Day Twenty ∞ Wednesday morning

WEAVER CAME TO A HALT inside the invisible dome wall again, bored out of his mind. The initial excitement had vanished when his subjects were taken away and the second ship landed forty hours ago. Other than the break-up of half of the camp for some mission yesterday, everything was at a standstill—it was just him and the remaining black ops detachment hanging out in the middle of the desert with two silent ships from another world.

At least he hadn't suffered any more episodes of the faces. Not even a whisper. What the girl did to him, he had no idea. But he respected her for it—for her tenacity, for her love for others, for even considering him worthy of such love. He hoped that kid was looking after her.

He grunted. Damn if he wasn't getting sentimental. He'd better watch himself.

A soldier stood a few paces away on the other side, his carbine hanging casually on his shoulder, looking as bored as Weaver felt. He was a tall guy with sun-bleached hair under his Army-issued cover and a bad case of sunburn. Weaver was contemplating a jog around the perimeter before the sun got too hot when the guy pulled a pack of smokes from his chest pocket and lighted one.

Weaver shook his head to himself. Now he was feeling the cravings. After a moment's hesitation, he shrugged. Why the hell not? "Hey, can you spare me one?"

The guy smirked. "Oh, really?"

"Well, what can I say?" Weaver smiled. "It's not like I can get up and go to the store next door. I'm as stuck here as you are."

The soldier studied him thoughtfully, then reached into his pants and pulled an unopened packet of Lucky Strikes. "I just came back from town. I guess I can afford it." He tossed it high toward Weaver but it reached only midway in the air and bounced back to the ground. The soldier gaped, then burst into guffaws.

Weaver cursed, frustrated. He'd forgotten about the shield. But then the abrupt silence snatched his attention to the guy's face and the direction of his bulging stare. To Weaver's astonishment, the packet was floating above the ground straight toward him.

"Take it," a sweet voice said behind him.

He snapped his head around to find a young girl exit the opening of Deymos. She half-skipped down the ramp, her red skirt bouncing between a formal, short-sleeved top and gladiator sandals strapped up her calves.

The soldier yelled, and Weaver turned in time to see him run towards the improvised post erected a dozen meters away. 

"Sergeant, sergeant! You have to come here immediately!"

The girl looked at Weaver with cheerful eyes. Smiling back, he stared at her, ignoring the poking in his chest. Nobody else was supposed to be on Charlie Mi's ship, so where did this pretty girl come from? The other one?

"Isn't that what you wanted?" She pointedly nodded at him.

He looked down to find the pack of cigarettes pushing impatiently. He snatched it from the air and felt his pants pocket. "Shoot." His lighter was buried in his seabag aboard the ship.

The girl approached him with a mocking smirk. "What's the problem?" Her voice remained as sweet as before.

"Oh, well, now I have cigarettes but no way to light them."

She stopped in front of him. "Do you need fire?"

At his hesitant nod, she closed her fist in front of his face and slowly lifted her middle finger. Weaver shuffled, feeling distinctly uneasy.

Her eyebrow rose as she focused on her hand. "Oh, just give it a second."

In the next instant, a blue flame shot up from her finger and Weaver recoiled, almost losing his balance. "Damn!"

Recovering, he leaned forward to light his Lucky, then hesitated. "Could you perhaps... use another finger to do that? I'm grateful but... that gesture, it's mighty uncomfortable."

She tilted her head, curious. "What gesture are you talking about?"

Weaver found the situation utterly bizarre. He wasn't sure her innocence was real but considering she somehow lifted a box from the ground from afar and now produced fire from thin air, he could only assume she was another 'visitor'. Though he doubted she was the one he was expecting.

"Ehrm... well, when you close your fist and lift the middle finger... like that, you form an offensive gesture." He showed her with his own fist.

The flame vanished and her gaze became distant as her eyelids fluttered erratically. "Accessing... accessing," she mumbled.

"Are you... okay?" He peered at her.

Her focus returned to him. "Phallic symbol of Virility and Fertility. Used to wish familial blessings... No, that's not it." Frowning, she became distant again. "Accessing... Twentieth Century cultural norms... Accessing...mmm... Oh, I see." Her face lit up. "Yes, I understand now. My apologies, honored sir. I won't use that Phallic Symbol again." She switched the finger for her pinky and an instant later a flame enveloped it.

Weaver's eyebrows hiked up in suspended disbelief. O-kay... He lighted the cigarette and took a deep drag. Just the action alone calmed him, but the effects of the fumes weren't far behind.

The girl blew out her finger and inspected it.

"Ehrm... Did it burn you?" he asked, more out of curiosity than concern.

"Nope," she said cheerfully, turning her hand for him to see that the skin was undamaged. Then she looked him up and down with a focused expression, then exclaimed, "Oh, now I understand!"

He stared at her, baffled.

"Your blood vessels and capillaries are dilating, your BPM is reducing, and your hippocampus is lighting up. Oh, and your cerebrum is releasing noticeable amounts of endorphins... dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin... among others! Very interesting!"

Huh? Weaver struggled with the explanation but gave up with a shrug. "Who are you?"

"Why, I am Artemae, Queen Lepantra's representative! You're Atlas," she tilted her head as she looked up at him, "but that's not your name. I brought you supper. When you're done puffing smoke, come inside and eat with me."

She spun on her heel and skipped to the ramp. Thoughtful, Weaver followed her with his gaze and blew a long stream of smoke. There was something off about this girl. He couldn't define it but there was definitely something weird about her.

He took a last deep drag, dropped the cigarette and ground it under his heel. Then he strode up the ramp, ignoring the shouts beyond the shield. When he entered the ship, Artemae exited a room he didn't know existed behind the opposite wall, carrying a stack of flat packages.

"Deymos," she said. "Transport to the nearest coordinates to my Queen, stealth mode."

"Affirmed," the ship's disembodied voice responded. "Scanning."

Artemae turned her gaze to him. "I'll join you in a bit. Your supper is over there." She pointed over her shoulder at a wall ledge as a purple and blue ring of light appeared on the floor. She stepped into its center.

"Coordinates defined. Launching spatial translation in three... two... one... zero."

She vanished.

Weaver gaped. In three quick steps, he stood next to the spot where the circle had been and examined the polished floor. It showed no signs of being something else. Just a hard, semi-matte textured, strangely metallic-organic surface.

"What the hell? Where did she go?"

"Artemae delivers supplies on Mic Wamba's request," the ship responded. "She shall return in four-point-five-seven minutes."

"How... how can a person just disappear into thin air like that and appear someplace else?"

"Artemae is not a person. Her disappearance is simple transportation via spatial translation."

∞

Jagg straightened himself in the passenger seat. "She's slowing down."

"Yeah, I can see that." TJ geared down and brought the van to a halt behind Lora as she dismounted her bike and stretched herself.

Grabbing a water bottle, Jagg jumped out and proffered it to her. She took it from him with a quick smile.

"Seems like your ride's running sweeter on water." The air was warming with the sun nearing quarter-way up into the cloudless sky as he pulled down his dark shades and cast his gaze around. This dry, almost featureless expanse of yellow and brown tufts of grass was bordered by a rim of hills in the distance. Halfway there, a few pale, low structures broke the monotony. "This is one helluva God-forsaken place. You sure we're on the right track?"

Lora nodded and swigged another mouthful. Then she pointed diagonally across the asphalt at a dirt road leading southwest. "It is that way."

"Far?"

Turning to him, she screwed on the cap. "Twenty-five kilometers by air."

"Miles?"

"Sixteen." She pushed the bottle into her tubular cargo bag strapped onto the pillion.

"Let's go then."

Jagg headed for the van but she didn't move. As he grabbed the door, he glanced back at her to find her wistfully regarding him with her golden-brown eyes.

"What?"

Her brow furrowed. "Would you?"

He knew what she meant. "Can't answer that now, babes," he said and climbed into the seat. "Ready?"

Resigned, she pulled the scarf off her neck and tied it to the bike handle before remounting.

"What's that about?" TJ studied Jagg as she rolled away.

"Nutt'n." Jagg rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The crazy notion of him leaving this planet to follow Lora was not something he wanted to talk about. At least, not yet.

"Trouble in paradise? Never mind," TJ added when Jagg gave him a long look and swung the van onto the dirt road.

They followed Lora's dust trail in silence. Jagg kept his eyes on her as parts of her, her blue jacket, and bike faded in and out of view, contemplating. A lot of things had changed lately because of her. Changed for the better. His grandma would have been pleased to see that. Ma too. And little brother Junior would have been all over the games room for sure. He frowned. If him never dope himself up with them bloody drugs!

TJ pointed at a handful of motionless bovines watching them with lifted heads a stone's throw away. "I've never seen live cattle before."

Glancing past TJ, Jagg grunted. "I prefer 'em roasted."

"Yeah." TJ chuckled. "There's gotta be some watering hole out here somewhere for them to survive... Can't see any though. Oh!" he exclaimed as a large patch of unexpected green land passed on their right. "Well, whaddya know? They do farming out here."

The road made more course corrections over the next few miles of desert terrain and continued straight as an arrow. Jagg spotted a pale structure far ahead. "You seeing that?"

"Somebody living out here?"

"That too small to be a house. A shed maybe. But why out here?"

They fell silent as the structure grew into a tired-looking trailer with several tall antennas on the roof. Lora rode past it, stirring up the desert dust without stopping. It took a few moments before they saw the posts on either side of the road and a signpost with red writing.

"What's that saying?" TJ asked.

"Who cares? We following her."

"Nuh-uh." TJ hit the brakes and the van skidded to a halt, stirring up more dust ten feet from the marking. "That's a freaking warning sign!" He tooted the horn twice. "Restricted area—no fucking trespassing beyond this point in the middle of nowhere? Where the hell is this?" He tooted again. "I ain't going any further. She better get back here."

Jagg snorted. "What? You 'fraid?" He retrieved his short-nosed 357 Magnum from the glove compartment and pushed it inside his waistband, keeping his eyes peeled. Grabbing his cap, he jumped out of the van and waved to Lora who'd stopped a distance down the road. "It looks abandoned."

"And how you know that?" TJ threw back at him.

Walking around the wheel-less trailer, Jagg tried to peek through the windows, but they were all covered on the inside. He thumped the door and listened, then tested the handle. "It's locked. I could break in."

"No, man. Leave it alone!" TJ started pacing across the road.

Jagg shrugged and kicked thoughtfully at some tire marks on the ground between flattened tufts of grass. Something was off about this place but he was willing to ignore it. He returned to the road as Lora rode up to the van. She looked questioningly at him.

TJ stopped in front of her. "Didn't you see the 'No trespassing' sign?"

"Yes, but I go where my vessel is."

"Yeah, well. Guess you've gotta do what you gotta do." TJ wandered off to the warning sign, then inspected an idle chain hanging from the post without touching it. "You know," he said over his shoulder, "I'm not so sure this place is abandoned. This padlock doesn't look that old." He slowly turned his head, looking around. "And look at those antennas. That's not just TV."

"Doesn't matter," Jagg said.

"I don't get it." TJ walked back to him and lowered his voice, "If this is a guard post, why would they leave it unguarded? I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. Better we just wait here till she gets back."

"I'm not letting her go alone." Jagg met Lora's gaze. "Get my ride."

"Then I'll wait here till you get back." TJ left for the back of the van.

"So," Jagg said after a moment's silence, "how long you think it's gonna take?"

Lora got a faraway look in her eyes. "Perhaps... four days." Her neck choker glimmered unexpectedly like it was coming to life.

Curious, Jagg lifted a brow. "That long?"

She hesitated, frowning. "I am going on a mission. It may take longer. Or... we may fail."

He was about to ask her what she meant but stopped at her shaking her head as TJ parked Jagg's motorcycle nearby. "Get me one of the water containers, a couple of bottles and some straps," Jagg said over his shoulder. "And strap a gas tank on my ride. Just in case."

TJ complied and handed the water bottles to Jagg who strapped the big one to Lora's bag and patted it. She nodded.

"You go back to Vegas." He turned his cap backward and mounted his bike. "You pretty much know where we going. Besides, there can't be that many places to hide out here."

"Yeah... riight." TJ crossed his arms. "Go fool yourself. I'm waiting right here."

"No point. It's gonna take a few days. Keep an eye on the kids." Jagg held up his hand.

TJ shook his head in resignation before slapping it in a high-five. "Man... I've got a bad feeling about this, man."

"Let me worry 'bout that." Jagg jerked his head toward the van. "Go on. We'll be back as soon as she finish."

TJ gave Lora a finger-salute before climbing into the driver's seat. "Catch." He pushed his arm through the window and tossed a black leather jacket. Jagg caught it and secured it under the pillion strap.

The van reversed into a two-point turn and rolled away as Lora made a U-turn and paused next to Jagg. He leaned against his bike and cocked his head.

"Mission, huh?" When she didn't reply, he continued, "Sounds like you're some Wonder Woman going off to save the world."

A furrow appeared between her brows as she regarded him. Was it a frown of concern? He wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to press her. She took off without answering, and he followed her with his gaze for a moment before he mounted and caught up with her.

They rode side by side as the air grew warmer. Jagg kept his eyes peeled but there was nothing to see except slight bumps and the horizon imperceptibly rising. After several minutes, Lora came to an abrupt halt. He had to circle back to avoid her mini sandstorm and rejoin her, but it didn't take long for the dust to settle. There was no wind to carry it.

She stood erect and alert beside her bike. "I am expected. But they hide." She tilted her head, focusing far away.

Jagg squinted against the sun through his shades but couldn't see anything remarkable in the slow-rising expanse. "Your sister?"

"No." She surveyed their surroundings. "She told me, my vessel is under guard. But there are more out here – waiting for me – with machines."

"Like an ambush? That's your choker telling you that? I notice it's mighty busy flashing them lights."

"Yes... and I can sense them. They expect me... but they will hurt you." Shaking her head, she stepped up to him and placed both her hands on his chest. "Please. It is better you go back." Her brows furrowed. "I may not be able to protect you."

"Protect me?" He chuckled and pushed the sunglasses up to his forehead. He found it curiously touching that she'd be that concerned for him. "I think you've got it the wrong way round, babes. Besides, I've come this far with my woman—I ain't turning back... What? You gonna mind-force me to leave?"

She shook her head, searching his eyes.

"Don't worry 'bout me. I've got my ways."

"Use them not." She reached under his shirt for his revolver and held it up by the barrel. "Please. No weapons. You will not survive. They are too many."

Jagg studied her upturned face. She was serious and definitely worried, but he wasn't averse to a good fight. "They who?"

"I expect they are a contingent of armed soldiers."

"And you just telling me this now?"

Her eyes didn't waver. "I only knew of soldiers guarding my vessel."

"Okay." He nodded several times—he shouldn't be surprised. "This is probably army land—that's why the warning sign." His piece would be useless facing them.

He took the pistol from her, checked that it was locked, and stuffed it into her bag. "There. No temptation." He pulled her close. "When you need to go, just go—got it? You're faster. I'll just," he lifted a wry corner of his mouth, "distract some of them."

She sighed and lifted her hand to his sweaty cheek.

"You're a tiger. Remember that. Yeah?" He closed in on her and kissed her long and hard, yet he was gentler than usual, savoring her. He knew the future was uncertain, but he didn't expect it to affect him like this. Lora slipped her fingers into his afro and gripped his hair like handles, delaying the inevitable.

When they separated, she dipped her head slightly.

Jagg returned the nod. "Go, tiger," he said under his breath and pulled a bandana out of his pocket.

She flashed him a smile and mounted her bike.

He tied the black-patterned kerchief around nape and chin, then pulled it down to hang at his neck. "See you on the other side."

Locking her gaze with his with an intense expression, she revved the engine. "On the other side." Then she rolled away, slowly accelerating.

Jagg slipped on his jacket as he scanned ahead for possible hiding places. But the land looked pretty much the same everywhere. Wherever they are, they're damn good. He zipped the jacket halfway. Never mind that it was going to get hot out here—in more ways than one. He donned his shades. Whatever they'd be dishing, he'd be ready.

When Jagg caught up with Lora, he positioned himself a bike-length behind her, outside of her wake on her right, cruising at over 50 mph. The road rose on its gradual incline, and he more sensed than saw the rise of the land on either side.

They must be hiding further ahead. He'd barely completed the thought when other noises intruded on the droning of their motorcycles.

He glanced over his shoulder and his muscles tensed. Damn! Way behind them, several vehicles were spread in a line pursuing them, kicking up a storm. Looking again, he counted six jeeps. At least two of them had menacing, mounted weapons.

Lora met his gaze as he pulled up beside her. The way ahead was clear but to his puzzlement, she only accelerated a little. Falling back a half-length, he kept an eye on their pursuers. The roaring of the engines grew louder as they slowly devoured the gap across the terrain.

What's the plan, Stan? Was she going to let them catch her when she could just as easily— "Shit!"

Six more vehicles appeared ahead, a distance off the road on the right, closing in fast. Lora could beat them if she utilized her speed now. He, on the other hand, would have to take off onto the other side.

"Go, tiger!" he shouted.

She glanced at him then over her shoulder, her expression focused, but she kept her speed steady at 60 mph. Jagg pulled the bandana over his mouth and nose, ready to face the dust storm when another set of jeeps erupted out of hiding ahead on the left, fanning out.

Holy shit! They're forcing us right into their arms!

— ∞ —

©2019 by kemorgan65