Chapter 17: Oro Y Plata

It had been well over a couple of days. The long recovery effort was grueling as the few remaining settlers of Salmon began the long process of helping bury their dead. More and more relief and rescue ships came to the beleaguered dome city before the assault carrier eventually departed. The settlers were sure to return...

The reasons for the stay were obvious. Not only was Gip’grenda being treated for her wounds by proper Itrean staff, but also because the rancher’s concerns were correct. The pathway eastward to the main highway had been blocked. However, this was only going to be a temporary issue. Thanks to the efforts to save the settlement from complete destruction, bulldozers were sent to clear the rocky path. Eventually, when Gip’grenda recovered, the road was made safe for travel.

The truck repairs were made before Greg and Gip’grenda finally departed the settlement. Their journey was long and enduring. Traveling through the great Dead Forests of North America was haunting yet welcoming. Despite the husk remains of countless dead trees, the landscape still provided its own form of safety. The blanket gray clouds were even lighter now. At times, there were even hints of white clouds. A small amount of orange snowfall fell, but not enough to collect into widespread snow. Even the landscape seemed somewhat brighter than ever before. The almost faint orange haze was gone at this point.

Despite all of it, the trip through Montana was peaceful and comforting. However, the route through the Montana Highway to Great Falls was met with some setbacks. Some of the bridges were gone. This forced Greg to take a slightly longer route on the northern roads leading to the former city.

Past the dead forests was a seemingly flat landscape. By now, the entire rig had traveled through the almost-forgotten city of Great Falls. The bridge across the Missouri River remained intact, and the truck had just finished crossing it.

Inside the truck cabin, Greg seemed content while he held onto the steering wheel. His headcover was neatly placed to the side. Country rock music played in the background. He looked over to see Gip’grenda almost asleep in the passenger seat. In spite of her injuries, she seemed perfectly healthy. Her wounds had been long healed up. For a little while, Greg found himself staring at her chest and stomach before he looked forward again. Flying above was a flying box transport. It seemed to be en route to his target destination.

“We’re about five minutes from reaching the dome,” Greg said out loud, stirring the Itrean from her seat.

“Mmmm...,” the Itrean groaned. Her reptilian eyes fully opened as she looked at the scenery around her. There were a few discarded cars on the sides. Despite hundreds of years of neglect, many buildings seemed to be in pleasant condition.

“Amazing,” Greg explained as he looked around him. “Almost perfectly preserved. The environment has been all but kind to this place.”

“What is this place?”

“Great Falls, the third largest city in the State of Montana. Remember we passed Helena?”

“ ... No ... I was asleep.”

“Of course,” Greg tapped his display board. “The air quality is very good here. It’s actually borderline for me not to need a mask at all. Not like my body could take another toxic dose anytime soon.” He briefly rubbed his bald head.

“I like it,” she replied, gesturing to his forehead.

“How would you feel if you lost your feathers? I imagine you would feel the same. Enjoy it for now. I’m getting my hair back, one way or another.”

“You still have eyebrows.”

“Thank God I do.”

“Attention, incoming vehicle,” a deep male voice could be heard on the comsat device. “We have you on ... sensors. Identify reasons to come.”

The voice had an Itrean accent to it. However, it was perplexing as there shouldn’t be any male Itreans around as it was. The man noticed that the words the Itrean spoke required much breath to speak, causing the Itrean to pause after several words. Regardless, the man tapped his device to switch it on.

“This is the Autumn,” the rancher replied. “My name is Greg. I’m en route to your dome.”

“Yes,” the voice replied. “I am Ucarex. We received ... notification of your ... arrival.”

Gip’grenda looked at Greg. She also recognized that this was an Itrean name, deeply masculine in nature.

“Including the person that I need to meet?” Greg asked.

“Him, yes...,” Ucarex continued. “He has not been ... notified yet, but he is here.” He paused. “Welcome ... to the Alara’jal colony ... Go to garage B ... waypoint submitted to you...”

“Thank you, Ucarex.”

The communication line ended as Greg looked at his display. He saw that he had another few minutes before they would reach the great settlement.

“Male Itreans?” Greg asked. “I thought they were all dead.”

“I hear rumors,” Gip’grenda replied with a few clicks in her voice. “Zilik’s Disease targets Yutilian, Aksren, and Shal’rein. Alara’jal are immune.”

“What are they?”

“Alara’jal are another species of Itrean. They are ... what is your word,... ‘myth?’”

“They seem pretty much alive.”

“Not many. They were found on a planet ... thought to be extinct. That’s all I know.”

He decided to change topics. “How’s your leg?”

“Better...” She replied, gripping her left leg. “I wish I had my hoverbike...”

“It’s actually going to help us. Getting this car back, I’m going to need more fuel than expected. I need all the room in the trailer to hold the spare fuel while cramming a vehicle into it at the same time. These roads aren’t exactly cooperative, and having your hoverbike hanging high and dry would’ve caused problems. But, I tell you what. We have a lot of spare parts in Las Vegas. We strip down vehicles for parts, not including what they do in Salt Lake City. I’ll help you build another one. You’ve done enough for me as it is.”

“Thank you,” She smiled and tapped her stomach proudly.

“What?”

“My cycle begins today. I’m going to be pregnant.”

He seemed somewhat content to hear that. “Are you sure about that?”

“You are very good, Greg. I was not expecting this, but you left a lot inside me ... I know I’m going to be pregnant.”

“Just remember what I told you. Start looking up a good white dress for me, will you? If you need to, talk to Doctor Himari. I’m sure she can help you out.”

“I don’t know what to tell my village ... saying goodbye to them.”

“Things change ... they always change. People know that. You had the luxury of living in seclusion, but in my environment, people would trade a lot for this. I’m tempted to move here with the stories being all but true.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because ... I want to lead my people. Las Vegas will heal, like the other cities. I won’t abandon them.”

“I understand. Las Vegas sounds like small village ... I can live like that.”

“It’ll be easy for you. You’ll have access to the best garage in that entire dome.”

She seemed happier to hear that. Greg could see that he was starting to reach the city’s outer reaches. He was approaching the abandoned Air Force base. However, the former landing strip had gone through an extensive rebuilding process. Unlike much of the ruins of Great Falls, the former base was lively. The box transport had already come to land. Many of the former hangars had been remodeled into makeshift domes. Shuttles were flying around carrying and moving parts and portions of prefabricated homes. Besides the domes were a series of newly constructed large houses almost in the shape of huts. This wasn’t just a colony but a growing city.

“The Itreans have been pretty busy here,” Greg remarked...

The extensive hangar interior was enormous, meant to house aircraft from Great Falls’s past. Instead, it was now a makeshift parking garage that connected to a large habitation facility for humans to live inside. There was more than enough room for the truck to park, and there were already plenty of various vehicles and shuttles inside.

The air quality was so good that the air purifiers were barely needed. Greg noted that the colony was a treasure trove of various species working together, unlike the other dome settlements. He had just finished placing his headcover into the truck before closing the door. The man continued to look around at the place before he spotted the supposed Alara’jal.

Near a green cylindrical parked shuttle consisted of a few Yutilians carrying and moving boxes of supplies. They were in the process of unloading the small transport. Greg’s jaw dropped at who the Yutilians were handing the supplies to. It was one Itrean that easily surpassed anyone and everything by sheer height alone. Ernesh was right. The Alara’jal were huge, standing at well over 12 feet in height, possibly more. They looked like giant anthro T-rexes. This one was a female due to her jutting breasts that pressed against the fabric of her t-shirt. She was also quite pregnant as well with a jutting belly that pushed hard against her shirt. She had almost short arms but made up for it with her long legs and tail. There were no feathers on her tannish, scale-like skin. Her head was bald and had a large stubby snout similar to a great carnivore. What took some effort to move the supplies were mere twigs to the alien woman. She could easily lift one box in each of her scaly hands before placing them to the side. A group of humans could also be seen working not far away, cataloging the supplies that were being brought in.

Greg held onto his lever action rifle as he looked at Gip’grenda. He momentarily looked at his rifle before he tossed the gun into his truck.

“Screw it,” he said. “I’m out of ammunition anyway. Gip’grenda, go ahead and stow your gun. I’m just keeping my pistol. With the Alara’jal being that big, I might as well be shooting BBs at them.”

The busy and serene environment seemed safe enough. However, Greg felt nervous about the concept of these Alara’jal. A rampaging Itrean like these could make mincemeat out of him and Gip’grenda in seconds. It made Orthas almost seem like a joke in comparison. However, Greg noticed that their sizes did put them at a disadvantage. He didn’t see any shuttles large enough to handle them. There were a couple of large, constructed vehicles that might house a few of them, but the idea of transporting them must have been somewhat difficult.

It didn’t take long before another large Alara’jal came walking towards Greg and Gip’grenda. It was a male, around 13 feet in height, with short tan feathers that lined his arms, head, and tail. His clothing consisted of more body armor, a cap that he wore over his head and snout, and a large rifle of some sort that he kept shouldered behind him. Greg closed the door as he found himself looking up at the monstrosity that stood above him.

“Jesus...,” Greg remarked. “Are you Ucarex?”

“Vecarex,” the Itrean replied in a similarly deep, drawn-breath fashion. “Ucarex is my brother ... follow me.”

Greg followed the Alara’jal through the large hangar. Gip’grenda seemed like a termite in size when compared to the massive moving Itrean.

“Heard about your fight,” Vecarex said to him. “Southeast of our home...”

“Salmon did a good job relaying my information to you,” Greg replied. “We could have used a few of you there. It would have made things much easier.”

“Too few Alara’jal to fight ... You are here ... the enemy is dead...”

“How many of you are left?”

“Over a thousand...”

“Looks like the T’rintar are helping you move in quite well.”

“Keep us fed ... eat well.”

Vecarex walked slowly to ensure that Greg and Gip’grenda could keep up with him. The sounds of moving aircraft above could be heard. It didn’t take long before the two reached a huge set of doors large enough to handle the size of the Alara’jal. It slid open to reveal an equally impressive hallway leading further into the adjacent dome.

“Yes, yes, yes...,” a distant man’s voice said. “The Second American Museum of Natural History needs the city’s art pieces safely stowed and brought to me...”

Greg listened closely. It sounded like the person he needed to see was closing in on him and Gip’grenda. An approaching concourse finally revealed the man as he walked out.

Dressed in an almost civilian safari outfit was a bald man. His facial features made him look like he was Chinese, but his accent was clearly North American. He kept his long hat to his side. In his left hand was a large tablet. He seemed to be talking with another Itrean, a Yutilian who wore a brown and green silk dress that dragged across the flat carpet. This Itrean had very long black feathers with her, almost seemingly ignoring the bald man’s small talk.

When she reached the center of the concourse, the Itrean stopped and looked at Greg, giving a few quick nods to the approaching rancher. It didn’t take long for Greg to know that he found his man.

“Doctor Fengge Yu, I presume?” Greg addressed him.

“Wha ... What?” Fengge replied. He quickly turned to look at Greg before smiling at him. “Well, I’ll be ... looks like a survivor from outside our dome city. Yes, my name is Doctor Fengge, but you can just call me Fengge.”