Gabatrix: the Wheels of Thunder
Copyright© 2024 by CMed TheUniverseofCMed
Chapter 11: The Feuds and the Hora’da
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 11: The Feuds and the Hora’da - Set after Gabatrix: Veleshar, Earth stands alone. The remaining human survivors are left for themselves as the Itreans slowly settle in. Earth remains a barren, toxic wasteland. However, many of the Earthers have not given up. A lone rancher and opportunist prepares to embark on a journey that few dare to try as they continue to live under the confines of their dome sanctuaries. Story Contains: M/F, M/F, Male Human, Female Alien, Interspecies, Sex, Love, Impregnate, Scalie, Survival, Action
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fiction Science Fiction Aliens Furry
Greg stepped out of the truck and closed the door, his headcover placed over his head. Gip’grenda followed suit and got out of the vehicle before closing the door.
The rig and the two vans had pulled into a parking lot belonging to the former administration building of Boise. The great dome structure had been neatly built around it, engulfing its frame and swallowing up other apartments in the process. Unlike the more simplistic rectangular look of the hydroponics dome, this dome had more of a majestic look to it. Efforts were made to protect the most important buildings of Boise before nature attempted to reclaim them.
Greg noted another set of large turret emplacements mounted into the concrete. It was also rendered inert.
The men and women wore their protective suits. The haze of orange dust fluttered in the air, but the environment wasn’t as horrific as the prior night. Even the toxicity levels had dropped significantly.
“Follow us, duster,” Lieutenant Ernesh calmly told the two. The man stepped ahead of the two. They began the short walk that eventually led to the main door of the dome settlement. Greg looked around, noting that he was in the heart of former Boise. While it was never a big city, it still held a place of importance in northwest North America. The dust storms had not been kind. Many of the former buildings were in far worse shape than Las Vegas. Some had crumbled and collapsed under continuous years of wind and muck bombardment.
It didn’t take long before the main door slid open to allow the entire group to enter. They walked into a decontamination chamber. Gip’grenda gripped her arms and held onto her jacket as the doors closed behind her. The decontamination process began. Hot air and foam jetted across everyone for a few seconds. One of the escorts watched as the Yutilian snorted from the irritating agent that bore into her nostrils, destroying the muck residue that collected in her body. The weapon scanner began, the blue beams touching Greg’s suit. However, it turned red when it reached near his chest.
“His knife is setting off the scanning beam again,” Ernesh told the others. “He’s good.”
It didn’t take long before the scans were complete and the interior door opened. Greg and the other authorities took off their headcovers and trekked inside.
Unlike the mass greenery of the other dome, this dome seemed more of an administration center. The primary government building of Boise was seen in all its glory, still in relatively pristine shape. There were hints of growing trees in the path that led up to it. Other interior structures showed signs of offices and habitable apartment complexes. The occasional men, women, and children were walking to various locations. However, many who saw the authorities shuddered in some form of fear, trying to put some distance between them, the stranger, and the alien.
Greg noted that the population in this building seemed far healthier than the Dome 2 settlers. If anything, they almost looked like they were living lavishly. Their clothing was of higher quality, with some wearing jewelry and other regalia that showed off their financial status. It caused the rancher to frown upon the scenery.
“Everyone seems happy,” Gip’grenda said to Greg.
“Yeah, but at what cost?” Greg told her.
“You know nothing about us, duster,” Ernesh told him.
“I know as enough as you, ass kissers are to the current rulership.”
“You’re thankful that Mrs. Orias wishes to see you...”
“I agree ... all this for a tank of gas...”
Most of the escorts stopped by the entrance leading into the hall of the administration building. Ernesh nodded his head to the escorts and pointed at the others to remain outside. Others followed along and opened the main door.
Greg, Gip’grenda, Ernesh, and three other officers entered the main hall. The interior room was large, a former place of discussion and debate for the countless politicians and citizens who entered it. However, it had been neatly gutted and rebuilt from within. The many tables had been long removed, replaced with only carpeting and closed-off windows. Old memorabilia from Idaho’s past dawned on the walls to help provide some decoration. A large half-circle table stood before Greg and the Itrean woman. Ernesh and a female officer stood not far from the two, ready to restrain the two strangers at a moment’s notice. Two other men walked around the table to protect the single most important individual in the room.
Sitting behind the table was a single older woman. Like Jalen’s photograph in his office, Heather Orias had short black and gray hair and a pale complexion. She was most likely in her late 60s to early 70s. Makeup and other forms of perfumes radiated from her face and body. She wore a black and white tuxedo, attuned to a female politician of her type. Her chair was like a throne made from the finest wood and patting.
“Benjamin Greggory and ... Gip’grenda, the racer, as ordered, ma’am,” Ernesh addressed her.
Orias’s face contorted some as she looked up and leaned back upon her seat, gazing at Greg. Her body briefly twitched. Then, she briefly looked at the alien woman before looking back at Greg.
“Hello?” Gip’grenda said, waving her hand, hoping to break the tension in the room. The woman seemed unphased by the alien’s response.
“Mrs. Orias,” Greg addressed her. “I was expecting to be talking to important people, but I didn’t expect...”
“Do not speak, Greggory,” Ernesh interrupted him. “Both of you, until she’s given permission to...”
“It’s alright,” Orias said, her voice profoundly slow, harsh, and grainy. “They were invited here and to be treated as our ... guests. You preferred to be called Greg, correct?”
“Yes,” Greg replied.
“And ... an Itrean ... the audacity of your kind to set foot into my territory.”
The leader of Boise sounded exhausted in her voice at times, almost as if some of her life had been drained from her. Greg was noting her other features in how she looked and behaved. The Itrean seemed disturbed by the woman’s comment.
“I ... didn’t do anything wrong,” Gip’grenda replied. “I’m a visitor.”
Orias waved her hand before she began tapping a tablet that resided by her table. “That’s what they all say,” she told Gip’grenda. Her gaze seemed focused on the Itrean at times. “Before I continue, I need more information about who you are. Greg, ... what’s your preferred pronoun?”
The older woman looked up at Greg. Upon hearing such a question, the man gave an annoyed but repressed scowl while trying to remain firm.
“USA,” Greg replied.
“U.S.A...,” Orias typed down, her fingers pecking on her tablet. “And, Gip’grenda. What are your preferred pronouns?”
“Preferred ... proname?” Gip’grenda asked.
“Your pronoun, your pronouns!” Orias repeated twice in mild frustration. Her voice raised in a hint of anger.
“Mrs. Orias,” Greg calmly countered. “Gip’grenda is an alien from another planet, a completely different culture. Don’t expect her to be able to...”
Orias smacked her hand on the table. “I asked her ... not you!”
The sudden outburst was unsettling for Greg, something he quickly noted.
“Umm...,” the Itrean tried to say. “Not an ivon?”
“Notanivon,” Orias remarked as she typed it down.
Greg’s eyes looked at one of the flags hanging on the wall. One had to have been the original Idaho flag. On the table was a bronze bust that portrayed Orias’s face, possibly when she was younger.
“And, Greg,” Orias’s twitched again on her chair. “What’s your race/ethnicity?”
Greg grew more annoyed. “Human.”
“Itrean,” Gip’grenda happily answered quickly.
“Answer her questions!” Ernesh countered.
Orias sneered some as she typed it down. “It’s alright ... Greg, your preferred number?” she asked.
“13 or 52,” he replied.
“Why a preferred number?” Gip’grenda asked with a few clicks in her voice. “I no understand.”
“Your preferred job interests reduced to a number,” Greg answered. “It’s archaic like the other questions. In fact, the United Earth Dome Laws actually forbade recording and cataloging these forms of questions hundreds of years ago as they can be used to discriminate others.” He looked at the Itrean. “You don’t need to answer any more questions.”
Greg could already feel a growing dislike for this woman. All the signs were pointing to it, from her voice, personality, movements, and even how she would be outright irritable.
“So, what is it, then?” Orias asked the Itrean.
“Umm ... two?” Gip’grenda replied.
“Two ... hmmm ... a most despicable number.”
Gip’grenda looked up at Greg. He nodded to her to let the Itrean know she was alright.
“Now, Greg,” Orias remarked as she leaned back upon her chair. “I’ve heard you wanted some fuel ... making a trip up north, correct?”
“Yes, I am,” he replied.
“Yet, I remember calling Las Vegas Dome thirty minutes ago to confirm your story. You lied to my security officer ... you’re no leader.”
“What would you expect? I need some of the best biodiesel if I’m going to make it up north. You have the means for it.”
“But not the permission ... you come to my home, my people, lie, bring your weapons into my territory.” She smacked her hand on the table. “Explain to me ... now!”
“I’m here because I need fuel. I’m heading up north on a job. I’m also hoping to check on how this settlement is doing. Needless to say, I wonder about the people here after you crushed all opposition.”
“Watch your tongue, duster,” Ernesh snapped at Greg.
“Opposition?” Orias continued. “They’re wicked ... all of them. I rule to make sure there is peace ... stability, cooperation. This economy is stable. The people are happy and safe.”
“By wiping out free speech? Elections? Whose law? Basic freedoms?”
“Free speech ... heh,” Orias chuckled as some of the authorities reacted in a similar fashion. “Censorship rids the hate speech because that’s what freedom of speech promotes ... hatred. As for elections, there is only one person who should rule, me, because I’m the one that keeps this dome operational ... wealthy.”
The Itrean disagreed. “The people in dome 2 are sick,” Gip’grenda remarked. “They need help.”
“We cannot help them. They know the sacrifices that are needed in order for Boise to function ... so we don’t starve.”
“You have plenty of food,” Greg countered.
“But our expenditures are low.”
“Funny, seems like this dome is doing alright ... I can’t speak for dome 3. Not seeing things break down. There seems to be plenty of money ... but it only seems to be circulating in some places.”
“Our budget is limited ... Cebravis and the other planets produce more food, better quality foods. It affects our exports in the UWA.”
“Why hasn’t the purifier been fixed?” Greg asked her. “I offered Jalen the chance to help fix it ... should be worthy of having my diesel fuel converted.”
“Jalen ... I thought he knew better than to let an outsider into my settlement. Tsk, tsk. We lack the expertise to properly fix it. It appears that many of the engineers who used to live in Dome 2 left the place over time. They choose to abandon my settlement out of their own selfishness. Now, the people will suffer because of their actions. The damage to the unit is quite extensive. It would require over a month’s worth of repairs and billions of mard to acquire the tools and expertise needed to make it fully operational. I strongly doubt that you can fix it by yourself. A choice must be made. Is the leftover clean water used for the crops or for the people? Food is paramount for the society to live. Those people understand what must live so the settlement will survive.”
“It’s a group effort, then,” Greg thought to himself. “It doesn’t make sense. The purifiers are designed to be mostly self-sustaining. Yeah, they need to be maintained, and filters need to be regularly changed out, but they aren’t designed for catastrophic breakdowns, either.”
“That’s because somebody attacked us...,” Orias continued, glancing at Gip’grenda. “Somebody ... like her people.”
Greg gave a confused look at Gip’grenda, before looking back at her. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Itreans attacked Dome 2 ... and later kidnapped children.”
The rancher folded up his arms. “How?”
“They ambushed us twice at night. The first one was Dome 2 ... then they attacked one of our moving transports and stole five boys.”
Greg gave a questioning look. “Do you have camera footage? I would like to see how they managed to break into a facility like that. Our dome cities are built like fortresses.”
“Yes, but I’m not showing it to you. Why would you care about children that don’t even belong to your dome?”
“Because they’re human beings, that’s why. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is why they would do that. Have you launched any missions to find them?”
“They’re gone, duster,” Ernesh told him.
“That didn’t answer the question. Did you go and investigate where they went?”
“We tried but couldn’t find them.”
That really didn’t make sense to Greg. He could tell that somebody was stretching the truth or outright lying. The rancher tried to be diplomatic even if his patience was running out.
He gave an angered look at Ernesh. “I would suppose the fact that you’re armed with little more than stun sticks made it all the more easier for the Itreans to smash and kidnap your people.”
“And what would you suggest, Greg?” Orias practically sneered at him. “That I use guns to fight them off?”
“It would be a start. What’s going on with the settlement defenses? Even your planetary defense weapons are completely offline. The United Earth governments even made a decree that all dome settlements needed some form of defenses to repel any possible attack, even made more pronounced after discovering the Itreans.”
“Because guns are scary,” the woman explained. “They make loud noises, kill people, kill children, they only bring death and destruction. It was smart of me to take them down, have our guns, those weapons of war, destroyed.”
“Heh,” Greg gave a hint of a chuckle. “You fools ... you dumb fools. You made yourselves completely vulnerable.”
“Silence!” Ernesh remarked as he stepped forward. “Give the word, Mrs. Orias. I’ll place them under arrest.”
“I ... didn’t do anything,” Gip’grenda countered.
Orias twitched and sneered at the Itrean. “No,” she told her. “But you decide to choose the wrong friend, little Itrean. I’m beginning to see why Batrice expelled your people from their colony. Your people are vile and intolerant. You’re nothing more than a bigot.”
It was the first time Greg saw Gip’grenda bare her teeth at the woman. Her feathers lifted up some as the guards started to reach for their stun batons. Greg put his hand on the Itrean’s shoulder.
“Wait,” Greg told Orias. “I’m willing to make a deal with you. I need the fuel. Maybe I can try to find the kids ... bring them back here.”
The older woman didn’t seem entirely pleased by the statement, but it did seem to diffuse some of her anger. Gip’grenda relaxed her stance as the guards followed suit as well.
“They’re long gone, duster,” Ernesh told him. “You would travel the endless wastes, burning up all your precious fuel to find them.”
“And no efforts were made to call for help? Contact the Western Domes, Salt Lake City, Twin Falls, Waterville DC, the T’rintar Defense Network, anybody to let them know that a group of Itreans nabbed your kids.”
There was silence in the room. There was no answer for Greg. With each second that went by, the rancher’s heart sank a little bit. It was like staring into a room of idiots, the inept and the insane. Finally, the older woman smiled.
“You wish to find them, Greg,” Orias said. “So be it. The sooner you leave my settlement, the better. Otherwise, I would prefer that...”
The door slammed open as another man entered the room. This individual was big, with a mixture of weight and muscle in his frame. He wore the same survival gear as the others, but his badge consisted of a circular symbol. He had thick black hair cut down, along with a double chin for his mixed complexion. His stun baton was already out, the blue tip glowing, ready to be used.
“Pardon the intrusion, ma’am,” the unknown figure said. Greg recognized the voice as Gip’grenda’s feathers rose at the sudden sound change.
“Security Officer Casimir,” Orias addressed him. “What is it?”
“Casimir, huh?” Greg remarked.
Casimir gave an angry scowl at the man before looking at Ernesh. “You and Patricia secure and protect Mrs. Orias. Now!”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Orias replied. Both Ernesh and the female officer pushed up in front of the older woman, using their own bodies as shields.
“Did you scan him for firearms?” Casimir asked.
“I did,” Ernesh replied. “He’s clean.”
He pointed at the rancher. “Did you give him a pat down? Both of them?”
“Pat down?”
“Son of a bitch...,” Casimir remarked. “Ernesh, initiate another scan. Alter your scanning frequency to zero-four level 2.”
Greg knew where this was going. Casimir was no idiot. In seconds, the security guards would realize that the two guests were armed. Instead, the man immediately reacted.
“Gip’grenda, now!”
Without hesitation, the rancher reached into his pocket and quickly pulled out his small pistol before aiming it in Casimir’s direction. Two of the other guards stepped forward and halted their position.
“I demand an explanation!” Orias yelled.
Gip’grenda saw what had happened, pulled out her pistol, aimed at one of the humans, and flipped the safety off.
“Fucking knew it,” Casimir explained. “Smuggler’s pistols. Protect Minister Orias with your life! Mrs. Orias, let us secure the criminals!”
“Get these barbarians out of here!” She yelled at her protection force.
“One move, and I put a bullet in you!” Greg threatened back.
“With what?” Casimir argued. “With that little thing? Our suits can handle light rounds, duster! Surrender yourself, and we can promise your execution will be swift.”
“There’s nothing protecting your head, either.”
“We outnumber you,” Ernesh told him.
“Come and try it. We’ll see how many we take down before you try to grab us.”
“Fine, fine!” Orias yelled behind her guards. “Greg, Gip’grenda, get out! GET OUT! Let them out.”
And just like that, the authorities relaxed their stances. Greg looked around, noting everyone in the distance between him and the exit. When he saw that they were no longer a threat, he lowered his aim as Gip’grenda did the same.
“Let’s go,” he told her.
“Don’t come back, duster,” Casimir told him. “You know what’ll happen to the both of you if you do...”
The main door was open. Both Greg and Gip’grenda were allowed to leave with no further interruption. The guards stepped away from Orias. As the two left the room, a wicked smile appeared on the woman’s face...
A hard smack could be heard as Greg smacked the dashboard before turning the truck’s engine on. The interior cabin gave off a gentle hum, only disturbed by the man’s frustration. Gip’grenda sat in the familiar passenger seat. She also seemed distracted. The Itrean watched Greg pull off his headcover and practically toss it behind his seat.
“Why was she like that?” Gip’grenda asked with a few chirps in her voice.
“MDD,” Greg angrily explained as he shifted the truck out of park. “Muck Derangement Disorder. With her, she has a severe case.”
“She’s crazy.”
“Yep,” he began to drive the truck away from the main building. “Some people are more vulnerable to orange muck than others, even in the smallest doses. It’ll eat away at the brain, make them more irate, unstable. Worst cases, it’ll lead to paranoia and schizophrenia till it’ll eventually lead to death. In some ways, it’s like what you saw with those bandits that attacked us, just more insidious. There’s treatment for it depending on how far the damage has gone. My grandfather suffered from it.”
“If they have treatment, why she no get help?”
“I don’t know. With her, it’s possible she dismissed her doctors out of paranoia, or maybe the others know and are playing along. The problem is that people don’t usually notice MDD if they’re always around them. But, with outsiders like me, you can see it almost instantly. The only thing that saved us was the fact that she foolishly disarmed her own men.”
“Where are you going?”
“Away from here,” he made a left turn. “Now that I made enemies with her, as long as we have that 50 cal on our roof, Orias isn’t going to engage us, but I’m not going to test that luck.” He cringed. “But, there goes my fuel resupply.” He lightly smacked the side panel again in frustration.
“They won’t help?” she asked.
“Nope ... I admit that I was thinking of shooting her to end her misery, but the fact she may have known more about those missing kids changed my mind. She probably has another 2 to 3 years of life expectancy before the muck rots her brain completely. But, I didn’t come all this way not to get any fuel.”
Greg pulled out his comsat device unit and began to key in a set of numbers. He tapped the button and held it near his mouth.
“Jalen Smith, do you hear me?” Greg said.
The man paused as he waited. Then, he turned to the right at a nearby road and slowed the rig down.
“Greggory?” Jalen replied.
“Jalen, I didn’t exactly have any luck with your boss. You do know that she suffers an extreme case of Muck Derangement Disorder, right?”
“Not so loud, Greg,” you can hear his voice quietly yell. “I need to lower down the volume. You can get me in even more trouble than I already am, assuming she isn’t going to send her hit squad after me as it is.”
“Thanks for giving me your number, by the way. But I’m going to need your help. I want to find those kids, and I know you do, too.”
There was a pause. “I don’t know if you can.”
“Kidnapping is a serious offense. I’m just blown away that your dome never bothered to call the other domes or even the T’rintar for help.”
“I remember suggesting it, but nothing happened. We did try to launch a search to find them. We gave up a couple of days ago. The children are considered to be ‘permanently lost.’”
“Do you happen to know where they were searching or how I can try to find these kidnappers?”
There was another pause. “Hmmm ... I remember working with the search efforts. They believed that they went northwest. I recall that they were saying that they were tracking a few signatures ... maybe three vehicles in all.”
“Do you happen to know the resources that were used? Did they use satellite tracking?”
“I recall that they did, but you know how that goes. The Itreans disappeared in the former city of Middleton. We have no idea if they are still there or if they went further northwest.”
“Can you further elaborate on that?”
“Unfortunately, that’s all that I know. There’s multiple ruined towns westward of Boise. The Itreans can be using it ... hell, maybe they went anywhere. I already saw Gip’grenda. Itreans are far better than us when it comes to handling our environment.”
“But not when it comes to human kids. They didn’t go out of their way to kidnap a bunch of children for nothing. If they aren’t properly taken care of, they’ll die, and they know it. The question is, why would they nab your kids?”
“ ... I don’t know.”
That statement was said in a way that confused Greg upon hearing it. It was almost as if Jalen said it half-heartedly. The rancher resumed his travels westward.
“There’s something you aren’t telling me, Jalen,” Greg remarked. “It’s why you gave me your number.”
“Yeah...”
“Are you going to tell me what really happened? How they managed to even do it? Why would the Itreans be interested in kidnapping?”
“Boys...,” Gip’grenda remarked.
Greg looked at her. “What?”
“Five children ... five boys ... they wanted them because they were boys.”
“ ... Ah, shit...” Greg looked ahead. “Tell me what you know, Jalen. I’m heading west. I have enough fuel to make the trip and back to Salt Lake City Dome if need be.”
“You’re sacrificing your fuel to try to find them?”
“ ... Yeah...”
There was another pause as if Jalen was in deep thought. “Greg, you’re cool, man. I wish I could offer you more help.”
“Information would be a start. How did they nab them?”
“It started a few weeks ago. We started getting ... I don’t know if you would call them threats or not ... ummm ... incursions. Supposedly, security kept relaying information about three possible vehicles in our area.”
“Did security contact them?”
“They didn’t tell me if they did or not. But, 15 days ago, there was a loud explosion. I remember hearing gunfire and the sounds of metal being shredded. That was when we lost one of our water purifiers.”
“Were you able to see anything else from the attack?”
“No, but that’s where things turned really nasty. The attack damaged the main quarters section housing the workers. As a safety precaution, I remember telling Mrs. Orias that we needed to move some people out. A day later, she agreed, and we began moving the families to the other domes ... the process was slow ... and that’s when I heard about the second attack. One of the trucks was nearing Dome 1 when they reported that the transport was hit.”
“Hmmm...” Greg questioned. “How was it hit?”
“It’s one of the Genisen JIO Truck models, you know, the ones that are basic automated.”
“Those JIO models are really old, older than most of the current vehicles around here.”
“It’s all we had available. We were using everything we got during the transfer process. I just remember hearing that the thing broke down. Security told me that Itrean vehicles swarmed it, broke into it, and took the kids. They’re boys, two brothers named Jeremy and Tyrus, the oldest is Payton, a son of a good friend of mine. Valentino and Warren are the others.”
“The kids have any form of tracking devices?”
“Yes, kids are required, at birth, to have tracking chips that naturally degrade to adulthood, but that’s what’s so strange about it.”
“What about it?” Greg asked.
“Those Itreans must have hit so hard, so fast ... security pretty much told me that the Itreans must have removed the tracking chips the moment they grabbed them. But, ... I don’t know how they would know that.”
“Not every dome employs tracking chips into kids.”
“Well, you know Mrs. Orias by now that saying no to her can warrant ... let’s just say that...”
“Yeah, well, your system is pretty well compromised, Jalen. Your people can’t do much with a bunch of metal sticks. I can definitely see why James packed up his bags and took off with as many people as he could. If we were more unified, I would report your minister to the Waterville hospitals.”
“Yeah...,” he lowered his voice.
“Well, I need to contact others and see what I can do on my end. See if we can get your kids back.”
“Greg, thank you. I wish I can offer you more help than that. I’m going to ... try to do a little more digging on my end...”
“Just know this, Jalen. You’re greater than you realize. The reason why Orias is so powerful is that the people do nothing to stand up against her as she nestles in a tyrannical regime of her creation. As one of the Founding Fathers of this great nation once said, ‘The duty of a true patriot is to protect his country from its government.’”
“I don’t know much about my history, but I’ll take your words under advisement. Good luck, brother.”
“As to you, Greg, out...”
With that, Greg watched his screens and noticed Gip’grenda looking at him. She could see that the man was deep in thought as the truck’s wheels continued to spin in motion. A part of her felt useless in the situation. The rancher was doing all the work while she was only there for the ride.
Regardless, there was only one thing that she could do, and that was to wait...
“Amigo, I’m doing what I can on my end,” Videl said on the comms.
“I still need an update,” Greg replied.
Gip’grenda could see that the Comsat device was mounted by the CB radio. The rancher remained concentrated on his driving, bringing his truck far from the outer reaches of Boise. It had been well over forty minutes of travel. The cluster of forgotten towns had become like fallen spectacles in landmarks. Countless homes and farms had been discarded as people had nowhere else to live but the domes themselves or die from the ravaging environment. Even the orange haze in the air seemed thicker than most.
It was like looking for a needle in a haystack...
“I’ve contacted T’rintar Defense Network,” Videl explained from the comms. “They only have two patrol groups southwest of New Calgary. They’re dispatching one to help out in the search, including some of their aerial scouts. I’ve contacted the other coastal dome settlements west just in case the Itreans nappers are heading there. Neo Portland hasn’t spotted them or any of the five missing kids.”