Cameron rubbed at his tired eyes and yawned. He’d stayed up later than normal, taking care of a few final details while conversing with Art. He glanced at the trinious bundle lying nearby. All the Priopax devices were back inside, neatly stored within it.
He stood and stretched, gazing across the deep wide valley beyond, and breathed in the now familiar, subtle, Sang-Morang fragrances. A Csillo, the multi-winged flying serpent, glided along the distant ridgeline, seeking breakfast, no doubt. It wasn’t lost on Cameron that his time on this alien world may soon be coming to an end—and that saddened him.
Commencing his daily routine, he tugged on his boots, drank some water from an old, worn, faded Stanford sports bottle, then wrapped up his hands in his long strips of cloth. He found the makeshift shovel, right where he’d left it the previous day, then was back at it—working side-by side with the large Loth.
Early on, at the start of the endeavor weeks before, Cameron made a large container. Like a bucket, only bigger, it was fashioned from hand-molded, dried Loth mucus. Hard as a rock, yet surprisingly lightweight, he shoveled into it enough dirt to reach the brim then wrangled the container over to the ship’s port side. Pushing and heaving the container until it tipped over, he watched the contents of dirt fall below down the side of the cliff. The container emptied, he dragged it back to what little remained of the dirt pile. The Loth, exceptionally vocal this morning, in its own unique, truncated, honking fashion, began asking him questions.
“Hunt?”
“Yeah … soon. When we’re done here.”
“No, hunt? You?”
“I told you … when we’re done.”
“Hunt. You. Me.”
“You want me to hunt with you?”
The Loth honked something unintelligible back that echoed loudly across the valley. Cameron suddenly was wrapped-up tight in one of the creature’s tentacle arms. Pulled in close, he felt the Loth’s rhythmic vibrations—its happy purring from deep within.
“Okay, okay … let me go now. We still have some work to do.”
Eventually released, a glob of mucus dripped onto Cameron’s shoulder but he didn’t really care, was used to that sort of thing by now. Together, they worked side-by-side. Soon, the Loth began honking out a familiar melody—one of Heather’s pretty YouTube violin tunes. Cameron soon hummed along too. Together, they created their own terrible music.
Four hours later, Cameron watched the Loth plow the last scoop of dirt away from the top of the spacecraft. He walked the entire perimeter of the ship, surveying the completion of weeks of work. Now, standing atop the totally cleared fuselage, Cameron couldn’t help but make a comparison to a favorite old movie, Bridge Over the River Kwai. Alec Guinness, playing Lieutenant Colonel Nicholson, had just completed the impossible. He’d led a contingent of British POWs into building a beautiful, massive bridge made of timber beams. A bridge that would now allow Japanese trains to move troops and supplies across the wide Kwai River. All puffed up with pride, Alec took in a job remarkably well done. William Holden then showed up but failed to blow up the bridge. But it had given old Alec a dose of reality. The too late revelation he’d fully enabled an enemy to win a horrific war. Unfortunately, it would cost the Lieutenant Colonel, Alec, his life as he blew up the bridge himself. Now—with luck—Cameron hoped he could avoid a similar fate.
“Okay … we go hunting now,” Cameron said, unwrapping the dirty cloth strips from around his hands. Turning toward the stern, he froze in place. The XI droid hovered not twenty feet from where he stood. Not quite the same droid he remembered. Although still listing slightly to one side, it appeared to be weaponized. Three cylindrical canisters had been mounted across the droid’s middle circumference. On each of the mounted canisters was a constantly moving, readjusting, little plasma gun turret. Cameron mentally flashed back to Alice’s burnt, scorched robotic body from being fired upon relentlessly, over and over again.
But what was rising several paces behind the XI droid more fully captured Cameron’s attention. A robot of ginormous proportions was making its way onto the top of the vessel. A clanging of four, metal against metal, mechanical limbs upon the ship’s fuselage surface was beyond annoying. He was sure the thing was supposed to look menacing. But instead, it looked more like a big metal pig. The fact that it matched the Loth in both size and girth wasn’t lost on Cameron. But it seemed to be crudely made. He heard whining, whirring noises—like internal hydraulic lift mechanisms hard at work. Cameron flashed back to the large compartment he’d stumbled across that first day aboard the ship; it had been the XI droid’s messy workshop. Undoubtedly, it was where this thing was pieced together.
As the robot suddenly reared back on its haunches, he could see its stubby legs had a dual purpose—for walking around on and also for shooting. Both of the robot’s front hooves, now raised and pointed in his direction, were actually guns, or, more accurately, cannon muzzles.
“What’s that all about?” Cameron asked with a smirk.
“You can see for yourself what it is,” the droid replied.
“Sure, I can see it’s some kind of a robotic thing, but … I don’t know. Never mind, I’m sure you had fun making it. Everyone needs a hobby.”
XI spun around to assess its ridiculous-looking robot, then re-spun back. “The robot will ensure compliance. It will now escort the Minal Loth to its allocated retention cell.”
“So, you went to the trouble of making this robot thing to do that for you—like … to keep the Loth in line?”
The XI droid didn’t answer.
“I thought we’d come to a mutual agreement, XI. I help you; you help me.”
“The agreement has changed. Your help is no longer required. Only the Minal Loth is required.”
“So … what? You’re going to kill me now?” Cameron watched as the boar-like robot readjusted its aim with its two hoof cannons.
“Before you do that, there’s something you should know.”
“Be quick with it.”
“Your robot pig there … come on … it wouldn’t last five seconds against the Loth. How can you not see that? As for you, well, in moments you’ll be little more than a crushed tin can. I’ll have fun flinging you over the side … like a fucking Frisbee. Both you and the big pig there will be nothing more than unrecognizable garbage, left behind down there on the valley floor. I’ll wave to you when we lift off.”
Nonchalantly, Cameron blew out a breath then shrugged. None of what he’d said was he really all that sure of. Maybe the pig-robot could take on the Loth. Maybe even kill it. And the truth was the XI droid would be smart to get rid of Cameron—right here and now. He then remembered Lalik and the two sister primates were being held. He dreaded the possibility they may already be dead.
The hovering XI droid momentarily lost altitude; apparently it was still malfunctioning to a degree.
Cameron said, “You want the Loth back in the ship; there’s only one way that’s going to happen. And that’s if I personally ask it to do so. Now … if you don’t get that thing to stop pointing its hooves at me, like right now, I’m going to get mad. I’m going to have my Loth get to work on the both of you.” Cameron glanced over to the Loth, wondering how much of this conversation it was able to track … if any of it.
The droid partially spun around again toward the pig. It raised one of its articulating arms. “Destroy the human—”
The Loth moved with lightning speed. A blur of motion caught from the corner of Cameron’s eye. Instinctively, he jumped back and watched as its six tentacles wrapped around the huge robot’s mechanical legs, body, and little head. One-by-one the various components came apart with a snapping sound—like a dismembered, poorly made, toy. The Loth bellowed loudly as it waved the robotic pig-parts high overhead. Unceremoniously, the four robotic legs, body, and head all went flying over the side of the ship. Cameron stared at the XI droid and said, “Oops.”
Chapter 49
Heather was fuming. She wasn’t so much
angry at Kirk as she was with herself. She’d let him kiss her. Why? Especially when Cam still occupied so much of her thoughts. Was it because she felt so alone? That some form of intimacy was better than none at all? No, that wasn’t it. But she didn’t have the answer. Did anyone have the answer in desperate times such as these?
Together, they headed toward the front entrance of the Larksburg Stand Police Station. Kirk had nicely offered to give her a lift, since her own car was totaled—thanks to the Octobeast. She really wanted to talk to her father. She’d come to the decision to leave Larksburg Stand. Though it now was too late, she wanted to live where Cameron had been most happy. Planning to move to northern California, she first needed to borrow some money.
It had recently snowed again, and the icy pavement was slick. Kirk placed an arm around her shoulder—a boyfriend-type move that she wanted no part of. “Kirk, can you not do that? I’ve been walking since I was one, and I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own without slipping and falling.” Shrugging his arm away, she hurried to the double glass doors ahead of him.
Heather expected some semblance of warmth inside the station, but instead found little difference in temperature from the chill outside. The front counter duty officer, middle-aged—tired-looking—Sergeant Gail Bledsoe, was crazy busy. A packed waiting area, most there seemed to be recently homeless. Others, she guessed, were there looking for missing relatives. Or they’d been, in some way, victimized, due to the town’s dire situation. The same trickledown-effect, all caused by the creature’s devastating local presence. Even though he was off-duty, Kirk was pounced upon as soon as he entered the building mere seconds behind her. Good.
Wrapping her arms about herself, Heather waited patiently until she got Gail’s attention. Eventually, Gail looked up and Heather noted recognition in her eyes. She nodded for her to go on through to the back. Upon hearing a brief buzzing sound, Heather pushed through the painted metal door, located near the side of the duty desk. As the door slammed shut behind her, she was thankful for the sudden silence. It was late, close to 10:00 p.m., and the hallway was deserted. She figured most of the station’s personnel had long gone home for the night.
Even before Heather reached her father’s office, she heard him yelling—at either something or someone. Slowing her pace, she debated whether coming here was such a good idea. Few people were as crazy busy as the sheriff of Larksburg Stand. Her father now was a celebrity of sorts. Their mountain town was plastered onto the headlines of every newspaper, broadcasted over TV news station around the world, and her father’s face had become highly recognizable. Perhaps due to his unflappable demeanor, or his authoritative baritone voice, he had become the single, most sought after local government official. Reporters flocked to him for update interviews on the Octobeast situation.
Heather peered around the partially closed door, sneaking a peak into his office. Her father was standing behind his desk. Two straight-backed military officers stood opposite him. Considering the stacked rows of color-bars, the gold stars adorning the shoulders on their dark-green jackets, the two men were clearly high-ranking officers. Army generals, was her guess. Her father pointed an accusing finger at the officer with the most gold stars and continued his tirade:
“Half the township is homeless, as it is. Add in three nearby similar-sized towns, and we’re talking close to three hundred thousand people! And what? You think they’ll just pack up their shit and evacuate? Sit back from a safe distance and watch as their homes are atomized?”
“You misunderstand, Sheriff. You, and everyone else in the area who hasn’t already been evacuated, have undoubtedly felt the numerous bombing runs going on. Of late, the air force has been dropping AGM-65E E Maverick laser-guided, air-to-ground missiles. They’re the big bunker-buster munitions we used effectively in both Iraq and Afghanistan. They can annihilate anything up to one hundred feet below the surface. We’ve already dropped twenty of such missiles, but to no avail. The creature still lives. Continues to be ambulatory. Simply put, what we’ve been doing is having no effect.”
“Then try something else,” the sheriff replied back defiantly.
A long silence ensued before one of the officers spoke again. “First of all, we’re not here to ask your permission, Sheriff. We’re here to inform you regarding a very difficult decision, made at the highest level of government. Further evacuation, unfortunately, is no longer an option. Would take far too long. Even weeks. What you refer to as the Octobeast has already withstood unfathomable direct blasts from our arsenal of conventional weapons. What we must be concerned with, not only on a national level, but also globally, is what could happen if we don’t do what we’re proposing. Our scientists believe the creature has produced some kind of offspring. They’re now detecting multiple subterranean heat signatures. Signatures that, according to their instrumentation, are virtually identical to that of the larger creature. What would Earth’s current scenario look like with multiple Octobeasts running around free across the country? Say eventually into the hundreds? Sheriff, we’re talking about the very survival of mankind. I’m sorry, but we’re out of time.”
“Let me get this straight … the populations of Larksburg Stand, Stanton, Mountain Glenn, and Harper are … what? Collateral damage? Expendable?”
“Frankly, yes. But we’re not anticipating much in the way of casualties. You know the military … worst-case scenarios are always estimated. As we speak, the National Guard is mobilizing. You can either be part of this operation or find your law enforcement personnel assimilated into the National Guard’s operation.”
Heather, now only half-listening, was still stuck; hearing that one, definitive, word—atomized. She found it hard to breathe. The hallway was closing in around her; her heart—thundering loudly in her ears—was beating too fast. She placed a hand on the wall to steady herself.
In an attempt to kill the Octobeast, the military was making plans to nuke Larksburg Stand—or was it Larksburg Stand and the three neighboring towns? She wasn’t sure. Oh my God…
In a far quieter voice her father asked, “When? Exactly when will the bomb, or bombs, be dropped?”
“A U.S. B2 Bomber will drop an MK/B61 relatively low yield, on contact, thermonuclear bomb onto central Larksburg Stand in approximately twenty-four hours. It will produce, relatively speaking, low-radiation.”
“Tell that to the three hundred thousand people this will affect.”
“As I said, that was worse case … We’re not anticipating …”
Heather has stopped listing. Wide-eyed, she stopped breathing. Could not believe what she was hearing. Her father’s head had lowered. She could barely hear him say, “Please … let me try to get some people out. We need to at least try …”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff. I know that this is difficult. Believe me, I know. But no one can know about this. You can tell no one. Not even your family. We need to come to terms with the fact there may be casualties. But with that said … I assure you, the end will justify the means.”
Heather, gasping loudly, tried to cover-up her mouth.
The door suddenly opened wide, and the less-decorated general stood before her. Brow furrowed, he glared down at her.
Chapter 50
The hovering XI droid fled toward the ship’s stern then disappeared from view.
That’s right … run and hide, tin can. It won’t change anything!” Cameron yelled after it as he jumped down onto the stubby portside wing where he’d set up the mini campsite. Retrieving the trinious bundle, he slid the strap over his shoulder.
“Can you help me gather up this stuff? Need to put everything back into the truck.”
The Loth, complying, grabbed the beach umbrella in one tentacle, along with the folding chair, distributing Cameron’s other items into other tentacles. Since the umbrella was still open and held up high, it gave the creature a somewhat comical appearance—like an alien Mary Poppins.
“Okay, let’s get out of here,” Cameron said, heading fo
r the ship’s stern— and the best way he’d found to reach the ground. He stopped short when he noticed what was waiting for him below. No less than ten uniformed crewmembers. Thidion in appearance, each possessed the telltale clear membrane ears. But Cameron knew they were not Thidion. Like Alice, they were all robots—or, more accurately, cyborgs. Armed with long weapons, perhaps plasma rifles, pointed up directly at him. Huddling in their center were the three, cowering, primate females. Lalik, both small and vulnerable, seeing Cameron standing atop the vessel’s stern, reached up to him. The cyborg closest didn’t hesitate, striking her on the side of the head—hard enough to drive her to her knees. The two sisters, Sphial and Shrii, cried out; struggled to get to her but they were firmly held by two other cyborgs. Only then did Cameron recognize the one standing above Lalik—none other than Ramen. But he knew it couldn’t be him. Momentarily, the two made eye contact. Cameron hoped to see some semblance of the Ramen he once knew, but all he noticed staring back at him was cold animosity.
Off to the side, the XI droid rose up above his uniformed faux crewmembers. Once it was at eye-level with Cameron, it said, “You will instruct the Minal Loth to climb down … then escorted to the retention area within the Primion.”
“Or what?” Cameron asked, defiantly.
The droid spun around and fired a well-placed plasma bolt into the chest of Shrii. Her body, instantly limp, stayed upright, firmly held in the grasp of her cyborg capturer. Clearly, the Dalima Climber was now dead. Both Sphial and Lalik shrieked in despair. They struggled to get to Shrii, whose body was allowed to fall lifelessly to the ground.
Cameron reached for his own weapon but discovered it wasn’t where he typically kept it—tucked firmly into his waistband. No, he’d stashed it with the other Priopax devices, secured within the trinious bundle strapped across his back. Through gritted teeth, Cameron said, “I’m going to enjoy destroying you …”
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