Outworld

it.

Chapter I

Heat.

It rose in simmering waves from the desolation stretching as far as the eye could see.

A sweltering enveloping heat which permeated everything, an omnipotent presence over the land.

A heat so powerful, it drained the land of all life leaving only a skeleton in its wake. A mere outline of what had once been.

The tall grass, stretching from horizon to horizon, was as a gray-shallow green sea shifting in the seemingly ever-present wind. The tall grass prairie was broken only by outcrops of rocks or mounds of dry earth stripped bare by the winds. The stalks twisted one way, then another, constantly shifting in the continual turbulence until sudden, violent downbursts of air would flatten a spot. Then, as if the downburst were the punctuation, the grasses and wind would resume their seemingly endless swirl.

The sky was a perpetual churning mass of red and brown, one hue folding into the other. A red haze reduced the arch of the sun to a veiled yellow orb peering through the ever-changing clouds and dust. The haze also marked the thermal barrier, under which the heat from solar radiation blossomed and was held close to the earth, like the haze, by the same gaseous boundary. The barrier also deprived the earth of all but the most rare of rainfall that actually reached the soil. Rain did fall but in most instances it was evaporated in the thermal barrier and returned to the very clouds from which it had come.

The red in the haze was the dust. And the dust was everywhere, on everything—the grass, the rocks, the plants—everything. Coating and pelting, the wind and small cyclones continually shifted the dust from one area to another across the landscape. It seemed as permanent as the air. The only measurable difference was the intensity; some days just a fine coating on the rocks and grasses, other days an unseen force with the power to erode an already diminished land. Finally, as if to punctuate it all, occasional streaks of lightning arced across the entire sky in brilliant yellow-white displays.

The Outworld, Daniel said quietly to himself, scanning the land from the vista of his Hover cockpit, as the craft rode just above the grasses, A wasteland. How can anything live here?

Glancing down from the controls of the Hover he checked the wrist gauge on his survival or 'Outside' suit.

The internal suit temperature gauge read seventy degrees. Whoever designs these things doesn't have to come out in this furnace, he grumbled as he adjusted it to sixty-five to compensate for the heat. Even here, inside the protective dome of his Hover, encased in a suit made of reflective material with his face behind the mirror visor of a protective helmet, even with all this protection he could still feel the heat seeping through.

He glanced over at the dash sensors for a reading of the outside temperature, 100 degrees and rising. It was still early in the morning and it could easily reach a 120 or more by midday.

Just another day in the Outworld, he mumbled.

Looking down over the terrain, just a few meters below his Hover, he watched the wind swirl the tall brown grasses, snapping away the dry tips. The wind also sent up even more dust.

Feeling curious, he lifted the double visor of his helmet to 'catch the wind' of the Outworld. Immediately his nostrils constricted from the assault of hot and dusty unfiltered air. He found himself involuntarily coughing and trying to hold his breath at the same time. It may, technically, have the same oxygen content … but damn … damn it!

Slapping the visors back into place, his eyes watering and his nose congesting from the dusty assault, he checked his Cooler. It was a slender tubular device fitting in the small of his back, which drew in outside air, extracted the heat, filtered the dust and enabled him to breath comfortably. A combination heat pump / air purifier the techs called it. Turning the drainage valve, a small quantity of dust fell into his gloved hand.

Damn, I've already got infiltration! It's going to be a real duster today. I'll be cleaning this damn filter every hour at this rate.

He scanned the horizon and began to consciously listen to the voices of the other two Security teams cruising on either side of his Hover.

Nothing to report. No contact. He was used to these long, boring Wide Patrols, patrols in which he saw nothing but the shifting grass and felt nothing but the buffeting winds. But this patrol was different. This special five man Security patrol in three Hovers were not here to protect, but to seek.

To seek a Nomad.

Nomad.

The name said it all. A wanderer with no home, something that just drifted across the desolation. But, to the occupants of the Dome it meant more … Not-human … No-man … Nomad. Subhuman mutants is more like it, he thought.

Supposedly they were remnants of the human race from the Before Time, the time before the 'Change'; when the world was covered with people … people who actually lived out here and breathed this air. But those people were gone … gone for generations now.

Now only the Nomads lived here. Solitary, silent, and ignorant mutes who seemed to wander this arid frontier as loners or sometimes with a mate. The techies had told him once that Nomads lost their ability to speak from exposure to these harsh elements. Over the centuries they had deteriorated into a very simple life form completely consumed with survival, not capable of mentally or socially developing.

There was simply no humanity left in them … just existence.

But they were good hunting.

Daniel did not know where it had begun, it had been long before he had joined Security maybe even long before he was born.

It was probably the damn boredom, he thought, I know I'm always trying to find something … anything to stay awake.

Originally, the Wide Patrols (called Long Range Hovercraft Protection in the early days) were designed to find and intercept bands of derelicts. In the earliest days of the Dome, the derelicts were people who sought refuge in the Dome and some, as they were all taught, had even attacked the Dome to gain entry.

Security's mandate was clear-cut: Intercept-Protect-Eliminate. All derelicts, and anyone not belonging to the Dome and the Company was a derelict, were to be eliminated … every last one.

It must have worked, as there had not been a sighting of a derelict in generations. But the Board still insisted on patrols … wider, ever more vigilant patrols. Patrols that were vigilant at seeing nothing … because there was nothing but this dried-out grassland to

So when the first Nomads were sighted, a new pastime evolved. The Hunt. Security patrols would hunt Nomads.

I mean, after all, thought Daniel, here we are, in the big middle of nowhere, with nothing to do but look at this shell of a landscape. We have the Hovers, we have our motion trackers and launchers … what are we supposed to do with all this stuff? Cruise around? At least when we hunt Nomads it gives us something to do. What the hell … it's not like they're people or …

Motion! The voice startled him back to the job at hand. Contact, Captain! came another voice.

Bearing. The Captain, Daniel, spoke the command softly into the mouthpiece of his headset.

In the grass, Captain…

Damn these new cadets! Cadet … we are hovering in a virtual sea of grass enveloped in a swirl of dust. Could you possibly be more specific?

Yes, sir … ten degrees to starboard. On the ground … moving under the grass.

The Captain looked to his right. His own motion detector was now picking up a faint signal. If the Nomad had just not moved they would probably have flown right over him.

Okay, the Captain spoke slowly and deliberately. Remember this is not a Hunt. We need a live Nomad, not a corpse! Understood?

Silence.

Understood? the Captain repeated firmly.

Understood, Captain! came an almost instantaneous reply from one Hover followed closely by, Yes, sir, Captain … capture, not hunt, from the second.

I'll watch the back door. Herd the Nomad!

With that command the two hovercrafts moved to take up flanking positions on either side of the motion blip on their screens. The Captain placed his Hover in the center and back from the other crafts, forming an inverted triangle.

Motion! He's on the move!

Glancing at his screen, Daniel could see the Nomad was running … actually running in this heat … to his left toward the first Hover. The Hover dropped to grass level, shredding the brown tips of the grass with the updraft from the undercarriage propellers. The stabilizers on each corner of the craft turned their small engines down to hold the Hover in place.

Stay with him … he's going to ground! No sooner had the words escaped the Captain's lips than the blip disappeared in the blur on the screen created by the wash of the Hover.

The second Hover veered toward the first, trying to use its motion sensor to watch for movement beyond the Hover wash.

Where is he? came the voice from second Hover.

The Captain brought his Hover about to the right sharply, making a wide arch away and to the right of the second Hover. He had seen this before, the Nomad was forcing the Hovers to come too close to one another blocking their respective sensors and essentially rendering the Security personnel blind.

Yeah, like these creatures know what a sensor is … animal instinct that's all … evasion of a predator.

The Captain completed his turn and tipped the equilibrium of his Hover as far to the left as it could go without stalling his props. This caused the Hover to vibrate violently, straining against imbalance, but it also gave the Captain a clear view of the grassland below it.

Forget the Motion Sensor, he thought, look … really look.

In that instant, the Nomad seemed to explode out of the grass, from the ground between the large stalks where he had been crawling. There he was … running away from the two Hovers with their Security cadets, fixated on their screens … screens which were blocked by their own technology.

You'd almost think they did know…

The Nomad was a male. An easy determination to make given he was naked.

Nomads were always naked; there had never been a recorded case of one having anything even resembling clothes. The Nomad was dark, as they all were, a brown-reddish complexion with long black hair.

Seeing the Captain's Hover, the Nomad must have realized he could not cross the open space to the rise and escape. He dove back into the tall grass where he seemed to simply disappear into the darkness near the ground.

Gentlemen, the Captain spoke softly, If you could extract yourselves from one another I believe your Nomad is over here. Were you people sleeping the day they taught search patterns?

Sir … yes, sir!

As the two hovercraft swung about, the Security cadet operating the second Hover over accelerated his throttle, pumping his companion's Hover.

Watch out! You want to rupture my tanks??

Gentlemen … the Nomad. If you please…

Yes, sir! Searching, sir!

Try looking out your window occasionally, cadets. These creatures may be primitives but they are fast and elusive. They live here … we don't. Don't underestimate them.

The hovers formed up for another search sweep as Daniel fell into place behind them. The grass whipped violently as they hovered a few meters above their tips. The down draft from the hovers briefly flattened the tall grass, almost to the ground. As they cruised the Captain noticed something…

Gentlemen. Sensors.

Nothing, sir.

Stop.

The Hovers almost instantly paused and levitated in place above the sea of dry grass.

Look, cadets.

Nothing, sir.

With your eyes, damn it. Don't rely completely on the motion sensor.

There at the base of the grass, covered by the flattening reeds, motionless, almost indistinguishable from the red dust which covered him … the Nomad.

Got him, sir!

As if he had heard the comment, the Nomad bolted. Springing to his feet and racing away through the grass toward a small hill to the left of the search.

Position nets, Daniel commanded, keeping his eyes of the fleeing Nomad. Net launch in position, came the reply from one of the Hovers.

Nets away! With the command, spheres were ejected from the front panels of the two hovercrafts. Propelled by compressed air, the spheres unfolded to reveal a net of fine loops with small weights around its perimeter. The nets closed rapidly on the Nomad as he began to scamper up the rise of open ground, his feet disappearing in the loose red soil with each step.

Just then, all three hovers were rocked by a violent down blast of wind. Daniel glanced over to his temperature gauge … the exterior temperature had risen several degrees.

Temperature shift! Sirocco! Steady your craft.

The wind burst flattened the grass and sent one of the nets crashing harmlessly to the ground. The remaining net just managed to catch the ankles of the Nomad. The Nomad fell forward and then tumbled backward down the rise, covering him in red dust.

One of the Hovers landed. The other circled to flank the Nomad near the crest of the rise, blocking any escape.

Security Cadet Cain lifted the hatch of his hover and emerged from the craft in his silver survival suit, mirror visor down to protect his eyes from the glare as well as the dust and heat. Even in his suit, outside the protection of the hover, he could feel the intense heat on the skin of his suit, the dust belting it from the small wind swirls about him.

He had never set foot in the Outworld before; it seemed a strange and frightful place.

He walked quickly and deliberately toward the cloud of dust where the Nomad had fallen, his right hand briefly touching the launcher in its hip holster.

His mind was racing … a capture … and on my first patrols … kudos and recommendations to be sure.

The Nomad was in a heap at his feet, breathing very hard with his face to the ground … his naked body covered in red dust, the net about his feet.

As Cain bent down to secure the Nomad with wrist restraints he noticed, for just an instance, that the net did not seem all that tight…

It happened in an instant.

Leaping to his feet the Nomad reached up, grasped the release for both visors and shoved the visors open. Cain screamed. The sudden burst of one hundred plus degree air burnt his face and seemed to sear his lungs. The dust was almost an afterthought. He could not seem to breathe … the air was too thick … too hot! Collapsing to his knees, Cain frantically slammed his visor back into position.

Coughing, he looked up the hill. In just a few seconds the Nomad had dived under the flanking hover and was almost to the crest of the rise. He paused for second … it seemed longer … at the crest and looked back. Cain thought he saw a smile on the savage's face. Reflectively, his launcher was in his hand.

Cadet! No! shouted the Captain as he accelerated his hover toward the cadet.

But, before the No could register, Cain squeezed the trigger / igniter of the launcher. True to its name, the hand held device launched a small explosive tipped rocket. With no recoil, the projectile flew straight and true.

It impacted the Nomad in the small of his back, just as he turned to run … had he not stopped there would not have been time for Cain to aim and launch. The explosion was small but lethal. Its intensity lifted the Nomad into the air. The blast, almost instantly cauterizing the wound and imparting a massive shock, smashed internal organs and shattered vertebrae.

The Nomad was dead before he hit the ground.

Did you see that? I got him? I got my first Nomad! On my first patrol! Cain was exuberant. No one else could have snatched victory so easily from the verge of defeat … his career in Security was guaranteed!

He ran to the body of the Nomad and flipped the corpse upon its back.