Thera (2 page)

The top of the lift was buried three feet below the surface, and except for the hole in the sand, left no sign of the complex that lay below. It was hot, and the sun beat down on a desolate landscape, with dirty white sand reflecting both light and heat. A mile to the East, according to the indicators displayed in his visual display, was a dark hill; a solitary mound higher than anything around. On its peak stood the skeleton of a once proud tree. The only tree in sight. It made sense to take to the high ground for a better look.

His legs were designed to be strong, for obvious reasons, but they also allowed for a high degree of mobility. Al could run. His son-in-law, Chris, had timed him once at almost sixty miles an hour.

Still trying to conserve energy, Al did not race to the mound, but it was not long before he was walking the last few steps to the tree at its peak. When he arrived, he repeated the phrase and powered himself down.

The sand did not stick here. The color of the soil was a dark gray as if burned by the relentless sun, and smooth as glass. Once again he rotated and searched for signs of civilization, slowly the first time, and even slower the second.

He saw no sign of life anywhere, and the height the mound gave him revealed nothing new.

Now, what? I can’t go forward, and I can’t go back.

In the sun, the temperature was well over one hundred degrees. There was not a distinct smell to the air that moved sluggishly past him; only the odor of heat, and its reaction to everything it touched.

The only shade on the hilltop was leeward of the dead tree trunk and Al took a seat to consider his options. His possibilities were limited. Pick a direction and trek across the desert to see what he could learn with the limited supplies he carried, or find a way back down into the research outpost to search for food and water to add to his pack.

He ate and drank like everybody else, but required less. His body broke down what he ate and supplied fluids and nutrients to his biological brain. If he did not get the sustenance his brain needed, he would sicken and die like anyone.

The idea of returning to the outpost was winning when he noticed a flicker in the shade next to him. He was staring at the spot when it happened again. For part of a second, lying next to him was a lizard—with wings. Then it blended back into the background and disappeared.

Al jumped up and backed away, his eyes watching the spot where he saw his vision. The scales that covered its body apparently allowed it to camouflage itself against its surroundings. When that failed, the lizards true colors took over.

It was wrapped up in its wings and curled in a ball, but he guessed it to be three feet long from its nose to the tip of the tail, and several shades of green. The flight appendages had black stripes that started halfway up the wing and followed the long fingers to end at black wingtips.

Al felt the lump in his pocket made by the tiny good luck charm he carried. A small plastic dragon he removed from the bridge of the
Excalibur
on his final trip to the colonial starship; just before it fell from orbit. Someone taped it to a console for luck. The colonists were still feeling the loss of that ship, and he carried the tiny dragon to remind him that luck was not always enough.

A character that originated in the magical mythology of a planet many light years away lie before him. Something only found in storybooks was sharing the only shade in sight. He was looking at a real live dragon.

The creature was almost motionless and curled up in a small hollow taking slow, determined breaths. It was clearly struggling for life, and no longer conscious of its surroundings.

Al found the situation a little ironic, and thought to himself;
I travel all this way in search of a place to escape the terror of dinosaurs, and the only life I can find is a mini-dragon?

He approached the creature slowly and carefully, kneeling down beside it, he poured a little water from his canteen into the cup of his hand and held the liquid before its mouth. He saw the nostrils constrict as the animal smelled the water, and ever so slowly he raised his head and lapped at the water presented him. It only managed a few sips before he laid his head back down, but Al was patient, and soon the head came back up, and the dry tongue dipped into the cool water.

The sun was reaching its peak, and the shade disappearing, so Al used the small tarp from his pack to erect a sun block. The poor creature was too weak to be moved right away. Besides, Al needed time to think of a way out of this mess, so he settled down and cared for the dragon. He could not abandon the only possible ally he had.

He made camp, of sorts. From his backpack, he removed a travel package of superfood made by his wife and daughter-in-law, a small fold-up table, and a cup. Not knowing what a dragon’s temperature should be, he covered the creature with a light towel to keep the sand off.

Later, as the sun sank towards the horizon, Al broke a small bit from the bar of highly nutritious concoction conceived by the women and placed it close to the dragon’s mouth. The nostrils again reacted to the smell of salvation and the eye that faced him opened to reveal a surprisingly blue iris, and a look of sincere gratitude.

He didn’t want to move the creature yet, so he left it with water in the cup, and pieces of the food bar nearby. Then Al headed back to the hole in the sand for a quick look to see what it would take to get back inside the alien facility.

Al’s legs were capable of propelling him thirty feet into the air, and returning him to the ground safely, so he saw no problem in jumping into the stalled lift. But first, he had to prevent the ever-shifting sands from filling the elevator. There was now a pile four feet high covering the bottom of the elevator, and the only way back into the underground outpost was through that floor.

He retrieved the hatch from where it landed and used it to pull the sand back from the opening. When burial was no longer an immediate threat, he jumped down into the car.

There was no easy way to get past the steel floor of the lift, but Al had something with him that could help. Inside his pack were two small mining charges he brought for occasions such as this. He took one out and set it for thirty seconds, placed it as far down into the pile of sand that he could, and jumped back out into the failing sunlight. Another small jump put him at a safe distance.

Twenty-five seconds later the explosion shook the ground and a fireball shot from the hole in the sand. After the ground had settled, Al walked back and peered over the edge. Debris from the floor of the car lay at the bottom of a fifty-foot shaft. Twenty feet further than what was safe to jump.

A climbing rope was one of the things he didn’t have in his pack. He hadn’t thought one necessary. Now he regretted his lack of foresight. The only other option would be to climb part of the way down and jump to the bottom. Once there, he needed to find something he could use to lower the sick dragon down. The creature was in a delicate state and needed to be handled carefully until the poor thing could recover. Al decided he could not ignore its plight.

The sun was going down, and he didn’t want to leave the animal alone for very long, so he used the hatch to block the hole from the shifting sand. He looked for something to mark the spot with, afraid the sand would wipe away its location, but found nothing. He would just have to remember.

Al made the trip back to the lonely tree and his patient within minutes. The power coursing through his body and the clarity of mind and senses acting as a drug, and for the thousandth time he wished the power stored in the energy cell inside his chest did not limit his time as a superhuman.

The sun was low in the sky, and the shadows of the dunes were getting long, bringing out various dips and craters unnoticeable while the sun was overhead. As Al approached the black sand of the mound, he noticed an unusual outline not far from where the little dragon rested.

His patient had eaten half of the food he left for it and splashed water outside the cup, indicating a strong will to survive. The dragon was now still, with his eyes closed and its breathing regular. Sleep was helping the healing process.

A quick investigation of the odd outline confirmed his fears. Buried not far under the sand was the body of a reptile similar to the struggling dragon. It appeared that a larger creature had placed it in the only shelter available, and lost its life in the process. A mother or father perhaps. The poor little dragon was alone.

Al settled down for the night and treated himself to a cup of tea. The tea leaves were from the gardens of Camelot, which lay in ruins after the last Riktor attack. When the colonists were forced to abandon the village, they left behind many of the things that made life comfortable.

For dinner, he had a small chemically heated can of stew. He sat in the sand with his back against the tree, and the sleeping dragon by his side, and consumed his meager dinner. The blinding sun sank to nothing and allowed the stars to come out.

In time, he unfolded his sleeping bag and lay down for a few hours rest. Before he fell asleep, a name came to mind for his newfound dependent. He would call him Falkor. It was a title from some vague memory of his past. For some reason, it felt right.

He was up and moving before the sun came up. Al packed his gear, made Falkor as comfortable as possible, and hurried back to the hatch, which was already partially covered by the pervasive drifting sand.

Al Clark is not indestructible. The Tru-Skin covering of his body is organic, and can be damaged. He discovered his true nature when his friend, Doctor Cody, performed a medical scan after an injury to one of his legs. Al was as surprised as his friend when they saw the interior workings of his body displayed on a medical scanner’s monitor.

Carefully, he cleared the opening and removed the metal hatch.

Halfway down was a small opening, but no ledge; only a hole in the shaft that would be tricky to get to, but not impossible. He had never landed from a height of more than thirty feet and was not sure his legs could take the full fifty-foot fall, so he opted for the lesser risk of hitting the landing.

Thinking it through, he placed himself across from his target and jumped. He ducked when he landed and used his forward momentum to roll head over heels into the tunnel. Not a graceful landing, but effective.

It was a short tunnel, with a ladder going up to what Al assumed was another buried hatch. Possibly an escape route in case the outer doors were unable to open. Or maybe for service of the lift. It did not matter. He put the thought aside and jumped the remaining distance to the floor of the facility’s upper level.

He was not exactly sure how he would get out, but he put that thought aside to worry about later. He went looking for a way to get both Falkor and himself to a place of safety. Someplace away from the numbing heat and blazing sun.

There were mysteries to this place. Secrets. Something monstrous had happened here, and whatever it was caused the residents to flee in a hurry.

In the hangar bay, he found something that would help. In a bin blackened by what had happened, and covered in dust, he discovered a coil of rope. More of a line than a rope, it was a thin cord made of a material that had somehow survived the passage of time.

Al wasted no time pondering his luck and went back to make the jumps necessary to return him to the surface. He lay the coil at the bottom of the shaft and tied one end around his waist. He almost failed on his first attempt by misjudging his landing. The sandy edge of the tunnel made his feet slip, and he fell backward; clawing at empty space.

To his surprise, some system within his body kicked in and automatically corrected his position, and he fell forward into the tunnel. Al was shocked, and thought,
That was new! It seems I have self-righting circuits that give me the reflexes of a cat.

Falling backward is scary, and it took Al a few moments to adjust to the idea that he had landed without injury. His incredible body had surprised him again and allowed him to perform another feat normally unthinkable for human beings.

After accomplishing the second jump to the top, he found himself bathed in the sunlight of another blistering day. He untied the line from his waist and secured it to one of the hinges of the broken hatch. With the rope in place, he was ready to move his camp underground. Now it was time to return to the dead tree and collect the dragon.

He fashioned a crude basket from the tarp using short pieces of cord from his pack and placed the creature inside. It did not resist. Too sick to fight, the poor thing had no alternative other than trusting this unlikely savior.

He carried it in his arms and kept his speed down to avoid jostling his passenger, running in a form of controlled slow motion. As soon as he arrived at the hole, he pulled the line up and tied the basket to the end. Slowly, he lowered the dragon down to the bottom and then climbed down himself.

Now he needed to establish a place for them to prepare for their next move, which came down to a few fundamental decisions; stay where he was and gather more data, or attempt the transport to the secondary site. The stretch of the desert he saw could be an oddity, and on the other side of the sand dunes might be the perfect place to settle. On the other hand, this desert could go on forever.