The Dry Earth (Book 2): The Nexus

by Orion, W. J.

“Would you like to?” Trader Joe said from nearby. “Hear it? I can… link you in easily.” He again stood with his arms crossed, goggles down, hat pulled low. No skin dared against the heat of the sun.

  “Take that offer and put it on the plane to Nogoddamnwayistan,” Caleb said, wagging a finger at the alien. “Not only no, but Hell no.”

  “Can you just… translate for us? Out loud? As it goes?”

  “I can,” Joe replied. “They’ve mostly been exchanging pleasantries. It’s been some time since they were in Trey’s presence. They like him. Each of the crabs has spoken with affection regarding him. They’ve also started to trade stories about the last few months of conflict. These crabs have suffered greatly at the hands of human scavengers, as well as crab loyalists landing for hunting trips. The central crab government—The Core Collective—is aware of the rebellion and wants it dealt with.”

  “That sucks,” Yasmine said. “What else?”

  “Trey is telling them the story of the Baron’s attack on his former resistance group.”

  “That can’t be a good thing,” Caleb said. “Losing points el rapido for sure.”

  “Shush,” Yaz said. “You’re not the villain in this story.”

  “I ain’t its hero, either. If they aim their guns at us, I’m ready to fight.”

  “Trey’s actually painting you in a positive light,” Trader Joe explained. “Hardscrabble survivor, loyal to his people, forced to do difficult things to provide strangers a future, open-minded about working with former enemies, that kind of thing. It’s heartwarming, really.”

  “Not shoving me under the bus?” Caleb asked.

  “What’s that mean?” Yaz asked.

  “Your mother never said that?” her uncle asked her.

  “Never.”

  “It’s uh… slang for when someone makes you take the fall for something or blames you for something that happened. Like you were standing on the side of the street, and they pushed you under an oncoming bus.”

  “That’s weird,” Yaz said.

  “They’re talking about the starship now,” Trader Joe said. “A group of humans north of here on the peninsula have it. It crashed.”

  “Seriously?” Yaz asked. “We came all this way for nothing?”

  “Hold on,” Trader Joe said, holding up a soft, gloved finger, asking for patience. “They are saying with our help, the ship can be recovered.”

  “Of course. Tables are turned and now they want us to fight the people who have it?” Caleb asked.

  “They haven’t used the word ‘fight’ yet, but the general consensus is that they’ve tried to fight these humans a couple times but haven’t gotten anywhere with assaults. The crabs are low on energy and the scavengers have the ship well protected. Trey is… dancing around the idea of proposing a trade with these people for the ship.”

  “They wouldn’t trade it,” Yaz said. “If they give up that ship, they have no assurances it won’t be used against them ten minutes later. I’d never make that trade.”

  “Never?” her uncle asked her. “You’d make it if the terms were good enough, right?”

  “Well, I guess I would do it if the deal was worth it,” Yaz said.

  “What would make the deal good for you? If you were them?” Caleb asked.

  “Without knowing what they need, I can’t say for sure,” Yaz said quickly, as one of the large crabs shifted its feet nearby. “Every community has specific needs. Knowing what those needs are makes you a better picker.”

  “Speculate,” he instructed her, no longer paying attention to the gathering of crabs in the street just a few yards away.

  Well… what would it take? These scavengers have crabs nearby, so safety is a big problem for them. They’d want guns, ammo, food, medicine, all the regulars… But to give up a spaceship to their mortal enemies living right next door… I’d wanna just run, but they can’t because they have the best protection in their hands. Wait. Proximity. “I wouldn’t trade the ship without the ability to disappear first. If it were me, I would want vehicles and fuel to make a mad dash for it. Plus the usual suspects: medicine, water, guns, ammo, blah blah.”

  “That does stand to reason,” Trader Joe mused. “If they were to give up their greatest protection, they would need to disappear, as you say. We can give them that reassurance. Give them mobility. It’s a powerful thing to trade.”

  “Our convoy–might be big enough for them to escape with. We can spare a good amount of ammo, a few guns. We have some water we can give them too. Not much medicine beyond what we ourselves need though,” Yaz said. “If we play it right, we can get that ship from them for our vehicles without any violence.”

  “Oh, hell no. I am not giving up this truck,” he said, patting the metal hood with a metallic thump. “This baby is my baby. No one drives this but me.”

  “Good friend, Baron…” Trader Joe said, his voice a tantalizing whisper, “Would you trade your cherry red pickup truck for a chance to fly in a spaceship?”

  Yasmine watched as her uncle tried to fight the smile.

  She watched as he failed in the battle.

  “Before either of you get too excited, we need to have them specifically ask us if we’re willing to do it,” Yasmine said. She’d no sooner finished saying that when Trey turned in his white chassis and took several steps backwards.

  The other crabs turned the heads of their statues upward, finally acknowledging their presence.

  “Soooo…” Trey began, speaking with his new audio system.

  “We know,” Yasmine said, pausing his presentation. “Ship crashed, is stolen, and they need help. Can they fix it if we get it back?”

  “This chassis can make any repairs needed, given time. And yes, they want us to try and get it back,” Trey said. “By force, or guile, or otherwise.”

  “They must be desperate if they’re willing to hurt humans,” Yasmine said.

  “They’re almost dead from starvation,” he replied. “Desperate is exactly what they are. They’re remorseful about the idea of doing violence against a species that’s already suffered so much at the whim of the crabs, but they also don’t want to die. It’s a dark time for them.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Caleb said. “I get the idea of taking care of your own,” he added, then looked to Yasmine. “Darkness is sometimes the way.”

  “I think I can do it without bloodshed,” she said. “We have a good offer, and I’m a good trader. If I go alone, I think I can make the trade for the ship.”

  “How? With what can you barter?” Trey asked.

  “Our cars. We have four of the finest vehicles still running in the world. I can also bring to bear all the junk my uncle has stocked up back at Monolith Tower.”

  “Hey… we didn’t agree on that,” Caleb whined. “My junk is precious to me. …That’s what she said.”

  “What? Never mind. I’m the Baroness, Uncle. If you want me to act like royalty, expect me to have some initiative.”

  “Can’t say much against that,” he said, ending his protest about her speaking for the assets of his tribe. “But I can speak out against the idea of you going alone. Not cool with that.”

  “I won’t really be alone,” Yaz said with a wink. “Trader Joe, what’s the range you can hook up our brains at? You know, like when you first let me speak to Trey telepathically back in Shant?”

  He sighed and tilted his head in thought. “In atmosphere? Within my own species I would say twenty miles, maybe thirty. I can’t say for certain how far I can link with you.”

  “Can’t say, like… a hundred feet? Or can’t say, like, five miles?” Yasmine pressed.

  “Can’t say,” he replied with a shrug of his narrow shoulders. “With some distance after we connect, I can gauge the strength of our bond. I can also skulk in your wake to stay linked. Also to help you, should you require some support.”

  “What can you do to help her?” Caleb asked Trader Joe. “Screw them on an unfair trade so bad they decide to shoot
one of their own toes off?”

  “You’re all afraid of us crabs,” Trey said before Trader Joe could say anything. “But his kind are the ones that scare us.”

  “Is that true?” Yaz asked Trader Joe.

  He held up his palms and nodded. “Yes, it is true. His species has not had a good run of luck against mine.”

  “You’re gonna tell us that story, aren’t you?” Yaz asked.

  “Soon enough. Trust, now, that you have nothing to fear from me, and that should you require assistance of a dangerous nature, I am quite capable of being useful.”

  “Are you as dangerous to them as you are to us?” Trey asked him.

  “Unlike most of my species, I cannot spread the infection that is such a curse to your kind, so in that regard, I am not as dangerous to humans as my brethren are to you.”

  “Convenient sidestep of the question,” Trey said.

  “Being mysterious appeals to my sense of humor,” Trader Joe answered. “Adjust your expectations accordingly.”

  “Look, all this mystery is fun and all, but I can do this without violence,” Yaz said. “Let’s get all the info we can about this people, then when I leave, you stay behind and only follow when the bond gets weaker. We chat as it goes down, you listen in, and as my dad used to say, “bing bang boom, it’s done deal.’”

  “Man, this confidence is impressive,” her uncle said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Criss-Cross Applesauce

  Yasmine couldn’t speak with any of the six crabs who were the primary force of the Sturgeon Bay resistance; none had the same survey laser in their chassis Trey had for spelling words out, and they also didn’t have the speaker to translate their telepathic language into the spoken word. In order for her to learn fully about where she had to go and what she might face there, she needed a translator.

  Trader Joe offered, of course, but Trey almost had an aneurysm in opposition of letting his fellow crabs experience the kind of fear connecting their minds to whatever Trader Joe was. Trey offered to translate verbally, and that worked well. She also met with several of the human wards the crabs protected in the village; they were skittish, but very informative. Some of them had spent time with the survivors to the north and knew many of their names, which Yasmine committed to memory. She also committed them to a memo on her mom’s phone. The humans in arid Sturgeon Bay were hungry–just like the aliens that protected them–but they had an air of optimism underneath their trepidation.

  She grabbed the supplies she thought she would need: a tiny bit of trade bait, plus food, water, her pistol, regular ammunition, and Trader Joe’s special green bullets that ate crab armor like acid. She took her small solar panel, her mom’s phone, cords, knives, rope, and the other things she always brought when she headed into the wastes.

  She almost forgot her Halligan.

  Almost.

  “What do I have to do?” Yaz asked Trader Joe as the two of them walked to the northern edge of Sturgeon Bay’s downtown area. Her backpack weighed down on her shoulders, and she adjusted its weight to be more comfortable.

  “Relax, if you like. It isn’t an invasive process. From my perspective it’s akin to focusing in on one voice in a crowd. So long as I pay attention to that one person, I can hear them,” he explained.

  “What about for me?”

  “You’ll feel perhaps an echo in your thoughts. Organic creatures have reported an occasional headache over time, at worst.”

  “When will you start?”

  “I already have.”

  “What?” she said, then realized that the last few things he’d said hadn’t been said aloud. “How do I reply back to you?”

  Think it, he thought to her.

  Like this?

  Yes, no different than if you were having a conversation within your own mind. Just have the mindful intent that you are having that conversation with me, and I will hear it. You’re very good at this, telepathy. Your mind is strong and clear. The most talented human I’ve encountered, by a large margin.

  Thanks, I think.

  It’s a clear compliment, Trader Joe said to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. The ease with which your mind, my mind, and Trey’s mind work together is unusual, and dare I say, a miraculous feat. We’re very lucky to have met each other. Our ability to bond has given us a resource we can use to usurp the crab’s tyranny.

  Yeah, that’s cool. Can you like, read my mind right now? My innermost secrets?

  He laughed. Not doing this, he explained. I could dig deeper, but that process is invasive–and unpleasant. You would know immediately. Your secrets and privacy are still secret and private.

  That’s reassuring. Now what? We stand here, awkwardly looking at each other until I walk off into the sunrise?

  Yes. And once I sense our connection growing weak, I’ll depart in your wake, keeping our bond.

  And if something bad happens I tell you, and you walkie it to my uncle?

  And Knox, and Bernie, and Ryan, and Michelle, and the other Monoliths whose names I’ve forgotten, and the two feral teenagers, too.

  Antonio and Miles.

  Yes, those two, Trader Joe thought to her. Get going. We have no idea what kind of process this will involve. He made a playful shooing motion at her.

  She gave him a tiny salute, tugged her bandana up over her mouth, and her hat down snug to her eyebrows. Yasmine turned to the north and departed on the worn road that left the small city.

  In the immediate years prior to the invasion a dozen wind turbines were erected along a nearby ridge that rose a couple hundred extra feet above Door Peninsula. Each of the tremendous, bladed engines would catch the winds across the lake as it rose up and over the land the people here called home. The eventual hope was that the turbines would create an energy-independent county and cut down on carbon emissions.

  The invasion of tiny squids inside mechanical crabs made that worry irrelevant, but eight of the planned turbines were erected, and that’s where the ship crashed, where the group in control of it was now located.

  Yasmine departed on foot two hours before dawn (give or take) with all that she’d brought, headed up that beaten highway north, then onto country roads that would take her up the ridge to the top of the hill where the string of towers stood.

  Several hundred feet from the edge of the slope where the towers were, she encountered the humans defending the final approach to the crashed starship. Straight poles of old pine trees erupted from the dry, like the quills on a porcupine’s back in every direction for a hundred yards. Far above and behind the guards and the fence they stood in front of, she saw the closest looming, gargantuan wind turbine, filling the sky. Dust blew left to right, spinning the three blades above in a slow arc.

  That thing is huge, she thought.

  What is?

  I can see the turbine. I never knew they were this big.

  The three at the chain link fence were dirty: the three people wearing rags and long sheets repurposed into sun-protective robes and shawls. The center man near the tipping and uneven fence had a large hunting rifle with a matted wooden stock over his shoulder. It jumped into his hands when she came into view around several flipped over cars perforated by plasma fire and gunshots.

  I found the first of them. Three guards at the gate, one gun visible. I’m going to wave and approach carefully.

  You know best.

  Yasmine lifted both her hands up, showing the three sentries that she held no weapons and, theoretically, came in peace.

  The man with the rifle kept the weapon pointed in her direction but lowered the barrel so that it pointed at the packed dirt of the road in front of her feet. The other two disheveled, heavily layered guards produced polearm style weapons tipped with circular saw blades. The nervous protectors held the weapons of dismemberment aloft.

  When she covered half the distance, she waved a hand and called out to them.

  “Hello! Trader of the wastes here. Got some goods to offer,” she
hollered. “Looking for something special, too.”

  “You alone?” the man with the rifle replied.

  “Alone enough that I mean you no harm.”

  “You come from the south, yeah?” his voice was loud, but the words were garbled from the heavy cloth he had over his mouth.

  “Only direction you can come in, if you wanna head up this road.”

  “How’d you get past those crabs in the city?”

  “Not all crabs are bad guys,” she said, still slowly walking forward.

  “They’re monsters. Demons from another planet who stole our future,” he cursed back.

  “Well, I once thought that too, but I’ve learned different. To answer you, they let me through without incident. I’m a bit of a representative of a larger group, so endangering me would lead to a bad, bad time for them, and they knew it.”

  “What group?”

  “The Monoliths. You heard of us?”

  “Yeah we heard of you. Down in the city, right? Big building?” He punctuated most of his words with a bob of his rifle’s steel barrel. “Ran by some dude named The King?”

  “The Baron. And yeah, I’m with them, and I came here to trade for something you all have on top of this hill.”

  “We... what?” the man with the rifle stuttered. “You want to trade us for the wreckage?”

  “Early lesson you learn about trading is to not describe the thing you have as wreckage,” she joked. “Devalues it.”

  “Yeah, look, whatever. We ain’t trading it,” he said as the two guards beside him shuffled around.

  “Are you in charge of that decision?”

  “No, but she’s gonna say the same thing.”

  “Look, you take me to the top of this hill, introduce me to the person who can make that decision, and we’ll see what happens. I have a lot to offer your people for a ship you can’t fly.”

  “Can you fly it?”

  “Trade me for it and we’ll find out,” Yasmine said.

  “How old are you? You sound young. Far too young to be able to trade that big,” the man with the rifle said. “How do we know this isn’t some elaborate bluff, or a hoax by those frigging freak slaves down in Sturgeon Bay?”