Gabatrix: The Wheels of Thunder

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About the Author

 

 

Hello everyone, my name is CMed. I will make it brief and quick about me. I was a college student who got a Major in History before going into the realm of the military. I am a Navy Veteran that has served for six years and wanted to become an author and book writer near the end of my military contract. 

Serving aboard ship was a long and challenging life. It is not for the faint-hearted, but after being taken off of it, I now had more time than ever. I used my time wisely to begin writing books. Writing had and continues to serve as therapy for me. It helped me through my times, even way before diseases or social unrest ever became the main headlines of modern media. 

Writing is something that does not come overnight. Most writers require at least two years of writing before they are even going to be marketing. Needless to say, make sure that you set the time to do so if you wish to be a part of that hobby. If you know somebody that wishes to become an author, make sure to give them that support. Writing is an extension of us and our imagination. Without imagination, our civilizations would never exist. Without imagination, we would have no empathy towards the next person. We all come from different walks of life. Each one of us can tell a story, and it all comes down to our will to survive through the best of times to the worst of times. 

I have designed Tales of Heroes and Gabatrix to be a system that expands itself. If people like my stories, then they can help out that cause. With the help of you, the audience, the system will get bigger and bigger. If you like my stories, then come and support me on my Patreon. Thank you, and enjoy my stories. :)

 

https://www.patreon.com/TheUniverseofCMed

https://www.gabatrix.net

 

 

 

 

Disclaimers

 

Tags: Science Fiction, Future, Sex, Love, Survival, Swearing, Action, Fighting, Violence, Interspecies, Male Human, Female Alien, Anthro, Scalie, Human/Alien Sex, Intercourse, Consensual Sex, Impregnate, M/F, M/F

My books are available on Amazon Kindle, Bookapy, and Google Play. Money made from that also goes into the universe too. All books are now available for Print on Demand for hardcopies as well.

Disclaimer 1: This story is meant for adults as it contains sex, violence, fighting, and cursing. The sex scenes depicted are of a consensual variety. There is a clear division between the sex and the violence.

Disclaimer 2: This book is an erotica, action, and science fiction rolled into one. Expect scenes of human/alien or human/anthro sex and love. Gabatrix is an ongoing series. It’s highly recommended that the audience reads the earlier stories to enjoy the overall arc of this story.

Disclaimer 3: The opinions stated in this story do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the author. Remember, this is just a story. Treat it as such. 

Artwork by Piero Painter.

Special thanks to Joshua Nelson for contributing the funds necessary to commission the book cover artist and make this story possible. Thank you. 😊

Special Thanks to my Patreon supporters:

Johndewey, Quintin Martin, Joshua Nelson, Nindahr, Mr. Darknut, TBCoW, Darklord Sengir, Mike Nixon, Nightsound, Anthony Kestle, Vlad Emanuel, Russell Mead, and Lynn A Sines, for their generous donations.

And, of course, the other patron supporters for allowing me to write and supporting the universe that I write. :)

By CMed

Prologue

 

 

“We venture to the stars. We venture to new worlds. We venture to the unknown. These are all well said, but we are left with one inevitable outcome….we leave the most important world behind. Understand that my sacrifice, my experiment, is not to leave Earth to rot, but to eventually find a way to save it,” Gabatrix, at Waterville DC, 2291 AD.

 

……. The year is 2351. Earth has been handed over to the T’rintar clan, a bargaining chip for the UWA/T’rintar alliance. Peace has been established, and the T’rintar promise to accept Itrea as their sacred home…..

 

……. However, the Earthlings live in unsteady times. No longer will they be UWA citizens but fellow Itrean denizens. Even if Earth is to be restored to its original natural state, the process is remarkably slow. Earth remains a wasteland of hardship, death, suffering, and survival….

 

……. A fellow Earthling is amongst the many humans who stayed behind on Earth. Despite the incredible hardships, not all of them have given up. Day by day, they continue finding ways to improve their lives and hope for a better future…. 

 

Chapter 1: March 1st, 2351 AD

 

In the fringes of dark, cold space lies Luna. The Earth-moon of the 24th century has become the bastion checkpoint for ship construction. What served as the stepping stone for humanity’s space programs has become a hub of history. It is little more than a gray, barren sphere of rock where many humans still manufacture ships and keep their facilities from wearing out. 

The year is 2351. The famed Gabatrix experiment of the 23rd century has long been over. The human race has found new worlds to colonize, new worlds to settle upon, and old worlds to forget. Luna is an aged stronghold for Earth. Even now, despite the blackened background with only a hint of twinkling stars in the vast distance, lies a series of surface lights that can be seen across the moon's surface. Hundreds of years ago, Luna was a battleground for superpowers, fighting for precious resources that could only be found there.

In orbit, there is a smattering of spaceships, many of which are indecipherable from the great distance seen. A single low connected gate ring, entrenched dockyards, and domed cities show human activity. A freighter is on the verge of completion, ready to be launched into orbit. Only the dots of various artificial lights can be seen as the boxy contraption takes off. 

However, as we continue to observe Luna, the distant globe of Earth can be seen in the distance as the rays of Sol come into view. We zoom towards the world that lies before us, leaving behind the solitary moon.

As Earth comes closer to our view, we can already see the few lights that dot its unlit surface. Most of humanity has long left. Space garbage, broken satellites, and debris threaten the few wayward vessels that travel to it. As we encircle around and reach the lit surface of the planet, we are left with the sight of a dark gray atmosphere. Heavy pollution and sulfur choke much of the surface from being seen. However, the hints of the orange-colored oceans remain.

On the lit side of Earth, there is more activity that can be noted. Green-colored warships and vessels lie in orbit. The Itreans have long arrived. The former dinosaurs have reclaimed their home of birthright. Like a fable that has come true, their pilgrims make a concerted effort to restore the planet. Even now, old dreadnoughts lie above the atmosphere, deploying probes and seeding the atmosphere in an effort to clean up the world that much of humanity has left behind. 

In the last couple of years, Earth has transformed. Even its very name is being questioned. For the Itreans, Earth was always Itrea, the sacred home of their origins.

There is a slight haze and clearing in the atmosphere. The former continent of North America comes into view. The sad reality is that Canada, the United States, and Mexico's former glory days are long gone. Rising ocean levels have all but swallowed up Florida, consuming much of the southeastern states. The great coastal cities of the 21st century lie submerged, choked under the orange muck. It is as if a great hand came in and ripped the landscape asunder. 

The Orange Muck proved to be the most devastating of disasters. Long released from the melted frozen Antarctic, the deadly bacteria began to consume the pollutants that resided in the oceans. It became a feeding frenzy for them. Far deadlier than Red Tide, the bacteria released a toxin that found itself everywhere. In the rain, in the sand, in the water table, Orange Muck was the death kneel for the human race. The poorest of nations took the most horrific of casualties, for even if a small amount of tainted water were ingested, it would kill a human being. It was as if nature had flipped the switch and wiped out as much of the life on Earth. Very little was spared. The forests and plants died, and 90% of wildlife was snuffed out. Year by year, Earth was reduced to a barren landscape. 

Of course, we already know much of the history. The Great Gabatrix experiment would usher in a new beginning for the human race. New homes were found, paradises that put Earth to shame. The regrettable fact was that Gabatrix had both saved the human race and seemingly doomed Earth simultaneously. Once new worlds were discovered to settle upon, most of the efforts to restore the planet’s environment were discarded. More resources were implemented elsewhere, and day by day, more of the Earthlings bid farewell to Earth. 

However, not all is lost for the planet. We begin to zoom in on the atmosphere. We close our eyes as we zip through the layers of thick toxic gases and ashen dust. It does not take long before we move past it and close in high above the surface. 

The Western side of the former United States comes into view. Despite the higher sea levels, much of the surface remains above the waterline. The former states of Nevada, California, New Arizona, and Texas can be seen, but our attention closes in on one of the great states. 

Despite all the hardship, the great Gabatrix experiment, and Earth's near abandonment, the humans who have stayed have only gotten stronger. Progress is on their side. Improvements to medical technology and purifications have led to a small renaissance on the planet. Where many humans have died or left the world long ago, the few who have stayed have developed great dome cities and held their ground. Space is plenty here if one is willing to expand into the barren death fields. Each human that leaves only grants more viable living space for the others to live. 

Earth may be forgotten by some, but for others, it’s opportunity. Even if entrapped by the dome cities and harsh environment beyond, humanity has plenty to scavenge. Old foundries, remnants of industry, technology, and history remain abound. For the Earthers, anything and everything is at their disposal. Some have called the mountains their home, safe and entrenched. Others have used the former cities of the past as bastions, while others have claimed the great desert wastes as safe havens. 

It is here that we focus on our destination. The former city of Las Vegas closes in. Known as the Las Vegas Dome, a small population of humans has called this place home. The great deserts of North America serve as a light defense against the deadly Orange Muck rains. Even if the weather had been forever changed, it would give some hope to the people who live here.

The former Sin City has not changed much in the last hundred years. While the human population continued to explode in the 21st century, the Orange Muck obviously played its role in reducing the city to a near ghost town. Las Vegas is like any typical Earth city during the day. As we reach the surface, we are greeted with dust-laden roads. Ancient cars, lopsided hotels, dilapidated buildings, and erosion have taken their toll. The few pools are either dried out or caked with orange mud.

However, amongst the streets reside the hints of human activity. A pair of individuals patrol the street. They are almost unrecognizable. Heavy gear covers their bodies. Everything from facial masks, helmeted visors, multiple layers of resorbent clothing, heavy boots, thick gloves, backpacks, guns, and tools reside on them. Not far away is a lit abandoned hotel building powered by a small energy core, a scavenger checkpoint to serve as a wayward refuge for some of the Earthers.

We continue to venture northeast of former Las Vegas. It is here that more of the great dome of Las Vegas comes into view. Located on the ruins of Nellis Air Force Base, the land is flat, away from many of the ancient tall buildings. The concept is not uncommon. With much of the military equipment abandoned, the settlers here are greeted with a boon of gear to use. Construction materials are abound and ready to be stripped. It was unknown when exactly the Las Vegas Dome City was established, but it consists of almost 20,000 souls. It is an enclosed, heavy-laden circular wall. There are signs that the place has expanded enough in size that another smaller dome connects to it. The place is little more than a safe haven serving as a fortress against the elements while connecting to the derelict Las Vegas Boulevard. A series of railgun and planetary defense weapons lie far from it, a small makeshift defense from whatever may be out there. 

As we encircle around the smaller secondary dome, we are greeted with more structures. Connected to the dome by habitable tunnels is one of the many military garages that have been rebuilt and remodeled into a central unit.

The weather is currently calm. A hint of wind and dust can be seen in the decaying concrete. From the angle of the door, a shadow emerges. It looks like a large four-legged creature from the sun at first, struggling to pierce the darkened sky, but the silhouette appears to be somebody atop it. The sounds of clopping hooves can be heard.

The figure comes to a stop as the door begins to slide open. The four-legged animal shows fur. The stillness provokes it to lift its tail, where it neatly defecates, waiting for the door to close.

“Ugh…., Autumn,” the man said, riding atop the horse. “You had it all the time, and now you finally do it here?”

 

The voice is harsh, somewhat muffled under his filter mask. Upon the fully opened door, the figure riding the horse enters the garage. The human being appears to be a scavenger of some sort. His clothing carries a similar form of protection. Every part of his skin is covered in black, brown, and gray colored leather. His back carries a holstered lever action rifle heavily modified with a tactical scope. 

The orange and white horse carries some form of protection on itself. In addition to the saddle and countless bags of gear, the horse's head has a makeshift breathing mask that neatly wraps around the snout and lower neck. Upon entering the garage, the door closes behind the unknown figure. 

There is a pause as the man guides his animal to a nearby scanning unit. The vast interior of the garage is filled with countless relics. Most of the walls and side tables consist of various tools and supplies. A huge covered vehicle, most likely a truck rig of some sort, takes up 1/2 of the space. Only the multitude of tires can be seen below the blanket. 

A lit display activates on one of the walls as the unknown man looks upon it through his enclosed visor. The breathing intensifies under his mask. A blue scanning beam goes across the animal and figure. Finally, it stops and gives a result.

“Toxicity level Class 1 detected. Please wash immediately.”

The man moves his animal over to a nearby decontamination chamber. It’s large enough to easily house them both. Upon stepping into the unit, the man departs from his horse. His dusty boots and burrs smack the hard tiles producing a thud in the interior building. 

The person uses his gloved hand to grip the animal's harness and guides the horse further into the apparatus.

“Alright, Autumn,” the man said in his deep raspy-like voice. “Don’t panic again, you hear?”

He lifted his hand towards the nearby wall panel and pressed a button. Suddenly, a clear, hardened plastic door closed over the unit. A gush of white air and vapor slammed into the unit, hitting the two in the process.

The horse neighed in light panic. The man quickly put his hand on the horse's head and said a few words while the animal threatened to rise on its hind legs.

“Whoa, Autumn, whoa…,” the man said. “It’s almost over.” 

The gushing air was like a powerful blow dryer. The animal’s fur was the greatest challenge of them all. The tiny dust-like particles could be easily carried around in the interior. No trace of the dangerous toxins could be carried, for a single cut on the leg could warrant contamination of the orange muck. The decontamination unit had to perform its job. A tiny amount of vapor covered the man’s sides as he remained steady, patting his horse to calm it.

“Almost done….,” he said. The moving air was like a tornado. A small amount of decontamination fluid covered their sides, which was also dried and blown off.

The unit shut down. A secondary scanning beam activated in the unit and went over the two. It began to focus on the saddle bags. 

“Yeah, I know,” the man said. He took off the bags and placed them down on the floor, opening them. Then, he looked over at the unit’s door as it opened. Class 1 decontamination was mostly cleared up, except for belongings that needed a second cleaning. 

“Come on, Autumn,” the man told his horse. He moved the animal and walked out to the interior of the garage. 

The clopping of hooves could be heard as decontamination started to clean the loot the man had acquired. He used one hand to reach behind his neck and tap a button. The locking mechanism for his mask popped off, and he removed it, exposing his face. Then, he dropped it onto the hard concrete floor before venturing further.

The individual had a pale complexion. He was possibly in his forties, although there were signs of wear and tear across his brow. He had a well-trimmed red beard, and his crude-cut blond hair had hints of gray. A scar lay on his left cheek, and the look of fatigue was clearly present. 

The garage contained many things. As he passed by the table, a red, white, and blue flag with 13 stars in the top corner was adorned over a wall. Memorabilia depicting the USA’s past was everywhere. Some photos of Las Vegas were preserved in its glory days. Others consisted of various firearms from the early 20th century to the late 21st century. A bookshelf consisted of multiple books and magazines, some placed in protective sleeves to preserve them. It was a proud mixture of ancient technology and the more current tools of the modern-day period. 

Past a set of office privacy walls was a large stable in the far corner of the room. It didn’t seem to be an entirely comfortable spot, but it was the only place for the man to safely contain the animal. The faint smell of manure hovered over the spot. As the man reached the metal fence, he tapped a button on the gate and opened it. He brought the horse into it, removed the gas mask over the snout, and left the animal inside. The hardened floor still carried some artificial hay, a water trough, and a robotic unit for cleaning manure. 

“You did good out there,” he said to his horse before removing the saddle and placing it to the side. He patted his horse and left it, closing the gate, stepping away, and back into the open exterior. His eyes almost went to the office privacy walls in the garage, where a single twin bed resided. The man walked over to the nearby table, removed his rifle, and slapped it down upon it. He started to take off his heavy layers of clothing when he saw something else.

Two small rodent-like animals came running from the open tube leading into the secondary dome structure. The four-legged animals were an unusual sight. They had mostly red fur, with white ears, black underbelly, and black legs. They were not particularly big, being a little more than half a yard in length. However, the two mammals were quick to run up to the head mask, where they stood up and pressed their paws against it.

“No….nope…,” the man said, walking over and picking up his mask. “Go play with your toys…..”

The animals almost responded to what the man said. They scurried off and went towards a small bin containing small squeaky toys. The man paid no further attention to them as he slapped the mask onto the table while peeling off a layer of clothing. He had just knocked off the two boots when he heard the sound of another person entering the garage.

“There’s my rancher,” an older gentleman greeted him. His voice was grave and heavy. Even in his late 80s, the senior citizen carried nothing but wrinkles across his bald, pale face. The dark blue and brown tunic and pants gave a hint of elitism in his simplistic clothing. Yet, a single tooth could be seen across his gums when he tried to give a hopeful smile. The gentleman had a wooden cane that he used to keep himself steady. 

“How are you, Mayor Greene?” the rancher greeted him.

“Ah, Benjamin, you don’t have to call me mayor,” the old man waved his hand and walked further into the garage. “Not much of a leader when the population is 20,000 and scattered throughout the ruins.”

“In that case, you don’t have to call me Benjamin, either,” the rancher told him. “I prefer my first name, Greg…..”

“Hmmm….,” Greene said as he looked at the little animals. The look of confusion could be seen on his face. “Has the muck really destroyed my eyes, or is the cloning lab here making mutations?”

“Actually,” Greg turned to look at him. “They’re Red Pandas. They used to live in the Asian continent.”

“Pandas?....Hmph….strange creatures.”

“Yeah, they are…..call them Mac and Cheese.”

The Mayor turned to look at his horse. “But I have to admit that Doctor Himari is making progress in her restoration cloning program. Still amazed to see that our home is among many that export this so-called beef.”

“Never had it before?” the rancher questioned.

“Can’t…..,” the Mayor pointed at his chest. “Too much cholesterol, afib, the doctors tell me. Heart isn’t in good shape as it is.”

The rancher gripped his outer clothing and pulled it off, revealing his coveralls and pants. With his protective gear off, he felt that he could relax more.

“Why not get a replacement augment?” Greggory asked him.

“Same reason you’re still here…..same reason why I see all these….old artifacts. Nah….I’ve seen enough….if it’s my time, let it take me…..bury me in the Earth and be done with it.”

His words were not that of disregard for life but that of genuine exhaustion. Greggory rarely ever saw the Mayor. He had been mostly cooped up in his high office. Rumors were everywhere about the older man's different activities, but nothing seemed to match his personality either. 

“So,” Greg questioned, slapping the last of his unfolded protective gear on the table. “What brings you to my workshop?”

The Mayor sighed and looked at the nearby worn-down cushioned chair and rustic folded metal chair parked near the entrance. 

“May I?” the old man asked, gesturing to the furniture.

“Go ahead,” Greg replied.

The Mayor sat down on the cushioned chair, and his look of fatigue seemed to fade away. For a moment, there was a long pause. The rancher briefly turned his head, hearing the sounds of the little pandas playing with their squeak toys.

“How have you been, Greg?” the Mayor asked him.

“Confused,” the rancher turned his head to look at the old man. “I rarely see you.”

“The mistake is mine.” He moved his cane and rested it on his lap. “I’ve been told that I have Muck Lung.”

“Common ailment, especially around here….”

“But, one that gets worse the older you get.”

“And you still won’t get yourself treated?”

The old man shook his head. “I have…..to a point.”

Greg nodded as he leaned upon the table. “You’ve had it for a while…..it’s why you’ve been isolated and never ventured outside.”

“I tried, but the Doctors told me a week ago that I have six months to live.”

“They always tell everyone that.”

The Mayor sighed. “Doctor Henry is usually spot on. Let’s just say that after being told that…..that I’m ready to meet my maker….but….being told that changed me. I wanted to get to know everyone better….including one of my best ranchers.”

“Hmph….,” Greg grunted as he didn’t seem impressed by the comment. “Well, you see the results,” gesturing to his horse.

“It all starts somewhere. Are those books there for show, or do you actually read them?”

“I read them whenever I can, better than Earth digital media can ever give.”

“Hmmm…..,” the Mayor nodded. “How goes the scavenging?”

Greg looked over at the bags still in the decontamination chamber. “Could be better….The Muck Rains are becoming a problem, especially for my horse.”

“I know it’s gotten worse in the last year.”

“Ever since the Itreans came and started reseeding the atmosphere, it altered the weather pattern in the Southwest. The rains hitting here are increasing the toxicity in the sand, striking almost at random.”

“It’ll get better, though,” Greene confided. “What about your horse?” 

Greg looked at his animal. A hint of sympathy could be seen for her.

“Autumn was one of the first horses to be successfully cloned…..she was raised and grew up in the garage ranches. The problem is that she’s meant to be outside…..free, and not cooped up. Even now, the vets have to keep treating her for back issues.”

The Mayor looked at the animal that was resting in the hardened artificial hay. “What about protective gear for her?”

“Unfortunately…..a little too hard to make, apparently. I would have to dress the animal completely on each trip to the outside, which would be impossible for such a large beast of a burden. There’s enough, though, that I provide to protect her face and lungs.”

“Hmmm…..” The Mayor turned to look ahead toward the rancher. “I knew they were pushing the cloning program a little too hard, but the Japanese insist it’s for the greater good.”

“It’s just too early. Even if the Itreans are true to their word about cleaning the shit up, the animals will have to live confined. It’s not a way to live, even for the cows.”

“They started the cloning before the Itreans ever arrived.”

“True, but they didn’t fully commit to it until now. We’re only bringing them into hardship.”

The Mayor nodded, understanding what he said. He decided to press forward.  

“And how goes the mercenary business?” Greene asked.

“Mercenary?”

“Yeah…..”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because the job listings sometimes pop up on my desk….same with a lot of the other work for hire.”

“In other words, you’re the one approving them….”

“Ehh….I wouldn’t go that far. Just….making sure that nobody is hiring someone else to eliminate the other because somebody sneezed the wrong way.”

“Sounds more like government oversight to me.” 

“Greg, I’m not just some couped-up autocrat.”

“Yeah, because no one conveniently ran against you in the last thirty years. I wonder why?”

“Because they like me too much. I’ve done everything that I could these last several years, but….my time is running out….”

The rancher could see that the Mayor was sincere in his words. It was enough for him to finally walk over and take a seat. The metal chair produced a rustic sound as the weight pressed against it.

“What’s the real reason why you’re here?” the rancher asked.

Greene gave a frown before looking down. “I’m thinking that you might make a possible candidate for my succession.”

Greg’s brow lifted. “Me?”

“Yes. I know you’re part of the isolationist movement that's growing on Earth that….”

“Isolationist?” The rancher stood up and walked over to the table. He didn’t look at the old man.

“Some call it the Earth First Movement….the….”

“I’m a Constitutionalist, Mayor,” Greg corrected him. “My feelings toward the Itreans are….. complicated.”

“I know you are, but one can easily be both.” The Mayor tightened his grip on his cane. “I’ve done what I could to keep the Itreans out of Las Vegas Dome…..retain our autonomy, but….”

“They just keep coming, don’t they?”

The Mayor frowned. “A population of trillions…..I can’t stop it, but maybe there's a way we can still keep our culture. The Itreans will not have the same respect for your relics as I do. Emiliano is starting to gain favor amongst the population here. He’s another candidate for my succession.”

“Emiliano has three Itrean wives,” Greg explained. “I’ve met him before. He lets them walk all over him.”

“But, he knows administration policies too.”

“No….” the rancher shook his head. “Vegas isn’t some trinket to adorn another alien race’s wall. It’s part of something much greater. Besides, who are you to decide on the next successor? This is the United States, Mayor. The Constitution demands we have an election again….let Democracy live…..for the Republic for which we stand.”

Greene smiled. “The United States? That’s a term I hadn’t heard in a very long time. You know that would be difficult. Day by day, I watch as more of our youth leave…..finding better pastures, all the while as the people of my age are snuffed out by the muck. It’s only accelerated once the Itreans came. But you’re correct, Greg. That’s why I came to you first before speaking with Emiliano.”

Greg sighed. “I don’t know if I have the room to be a politician. I don’t want to be like you…..all couped up in an office. Emiliano might not even have respect for what should exist here.”

The Mayor nodded. “Don’t worry…..I plan on speaking to others who would work out in my position. Regardless, I would like for you to consider it. Whether it’s my time to die or not…..it’s time for me to step down.” He looked at the large vehicle in the garage. “And I’ve also heard about the great invention you’re working on, too.”

The rancher looked at the covered vehicle. The partial look of defeat seemed to reside within him.

“I wouldn’t call it an invention,” Greg replied.

“I spoke to one of your friends…..you’ve been spending seven years on it.”

“Nine….” He corrected him.

“What is it?”

The rancher sighed. “It’s been an on and off project…..a means to travel around the United States safely…..regain what we lost as a people.”

“The diesel fuel….,” the Mayor began to rub his chin. “Ah….that explains why I keep getting requests for it.”

“It’s powered by it.”

“An ancient vehicle…..long before our time. You’re rebuilding an old vehicle to travel around in it. Why not just use a shuttle or some hovercraft? It’s quicker…less exposure.”

“That’s not what our ancestors had, Mayor. If I had it my way, it would be horseback, but I know Autumn wouldn’t survive it. Instead, it’ll be that….”

The Mayor’s curiosity seemed peaked. It was enough for him to stand up and use his cane to steady himself. He began his slow walk toward the covered vehicle.

“And…..you’ve been working on it this whole time?” Greene asked him.

“Yes…..” Greg replied, leaving the table and walking up to the covered vehicle. “It hasn’t been easy though. Most of the parts of the airbase here have been gutted and sold off. Even this vehicle was old for its time, made long before the great Exodus. I think the servicemen kept this vehicle more as a museum piece than anything else.”

“Have you been able to get it to work?”

“The engine turns, but getting the replacement parts made for it is proving difficult. I’ve contacted Darin Industries, and they’ve been able to send in new parts for me. The catch is that….it’s expensive….”

“Incredible work, young lad….I’ve truly made a mistake in not getting to know you sooner.” Greene reached up and touched the cover. “I see so few around here. They strip Las Vegas for anything they can find…..sell it off to the highest bidders. Even I was no different. But, you still venture out into the wastelands.”

“That’s why I take every job available. How else am I to pay off for the parts and fuel to make this thing move?”

“Hmmm…..among other things.”

Greg gave a mean glance in the direction of the Mayor. “What do you mean?” he asked him, his eyes narrowing down.

“I saw one of the jobs you took here north of Scavenging Outpost 1A…..the one involving the….”

The rancher sneered. “Stop prying into my business.”

The Mayor turned to look at him before giving him a nod. “Don’t worry, Greg…..I won’t tell the others….I’ll take it to my grave.”

“Good…..”

“But, a little advice from me. If I were younger, I would do it too. I might not like the idea of the Itreans taking over Earth, but…..it could be worse. I understand what you must do to make the money you need…..survive.”

“I just….hate what it’s reduced us to.”

The Mayor gave a light pat on the rancher’s shoulder. “Think about what I said. A man like you….Maybe you’re more open to them than you think, or maybe you’re more disgruntled about them than you think. Maybe it’s something else. You would be my perfect replacement….I wish you luck on your machine…..”

The Mayor began to walk away, seemingly satisfied to say what he needed to say. The rancher remained quiet and stoic.

“And, Greg?” the Mayor questioned him, his back pointed at him.

“What?” he asked.

“If I were to bring the United States back into fruition….you would have the opportunity to tell the Itreans that. Remember that you aren’t the only one who feels the way you do.”

Again, the rancher remained quiet as the old man left the garage. Greg turned to look at the horse again before he returned back to his table.

On the table was an old rustic mailbox with a dimly red-lit bulb. He had been so fatigued coming in earlier that he hadn’t noticed it until now. The man pried the lid off, popping it open to spill its contents.

Inside the mailbox was a brown paper-wrapped box and a rolled-up piece of paper almost appearing as a scroll. Greg knew that his friend had gone to the trouble of delivering the mail to him. 

The rancher looked at the box, which had the Darin Industries logo on it. The man knew immediately what it was as he began to shred the wrapping apart. Upon opening the box, Greg pulled out a set of sparkplugs, a set of metal pistons, and a piece of paper written in English with the Darin Industries stamp logo on it.

“What the?” Greg questioned as he began to read the letter out loud. “Dear Benjamin, Your recent order of parts is enclosed in the package. I’ve been monitoring the items you've placed on order and have begun to research your prior history of past orders dealing with the company.”

The rancher gave a confused look as he continued to read. “I may have a job offer soon if you are willing to take it. If you can do this for me, then I'll promise you two payments. The first payment is before you take the mission, and the second one following the completion of the task. If you're interested in partaking in this job, then go to the address given in this letter. You'll meet a Yutilian by the name of Ben’varyu no later than 7 am on the 3rd of March. You'll give her the codewords ‘The Crow Flies At Noon.’”

There was no signature or name of the person who wrote the letter. Was this some form of joke? How serious of a mission was it? Could it even be taken seriously?

The rancher couldn’t take the offer at first. There was too little information available. The fact that this was a package straight for him meant that it bypassed the Mayor’s prodding eyes. What type of mission was it? 

Greg placed the letter down before folding it up and putting it away. The fact that it was thrown onto his lap out of the blue only caused him to dismiss it. For now, he was left with one course of action: take one day at a time. He looked at his covered truck, parts in hand. He had work to do…..   

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.