Chapter 16: The Last Hurdle

Even from atop the truck’s habitable container’s roof, the creature was menacing. Its mouth and jaws were open, showing every blade and tooth available.

Both Greg and Gip’grenda were shocked at what they saw. It almost looked like it was made of flesh and metal mixed with armaments and tissue. The combination of machine and sinew gave it the impression of a giant animal-like zombie on the loose, fast, silent, and deadly.

Yet, both sides didn’t fire upon one another. To Greg’s surprise, he quickly noted that despite the guns aimed at it, he hadn’t pulled the trigger. The same could be said for the creature that refused to fire its weapon turret at them. No doubt this thing would have easily torn them to shreds if given the chance.

“Greg...,” Gip’grenda said as she began to shake. Her finger tensed on the submachine gun trigger.

Why hadn’t he fired yet? The man’s lever action was pointed at it in a mere 10 meters from the truck. The creature hadn’t bothered to shoot, knowing that it was ready to eviscerate the two.

However, Greg’s vision began to tunnel into the thing’s red glowing eyes. It was focused on the man instead of the Itrean beside him.

All he saw was hate and malice, a killing machine and nothing more, impossible, yet it existed. Greg continued to stare at its eyes when time seemed to slow down. The man’s peripheral vision showed that the Itrean was barely moving. Everything, including the creature itself, slowed to a mere crawl. His eyes remained glued to the creature’s eyes so much that he could swear he saw more. Its mechanical glowing pupils were cycling the red light in sweeping circles around the retina.

It was as if he was becoming one with the creature, almost like he had known it from long ago. It was a relic, something that should never have been freed. Time continued to slow down more and more as his tunnel vision saw nothing but the front face of the angry wolf.

<What have I done..., > the unknown voice in Greg’s head spoke. The words were clear in the man’s mind. He understood it all.

<I’m truly sorry ... for all of it..., > the pure sympathetic voice continued. <Initiate Code Order 3321-TYG Mark. Say it!>

“Initiate...” Greg said out loud. “Code Order 3321-TYG ... Mark.”

Time remained slowed, but the words flowed into the creature’s mind. Through the mechanical and digital processes, the order was initiated. Greg could feel the monster’s mind go up aflame. Pain, confusion, and disruption were everywhere. The spinning red light momentarily shut down as the glitch rode through the system. Greg could feel the sense of victory for a tiny, microscopic second. The creature was dying from the inside. Not a shot would have to be fired as it would collapse and perish on the spot.

But something went wrong. The eyes turned from red to yellow. Suddenly, time resumed as the creature quickly leaped, jumping clear over the truck with such incredible speed that even Gip’grenda could barely react to it. All she saw was a blur.

Greg was snapped out of his senses as he quickly fell back. The mechanical creature landed on the other side of the rig before it charged ahead, narrowly swiping the adjacent house. The rancher promptly took aim with his rifle and fired, narrowly missing the fast-moving thing. It was gone before he knew it, vanishing into the other adjacent homes.

“Fika’mar!” Greg grabbed his comsat device and held it to his mask as he lay on the roof of his truck. “We just engaged it! It’s fled eastward! It’s using the homes as hiding spots!”

“Understood,” Fika’mar replied.

Greg felt his adrenaline run high before he stood up and cocked the lever back and forth, ejecting the spent casing and loading a new round in. Gip’grenda remained kneeled to the roof, gun at the ready.

The rancher kept his rifle aimed at the house. All he felt was confusion, but even that was about to come to a sudden end.

Suddenly, Greg could hear the sound of distant gunfire. It was coming from the sky. Both he and Gip’grenda looked up to see that the small multiple side-mounted bow autogun turrets on the light assault carrier were firing. This was followed by a set of tiny streams that emitted from the wingtips. They looked like ... small missiles.

“What?” Greg replied. “NO! Don’t fire near us! Fika’mar stop firing! You’re going to hit us!”

The bullets were the first to hit the ground, smashing into the adjacent house. Dozens of large holes could be seen as a small amount of shrapnel flew around near it. This was followed by more rounds being expelled into house after house around it. Dirt and dust were being blasted into the air.

“Greg,” Gip’grenda told him. “Let’s run! Let’s...”

More rounds hit the house behind them. The missiles were next. Like tiny rockets, the guided munitions suddenly fell from the sky and smashed into the houses. The results of the ancient structures were obvious. A series of multiple explosions erupted, blowing the interiors to pieces in mere seconds. Loud blasts echoed everywhere. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Debris flew and smacked the side of the truck. Just as Greg was about to reposition and lower himself, one of the small pieces of debris flew and clocked him in the head.

Despite wearing the headcover, the force of the impact was jarring. It was unknown what that debris consisted of or its mass, but it slammed into Greg hard. Only the headcover served as any valid protection. Regardless, the man fell backward onto the deck. Shortly afterward, the Itrean carrier ceased firing. It was unknown if they actually hit anything at all during their bombardment.

“Greg!” Gip’grenda called out. It was the rancher’s final words before he felt dizzy and lightheaded. He collapsed to the ground and quickly fell unconscious...

Everything was black...

Greg couldn’t see anything. He felt like he was free-floating in space. There was only a murky haze of gray that seemed to flow around him, almost as if he were in smoke.

The man felt a light pain. He tried to lift his hand to his forehead but couldn’t see his arms or hands. The movement felt like it was happening, but nothing was ahead of him. When he looked down, his body wasn’t present. It was almost as if he were trapped in a void.

“Hello?” Greg called out. He heard his voice, and something responded.

<It didn’t work..., > the unknown voice echoed around him.

“The voice again. Am I dead?”

<No ... you aren’t dead. You’re just unconscious for half a minute. It’ll be long enough for us to talk.>

“What are you?”

<Hmmm ... what would I be? It’s complicated... >

“Try me ... because I prefer not having another voice driving me nuts.”

<Yes. You’re right. I understand. Where do I get started? My name is Doctor Conrad Maximiliano ... I’m an echo of his programming ... a facsimile of Maximiliano’s memories.>

“Programming? What the fuck? I’m not some robot.”

<No, of course not. However, the nanites have taken firm hold of a small portion of your brain ... works with your memory a little bit.>

“Nanites? In my head?”

<Must have been something you touched. Perhaps something that I left in Orthas’s blood.>

Greg had a flash of memory when he cut his hand. A small amount of the orange toxin entered his bloodstream, but it was far more than that. It was the blood of the beast that cut its paw at Boise Dome’s water purifier.

“The creature,” Greg said. “His blood is in me?”

<’Her’ to be more loosely implied ... the blood contained nanites that I programmed when Orthas was being built. I ... sensed that this day would come. If you’re talking to my little creations, then it means that somebody has finally gotten my message.>

“What message? I feel like my head is becoming crowded.”

<Yes. I would feel that way, too. However, I’m not going away ... at least not yet. The nanites I created have one goal, and that is to see Orthas stopped.>

“That’s what this thing is called, right? What the hell is this thing?”

<Using your memory as a base, I served in the USSA’s Weapons Research Program.>

“The USSA? That was 300 years ago.”

<Yes. During that time, my nation engaged in the cold war between us and the URA. California became desperate to have new-fangled gadgets of destruction to deploy into URA territory in hopes of outlasting their enemies. Bioagents, chemical weapons, nano-swarms, powerful robots ... etc. My expertise was robotics and advanced bio-engineering. The insiders felt that I would make a good candidate and decided to ‘volunteer’ me in the program.>

“What was your role in all this? The real Doctor ... who was he?”

<Hmmm ... I think ‘ivon,’ as your feathery friend would call us, would more likely match the Doctor’s description. Some considered me the best of all engineers at the time ... assuming I’m still in your history books, of course. I was ahead of my classes ... ambitious as any reckless college kid. Got top scores. I did it all. Robotics was still in its early years, but I helped push new creations. Before the nation split in two, I surmised in a creation named after the fabricated daughter of Cerberus of my own making. I ... originally designed her for farming and agricultural defense.>

“What!? That thing is a killing machine!”

The man sniffed and sighed. <I was ... naive at the time. I believed in the propaganda of my new nation ... at least until I started to receive the first set of threats against me. Yet, they saw Orthas as not a tool but a weapon, a powerful infiltrator designed to be built in masse and launched into the URA to target anything and everything that stood in her way.>

“She’s doing just that.”

<In a world that’s long dead ... Greg. It was never intended to be that way.>

“That’s what they all say. The corpses would disagree with you.”

<I ... agree. Orthas was the first ... my ultimate creation and the only working prototype of Project Cerberus. I built her frame using a very rare substance called ‘Chamaeleon Absconditus Trinicate’ used to create what you would call ‘Chameleon Thermal Skin.’ The artificial tissue matches the environment’s outside temperatures along with other abilities. It’s designed so that most sensors can’t pick her up.>

“She looks like an abomination.”

<The tissue has its limits ... I tried to convince them that Orthas was never intended as some ‘shock trooper,’ but the WRP disagreed. It’s effective at first but not practical nor rigid to handle tough environments. Your ‘Orange Muck’ is eating the tissue ... In time, she would lose her ability to hide.>

“Not soon enough. I don’t understand. Why did it go after the water purifiers?”

<Sabotage. She’s designed to learn about her environment and find the weaknesses of towns or settlements. Give her time, and she would use the Orange Muck to her advantage. She even has a stomach system that would allow her to transport it, use it to dissolve bodies, or poison every well in North America. The same could be said in why she followed you. She didn’t attack you because she was waiting for you to reach a settlement to analyze and attack. However, she could also link up with military satellite networks to give her a chance to ‘see’ the outlying environment.>

“She was doing both, then.” Greg sighed. “However, the last satellite she could tap into has been blasted to bits.”

<Good. The more you can blind her, the better. But I also know the more you fight against her, the more confused, savage, and unpredictable she’ll become.>

“You seem hellbent on stopping her. Why the change in stopping something that you created?”

<I never wanted this ... I never wanted any of it, Greg. All I saw in Orthas was something smaller, a robotic pet, sentient, capable of housing tools, tilling the soil, protecting the farmsteads, helping farmers grow food ... you name it. People don’t realize the destruction their creations can bring forth. I wanted out of the project ... demanded it to be stopped. Even if it meant the loss of my life in the process, but then they threatened to torture my family, my parents. I didn’t have a choice.>

“What do you expect in a Civil War? When both despise one another, it brings the worst out of all of us.”

<Yes ... But I was no fool either. I worked and worked on Orthas. I had contingency plans established. I almost considered sending Orthas loose to attack everyone at the research installation, but I was at 98% completion when I was told that the URA and the USSA were going to reunite back in the USA ... that the war was finally over ... The project would be discontinued before the final testing of Orthas began. Unfortunately, I have no further memories past that point and don’t know what happened to the real Maximiliano.>

“I would imagine that it wasn’t good.”

<I have to assume as well. The WRP program was top secret. The USSA would have ensured that none of our information ... our research, data, technology, all wiped, destroyed, or hidden to make sure the secrets never got loose. Things that would have pushed our technology by 50 years ... gone. Knowing them, they would have done far worse to make sure that information didn’t succeed in reaching the outside world.>

“How do I stop her?”

<That becomes the problem. One of my contingency plans was installing fail safes. I installed codes in her programming to activate it in case it reached this point. The one that you spoke earlier was designed to initiate a full system shutdown.>

“That wasn’t exactly what happened, though.”

<No ... It’s because she wasn’t completed. If I only had more time, it would have worked. Her matrix isn’t stable. At least it was enough for her to flee and not kill you, but I doubt it’ll work again.>

“Greg...,” a distant, familiar female voice could be heard. “Wake up.”

“I hear Gip’grenda...,” Greg said. “I need to know how to stop Orthas.”

“I ... I don’t know how. Orthas must have been put into cold storage ... but broke free somehow.”

“ ... Where was the facility?”

<Underground facility near San Bernardino.>

“They had a powerful earthquake around there a month ago ... big one that actually damaged the dome in that region. I don’t know what else happened there.”

<Then, that’s how she escaped. She was designed to traverse into URA territory and do as much damage as possible. Her original programming is in place, and she will kill ... and keep killing until nothing is left.>

“Is there anything else that you can help me with? I barely have the resources to stop Orthas. If she escapes, it’ll be as you said.”

<I just don’t know. I can try to answer questions ... schematics, performance capabilities, whatever you need, but she has to be put down. Do whatever you need to finish the job.>

“Greg, please wake up...,” the same distant, familiar female voice could be heard.

“You can’t help me,” Greg said. “I need to wake up, but I have one last question ... will you get out of my head? Two is a crowd, and my sanity can’t take it.”

<You’ll get your wish. The nanites are designed to terminate function once Orthas is destroyed or deactivated ... my last and final contingency. I’ll be gone, and you’ll never hear from me ever again.>

“Then that’s all I need to hear.”

<Greg ... I’m so sorry you have to go through all of this ... for my actions. No matter how much I say it, it’ll never be enough. We’re not a bad people. My government, it used us, pretended they were on the side of justice and virtue when they never were. The USSA ... the URA ... they were horrible years ... the worst the United States ever went through. People disappeared ... never to be seen again. Orthas was meant to be my friend, my companion. I loved her as any good dog owner should ... as the real Doctor Maximiliano cared for.>

“I know...”

<If there’s any way ... if you deactivate her ... disable her ... bring her computer core to your greatest engineers and initiate a hard memory reset. The startup password code for her is ‘JENNY78.’ I purposely left some of her earlier memories in a separate data bank when I was building her before Project Cerberus turned her into the monster she is. Save her ... she’s my greatest creation. I hoped to one day create a living animal, one that could reproduce with others of her kind, but I know these were far-reaching ambitions that could never be sought. She would be a great protector or help in what she was originally meant for. My final gift in your war for survival... >

Suddenly, Greg’s eyes opened to see Gip’grenda’s face and the dark gray skies above. The man shifted and groaned, realizing he was lying on his back, his rifle lying beside him.

“Ugh...,” the man reacted in pain. His hand went to his head, realizing that the pain wasn’t permanent.

“Greg?” the Itrean reacted.

“I’m ok ... I wasn’t hit that hard, but I’ll probably have a headache after the whole ... the whole...”

The man remembered what happened. The sudden rush of events hit him before reality set in. Smoke and dust perforated the scene as some of the houses were reduced to rubble. The monster had escaped. However, Greg felt a wave of anger hit him. His eyes befell the light assault carrier that was flying overhead. He quickly grabbed his comsat device and brought it towards his face.

“You son of a bitch!” Greg yelled at his device. “Why the hell you fire down on me, Fika’mar?”

“That was not my action,” Fika’mar replied on the coms, her raspy voice could be heard.

“Like hell ... agh,” the man groaned again as he put his hand to his head again. “You almost got me, and Gip’grenda killed!”

“I told you that my Lesser Autarch views us as expendable. You were lucky that she listened to my words and stopped shooting...”

The man cringed as he sat up and looked at Gip’grenda. “Fucking bastards ... I’m trying to find a way to stop this thing. Next time she tries blasting us, tell her to come down with her gun and do it instead of hiding in her little flying fortress.”

“I’ll make sure to pass your complaints.”

Greg was thinking quickly. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. Orthas had escaped, and it was likely to be back in hiding again. The first attempt at stopping the machine went down as expected.

“I’m returning back to the dome,” Greg said. “Come on, Gip’grenda. Let’s go... >

“You have somebody talking inside your head?” Kameron asked.

“When you say it like that,” Greg replied. “You make it sound even crazier, but yeah. Apparently, some dead scientist or engineer left a message ... claimed to be the creator of Orthas.”

“300 years old ... from a war forgotten...”

“What do you think our landscape is all about? I just know that I almost had this thing. It was supposed to shut down, and it didn’t.”

The uncompleted interior of the adjacent dome consisted of Kameron, Dania, Gip’grenda, Fika’mar, and Greg as they were discussing what to do with the creature on the loose. Kameron was left shaking his head.

“What do we do?” Dania asked. “We can’t fight this thing off by ourselves.”

“We’re getting the people out,” Kameron replied to her. “That’s our focus right now ... worry about the monster and the dead later.”

“Unfortunately,” Greg remarked. “I got nothing else to help you out. The amount of firepower that creature had was more than enough to wipe me and Gip’grenda out with ease ... assuming the Itreans don’t bomb us into dust in the process.”

“We have a solution,” Fika’mar replied with a few clicks in her voice. “I spoke to my Lesser Adjunct. Once the settlers are evacuated, we conduct a nuclear strike on this city. The explosions will terminate your monster.”

<No, > the voice inside Greg told him. <Orthas was built with EMP shielding and redundant protocols dealing with EMP attacks. She was designed to survive in nuclear fallout. You would need several EMP blasts near her to overwhelm it.>

“Our home!” Dania replied. “This is our home. We spent years and years trying to build all this. Even if Boise might be getting better, we can’t watch this place be destroyed. All our efforts would be gone!”

“Not to mention we would have nuclear fallout to handle as well,” her brother replied. “You telling me that you’re going to clean that up, too?”

“They’re soldiers, not janitors,” Greg replied. “They prefer cutting an arm off to fix a broken finger.”

Gip’grenda began to hiss and argued with Fika’mar. The two Itreans spoke to one another in the Itrean language. However, the armored Centurion seemed unphased by the somewhat more emotional Gip’grenda. At times, their feathers rose up and down.

“You’re just a villager,” Fika’mar replied in English to Gip’grenda. “You might be famous, but you know nothing of war. The humans are weak ... they can’t even handle their own environment without dying in it.”

“The great protectors...,” Greg replied back to her. “I always knew that there was some level of smug in those lizard faces of yours.”

“I may know your language well, human, but the facts speak for themselves. This one pathetic village could not fight back against one of your own mechs. One of our own could easily wipe out this town. If it weren’t for our disease and the Itreans that spread their legs for you, you humans would be useless. I don’t lie what needs to be said.”

Finally, another Itrean that said it. Greg’s gloved hand tensed, ready to slap her snout or punch her in the face. However, he could see that Gip’grenda was more in line to agree with him. It was enough for him to relax his stance. The reality remained that a problem stood in the way.

“So, humans,” Fika’mar replied with a few clicks in her voice. “Our talk. Do you have your own solution?”

“I don’t want to abandon Salmon,” Dania replied.

“Dania, you see the bodies out there?” Kameron told her. “For God’s sake, we knew them.”

“I know, I know! I just ... we destroy this place, and their sacrifices are lost forever...” Dania began to weep. “I ... I can’t see this place be destroyed.”

“We’ll find a new home, alright? Maybe Jalen will make Boise better.”

“But, I loved how small this place is ... it’s location. There were times I could walk around without a mask, brother. We can still make this our home ... please ... there has to be another way...”

“I’m against a nuclear strike,” Greg told Fika’mar. “Orthas can withstand an EMP blast.”

“We can deploy multiple nuclear warheads ... It will not survive the explosions. However, we still use ordinary ballistic warheads and destroy the town if my Lesser Adjunct agrees.”

“No ... there has to be a way that we can stop it without destroying these people’s homes. If Dania and Kameron are against it, then so am I.”

“Please...,” Dania said. “Kameron, say something...”

Fika’mar seemed to think before she finally spoke. “I will speak with my Lesser Adjunct. You have one hour to make your decision before the last transport arrives to pick up the remaining survivors. I will follow my Lesser Adjunct’s orders without question. This includes you and Gip’grenda. If she orders to bombard the city and you are still here, you will die.”

Greg walked up and pointed at the small armored Itrean. “In that case, you can tell your Lesser Adjunct that if the roles were reversed and she was down here instead of us, I would follow those orders ... and enjoy it...”

“I will make sure to tell her what you said,” Fika’mar replied. She said nothing else before she turned around and left the dome. Once the door closed, Greg turned to look at Kameron and Dania. The brother and sister looked at one another.

“We should go ahead and grab anything important,” Kameron remarked. “Valuables ... rally the people and make one last effort to grab our belongings.”

“No ... no...,” Dania replied. She followed her brother as the two put on their headcovers and left the uncompleted dome. This left just Greg and Gip’grenda to look at one another.

“What do we do?” she asked him.

“That’s it,” Greg replied as he put on his headcover. “There’s nothing more I can do for these people. In an hour, those assholes begin their bombardment. This entire town will be reduced to ash ... another casualty in the long list of casualties this continent has had to face. Maybe, hopefully, the damn voice in my head will get the point that Orthas is dead and shut up for good.”

Gip’grenda looked down and did her quick nods. She followed the man as they left the dome. The array of dead bodies still lined the streets. The man was shocked and horrified at the sheer gull the Itreans had. It was likely that the dead would never be picked up, vaporized as nuclear payloads would be tossed over the city. Not even the families would have the chance to bury them. Men, women, and children, erased from existence.

Instead, Greg stepped over a few bodies as he walked to his truck. He looked at the T’rintar soldiers. The alien women almost seemed to follow along without care. They looked at the buildings like they were just pieces of shedding flesh, something in the way. The man wasn’t going to hesitate. He reached the truck and opened the door as Gip’grenda walked around to the passenger side door.

As the man stepped inside and sat down in the driver’s seat, he began the process of turning on his main displays. When the Itrean climbed into the passenger seat and closed door, Greg looked at his working side view mirror, seeing both Kameron and Dania walking into the busted entrance of Salmon’s Dome.

“We’re going to leave them?” Gip’grenda asked.

“Yep,” Greg told her. “I have to debate on how it’s going to be done. We’re going to head west of the town and make a long route back to the main road from where we came. I want to discourage any chances of Orthas pursuing our truck and ambushing us. The road north is most likely going to have roadblocks. There’s a small valley route we can take that will lead us east toward the main highway to reach Great Falls.” The man sighed. “The only problem is that natural rockslides might make the trip impossible. I would have preferred having this settlement intact so that if we needed help getting through, I could ask the Salmon people to help clear it out. But, like anything else ... shit has to...”

A beeping sound could be heard from Greg’s center display. It interrupted the man’s words when he typed in a few buttons to analyze what it was.

“I’m getting a call,” Greg said. “It’s coming from ... Mars?”

“Your other planet?” Gip’grenda replied.

“Yeah, but a very unusual call. It’s not a planetary base but a UHN ship. It’s called the ... Leaf ... en ... Lifen. Why would a military warship...? Screw it, I’m answering it.”

Greg accepted the call, which resulted in a video and audio connection feed. What he saw on the main display surprised the man. He saw the upper body of an Itrean, but not like any that he had seen, at least not up close. She had shark-like features, including fin-like ears, dark purple hair that completely overlapped and covered her right eye, and a dark gray snout. The alien-like woman wore a red and blue UHN military uniform that Greg had recognized as that of an officer, most likely a commander. The background behind her appeared to be some form of officer’s quarters. Her single yellowish eye seemed to peer into the man’s soul almost immediately. Her face showed that she was serious but calm, her four-digit fingers pressed together as if she were displaying control. Gip’grenda seemed somewhat surprised as well.

“A Shal’rein,” Greg remarked. “And a UHN officer...”

“Very astute,” the Shal’rein replied in a deep, feminine, and almost emotionless voice. “I assume you’re Greg, correct?”

“Yeah...”

“My name is Shira, Captain of the UHN Lifen.”

Her words were very articulate and composed. Unlike many of the Itreans, she had no accent in her English. The man took careful note of everything that he was seeing.

“How?” Greg remarked as he was left shaking his head. “I guess our militaries are getting desperate. Now they’re making sure to start putting Itreans in charge of our own defenses.”

“You are correct in that assumption. However, my call is one that does require quick finesse as I have other duties to attend to. My call is to check in on your status. How much more time do you need before you reach Great Falls?”

“What? You make an entire phone call to ask a question like that?”

“Then let me answer your question with a question. Why do you remain in a town where a T’rintar assault carrier is preparing to initiate a full-scale bombardment? Why is it our concern?”

“Because you want me to ... wait...” Greg’s eyes narrowed at her. “It was you. You’re the one that hired me to find your person of interest near there.”

“Correct ... and?”

“You were the one that sent the email message about the meetup with the Hora’da ... including the military satellite activation.”