Chapter 15: Relics of the Past Part 2

“I’m happy to hear you’re back on the road again, amigo,” Videl replied on the comms. “I was close to sending a medical team to go and pick you up.”

“You’d do no such thing,” Greg said.

It had been another day. The entire rig was on the move again. The mountain slopes had produced a large, wide valley for the truck to travel through. The almost non-existent road still consisted of the dark gray clouds overhead. However, the dust was much thinner than ever before. The cabin gave the lingering echo of the engine working behind both Greg and Gip’grenda. The man was busy driving the truck as usual.

Meanwhile, Gip’grenda sat in the familiar passenger-side seat. The movement was steady throughout the travels. Greg, in his bald and almost hairless state, kept his gloved hands on the steering wheel, his boot planted on the accelerator pedal. His headcover had been placed behind his seat.

“What’s your status?” Videl asked.

“Main tank is refilled,” Greg explained. “I’ve reached Route 28 and am heading northnorthwest toward the Salmon Dome. Have you heard anything from them yet?”

“No.”

“Have you heard any word yet on the analysis of the attack on Boise’s water purifier system?”

“No.”

Greg sighed. “Sounds like I didn’t miss much...”

“No, amigo.”

“How’s Mac and Cheese doing?”

“Those little ratas keep me awake during the night when I have my siestas.”

“What about Doctor Himari?” Greg asked.

“Busy. She’s very happy you got those samples. It sounds like Boise has been in good contact with her. They found more samples they’re willing to share after you got sick.”

“Do me a favor, and don’t ask me to transport them back. I’m beginning to feel the true wear and tear of this trip. I already lost my hair.”

“Ahhh...,” Videl gave a sympathetic sigh. “Welcome to my club ... I know a good hair specialist in Mexico City. She can restore your hair, amigo.”

“For a good price, no doubt...”

“Si, but ... good hair can be rare ... including the augments for it. How do you think I have my looks?”

“I’ll take your word for it. I’ll go ahead and get off so I can focus on driving. Looks like I got an email message...”

“Talk to you soon...”

With that, Greg tapped the button, closing out the Comsat device. He reached over and tapped a button on his display while Gip’grenda watched him intently. The man briefly looked at the message while keeping his eye on the road.

“Hmmm...,” Greg remarked as he briefly looked at the message. “Another message from Mars. Strange ... the message states that one of the surviving derelict Earth satellites made in 2040 has activated.”

“Why would it work?” Gip’grenda asked.

“I don’t know too much about it. I know that most of the close orbital satellites have been destroyed since the Kessler Effect in the late 21st century. We had so much shit in space that it made space travel difficult. Efforts had to be made to clean up the close orbital region, but satellite production had to be moved from further orbit after that. It’s one of the reasons why the satellite receptions aren’t perfect. But, it seems that one of the surviving satellites, a military US satellite, has reactivated. It’s relying on emergency backup power. Apparently, it’s been active for well over three weeks.”

“Is that good?”

“I don’t see the point of it. It could provide telemetry and communication data when something syncs up with it, but satellites typically rely on multiple satellites to be continuously used for ground bases and units. Even the far orbital satellites we use have better atmospheric thrusters to maintain constant links if need be. Old satellites like these could be useful ... about a 1/4 of the time, not including the conditions of our atmosphere. Ehh ... it’s just a relic satellite with a glitch.”

“Three weeks ... isn’t that around the time of the attack on Boise?”

Greg seemed to think about it. It was an interesting point, one that made his brow lift some as he thought about it. He briefly looked at her.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It is ... but I don’t see the point of it. Why would some ancient satellite activate? How would that be tied with the attack on Boise? Nah, it’s nothing. Honestly, I’m surprised anything could have survived for those hundreds of years in orbit. We still have to replace the far orbital satellites from time to time as it is.”

There was a long pause as the road trip remained calm and quiet. Greg reached over and tapped a button on his radio. The song “On the Road Again” could be heard in the interior. As soon as the Itrean began to hear the lyrics, she started to enjoy them. Her scaly fingers seemed to dance a little bit on her legs.

“Like this one, huh?” Greg asked her.

“Some songs, yes...,” She replied. “Not all.”

“You can’t go wrong with Willie Nelson, that’s for sure. A lot of great singers.”

“Sometimes they are sad ... no like sad.”

“Heh, you wouldn’t like Martian Country Music ... so damn depressing. A few good ones, but a lot of shit. Nah, I stick with the classics.”

Gip’grenda would look at the man for a little while. There seemed to be a lot of happiness in the rancher, almost as if a dark cloud over him was long disappearing. It made her smile in turn as she put her hand to her stomach.

“I am happy that you are happy,” she told him.

“Happy?” he asked. “How would you know?”

“After we mate ... you are happy ... very happy.”

“I think the term you’re looking for is ‘I’m glowing.’ I’m just happy to be back on the road. Been stuck in that container for way too long. I’m surprised you managed to survive being couped up like that.”

“It wasn’t bad. I like the movies ... being with you, but...” Her head lowered down some. Even her feathers retracted and lowered down. Greg could see that she was growing disturbed.

“What?” Greg asked her.

“I ... think I made a mistake,” she made a few clicks in her voice.

“Ah, this is the part where you tell me that you regret sleeping with me, right? That we had sex and thought it was a mistake, is that it?”

“No!” Gip’grenda practically yelled out the word. Her feathers rose up while she waved her hands. “Not that. Not that at all.”

“What, then?”

“Itreans ... we have rules ... strict rules when it comes to mating. We mate, but there was no announcement for mateship. Very few cultures do that. Mating outside mateship is ... bad, very bad.”

“Didn’t feel that bad...”

Gip’grenda gave a sly smile upon hearing that. “You are very good at mating ... very good. You are like Shal’rein, but not Shal’rein. So strong ... so powerful ... I like it. Mating was very good, but I want more.”

Greg took it as a compliment. “I think the term that we use is ‘having sex out of wedlock.’ I know, Gip’grenda. I faced that at the hotel. A lot of that was kept secret because you have Itrean politicians and the elite paying top money to get themselves knocked up. To the other Itreans, they got knocked up after taking donor sperm. They just didn’t know that there was a live person giving it to them on the spot.”

“I see ... I am still happy for them, but I must ask you ... I beg you. Declare me as your mate.”

Greg began to slow down the truck. He already knew what she meant by that. The man already seemed to have made his decision.

“No...,” he told her.

Her feathers rose up in fear of hearing that. It was almost as if the rejection was fatal for her. However, she could see that the man was smiling at her.

“No...,” he explained. “That isn’t what we’ll do. Instead, we get married.”

She seemed absolutely surprised to hear that. “Married?”

“Yep, the human way ... the human traditional way. You’re on my planet, my home, my rules, no matter what any Itrean will say. You’ll be in a white dress, have a priest, closest family and friends participating, parties, all of it. They’ll see you, and I become ... mates. I understand your honor must be met, especially if you end up pregnant. I’ll respect that, but you must return to me to Las Vegas. If you can do that, I can give you my word that I will be the best loving husband and father for as long as I live. Can you promise to be with me for the rest of our natural-born lives?”

She thought about it briefly. “It seems ... more complicated than mateship.”

“Still means the same thing in the end.”

“I mean ... the parties ... so many things.”

“Telling me that your village doesn’t celebrate or have festivals when two become mates?”

“Hmmm ... no ... we have separate festivals ... the parties can celebrate mateship, but mateship no bring parties. But, yes...” She did her quick nods. “I would like to meet your friends and family.”

“Then we’ll see what we can do.”

The Itrean seemed satisfied with that answer. It was all that Greg needed to hear before a beeping sound could be heard on the Comsat and computer display. It caused the man to react in surprise.

“I’m picking up a distress beacon,” Greg said. “Mayday has been issued in the region. It’s coming from ... the Salmon Dome...”

“What’s wrong?”

Greg let the truck come to a slow, rolling stop before he put it in park. He then picked up the Comsat device and put it near his mouth while monitoring his display screen.

“Attention, Salmon Dome Settlement,” Greg tried to address them. “This is Greggory of the truck, Autumn. I’m over 100 miles from your location south, southeast of your location. Please identify and state your reasons for distress.”

There was a pause as Greg could hear several beeping sounds. He recognized it as a recorded female voice set to repeat.

“Mayday, mayday,” the female’s voice echoed in the cabin. “This is the Salmon Dome. We are under attack by an unknown creature.” There was a series of distortions in the recording that cut on the voice at times. “We’ve lost over twenty men, women, and children. Dome walls breached ... defenses have failed. We’re in need of help! We’re issuing evacuation and desperately need any and all help. I repeat...”

Greg was assessing what he had just heard. Gip’grenda’s feathers rose up as if she were in a heightened state of alert. The man let out a big sigh before trying to contact them again.

“Salmon Dome,” the rancher replied. “I have received your distress call. I’m notifying all nearby domes of your attack. Can anybody please respond to my frequency? Can you please provide more information on the attacker, including the list of casualties?”

The man waited, but there was no response ... Greg and Gip’grenda could hear the recording repeat again. The rancher looked at his GPS tracker, including the overhead map where the road would take him to the remote mountain settlement.

“No luck...,” Greg said. “Salmon is under attack ... recording has been logged. I’m going to contact Boise Dome.”

The rancher tapped a few buttons on his device. “Boise Dome security. This is Greggory from the truck Autumn. Do you read?”

There was a long pause as Greg could hear Ernesh’s voice on the line.

“Greg,” Ernesh responded on the line. “I copy...”

“Have you picked up the distress call from the Salmon settlement?” he asked him.

“Yes. We picked it up five minutes ago. I just relayed this to all local domes. What do you happen to know about it?”

“Not much. I heard a woman’s voice saying the settlement was under attack by some creature. Twenty dead so far. Dome’s wall was breached, and the people are trying to evacuate.”

“Creature? The message was heavily garbled on our end, but we understood the rest. Salmon wouldn’t have much there to defend themselves. Have you reached the settlement?”

“Negative. I’m currently about another hour ... two hours away at my current speed.”

“Do you feel comfortable checking it out?”

Greg seemed hesitant. “Not really.” He looked at Gip’grenda. “I’ve been sick for several days. Gip’grenda was still recovering after being shot in the leg, and my ammunition is low. I still need to follow Earth rules and respond to distress calls, but if there’s something attacking them, I can’t go in alone. I was happy to fight Orias and get those kids back, but I can’t keep being pushed into possible battles like this.”

“Ugh...,” Ernesh’s voice could be heard. “We’re in no position to fight, either. I’m trying to get defense teams trained here as it is. Twin Falls wouldn’t have the resources to launch a rescue operation, and Salt Lake City is a little too far for their ground forces to reach.”

“What about Great Falls?”

“I don’t know much about them. Those Alara’jal, I heard, are enormous and barely have the transports to traverse that area. Stand by. I’m going to contact Waterville DC and T’rintar Defense Network, assuming they haven’t picked up the message, and see if they can mount a response. I’ll contact you back shortly. Ernesh, out...”

Greg practically fell back to his chair. Things seemed to be on the upside lately, but the recent news was alarming. Even if he was feeling much better, there was still the hint of toxicity that his body was trying to purge. However, a gut instinct was telling himself something that he didn’t like. It was something buried in his subconscious that he would have to figure out.

“Do you want to go there?” Gip’grenda asked.

“I wanted the rest of this trip to be easy,” Greg said. “I’m just ... tired.”

“Me too. I like the idea of marriage better.”

“Over half of my ammunition is gone,” Greg told her. “I got what? Forty rounds left in the turret. Most of the rifle rounds are depleted after Boise. I just...” The man shrugged. “I was expecting some possible resistance in this trip, but not nonstop battles either.”

“Yes, but ... they might need our help.”

“That’s the only reason to go in. It’s just ... I get this feeling that whatever is happening there ... it’s ... really bad ... even more than what we just heard.”

Gip’grenda could see the man was laid back on the seat. The mountainsides seemed like walls preventing the truck from passing over them. It wasn’t the look of defeat but merely the fact that the rancher was correct. Obstacle after obstacle was deterring him, and the point was that they could only survive so long out in the wastes before food and water would force them to abandon the trip. The Itrean held her hand out, gripping the man’s hand in return. It seemed to help, even if it was marginal.

“You ask why I travel,” Gip’grenda said with a few chirps. “I like you ... since I first saw you.”

“Maybe ... a part of me did too,” Greg told her. “I can’t get rid of you, Itreans. But you spend enough time around the right ones. They grow on you ... between the sheets.”

There was another pause as the man looked at the sky and the display board of his computer. He noticed that the toxicity was quite low, even less than where he was for the last few days.

“It’s true,” Greg said. “The further north we go, the less the air toxicity. I wouldn’t mind getting soil samples. If it keeps getting better, I might not even need a filtration mask. Whole settlements could be established north of these regions, Gip’grenda. We might not even need survival suits...”

The man smiled despite the scenario taking place. It was brief before there was another long pause. Finally, there was a beeping sound. The Comsat device indicated it was coming from Boise. The man brought the unit near his mouth.

“Is that you, Ernesh?” Greg asked.

“Yep,” Ernesh replied. “I contacted Waterville, DC, and they report that they’ll send some aircraft to patrol the area. They’ll be coordinating with the T’rintar Defense Network as well. The Itreans are sending one of their light assault transports to the Salmon Dome to investigate the attack on the settlement along with soldiers and relief supplies.”

“How long will they arrive?”

“It sounds like it’ll be an hour or so. I told them that you’re in the local region, so they shouldn’t bother you. If you want to proceed in there, that’s your discretion.”

“Doesn’t sound like they’re in any hurry to get there.”

“Yeah ... I know. Sorry, we can’t help you out directly, Greg. We got the shuttles, but not the forces to engage ... whatever is there.”

“I’m beginning to wonder about this attack, Ernesh. You think it might be related to the attack on Boise’s water purifier?”

“I don’t know. You just make sure to take care of yourself first, all right?”

“There is one thing you can do. I’m submitting you the coordinates of an old military satellite that’s gone active in the last few weeks. I don’t know if it’s somehow coordinated with the attack on Boise, but I need you to notify Earth defenses. Go ahead and destroy it.”

“Really? You want me to tell Waterville to shoot down a satellite?”

“I don’t see the point in having it there,” Greg explained. “We’re not using it, and something tells me that it’s best that we get rid of it.”

“ ... Hmmm ... ok. I’ll let them know.”

“Thank you, Ernesh.”

“Anytime. Let me know if you have any other questions. Good luck. Ernesh out.”

Greg placed the Comsat device down. He looked over at Gip’grenda. The Itrean still seemed unsure.

“We’re heading in,” Greg told her as he took his truck out of park. “But, at our own speed. Strength in numbers...”

“Agreed,” she replied.

“I’m debating if I’m going to have your hoverbike out and drive with me. If there is something out there that can do this sort of damage, it wouldn’t take much to overwhelm this truck. I want you to be able to escape if need be ... at the very least, be able to scout and help out in the rescue efforts.”

She didn’t seem to like the idea. “No ... want to be with you.”

“I’m saying if it comes down to that.”

“But, what about you?”

“I’m not abandoning the Autumn. Let’s go...”

It had been two hours. The truck was moving at a leisurely speed. So far, there was nothing.

Proceeding further north, Greg watched his display boards and communicated with others to update them on his progress. Gip’grenda was driving her hoverbike, wearing her goggles and a thin dust mask to protect her snout. She maintained a steady speed of 50 mph, keeping up with the truck in a makeshift convoy.

It made Greg unsettled. The fact was that he knew they were once again heading into danger. While he felt it might have been better to have Gip’grenda on the turret, the fact remained that his dwindling ammunition supply would have rendered it pointless. Having the hoverbike out was the best solution if things got rough.

He wished he knew what attacked the settlement. All he could picture were the claw marks at Boise. If only he had the answers.

By now, the first sets of broken buildings could be seen as Greg continued moving closer to the supposed settlement’s location. Much like Twin Falls, the former city of Salmon was neatly preserved in the mountains of Idaho. Many of the buildings were in surprisingly good shape. The dust storms barely touched the town and the lack of maintenance served as the only downfall of a few collapsed houses and structures. Discarded vehicles seemed to be more commonplace. However, there was one endearing factor that seemed to put Greg in a state of unease. Salmon would have been a beautiful town, but its isolation also meant that it served as a potential tomb for those who wished to evacuate Earth. No doubt, the deaths in this place could have been significant as the population remained trapped by the Orange Muck’s fury.

There was one fact of relief that he could see. He spotted a large ship hovering above the horizon. Greg didn’t recognize what type of warship it was, but it was likely the Light Assault Carrier sent by T’rintar forces. These types of ships essentially looked like large green birds with a needle-like noses in the bow section. They carried large wings mounted near the aft section capable of launching and recovering aircraft while holding an array of munitions to attack ground targets. Its purpose was quickly reaching an area, dropping off its hover vehicles and troops while serving as a dedicated gunship and command post in small-scale operations. In the center portion of the town, there was nowhere to really land, but the numerous VTOL engines did allow it to remain in the air. It still wouldn’t serve as a perfect deterrent to whatever hostile entity may be present, as it was quite high in altitude. Regardless, it still at least let him know that he and Gip’grenda wouldn’t be alone in this rescue operation. Greg reached over to his Comsat device on his chest and flipped it on.

“Any and all available rescue units in the region,” Greg reported. “This is the truck Autumn. I’m responding to the distress call made by the Salmon settlement. Please respond...”

There was a pause as a female voice responded. The rancher could easily pick out that it was an Itrean who responded with a somewhat deeper tone accent than Gip’grenda’s. However, the way she spoke had a very raspy tone to it.

“This is Centurion Fika’mar,” the voice responded with a few clicks in her voice. “First Patrol ... and leading search and rescue.”

“Fika’mar,” the man explained. “My name is Greg, driver of the Autumn. I’ve arrived with Gip’grenda in hopes of participating in the search and rescue efforts of the settlers. Where are you located so I can report to you?”

“I am at the dome settle ... ment. We see you on our sensors. Maintain your approach. Be warned that we are dealing with large casualties ... it may prove to be ... too much for your ... sensitives...”

“I already know from what I heard. I’m heading to you now, Greg, out...”

It had been less than a few minutes, as the truck was parked a short distance across the street from the dome or what was left of it. Greg wore his headcover as he stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door, lever-action rifle in hand. Gip’grenda pulled out the M3 submachine pistol from the small trunk of her parked hoverbike while putting away her goggles and snout mask.

Not far from the truck was a T’rintar hover APC vehicle that was almost similar to the Hora’da mercenaries’ vehicle. The only difference was that this had a more formed autocannon turret and lighter green hull colors. A few armed Yutilian soldiers wearing their wrap armor assumed positions around the vehicle while monitoring Greg and the lone Itrean. Even their armor had a lighter green and black color, which was somewhat less intimidating than the Hora’da’s armor.

Greg knew that they were essentially in the heart of the small town. Two bridges led to another portion of the city past the orange river. Next to him was the makeshift domes of Salmon. It consisted of multiple former town buildings remodeled and fused together into a makeshift structure. Most likely, these were commercial buildings and stores that were now serving as bunks and tiny homes for the settlers to relax inside. It was an ad-hoc design, mixing old and new technology into one system, much like how Twin Falls used a former school as a dome. However, under harder dust storms, these structures would not have handled well against the environment. The brick walls still held, although there were signs that past cracks and windows were completely sealed up. Past the crossroads was another smaller dome structure that was uncompleted. There were a few sets of more modern electrically powered trucks mixed among the discarded ancient vehicles.

Greg noted a few things as he walked closer to the main entrance of the Salmon settlement or what it was supposed to be. The sliding door, a flimsy piece of metal, had been shredded and blasted. There were countless dead bodies strewn about. Men, women, and even a child lay slain. Only a few were in their survival suits.

The rancher’s mouth remained agape momentarily while he surveyed the scene. Even Gip’grenda showed some level of surprise and shock. Standing next to a fallen man was a Yutilian woman without her helmet covering her face. Her dark blue, pink, and green feathers and orange scale skin could be seen as she looked at an open tilon, scanning the body and marking all the information down. An Itrean pistol remained connected to the back of her metal armor. She almost seemed indifferent to the scene of events. Her fingers were busy typing away as Greg approached her.

“Are you Centurion Fika’mar?” Greg asked her.

“Yes,” Fika’mar said without looking at him. “You are Greg, correct?”

“Yes.”

Her armored tail flinched some. “Good ... I don’t have to deal with all this by myself.”

“What the fuck happened here?”

“You see everything. You tell me...”

Her English was surprisingly good. Most likely, she had been chosen as her team’s lead due to her language proficiency. Greg could see bullet holes and heavy claw marks on the blasted entrance. The lights inside had been knocked out, but there were clear signs of more dead bodies. The rancher walked over and pointed his rifle inside the building, noting any other possible threats. His visor spotted several other corpses. Most of the deaths seemed to have been caused by similar deep claw marks, bite marks, and bullet holes. The rancher could note that one of the bodies had orange goo strewn over it. Parts of the corpse had melted and deteriorated rapidly because of it. Sandy blood could be seen on the former road from where the settlers perished.

“My God,” Greg remarked. “Everybody has been eviscerated.”

“Correct,” Fika’mar replied.

“Why would something do this?” Gip’grenda asked.

“I don’t know,” Greg said as he tapped a few buttons on his visor. He began to mark the footprints along the road. There were sets of small holes that were printed into the road.

“Any survivors so far?” he asked her.

“Yes,” Fika’mar replied. “Most were ... what do you call them? Treasure hunters? Others fled when attacked.”

“How many casualties?”

“Over eighty-nine dead. Many are sick. There are around 200 that have fled to a nearby ... I don’t know the word ... butter ... bunker? Yes.”

“Do you know what caused this?”

“If you wish to speak to one of the survivors,” the Itrean explained. “Go and speak to one of them. They are located next to this ... building. They can tell you more.”

“Alright,” Greg replied. “How many soldiers do you have on the ground?”

“Seventy-five. We have four hover tanks on the ground. Two are scouting the edge of the town. The other is currently at the bunker where the survivors escaped. Aircraft are patrolling the area to find other survivors or this... ‘thing’ they saw.”

Greg looked at the damage. “There was an attack on Boise. The attack here seems to match the...”

“It does not matter, human. I’m responsible for securing this area. Any threat will be eliminated.”

<They can’t stop it.>

The strange, distant voice could be heard in Greg’s mind. It was so distant that it caused him to look around him, noting that none of the Itreans had said it.

Instead, Greg didn’t seem to be too pleased with this Itrean. Fika’mar almost seemed to overlook him as some sort of mild nuisance.

“Gip’grenda,” Greg gestured to her. “Follow me.”

The Itrean woman stayed beside Greg as they began to walk to the other side of the former street. Different footprints lay along the road. There were other signs of smoke billowing from the damaged dome. It didn’t take long before they reached the adjacent uncompleted structure. Portions of the buildings were still under construction, most likely an extended expansion to the entire dome settlement. There were more bodies along the street, some that were fleeing westward near the Salmon River.

“They were trying to escape West,” Greg told Gip’grenda. “If this thing didn’t get them, then them not wearing their suits would have taken them instead. It’s a massacre...”

The two reached the door of the uncompleted structure. It slipped open, allowing them to enter before closing behind them. The interior was not a perfect, clean atmosphere, but Greg noted that five individuals wore their suits without their headcovers. They were inside what should have been a decon chamber, but the walls were not mounted into place. It became a makeshift lobby and hallway that led further inside the structure. The rancher didn’t feel like taking his headcover off.

Two individuals, a man and woman of pale complexion and blond hair, approached the man and Itrean. In their hands were primitive straight pull bolt action rifles with polymer-like stocks.

“Thank God,” the woman said.

“Finally, some help,” the man said beside her. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Greg,” the rancher introduced himself. “This is my friend, Gip’grenda. We heard the distress call and came here as soon as possible. Needless to say ... It’s already too late.”

“My name is Kameron,” the man replied with an almost light voice. “And this is my sister Dania. Right now, anything is better than nothing.”

“Are you in charge of this settlement?”

“No,” Kameron replied. “Our elder is dead, killed during the attack.”

“What happened? I need details.”