Exodus

By Victor Arteaga

A soft tone and gradual raise of ambient light pulled Román from slumber.

“Good morning, Scout Cisneros,” said a dispassionate AI voice. “We have arrived at star system HD 142. Please prepare for landing.”

Román eased himself up and commanded the AI to get his uniform ready with a hand gesture. A hanger slid out of a hidden panel on the wall next to his bed. The single-piece outfit featured a nebula swirling over twinkling stars on the smart fabric around the torso and the PLAS logo of a telescope crossed over a comet above a wreath of laurels on both shoulders. At the white bedside table rested two wide wrist bands. He slipped them on, and the SMARTBANDS booted up with a flash of tiny lights. He tapped a compartment next to the door of his small quarters, revealing a rack holding his sidearm. He slipped it into one holster.

“Recommendation from Captain Williams. She says to make sure you bring your rebreather, and to wear your standard issue PLAS boots instead of, and I quote, ‘those raggedy-ass boots you’ve had since cadet training.’”

Román chuckled. A small droid on a tripod of wheels and a platform brought him a steaming cup of coffee.

“Oh, she also said that the Clergy will not be anointing you the Patron Saint of Blisters, as you are still alive, and wearing uncomfortable shoes is not a deed worthy enough of sainthood.”

“Well, there goes my claim to fame.”

“Indeed.”

“How long ‘til we land?”

“Minutes after you assume control of the cockpit.”

“Guess I should get started then.”

Román left his room, passed through the small circular living area with a table and a more advanced food synthesizer, hung a left, and walked the short hallway to the cockpit. He sat down in the chair, went through the authorization protocols and set a course. The glass went transparent, treating him to a view he never grew tired of. A new planet with vast oceans, a couple of moderate continents, and the rest dappled with systems of islands and archipelagos orbiting a large, bright yellow star. The ship’s AI plotted the entry trajectory and Román authorized the flight. He sipped his coffee and watched the flames flick up from the nose of his ship as he broke atmo. The ship’s wings extended out for atmospheric flight, and his seat vibrated with gears working underneath. His landing location was a patch of grass off a white-sand beach that bordered a lush jungle.

“That was quick,” Román said as he pounded the rest of his coffee. He ambled back to the rear of the ship, turned left into the living room and lifted his helmet off a hook on the wall. He slipped on his PLAS boots, much to his chagrin, and took a deep breath. He whispered a prayer before putting his helmet on. The smartcloth of his uniform crept up his neck and sealed to the bottom of the helmet. An air filter flipped up off the top. He thumbed the exit button, and the door hissed open and lowered itself down onto the ground. He left the ship and let the filter on his helmet bring up an HUD on the visor that read the results of the air scan. Near ideal mix of gasses, air pressure, and temperature for human life. He took off his helmet and used his SMARTBANDS to summon a communication array bot. It rolled out of the ship on dual treads, stopped at his side, planted down onto the ground, and extended a dual antenna.

“Preliminary scouting report: submitted by Scout First Class Román Cisneros, Patron Saint of Uncomfortable Feet. Arriving on the fifth planet orbiting HD 142. Temperature is a balmy 27 Celsius, UV radiation is one-point-three times Earth standard, ozone intact with surprisingly optimal levels of gases. Humidity is sixty-one percent, no immediate signs of life. Vegetation is healthy, mostly green. It is approximately midday; sun is near the center of the sky. Scans picked up a large city nearby, about two and a half kilometers away. Beginning initial perimeter check. Cisneros, out.” He waited until the communication array confirmed the dispatch of his missive. He checked his sidearm for charge and set it back. His zipped up the holster with the rebreather and set his uniform to basic camo. The fabric shifted into a mottled, grayish green jungle pattern.

“Okay. Let’s uncover your secrets,” he said and ventured into the verdant unknown.

He picked his way around vibrant brush and tangled roots, ducking under vines and low-hanging branches. The further he trudged on, the more the silence weighed his steps with caution; there were no insects buzzing, birds cooing, or small animals chittering; odd for such a habitat. The only sounds were his labored breathing, the swish of branches as he brushed them aside, and the ruffling of leaves in the occasional breeze.

His SMARTBANDS notified him he was nearing the outskirts of the city. He pushed through another tall bush and came to the abrupt end of the forest. He remained within its cover and, in whispers accompanied by furtive glances at his surroundings, dictated his findings into a report.

A field of trimmed grass and manicured soil lay just beyond the brush. Small bulbous metal buildings dotted the manicured landscape in sparse density in an almost perfect circle around the city, coiling tighter together in progressive layers. Past the first layer, roughly twenty-five meters in, the buildings grew in size; though, instead of defined floors, they looked modular, like a collection of bubbles. Antennae peeked over the cloudy barrier and Román could barely distinguish individual buildings past the wall. A burbling creek snaked through the outskirts of the city like a lasso joined by a bigger stream within the city. The delta of the river ran parallel to a street leading to a gate of polished metal and shining glass, and a gargantuan tower the glimmered in the midday sun. An advanced, functional city. No intelligent life anywhere. The road ended at the trees where roots erupted from beneath the pavement, reclaiming their stake on the land. The river, however, flowed away from the street.

Curiosity urged Román to follow the river. Half a kilometer’s walk brought him to a perfectly circular lake nestled in the middle of the jungle. He lifted his hand and the SMARTBAND measured the lake to be half a click in diameter. He dipped it into the water and the BAND emitted a sonar pulse. The readout blinked on the screen of his wrist.

DEPTH:7.08 METERS

FLOOR ELEVATION: .4 METERS.

SEDIMENT: LOW

CONCLUSION: ARTIFICIAL, SAFE FOR FREE-DIVE

Suspicion swelled in his stomach. He put his hand back in the cool water.

“Full topographical scan.”

He held his arms up in parallel, and the arm bands projected a three-dimensional visualization of the lake floor. As expected, it was mostly flat with some bumps and rises easily attributable to algal growth or clumps of dirt. Still, he couldn’t shake that ominous pit in his stomach. He pulled his rebreather out of the holster and bit down on the mouthpiece. Two small plugs rose to seal his nostrils. His uniform shifted into a black wetsuit and he leaped into the water. He dove until his ears complained at the pressure, then enabled the lights on his SMARTBANDS. Dual beams of white light pierced the water, and he swept his hand over the sediment on the bottom. No aquatic life; the floor was entirely covered in algae. He changed the setting on his boots. The tips flattened and extended into makeshift flippers. He glided over the floor, scanning for anything. He circled around, intent on returning to the surface, when something glinted on the floor.

He paddled to the piece of metal sticking out of the ground. He brushed off the dirt and lifted it up. A blade. Curved and short with a bent, jagged stem indicating it had broken off something. He reached his hand down to lift the debris on the lake floor. He scraped the algae off to reveal white bone. His pulse spiked. He frowned. Hoping against hope, swallowing his anxiety, he let go of the long bone and swept his hand across the bottom. Bits of more bone, whole pieces of long, short, and joint bones floated up in a swarm of little bubbles. Beneath those lay more bones. The pit in his belly solidified into nausea and he measured his breathing to keep from overloading his rebreather. A skull floated past the beam of light. Humanoid, with three canines to each human’s one. Was the whole floor just a pile of bones? He plunged his hand deeper. No dirt beneath this layer. He did another deep scan. The actual floor of the lake was another ten meters deep. How many thousands lay resting in that lake?

That meant…a layer twenty-five feet deep of corpses. This wasn’t a lake. It was a mass grave. He hung in place, fighting back the fear building in his throat, pressed his hand to the skull and closed his eyes. He prayed for the dead, letting the sorrow fill his chest, and gently returned the cracked skull to its resting place.

With his heart sunk, he swam to the surface and rushed back to his shuttle. When his ship was just within sight, a crash in forest gave him pause. He held his breath and listened. Another crash prompted him to whip out his sidearm, arm it, and sprint toward the ship.

“Hey!” he yelled.

Something flashed an array of colors, made a jittering high-pitched sound, ducked behind the ship, and splashed into the ocean. The shattered console on his communication array sparked. He sprinted inside to find the entire ship had been ransacked. Wires lay in slashed bits, panels from the wall lay in disarray, his food synthesizer had been smashed onto the floor. Even from the living space he could see the pieces of shattered glass, and the door to the engine bay had been pried open, the metal bent. He didn’t want to imagine what damage had been done there.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Computer!”

“Online. Severe damage detected to peripheral hardware across the ship.”

“Can we take off?”

“Negative. Rupture detected in the fuel line to engine two. Lift thrusters are operational; however, flight is not possible.”

“Hijo de su…” He huffed through gritted his teeth. “Okay. Is there anything within the city that I can use to repair the comms array? I’d rather not have to wait a day before they begin the missing scout protocols.” He clicked the safety of his sidearm on and off, waiting for the computer to run through data.

“Affirmative. There is substantial radio wave frequency near the center of the city suggesting an active and sophisticated communications system. However, I have detected the presence of explosive munitions, so I suggest proceeding into the city with caution.”

“Okay then.” Román set his jaw and went to his room. Thankfully, it was left mostly intact. He grabbed an emergency ration pod and set it in the same holster as the rebreather. He recorded the update of events, found his helmet under the table, and headed to the city.

He came to the edge of the road that went straight into the city. Whatever was capable of genocide on that level was still here, and the city kept running. He needed to be a ghost. He activated the active camo setting on his suit and donned his helmet. His uniform, helmet included, shimmered again but not to blend. Instead, it recreated his surroundings, so he was as good as invisible. He crept in with light steps, taking note of the slums he passed by. The deeper he ventured in, the starker the differences between the two areas became. The paved road split into a web that covered the entire city with bridges over the network of canals where floating vessels, contrary to the slums, were sleek and pointed. Buildings were rectangular with rounded edges and organized with tiered floors. Each building had at least one clear pipe that pumped water into some sections of the buildings.

In the center of the city, vehicles of varying size and length shared a three-wheeled style frame curved styling and roamed—no, patrolled—on automated loops through the downtown area. He swallowed the lump building in his throat. AI controlled self-driving vehicles? Sophisticated communication system? They might have had an AI singularity event. He thanked his God he had the foresight to engage active camo.

He watched for a time and counted between their passing, noting the scant seconds where they left their domain unattended. He tensed his legs, waiting, and then sprinted between their patrols. He flinched as one of the vehicles flitted by as he stood in front of the entrance to the tower at the center, but the machines only had eyes for obstacles along their routes.

The canal around the tower spanned twice the width as the rest of the city’s waterways. A single bridge served as the only means of ingress and egress. Arches rose along the length of the bridge ending in a large, closed double door. Román counted at least four pipes in his view rising from the moat into the building. The tower rose in diminishing tiers that started wide at the base, and at the top, crystalline sheets of water cascaded down, coating the entire building, pooling into a small recess on each tier. He slunk around the perimeter of the building, catching glimpses of odd furniture, moving screens, and solid walls. Small, circular automated robots floated through the moats like pool filters. He took a scan of the one closest to him. An alarm blared.

“That can’t be good.”

A light at the top of the filtration bot lit up red. It flattened and the middle spun and shot up out of the moat on a pillar of water. The top of the bot opened and revealed a laser sighted weapon with four barrels.

His eyes widened and he sprang backward. “Shit!”

It fired. The quad blast hit him square in the chest. His uniform reacted instantly to cushion and protect against the small-arms fire, but Román’s breath left him and his active camo shut off. He stumbled forward and rolled, his training taking over. The bot loaded another payload. Román pulled his sidearm and fired a blast of blue plasma. It hit the bot and melted through the middle of it, igniting its power source. The bot exploded.

He sighed in relief—and another alarm blared.

One of the patrolling vehicles—a car with two wheels at the front powered by a large third at the back—spun around and rocketed his way. Román dodged, narrowly avoiding getting plastered by it. A hum sounded in the air. Román’s hair stood on end. The vehicle stopped; its back end lifted off and spun around an axis. A small cannon flipped out of its front. Román fired. The blast hit the barrel. The bot ejected the damaged weapon, squatted down, and covered its wheels in metallic armor. It buzzed and reshaped its front from a pointed nose to a flat plate. He fired again. The plasma bounced off the plate and into another building, burning a hole through a window.

“That’s definitely not good.”

He sprinted at the hole in the window he’d made. The bot’s tires screeched after him. He leaped through the opening, rolled just as the bot crashed through the glass, bounced up, and collided with the ceiling. Sparks flew from the damaged hull of the vehicle where its pilot was meant to sit. The rear wheel pulled the bot back into the street dragging its broken left tire and out of sight. Román breathed a sigh of relief.

A projectile slammed into his helmet. The visor shattered, his head whiplashed to the side, and he fell on his shoulder. Dizzy, he pulled his helmet off and cut his hand on something. It was a circular blade exactly like the one he found in the lake. A whirring sound came from in front of him. He rolled backward and another blade lodged into the ground where he had just laid. His nerves coiled his muscles to standing and he bumped into a wall. A bot on four pointed legs standing on a counter in the back corner of the room with a square body produced another blade. Román fired; the bot melted, its legs falling apart from its body on the counter. Behind it, an array of kitchen machines came to life. He fired at all of them, setting everything ablaze. Román panted, wide eyes darting about as the fires died down. He leaned against the wall and took stock of his surroundings. It had the makings of a restaurant: small tables, chairs, but all too small for him to sit comfortably. In fact, his head was uncomfortably close to the ceiling.

He winced. His chest ached with every breath, and he hoped he didn’t crack a rib. His suit couldn’t take another hit like that. He had to get back to the ship. Eventually rescue would come; PLAS protocol gave him another ten hours. He just had to—

A roar came from outside. Another armored vehicle rolled in front of the gaping entryway. Its front wheels popped out larger, plated cannons. They spooled up and plasma glowed in the barrel.

He shook his head. “No way. It reverse eng—”

Something yanked him by the back of his uniform out of the room just as the bot fired. Both blasts seared past him and destroyed the entire restaurant. He stood in a dark hallway. He looked up and gasped. The creature, clothed with exposed arms, lower legs and bare wide feet lifted a hand with sharp nails. Román opened his mouth to speak, but it slammed its hand over his mouth and brought its face close to his. Román stared at his reflection in its black sclera. Diamond iris, skin an iridescent mix of red and purple. It held a spear with a jagged blade in its other hand. No lips, small mouth, and—based on the skull he saw in the lake—he knew it would have sharp teeth. Prehensile ears swiveled atop its head. It straightened and pulled its hand away. Román wiped his mouth and tasted salt. It walked away and down the hall, turned, and waited for Román to follow. It made a gesture toward its mouth then pointed at him with its spear. Román furrowed his brow. It made the same gesture again. He grabbed his rebreather from his holster. It made a whishing sound and gills on the sides of its neck flared.

“Than—”

It whirled and rushed at him. He dodged to the side and tried to counter. It slammed the butt of its spear into his stomach, then covered his mouth. Another blare from the tower sounded. The creature made a chittering, hissing sound, grabbed his arm, and lifted him off the ground and back into the smoldering kitchen. Román pulled his arm free and kept pace with it. They crossed the room to the other side, vaulting the counter to rush past eerily familiar appliances—a metallic, rectangular one caught his eye. A toaster? he thought.

Román’s escort led him up a short flight of stairs and into an empty room, save for a translucent wall connected to a water pipe. It leaped through the film and into the water, plunging down into the depths below. Román hesitated; and then the grind and scrape of metal on the floor lit up every nerve in his body. He threw on his rebreather and jumped through the membrane into the pipe. He swallowed his nausea as the pressure sucked him down into the vast expanse of water below the city. The creature took off at a dangerous pace and, even with his boots set to swim, Román couldn’t keep up. It peeked over its shoulder. Bubbles burst from its gills and it reared its arm back and hurled the spear. It shot past Román and impaled a filter bot about to fire. The creature rushed back and retrieved its spear before the bot sunk to the black deep beneath.

That’s when Román realized the tower dove far below the surface. Deeper than he could see. Primed with a new sense of urgency, he followed his savior until they surfaced near the wall of the city. The hum of plasma firing up flipped his stomach. They both turned and the three-wheeled vehicle that waited for them at the entrance to the city had since upgraded from two small turrets to one giant cannon on the cockpit. Román fired three shots at the cannon. The car slid sideways. He rushed at it. The creature screeched and waved its arms, but Román had an idea. The car backed away as he fired more shots. That big of a gun needed more time to charge, and the guard plate was on the front of the car, not the top. He bought them enough time to run around the wall and into the slums. Another wailing alarm echoed from the city. The roar of multiple engines running at once sent a shiver down Román’s spine.

“I hope you have another way out of here,” he said to his new friend. It gave him an indecipherable look, turned, and sprinted, weaving through the dilapidated buildings. They entered one of them through a flap of cloth and into what Román could only surmise was a bathroom. The creature pointed the spear at a glorified urinal.

“You’re joking.”

It tapped the spear on the exit again.

“Well. I suppose it’s been abandoned for centuries.”

An explosion rocked the building. The bots were blowing up random buildings in their search. Time was up; he put his rebreather back on and dove into the pipe. It rushed him through turning twists, and he banged against the sides until he flew out of the end of a pipe and flopped into the tranquil blue waters of a bay. The creature dove gracefully into the depths and arose near the shore, beckoning him to join. They walked to a small cave hidden behind a waterfall. Inside were two other people, similar in size and build, but both a bit shorter with different colored skin. The red one lacked an arm and the purple one’s knee bent at an awkward angle. Both of their colorings were flat, not iridescent like the creature Román had first met. They made loud vocalizations and wild gestures toward the one that saved him. It replied with its own set of gestures, clicks, hisses and growls as they came closer to their small camp. A lamp illuminating the place with bioluminescent bugs hung off the ceiling. A small hut rested underneath it, along with a rock formation serving as a table. A rack held aloft a tentacled animal drying. Next to it lay a skinned rodent and a collection of plants from the shore bundled together. Román’s stomach grumbled. The trio of creatures snapped their heads to him. He pointed to the food and then to his stomach. The purple one’s gills flared, pressed his ears back, and bared his sharp canines.

“No idea what that means,” Román mumbled, but it wasn’t a difficult guess.

The iridescent one spoke to him. Román held up a hand and turned on the SMARTBAND. The elders hissed and took offensive postures.

“Hold on. We can communicate if you give me just a second. Begin language discovery protocol.”

A beep notified him to begin. Román scooped up some water, then spoke the word. He repeated for emphasis. His savior made a small finger gesture and spoke. The SMARTBAND logged the entry and repeated the vocalization. The iridescent being blinked and corrected him with the hand gesture. The computer logged the change and Román led them through more vocabulary until the SMARTBAND had enough to compile the basics of the language. Through the process, the red one brought him some food after he mentioned he hadn’t eaten yet. During their meal, he learned that they were called Takarrans, and that his savior, a woman whose name meant Sunset, lived in the cave caring for her parents. They fled their respective societies to protect their child. Mixing of Red and Purple Takarrans was forbidden, and they suffered their injuries protecting their daughter and fleeing to safety. It was Sunset who destroyed his ship, fearful that the bots in the city had begun expanding. Through further conversation in basic terms, the computer quickly adapted its algorithm to fix errors and soon they conversed fluidly with help from his SMARTBANDs—something her parents never missed an opportunity to express their distaste for. The brief history lesson about the bots, their civil war, and subsequent AI arms race made a little sense. It explained the mass grave.

“Sunset,” he said. She responded with an ear flick. “I need to get back to my ship. Soon, others will come to find me, and I have to be as close to that site as possible. Can you lead me back?”

She hesitated. “What will they do?”

“It depends on what you want. If you want us to do nothing, then we will simply leave. But,” he raised a finger and regarded the Red Takarran. “I don’t think you, Temerity, will let us make you a new arm, but it’s an option. And you, Tak’arna.” Sunset’s father, the Purple Takarran, growled. He demanded Román use his name instead of an English translation. “We can reset your leg so it will heal properly. Instead of being dependent on your daughter, you can help keep yourselves healthy.”

“The trip will be difficult,” Sunset said.

“We cannot travel as easily as Sunset can,” Temerity growled.

“I can help. This—” He showed them the rebreather. “—will keep me alive underwater if we have to swim far. If we go by land, I can be of even more use.”

Tak’arna hissed and his gills flared again. Temerity scolded him to no effect. Román tried a different tactic. Tak’arna was too much like Román’s old man.

“Tak’arna, I also have a child. Don’t think of it as accepting help and being in debt. Instead, consider it an avenue to further protect your daughter. You could fight, once again, with your own body and keep her safe. You sacrificed your whole culture for her. Pride did not dissuade you then; don’t let it deter you now.” Tak’arna bared his teeth and stood, but then faltered on his bad leg. He grumbled, grasped his knee, and sat back down. He made a dismissive sign with his hands in agreement. They finished eating a bit more, Román recorded the events of the day and they set off to his camp.

It wasn’t a long trip, and Tak’arna managed to keep up well enough despite his labored to swimming. They emerged from the ocean where he had landed.

Román’s heart sank, and the Takarrans flared their gills and whistled in disbelief. Giant metal ribs of the ship’s frame rose from the sand. Pieces of shrapnel peppered the sand, the wings were gone, the cockpit’s stolen control console left a gaping hole at the front. The entire rear half of the ship, hypercapacitors, rockets, hyperdrive, had been taken. The communication array’s internal circuitry was gone. Horror crept up Román’s neck. He turned to the Takarrans.

“We have to warn the others. They can—” A crash interrupted him. A series of giant gears grinding, whirring, and clanging erupted from the city.

“We have to find them, now!” Román pleaded to Sunset.

“You don’t understand, they won’t listen to you. The purple Takarrans are so stuck in their ways, my father is the most progressive they will likely ever see.”

“Sunset, listen. They’re going to be able to fly. Soon, they’ll reverse-engineer my hyperdrive. We need to warn them now.”

“I don’t know that word.”

“It means they’ll be able fly beyond the sky.”

Her jaw fell open.

“We’ll have better luck with the Red Takarrans. They’re more likely to listen,” Temerity said while her daughter collected herself.

A bot crashed through the trees toward them. Román fired a handful of blasts at it, melting it. He yelled at his companions to run. A deep thump shook through the forest. The roar of jet engines from the city filled him with dread as he sprinted to the shoreline. The engines sputtered and failed, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Another filtration bot sprang out of the water, its quad fire blast at the ready, aimed at Sunset. Tak’arna screamed, his guttural battle cry raising every hair on Román’s body. Tak’arna threw himself on the bot just as it fired. The rounds punched through his body and he slumped on top of the bot. Sunset and Temerity shrieked. Román grabbed them both by the arm and led them away as the bot tried to get out from under Tak’arna’s corpse.

Another blast and a roar from the city shook the leaves of the trees near them. They were out of time. He yanked them both into the water and he set his boots to flippers as they sped toward one of the outlying islands. Román swam as fast as he could to keep up, his legs and arms aching and burning with the extended swim.

A Red hunter Takarran, a spear in hand, stopped dead in his swim at their approach. He sped to an opening in the rock wall of a cliff. Sunrise made hand motions for Román to be careful. She and Temerity led the way, and as they came into the cave, they were greeted by an entourage of hunters with various spears and rudimentary weapons leveled on them. An older Red Takarran pushed past his guard.

“Temerity? What do you th—"

“They can fly,” Temerity yelled.

At this, the entire congregation dropped their weapons save for one. He kept his aim squarely on Román. He opened his mouth to speak when an explosion rocked the cavern. Panicked clicks and high-pitched whistles echoed in the cavern. One of them screamed about the sentry post above ground.

“You kept a sentry posted for the bots?” Román asked.

“No, for the Purples,” the leader replied. The rest of the hunters ran into a series of tunnels, echoing their cries of warning and calls for family to gather belongings.

“What do I call you?” Román asked the leader.

“My name is Arta.”

“Where are we going?”

“They are going to another location. We—” He pointed to Román. “—are going to the surface. My grandfather believed one day they would leave the city, and left us a device to protect ourselves. I only hope that explosion was not it.”

He led Román to an area near the back, with Sunrise and Temerity following. Arta huffed in displeasure at their presence but did not dismiss them. They ran to his home, the largest one in the caves, and he pushed a boulder out of the way revealing a hidden path to an internal river flowing upward. They rode the current to the surface where a canopy of leaves hid a cannon. The dark metal glinted in the sun, its barrel large enough Román could fit himself in it. The weapon perched on a series of metal legs attached to the rock of the island.

Román whistled. “This will definitely buy them some time.”

“Good.”

Arta pressed a button and a targeting HUD popped up by the handles. He took control, and the cannon came to life, turning on a mechanical swivel. A flying bot screamed overhead, and the HUD tracked it through the canopy. It locked on, loaded a round, and fired. The rocket blew apart the canopy and exposed the twilight sky. The bot tried to evade, but the shot clipped a wing and the craft spiraled into the ocean. Nobody celebrated. Silence hung in the air for several eternal heartbeats as they kept their eyes skyward. Jet engines coursing through the sky preceded the HUD’s scan. Arta let off a rapid-fire volley at the oncoming bots, but the jets flew higher to buy themselves more time to react.

“Jesus, they learn quick. Bait tactics after one encounter. No wonder—”

Arta shushed him. He managed to shoot one down, while the other three circled back. Their plasma cannons lit up the night as they readied for a strafing pass.

Green beams lanced down from the heavens, splitting all three of the jets in half. Román whooped and cheered; the Takarrans gasped. Román’s SMARTBAND beeped and he accepted the call. His captain’s face popped up on the screen. The black beads on her braided hair matched the obsidian of her skin.

“You’re early, ma’am.”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Never been happier for an unsolicited visit. A word of advice, captain: move quickly. The AI in the city is far more advanced than we thought. They reverse engineered my ship in an afternoon and gave themselves flight. We need to move fast before they spread across the planet, and we need to relocate the Takarrans.”

“Understood. Transport is on its way.”

“I will get as many as I can,” Sunrise said and sprinted away.

“Find me on the beach,” Román called after her.

She flipped both ears and tilted her head: a gesture he hadn’t seen yet. He and Arta helped Temerity down to the beach as winks of light in the night sky turned into shuttles breaking through the atmosphere. A retinue of bots flew to intercept and shot down two of the four landing craft. The surviving shuttles returned fire and landed on the beach near Román. He requested a squadron of fighters to help stave of the coming wave of fighter bots.

“Squadron Four scrambled now. Hold tight,” Captain Williams said.

Sunset rose from the sea, leading only four Takarrans.

“These are the only ones who will come.”

Román noted they were just one family. Two parents and two children.

“That’s fine, we can work on getting the rest of the Takarrans later. For now, let’s get everyone out as much as we can and keep the AI occupied while the rest make their escape. We know what kind of life bio signs to search for. Right now, we need to save you while we can.”

The Takarrans hurried onboard the ship. The children sprinted inside, cooing with awe at the alien sights. Román clambered into the pilot seat and lifted them off.

“Hold on tight!”

The Takarrans yelped as the craft lurched forward and rockets punched them to escape velocity.

“Launch detected,” a female AI reported.

Out the port side, a streak of light curved away from the planet, but caught fire as it passed through the stratosphere.

“Our world is no longer safe,” Sunrise said, with a quiet coo signifying sadness from behind Román.

“No. But at least you are.”

The planet shrank below them as the shuttle floated toward the looming command ship in orbit.

“’Ta Madre!” Román pounded the arm of his chair.

“What?” Sunset asked.

“I lost my favorite boots.”

the Sunset Chronicles

Dawn>

To the extent possible under law, Victor Arteaga has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to The Sunset Chronicles. This work is published from: United States.