The Dry Earth (Book 1): The Phone

by Orion, W. J.

  Damn fire escapes. Humans and their gravity issues. Swimming is so much more sensible. And fire? What sensible species uses fire as much as they do? None, that’s who. No sensibility. Screw it, I need to pulse out.

  Trey switched off the disrupting electronic noise his chassis broadcasted and slid open the faceplate of his chassis. Revealed, the remainder of his electronics suite fired into life, and made an immediate connection with the final crab beacon.

  Distress signal? They wounded him? How did I not see that?

  Trey stomped to the edge of the building closest to where the distress signal emanated. He couldn’t see the fallen or injured foe, but based on the lay of the land he was heading back to his ship before succumbing.

  On the holographic-psychic projection in his neural network Trey watched as the distress signal moved towards the ship at an injured pace.

  I’ll finish him and end this. At least until he regenerates enough bodies again. Get an angle, blast him apart, and steal his ship to get off world. Trey charged his mining laser with a cyclonic flurry of electrical activity in his cockpit. I wonder if I can talk Yasmine into coming with me? Is there an echo?

  Trey stopped thinking and listened to the ambient noise inside his cockpit. The nature of the crab neural connections sometimes created psychic residue that built up on physical items or places. Maybe the strange feedback he’d heard was that. His own emotions building up like soot on the walls near a fireplace.

  Testing, testing…? He heard nothing. A glitch in the crystal matrix.

  Trey made his way to the side of the building, and spun backwards before descending to the streets. Once down, he accessed his brand new laser-collected maps and found a route through Shant to his target.

  I’ve never been one for fighting, but watching these humans kick some tentacle is… exciting.

  He bounded through the streets of Shant.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Voices in Heads

  Trey used his smaller, lighter chassis to cover ground in the battleground of Shant at a blistering clip. Like the extinct cheetah his body lowered to the ground and extended a tail fin that worked as a counterweight and spoiler at the same time. He clocked himself at the human equivalent of twenty-five miles per hour as he slalomed burnt out cars, sizzling holes in both walls and on the ground, and the bodies of humans who didn’t find shelter fast enough.

  His 333 hearts all broke for the needless loss of life. Humans weren’t perfect; no race they had encountered was, but they had such potential for good, and they deserved peace. Seeing them die for no reason made his electricity crackle.

  He rounded another corner putting him fifty human yards short of the crab distress signal and came to a stop. The tilted, shattered street led to a still undeveloped part of Shant filled with two story wooden houses, most in terrible shape from the war, or the desert weather of the wastes. Beyond he could see the wall surrounding the settlement, and the gap in it where a gate used to be.

  Should be ahead. He checked his topographical overlay and saw the beacon was off the ground, about level to where his sensor suite was on the chassis. He’s upright, or went down trying to climb to the roof or upper floors of one of these houses.

  Trey’s tiny bodies remained in frenzy; ready to fire the rock-liquefying mining cannon at a moment’s notice. He plodded his chassis forward, pulsing the area with his survey equipment. His psychic presence reached out too; amplified by the armor’s resonance magnification gear. If the bastard was near, he would find him.

  Trey walked down the battered street towards the house where the beacon’s location pinged.

  Humans called the style of home a cape; two stories, sloped roof starting above the first floor’s doors with two dormers spaced evenly to house second floor windows. One dormer was blasted apart and all the shingles had been pulled off, leaving the sun-scorched cape looking more like a burn victim than a home. Trey cut across the yards of the houses neighboring it and moved towards the side of the house.

  Search the exterior, then enter through a hole in the wall. No doors.

  He slid with caution around the side of the house, walking over the cracked driveway, and then the flattened aluminum carport. His six legs punched holes through the papery metal, making loud bangs with each step. If he had faces to do it with, he would’ve winced. Instead, he moved to the rear of the home and saw the interior through an opening that once held two sliding glass doors. Now, like the house, the frame was empty.

  The kitchen lay in ruins; destroyed by war and a decade of looters. Beyond that the interior wall that once housed cupboards was blown apart too. He could see straight into an empty room that at one time might’ve been the ‘living room.’

  Why do they call it a living room? They live in each room of the house almost equally. In fact, based on my research, most pre-war human adults with children spend the majority of their time in the bathroom trying to have a peaceful minute. That should be the living room.

  Trey maneuvered his chassis up to the level of the kitchen floor, and ducked down a tiny bit to enter the home. He kept the nose of his suit forward so he could blast his enemy immediately if he saw him. The hole in the wall leading to the living room and stairs was almost exactly the size of a crab hunter/killer chassis. He stepped through the hole and scanned the room.

  The beacon’s location hammered into the center of the map right where the stairs were beside him. He looked through the broken railing of the abandoned home right at the spot and saw worn human backpack.

  I don’t understand.

  He pulsed the area around him with his neural network, and felt the close presence of a crab entity slightly larger than he was. The shady, nebulous energy of the enemy felt like a thick cloud in the sky above. It felt pervasive and… greasy.

  He extended his tentacle cluster and reached out with the finer, thinner appendages towards the backpack. He looped one tentacle around the backpack’s strap and lifted it off the stairs. The zipper was open, and he used two smaller tendrils to pry the bag open.

  Sitting at the bottom of the canvas school sack was a piece of pulsating crab electronics. Cables hung off the device; it had been ripped free of the chassis and placed in the bag.

  He’s above you, called out a bizarre and unfamiliar psychic voice. It echoed in his heads, and reverberated off the walls of his transparent cockpit. The voice had invaded his personal space. You should move, the voice said again.

  Who are you? Trey pivoted his cameras up the stairs, and saw a black crab, flecked with cracks of red aiming its weapon at him.

  Oh no.

  Trey’s chassis took a direct plasma blast from above. The incendiary force pierced his back armor and shattered it, ruining his environmental seals but stopping short of tearing a hole in his cockpit. Were it not for the advanced materials of his suit, he’d have been split in half, and killed outright. His chassis collapsed to the floor of the house and he felt/saw the damage reports as the suit’s systems failed, restarted and reported. His single weapon—the laser—was inoperative. He was at the mercy of the savage stranger.

  He’s gonna shoot again… Maybe not if he thinks I’m dead.

  Trey powered down the chassis, and stilled his 333 little bodies.

  Then he waited.

  The crab shot him again anyway.

  “Did you hear that?” Yasmine asked after skidding to a halt in the middle of the street.

  “Yes, get to cover,” Caleb barked as he dropped down behind a ruined sedan. Knox followed suit and Yasmine trotted over to the side of a building where a worn green dumpster provided her with a barrier of protection. At Caleb’s feet was the crooked body of a settler and he paused to touch their neck. He sighed an angry sound and rested his machinegun on the trunk of the car.

  “That wasn’t Trey’s heavy cannon,” Yasmine said. “That was more of a snap, and less of a boom.”

  “Yep,” Knox said. “Bad guy is still up and running somewhere ahead,” she said, and pushed
the barrel of her shotgun towards the unreclaimed neighborhood of beaten down homes between them, and the ruined gate where the crabs entered. Above and beyond the steel wall of Shant they could see the alien vessel parked on a hill a mile distant.

  “But who did he shoot?” Yasmine asked. Dread filled her. “Where’s Trey? He wasn’t on the roof of any of the buildings, and he hasn’t caught up to us.”

  “Kid, I wish I knew,” Caleb said to his niece. “No matter, we gotta get that frigging ship disabled.”

  Yasmine’s lower lip trembled. She might cry again. “Right. Get the ship, then find the crab.”

  “If we get to that smashed up gate, I think I can hit that ship with the last AT4. Blow up an engine maybe,” he said.

  “What if you miss?” Knox asked. “What if the rocket bounces off and does nothing?”

  Caleb sneered at her. “Where’s your positivity, Knox? We’re already past the praying stage and are rounding the corner to ‘need a miracle.’ I’m just spit balling here.”

  “Knox is right,” Yasmine said. “It’s too risky. We need to get close and hit a vulnerable spot of the ship to guarantee we don’t waste the shot.”

  “Alright, alright. Skirt to the side over there and use that low stone wall as cover? Slip out the gate and I’ll sprint to the ship to take it down? You two hold down the gate area until I get back?”

  “Let’s get to the gate first,” she said. “Let’s see what my friend has in store for me.”

  Don’t, she heard a familiar, male voice say.

  Yasmine spun, aiming her pistol at the gap between the wall and the dumpster where she heard the voice. No one was there. Caleb and Knox watched as she flinched and pointed their weapons in the same direction.

  “Who said that?”

  I’m a friend, and if you want your crab friend to survive the next half hour, you need to help him immediately. He needs water. His inner sanctum has been cracked and he’s leaking out his life support fluids.

  He’s not here… he’s inside my head. Is it another crab? “Who are you?”

  I am… an amica, the voice replied. Fair trade of assistance for friendship. Your actions have inspired me.

  Yasmine smiled and turned to her friends. She recognized the voice. Amica. The old language. “Trey is hurt, and we need to help him.”

  “What? How do you know that?”

  “Oh, just some regular Joe whispered in my ear,” she said with a smile.

  “That’s really weird,” her uncle said.

  “Yeah that makes me a little uncomfortable,” Knox added.

  They’re wise, the voice added. You need to destroy the last crab very soon. Your friend’s communications interference is no longer active, and there’s only so much I can do to hamper and distract your enemy.

  “How do we kill him?” she asked the voice in her head.

  I believe you’re already armed with a weapon that’s suitable. Just get close enough, and don’t miss.

  Yasmine lifted the hand that held her small pistol. She looked at the tiny weapon and then at her uncle’s much larger machinegun. The bigger weapon was useless against a sealed crab, and the heavy weapon they had that could destroy a human tank was still a dicey proposition. What could this pea-shooter accomplish?

  You doubt my advice, yes?

  “You could say that.”

  Consider the idea that you are having half a conversation out loud with an ethereal voice that’s in your head. I watched as you attacked not one but two crabs today with nothing more than a fireman’s tool, a can of paint and more bravery than I’ve seen in a thousand years. Trust in yourself. You’ve already made your mother and father proud. It’s time to show the entire human race and the galaxy who you are.

  She looked at the pistol again, and gripped it firmly. “We have to move,” Yasmine said, and left the safety of the spot behind the dumpster.

  “Are you being crazy? Are you doing a crazy thing right now?” her uncle called out. “She’s crazy. So frigging crazy. Just like her frigging mother.”

  “No joke,” Knox said, and the two departed the ruined sedan to catch up to her.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  A Hateful Orb

  Can you hear me if I think like this to you? Yasmine thought as she jogged alongside the waist-high stone wall ringing a destroyed municipal building made of matching granite and scorched bricks.

  Yes, but you must think very clearly for it to work, as you just have. I am doing three things at once right now. Clear thoughts cut the noise like a shout in a crowd.

  What are you? She asked.

  The enemy of your enemy, and also, your friend. Details at eleven.

  What?

  A lost human expression.

  Where is the final crab?

  He’s set a trap for you where he attacked your friend. Do you see the green house with mustard trim to your… left? One block over?

  She paused and looked between the broken walls of what might’ve been the town’s library. She saw the strangely colored home. It reminded her of a football team. I see it.

  Trey is in the first floor living room. Your enemy is on the second floor. When you enter the home, he’ll obliterate you. Actually, if he senses you approach, he’ll obliterate you. I can cloud his thoughts to distract him a small amount.

  And yet I need to get close to him? She thought as she crouched down, out of view of the home’s windows.

  Yes.

  How do I accomplish that?

  Just as she asked her question of the voice in her head Caleb and Knox arrived. They took knees at her back and aimed their weapons in different directions.

  I don’t know. He won’t leave, and he knows you’ll come to help. I can hinder his perceptions a small amount, but… I don’t know. I’ve gotten you this far, hero. Take the baton and run with it.

  “Anyone in there?” Knox asked her.

  “Huh?” Yasmine replied.

  “You’re looking off into the distance like you’re doped up on gasoline fumes. You ok?” she asked her.

  “Yeah. I’m in the middle of figuring this out. Trey and the last crab are in that green and yellow house right there. We gotta get inside, but as soon as he senses us, we’re toast.”

  “Set the building on fire. No building, no cover,” her uncle said. “Never was a Packers fan.”

  That’s a good idea. “How? We’d need to get close to do it, right?”

  He twisted and showed her the last anti-tank tube on his back.

  “That’ll start a fire?”

  “Sure. I mean, it’s also the best weapon we’ve got to kill the thing when it comes out, but it’ll do for a fire too,” he said and rolled his eyes. “You wanna risk your life for this fish tank?”

  “He saved my life once already today. I won’t let that debt go unpaid.”

  Caleb nodded. “I hate to admit this, but he does seem pretty nice.”

  “He is.”

  “For a fish tank.”

  “Quiet,” she admonished. Will a fire flush him out? Do we have time to get to Trey if that’s the case? Will the fire kill him?

  I can’t say. Your crab friend—Trey?—is alive for now. I sense his growing desperation. His suit’s fire fighting gear might still be active. You would need to be fast about it.

  “Shoot the missile,” Yasmine said. “Start a fire and when we can see the crab, we shoot it.” She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out her mom’s phone. She opened the camera app and started recording. She wanted proof—once and for all—that crabs could be killed.

  “What about the ship? What if he runs for the ship? What if he gets to it before we can take him down?” Caleb asked her as he leaned his machinegun against the cold stone of the wall and got the other weapon off his shoulder.

  You hear that question? Yasmine thought to the voice. She repeated her uncle’s question for the visitor in her head.

  I am at his ship. I am why he hasn’t tried to leave already.

  You can
kill him?

  No, but he thinks I can. Remember? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? The crabs fear my species for good reason.

  So he’s gonna fight us to the death?

  That or run as fast as he can to a place where he thinks he’ll find more crabs, or another crab ship.

  Is there anything on that ship we can use to kill him with?

  The key to the vessel is contained within the crab’s chassis. If you kill him, and he self destructs, the ship will destroy itself as well. A safeguard against being looted, and infection.

  Infection?

  Indeed. You must act. Trey’s life force dwindles.

  “Set the building on fire. He’ll either burn up, or get crushed as the house comes down. I’m moving forward. Cover me as I go,” Yasmine said, and hopped over the stone wall. She kept the camera up and pointed at the green and yellow house.

  “Cover us as we go,” Knox added, and hopped the wall behind her.

  “Y’all are crazy,” Caleb said and armed the AT4.

  “No joke,” Knox replied, and the women went forward.

  The antitank weapon went off with a boom, sending its projectile hissing through the air over their heads at the oddly painted house with the crab infestation. The travel of the warhead was instantaneous; it exploded a scant millisecond after leaving Caleb’s shoulder.

  The women hit the ground as the corner of the house near an opening that might’ve fit a sliding door exploded into smoke, shrapnel and fire. The house didn’t go up in flames; instead the now-exposed frame smoldered and caught, pushing tall licks of orange and red fire upwards to the worn shingles on the roof. The fire spread fast, eating away the interior kitchen and engulfing the whole rear of the home.

  “We gotta get to the other side of the house. He won’t leave this way through the fire,” Yasmine said to Knox. As she spoke she tried to capture the goings-on with the phone’s camera. She had to document this. People had to see they could fight back. People had to see they could win.

  “Let’s hustle. The Baron will catch up,” Knox said, and the two women stood up and started running to circle the house.