No joke, Casimir. You must at least know what life is like at Las Vegas ... not exactly very rich, have to use whatever we can get ahold of to travel.”

“That sounds made up. You didn’t bother to arrange a shuttle to get here?”

“I told you before that we’re limited in resources, specifically transportation. I’ve already tried to contact your settlement multiple times ... no response. You guys like to ignore newcomers, so I figured I just get a chance to pop in. Besides, I have something that Boise doesn’t have ... the finest beef products that Las Vegas can offer. With Boise food production and Las Vegas working together, we can make a lot of money...”

“You’re trying to say that you’re the leader of Las Vegas...”

“Yes. I’m not exactly in the mood to be threatened all the time, but I’m willing to push past this because I want these negotiations to work. The gun is for self-defense ... already engaged in fights against bandits and others just to get to here. I wouldn’t have even made it here without it.”

There was another brief pause as Greg knew that some of his statements were utterly bogus. However, it was best to keep playing the part and let things happen.

“Beef ... that’s meat, right?” Casimir asked.

“Yes, from cloned animals,” Greg remarked.

“Won’t fly with the minister. Heather Orias is a vegetarian.”

Greg briefly tapped the mute button as he groaned and cringed upon hearing that. He disengaged the mute button and remained firm.

“Still worth your while,” Greg told him. “Allow me passage. I wish to speak to Jalen Smith. I pose no threat to you, and it seems obvious that you’re monitoring where I’m going. There’s no profit in violence, I can assure you.”

“ ... Standby,” Casimir said.

“Understood,” Greg replied.

There was a long pause. Gip’grenda could see that Greg flipped the mute button on his comsat device. The rancher was ready to do a full U-turn if needed.