Chapter 2: All In A Day’s Work

Thump! ... Thump!

The rancher’s eyes opened up wide. He stirred on his bed mattress as the red pandas climbed onto the man’s bed, leaped into the air, and did a nose dive straight into his face.

“Umph...,” Greg felt another wall of fur booped onto his nose. “Alright ... alright, stop Mac and Cheese.”

It had been a little bit later that night. The hint of the dusty air could be heard smacking the garage walls. The familiar Dusty Muck Storms were hitting the outside, kicking up the toxic sand. However, the sounds were all but welcoming at this point, producing little more than a faint howl that echoed in the interior.

Greg watched as the red pandas frolicked and ran away together to the other side of the vast room. The rancher stood up from his bed, still in his coveralls. He proceeded into the passage tunnel.

The walking tunnel was a plastic shield. A hint of darkness and outside lights could be seen trying to penetrate it, but the dust was abnormally thick. There was little to see as the man stepped into the adjacent garage.

The man was greeted with what looked like a large laboratory. Unlike the warehouse of tools, relics, the faint stench of manure, and vehicular grease, the laboratory had a pleasant scent. Various air filters were active near the entrance, extracting and purifying the air around the rancher. The smell of electronics and various chemicals persisted.

The faint hint of sounds being generated could be heard, usually by barking dogs or meowing cats. A variety of test tubes, display screens, vats, animal cages, and quantum computer cores lined the sides of the room.

“Ah, Greg,” a femine Japanese-accented voice could be heard in the distance. “How are you?”

“Swell...,” Greg replied.

A Japanese woman stood in the corner of the room, overlooking the data on her augmented hand. Doctor Himari was a skinny, dark, long-haired woman with pale skin and slanted eyebrows. She was dressed in a white lab coat with a pink and white dress underneath. Her beauty was well known to many who resided at the Las Vegas Dome. She took care of herself intently and barely left the confines of her lab.

“You’ve been busy,” Himari said, never looking at him. Her hands were busy injecting a serum into a test tube. She held it from a distance and used her augmented hand to scan the contents.

Greg remained quiet as he walked through the area. The hint of horror from deformed test tube animals growing or suspended in liquid was all around him. However, he had been all but used to seeing this. He walked up to the woman.

“And you?” Greg questioned her.

“Getting closer to bringing back the buffalo,” she replied before putting the test tube into a rack.

“You’ve been working on that for over a year and keep saying that.”

“The American Bison loomed the plains for eons before we interfered. It provided food for the Natives who used to live here. Getting them brought back is important.”

“You do realize that the environment isn’t ready for them yet? We only have so much room for the cattle here as it is.”

“Twenty years, I know.” She looked up to him and smiled.

“Assuming it will be 20 years. The Itreans can change that at any moment ... start bringing in their own plants and wildlife.”

“They promised not to.”

“You know they won’t live up to that. Anytime you start bringing in new settlers, they bring in their own society. Before you know it, nothing remains of the original inhabitants.”

“And you worry too much about them. Japan doesn’t share your pessimism, Greg. Project Huoou is part of many different projects to help restore Earth’s environment.”

“The many projects that spend hundreds of years gathering dust and getting nowhere.”

“And, yet, you ride around a horse that was deemed extinct not long ago.”

The rancher felt something pawing at his leg. It was one of the red pandas playfully rubbing against his pants, looking straight up at him. It put a smile on Himari’s face.

“Even Mac agrees with me,” the doctor replied.

The rancher seemed to drop his argument. “So,” Greg questioned her. “You mentioned about a new job offer for me?”

“Yes...” Himari walked over to a closed refrigerator. A hint of cold vapor could be seen coming from its sides. Despite how cold it was inside, a clear window depicted a variety of blood samples. Each closed sample had a label written in both English and Japanese.

“Your DNA samples,” Greg said.

“Some, but not all,” Himari explained. “You already know that I have some of the samples. Project Huoou is being done all around the world. It’s being done for a reason: to ensure success in case one of the domes gets compromised. Before the Earth Exodus, Japan and the United States created the project, saving as many DNA wildlife samples as possible. Eventually, other nations joined in as well, all contributing samples in hopes that advanced cloning would eventually be discovered.”

“I would say that it’s showing some level of success.”

“Mostly...,” Himari sighed. “We ... only have so many volunteers for the program. I’m doing what I can. I believe that if Earth’s environment were restored, I could probably bring 2,000 species back from extinction.”

“That sounds like a lot.”

“No ... it isn’t. Others have better equipment than me. The bigger dome cities have more resources. There’s other challenges, too. The DNA samples may or may not work.”

“What do you mean? Eh ... don’t try to get all technical, Doctor. I’m not a scientist.”

“The ... samples are degrading. Thirty years ago, one of the main refrigeration units that helped keep the samples secured broke down. They managed to get the unit back online, but it accelerated the degradation process. Even now, we might be losing even more animals and plants that we’ll never see again.”

“Ah...,” the rancher remarked. “That’s why you’re trying to clone the animals now...”

“Before it’s too late. Even if the Itreans never arrived ... there would have been no hope of restoring the wildlife on Earth. At least now ... there’s still a chance.”

A hint of sympathy could be seen on Greg’s face. He took a deep breath.

“So, where do I come in on this?” he asked her.

“You travel around out there. I doubt that many things survive. The Orange Muck destroys living tissue. But, when you venture out, try to look for anything living...”

“There’s not much out there, Doctor.”

“I know, but ... maybe ... something will.” Himari pulled out of her pocket and handed him a pencil-like device. “We’ve been contacting archeologists, scientists, mercenaries, or anybody for hire that venture outside. These are DNA scanners designed to pick up DNA traces. It has a limited range, but it will always remain active. Take this with you. It’s designed not to pick up us, the Itreans, or what I already have, but anything foreign. When you hear it pinging, it’s picking up something near you. This even includes seeds from plants. Save them. Put them in clear plastic bags. Do everything you can to preserve them and bring them to me. For each species you bring to me, maybe a species saved.”

“And...?”

“I promise a reward. A 1,000 mard per species...” Himari looked down briefly. “I know it’s not much ... but...”

Greg put the small device into his pocket before putting his hand on her shoulder.

“You got it,” Greg told her.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him.

The rancher briefly looked down at her body before he stepped away from her. The wedding ring on the doctor’s hand was enough to dissuade many from seeking her out.

“Let me ask you this, Doctor,” the rancher questioned her. “Do you have any means to strengthen the immunity of the animals when it comes to the Orange Muck?”

“No ... sadly,” she answered.

“Anything for resistances?”

Himari shook her head. “I’m lucky to even play God and bring them back.”

“Do you have anything to help protect Autumn from the elements?”

“I don’t. I would check up with our veterinarian, Abrams. He might be able to inject nanites into her bloodstream, the same ones we use in our bodies to help filter out the toxins. Although, I don’t imagine he has anything for horses.”

“He doesn’t,” the rancher ran his thumb across his bearded chin. “He’s having to focus most of his attention on preserving the cattle as it is.”

“You really do like her, don’t you?”

“She’s a good horse. I want her to be able to make treks to the other domes if I can, but I know it would be too much for her. An animal like that should be able to enjoy the countryside like her ancestors, just like the post riders were able to do long ago. Not be confined and suffer from muscle atrophy.”

“I’m sorry, Greg,” Himari showed sympathy on her face. “I’ll try to find ways to tamper with the immune systems of the future animals I work on. I can’t promise that they’ll be better, but maybe I can create better horses that can handle the muck.”

“No...,” the rancher said. “It’s as you said. We’re playing God by bringing animals back from extinction. Anything more than that, and we would just create abominations.”

“I agree.”

“Is there anything else you need from me?”

“You plan on making your daily routes today?” she asked him.

“Yes...”

“There’s a ‘however’ in that statement.”

Greg was prepared to leave. He didn’t want to say anything more about it.

“You’re heading back to the Home Suites in District 2 again, aren’t you?”

“ ... No comment,” Greg replied.

“I understand. Greg, don’t feel bad about what you’re doing. My sister had to do the same thing you did for a time. I know you’re having to make money to get your vehicle to work.”

“ ... Tell that to the Itreans...”

The rancher said nothing more as he left. Himari nodded before turning back on her work, sympathetic but focused on her assignments...

The outside weather was mostly calm in the ruins of Las Vegas. The hint of flying dust and gray-lit skies persisted over the endless array of buildings.

The northeast district of the city was no different than the rest of the city. The hint of clopping hooved feet could be heard as Autumn trotted along wearing her snout, mask, and eye protection. Meanwhile, the rancher rode atop her. His body was covered in the familiar protective garment.

Behind the man’s back was an ancient M4 rifle, modified for the potentially thick, intense dust storms. His saddle also carried a holstered Colt revolver.

The streets consisted of the same trashy remains. Broken down and stripped cars, busted lights, and shattered windows were all but commonplace. Near the dome, the ruins suffered the most damage from scavengers, but it was generally the safest location.

It was a ten-kilometer trek so far. Greg’s breathing could be heard along with the horse. The filtered mask had a way of amplifying the auditory sound even if the outside was more serene.

The rancher had learned to be quiet and observant. The further one traveled from the dome, the more likely an unpredictable event would occur. Outside, the safety of the dome walls in an urban wasteland could easily lead to lawlessness. However, encountering human relic hunters was generally uncommon unless one traveled in groups or operated near the checkpoints. Thankfully, humans didn’t hunt other humans out of spite. At least, that was what the rancher had hoped.

A busted casino lined the left side of the road. The lack of electricity had left the building as little more than a discarded relic of the past. However, not all was lost for the city. Despite the ongoing scavenging and looting, Greg knew that this was one pastime that he might ultimately say goodbye to sooner rather than later.

The man scanned the skies closely. Despite the gray hue and faint sunlight trying to pierce it, he knew he had to keep a close eye on it. For now, the weather reports were accurate. It would be calm stable weather for the next couple of days. It was almost safe enough not to need the multiple layers of clothing, but his experiences in the unpredictable urban environment told him otherwise.

There was a distant sound of a gunshot. However, it was quite far and nowhere near his direction. Most likely, it was one of the Relic hunters taking potshots at whatever layabout garbage that lined the streets.

Greg turned to the right at the nearby crossroads. He knew he was a few kilometers from one of the nearby checkpoints, so the horse continued to trot along.

The rancher heard another sound. It was quickly approaching overhead. From atop one of the tall buildings was a 30-meter-long green cylindrical craft. An Itrean shuttle craft, fitted with guns all along its sides, was flying low and slowing down. It hovered in the air before it began to make its transit toward the tall building.

It was Greg’s queue to keep moving. He tapped the reins to his horse to help coax Autumn to move a little faster. He could only move too quickly, though. While the outside temperatures were moderate under the sheltered clouds, the clothing and masks generated heat. However, Greg knew he wasn’t too far from his destination point.

He could hear the shuttle land on top of one of the roofs of the familiar building he knew. It took another couple of minutes, but he had arrived. The Home Suites in District 2 was little more than a grand hotel that doubled up as a casino. Built in 2089, it was the largest of buildings in the northeast portion of the city and, most likely, one of the last of the great hotels built before Earth faced evacuation.

Sadly, like many buildings, the Home Suites showed wear and tear across its sides. The concrete and brick lining erosion was evident, caused by the Orange Muck rains that would strike the region. The arid dryness helped preserve it for a time, but with the changing weather patterns, not even here was safe.

As the rancher continued his trek atop his horse, he reached the main entrance road. In the days of old, limos would pull up to the front to deposit the lavish guests and tourists that came to see it. The hotel itself consisted of three marble-like structures, almost as if it was trying to recreate the ancient Greek and Roman buildings. The grand pillars were little more than cosmetic supports designed to envelop the guests. The structure was large enough to accommodate a single helipad atop the ceiling, where the Itrean shuttle resided.

He had arrived. The rancher saw the main entrance, two sets of wooden doors lined with the finest artistic creation humanity could fabricate. While sheltered from the overlaying roof, the decay from the layers could be easily noted.

Greg could see them. Two Itreans, Yutilians, stood at the door, both armed with makeshift Y-6 rifles. The great Velociraptors were somewhat unrecognizable from their great ancestors. The small reptilian-like folk stood on a pair of digitigrade legs, had tails, and consisted of light green, scaly skin. The Yutilians were the shortest of the Itreans, being around 4 feet in height, but they consisted of the majority population of the T’rintar clan. They had protruding snouts and feathers that lined the top of their head, arms, and tails.

Unlike humans, the Itreans had more than adapted their bodies to handle the resiliency of difficult and harsh alien-like environments. Earth was little more than a cakewalk for them, where they barely needed any clothing to protect themselves from the deadly Orange Muck. It was a clear contradiction and reminder to Greg that the alien women served not as tourists but as replacements for the native human population.

These Yutilians were serving as guards for the obscure building. They didn’t use their wrap armor but still wore light body armor that protected their chest and lower extremities. However, their faces, snouts, lower legs, four-digit hands, clawed feet, arms, and tails were exposed to the elements.

Autumn slowed her approach as if the horse had been long used to seeing them. Finally, one alien woman grimaced and stepped toward Greg and the big animal.

“Hooman, stop,” the Yutilian said in her butchered English. “ID yourself.”

“You know who I am,” Greg told her, his voice muffled but loud through his mask.

“No ... we no know you!”

“I’m the only human around here riding atop a horse, Goddamn it.”

The guard lightly lifted her rifle but did not aim it at Greg. The rancher almost grabbed his Colt revolver, ready to pull it out and aim it at the guard. The hint of anger could be seen from the Yutilian’s face. Even the other guard showed a hint of animosity. Her feathers raised as she gripped her rifle hard.

“Leave or die,” the guard told him with a few clicks in her voice. Her accent had a thick Japanese, French, and Spanish whisp to it.

It was that part that annoyed Greg the most. Just like that, the Itreans had claimed a place and told him to vacate. This building belonged to humanity, not them. However, his senses took hold. He had a job to do and lifted his hand away from his revolver.

“You know me well enough,” the rancher told him. “I’ve been here many times before. I’m here to take up the Contract, Beya’Hui,” he made a click in his voice to accompany the alien number. “This is my tenth visit, the tenth time you’ve seen me approach here with my horse. I know it’s you, Jokwinda.”

“Humans ... all look same,” the Yutilian guard sneered at him. “Humans desperate for money.”

“I’m sure your boss would be upset if you denied me entry. Let me in, or I let them know that I can’t take up the contract because you decided to be a dumbass as usual.”

The guard displayed her teeth before she backed away and lowered her stance. “Fine ... no weapons ... no horses inside.”

“I already know the drill,” the rancher said as he dismounted from the horse. The other guard relaxed and remained quiet. The horse had plenty of room to wander around without getting lost. Greg reached behind him and lifted the rifle away from him before handing it over to Jokwinda.

The guard tossed the rifle near the entrance, causing it to land with a thud. The same was said as Greg pulled out a small survival knife and tossed it to the ground near her clawed feet. He remained still as the guard lifted a small device and initiated a scan that penetrated his clothing. The man checked out, clear of any weapons.

The Yutilian slapped her tail to the concrete floor, causing the other guard to grab ahold of the door handle. She opened it for the man to step inside.

Greg had been all but used to this. He was familiar with the hotel’s interior and proceeded slowly. The area had been surprisingly well maintained inside, although this might have been due to the Itrean renovation. An unknown power generator was inside the building somewhere, powering the lights and giving life to the seemingly abandoned building.

The rancher’s suit indicated that the interior was clean. Special fans and air filters were placed near the entrance to properly eradicate any deadly particulates that might have blown in from the open door. It was enough that the man could reach behind him, undo his head covering, and expose his face. The scent of clean air and cleaning fluid filled the area, producing a heavenly aroma.

The man’s boots were pressed against the soft carpet, his head covering held to his right hip. He reached a large reception area with a red carpet and a few online casino slot machines, even though there was no legal tender to play with them. The place looked lavish, almost recreating the welcome hall of any typical expensive locale of the time period. Two main hallways passed the reception room, both proceeding further into the hotel.

Greg spotted a Yutilian that he had been all but used to seeing. This Itrean left the reception desk and approached the man. She was supposedly a Nat, consisting of light green scales, solid blue and black feathers, a more rounded snout, and a tail with enough feathers that it could be used as a floor broom. Her clothing consisted of a French maid outfit, where she kept the skirt down just long enough to block her panties from being shown. A pink three-petal flower was pressed to fit between her head feathers. She closed her eyes, smiled, and greeted the man.

“Hello, traveler,” the Yutilian said. Her accent was quite faint, and her English seemed well-known.

“Cala’iol,” the rancher greeted her back. He remained content and didn’t smile at her as he stopped and stood next to her.

“How is your health?” she asked him.

“Well enough.”

“I’m so happy you accepted our offer to return again. Do you feel ready to serve another client?”

It was important for Greg to remain confident in his answer. In reality, there was a moment when he briefly looked down. He still had the opportunity to turn down this job, but money was money.

“Yes,” he answered. “But I feel this will be the last time that I’ll do it.”

“Come...,” she told him. Her clawed fingers gripped onto his arm before she coaxed him forward.

The two began their walk down the right hallway. The rancher held no ill will towards Cala’iol. She was a competent Itrean, friendly, and compassionate towards the humans who stepped inside the hotel. However, this never put the rancher’s mind at ease. The man often questioned if she was truly nice or simply playing friendly because she was paid to do it. More than not, it almost felt like she would have been like the guards at the door if she weren’t working. However, Greg’s recent comment seemed to have an impact on the Itrean.

“I’m surprised you feel that way,” Cala’iol told him. “We’ve had no complaints with your performances.”

“Where is there to complain?” Greg remarked. “You need males, and there’s trillions of you compared to us.”

“True, but I know it’s not easy for you or any human that steps in to take the jobs we offer.”

“Some more easier than others.”

“You are not the only human that feels that way,” she made a few clicks in her voice. “Some are nervous. Some are excited. But they usually leave with a smile on their face when they leave. We’ve gone to great lengths to ensure the secrecy of this while making sure our humans are happy.”

“Including that of sex?”

“Without sex, our people will die off. You humans are our last hope.”

“And as a result, I’m left as little more than a sperm donor.”

They reached the elevator door. Cala’iol pressed the button, which caused it to slide open. They stepped inside before it closed. The elevator began its slow trip upward.

“I feel ... saddened that this might be your last time here,” She told him.

“Do you?” he replied.

“Yes. My boss has made requests to hire you personally ... willing to make an offer to keep you to service her.”

“She already has someone servicing her on a daily basis. The answer is no. I won’t be her hired pet.”

“But it’s still an honor to do so.”

“I question your people’s honor. I read about how your people took mateship so seriously. Now, you go seeking out humans and hiring them like gigolos ... give them an injection, make them knock you up, and walk away like nothing’s important.”

The elevator came to a halt, and the door slid open to reveal a pristine new floor. Additional filters were active by the elevators. Greg could note that the floor had been closed up. The windows were completely sealed up, and a habitable containment unit had been converted to protect the area from outside dust storms. No doubt, the water served in the area was pure and made to ensure that the humans here were kept to an optimal status.

The two stepped away from the elevator door. The rancher looked down at the small Itrean.

“It is as you say,” Cala’iol told him. “However, you make sacrifices for our benefit. We make sacrifices for your benefit. I ... admit that if I had the money, I would hire for your services as well.”

“A huh,” Greg didn’t seem impressed by her comment.

Her tail twitched. “As an Ivon, being forced to be something that I’m not. I would be happy to be your mate and no longer be one.”

That was a lie, and Greg noticed it. The rancher already remembered his prior discussions with her, and she usually had a hint of emotional inflection in everything she said. She said the prior comment with no emotion or care, almost as if she had made it up on the spot. Even her tail had never twitched before until she said it. She was no Ivon and was only saying it to play the victim. It even brought into question whether she was completely serious about wanting him as well. He knew her boss and knew she would never allow it, even if Cala’iol had the money to do it. The rancher did his best to hold back from showing his emotions, but the hint of anger was present.

However, he had to remind himself why he was here in the first place. It was good pay, regardless of his feelings on the matter.

“Let’s go,” he told her.

They began to resume their walk. The hallway led to multiple rooms. While seemingly empty, hints of activity were present. Greg was well aware of what was happening behind some of these doors. A couple of humans were present who had made their living here. As he walked by one of the doors, he could hear moaning, although he didn’t know if it was from a human being or Itreans. For the ones who wanted this job, it was heaven on Earth, trapped in a prison of lavishness and sex. For the others, it paid the bills.

“We’re almost there,” Cala’iol told him.

“I’ll say one thing...” Greg told her. “Your boss knows how to make money, even in an alien culture.”

“Yes, she does.” Cala’iol halted by the nearby closed door. “But, let us get down to business first.” The Itrean woman pulled out a pair of tilons. The metal strips were pulled apart to reveal a digital display screen depicting her own alien language.

“Am I to undergo detox first?” he asked her, looking down at her.

“You will, but you must agree to...”

“I know the contractual agreements.” He tried telling her, knowing she still had to say it to him regardless.

“Do you agree to this job, knowing what you know?” She asked him.

“Yes...,” he said with a sigh.

“Do you agree to keep the name of your client confidential?”

“Yes...”

“Do you agree to keep this place confidential?”

“Yes ... yes ... and yes to the next five questions. Under penalty of death, I will not tell anyone what happens here. The only thing I question is the payment of 5,000 mard to commit to this operation even if it should be much higher.”

“My boss will not give you more,” she told him as she was using her clawed finger to checkmark the boxes of her questionnaire form.

“5,000 mard ... and she has an entire get-out like this. She has more than that, and I was a fool for not seeing it sooner.” His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her. “... 8,000 mard, or I walk out of the deal.”

“She will not negotiate any higher.”

The rancher reached forward and sternly grabbed Cala’iol’s arm. “More like it’s 8,000 and you’re pocketing the 3,000 from my work.”

Cala’iol hissed as her tail stiffened. She bared a row of razor-sharp teeth. Meanwhile, she lightly resisted the grab and looked like she was ready to bite his hand.

“Do you take me for a fool?” he told her. “Prior deals in the past were for 8,000 mard per service, but in the last three transactions, it suddenly fell down from 7,000 to 6,000 to 5... 8,000 mard, or I tell your boss that you’re cheating me.”

“ ... Yes,” Cala’iol relented. The rancher let go of her arm. Her look had changed. A hint of devilishness could be seen from her face and snout. “8,000 mard...” she told him. “As agreed...”

“And the 4,000 you stole from me as well. No exceptions, Itrean.”

“Yes.”

“Then I agree ... for the last time.”

Caught in all her lies, Cala’iol gestured for the human to follow him to the nearby detox room. This was located about two rooms from the room that held the client he needed to serve. Open reaching the door, Cala’iol held her tilon to the human. Greg used his finger to sign his name on the contract, agreeing to the valid terms it held. If only he could read the Itrean language.

Cala’iol closed her tilon and stuck it in her pocket. She also pulled out a card and brought it to the nearby door, sliding it to unlock it from the outside. Greg stepped into the room.

The interior was something Greg already knew. It was both a preparation room and a room to store his belongings. The original hotel room had been fully converted with a decontamination unit, racks for clothing, and more. However, this was only for the benefit of humans and wasn’t needed for the Itreans.

Upon entering the cleaning room, Greg was greeted by a Yutilian and a T’rintar Aksren. The Yutilian had short pink feathers while having a very pasty green scale skin color to her. The Aksren women were something that Greg had rarely seen before. It was enough for him to gaze at her for a few seconds as the door closed behind him.

The Aksren were anthro oviraptors, standing around the same height as the Yutilians. This one had a crested nose and no feathers. From what Greg knew, the Aksren clan were enemies of the T’rintar and enemies of humanity. However, he also knew that Aksren families moved in to live with the T’rintar in their territories. The T’rintar Aksren were a more uncommon sight but loyal to the T’rintar. This one had glittery dark green scales on her body, a surgical alteration to make herself appear more in line with the T’rintar population. In the end, it was all the same to Greg.