Alarmingly Strange Stories
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Part Two The market place in the City seemed like a busy hornet's nest: hundreds of people carrying their possessions underneath their arms or strapped around their necks bouncing from storefront to storefront, each peacefully minding its own business. The C.S.A. were everywhere, at every corner of the market place, their photon blasters in their hands prepared to do whatever damage needed. I had changed course, directing the telepod for Newark, the actual spot where the massacre at the Renoir had taken placed -- I had to lie Tommy or he wouldn't let me leave the dome. I stepped off the telepod and onto a battered sidewalk. There were a few farmers I knew who were at the market place buying harvest food for their crops as well. One of them was Chester Preston. He was hoisting a load of power cells onto his telepod. I never really liked Chester: always snooping around, asking questions for the C.S.A., I guess you could call him a C.S.A. snitch. As I drew closer to the market place I took careful note of his dog, Kane, sitting steadfast at Chester's side and baring its teeth. "Quiet dog!" He growled at the huge animal. "Alfred, have you any new stories to tell your comrade?" He asked me. "No, No sir, Mr. Preston. Come by to pick up some crop grower. The harvest won't wait, you know." "I hear that," Chester replied. "What are your thoughts concerning the bombing of the Renoir last night. Or did you hear about it at all. I 'm sure you’ve already seen all the destruction." He asked me, one hand slowly stroking Kane, the other pointing at the ruins around the market place. He seemed to be waiting for the wrong answer to come from my lips. "I hate violence," I told him, grimacing. "Well sometimes you need violence to fight violence. If you don't fight back, those bastards will take over the City," Chester replied angrily, grinding his teeth, the muscles in is face twittering. "What's left of the City, that is, " I grumbled softly, moving towards the grower section of the market. Chester grumble something at me then went on with his own business, finally leaving me in peace. I found the crop grower I needed and a few software packages for Tommy and quickly left. Part Three Crop robots were flying over the crops, spraying the crop grower that I had purchased from the market place. I watched as thick grower clouds slowly descended upon the crops, slowly blanketing the harvest. The crop sensors were beaming, acknowledging the crop's appreciation. Outside the dome was a whole different picture. Nightfall was advancing quickly. The last of the red giant's blazing luster was fading in the horizon. Enormous cumulus clouds, brimming of toxic acid, were vomiting their poisons down upon the impenetrable dome. I could hear the fizz of the acid rain dancing on the dome and the rumbling of thunder. With a drink (whiskey and soda water) in my hand, I sat peacefully in my soft chair, slowly getting plastered, watching the harvest, the dome, the lights, the clashing lighting, the sounding thunder. But for only a moment as I was interrupted by the clang of metal, and the complaints of joints. "Sir, if I may?" "Yes?" I asked. "There are a couple of men in battle armor, with photon guns, asking to speak with the master of the dome. Should I let them in?" Tommy said. "C.S.A.?" "No." "Sure," I said. I must admit that I was worried a bit. Who in their right mind teleports in an acid storm, as bad as this one, unless it was very important. The soldiers had planned well ahead. As I got closer to their teleports, I noticed they were wearing deflective membranes over their armor. They were well protected from the acid rain, or for that matter, from any other dangers. "Comrade, my name is Spark. This here," pointing to his buddy next to him, "is Dr. Madi. We've come to ask for your help." The red haired man then pulled a round of photons cells out from his belt and rammed them into his firearm. "Me and my friends wish to spend the night here, until the storms pass; I don't believe our deflector shields will hold out for very much longer in it. We're asking only for shelter. We have our own food." "Army regulars?" I think that was one of the dumbest questions that I had ever asked. By the clothing he was wearing, I could plainly see that he wasn't military. And the rifles in their hands weren't standard arms used by the military. "No, of course not," he laughed at me. "We're part of the City's work force. We use the blasters," he said, brandishing the firearm at me, "to break up the unwanted crystals that build up under the City's dome." He took a puff off his cigar, squinting at me . I knew he was lying to me. I wasn't that stupid, maybe a little ignorant, but not stupid. "I'm really sorry, but you see I have no room in ---" but before I could finish my sentence, Spark rudely jabbed his rifle in my face. An evil smile was appearing on Dr. Madi's face. "Let us in, now!" Spark growled at me, his rifle still stuck in my mouth. He then jerked his head back to yell, "Come on!" His long red hair, like unruly weeds growing from the top of his head, slapped my face. I stepped back, trying to speak through the gun in my mouth, "Come-- inside -- Tommy will set up a place for you and Dr. Madi to sleep for the night. But tomorrow, you and Mr. Madi, and the rest of the work force must leave. I am having some City delegates over tomorrow to discuss the harvest's progress," I lied to him. He was lying to me so it seemed all right that I lie right back. Hell, he might even be encouraged to leave tonight. "We will see these delegates to their graves, crop man, then we will leave." Spark pulled the gun from my mouth, motioning for the rest of the men to follow him inside. They were huge monsters, eleven of them, striding into my humble home. One of the so-called workers grunted at me as he entered. I just smiled.

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