Rhodoreef

14. The Feral Humans

Bloodshot eyes bulged from sockets nested in bags of dry skin. The face was so flabby, it might have been that of an obese walrus. Dea knew the man was trouble even before he flashed a leery smile. Feral human!

The human lumbered a few steps forward, uttering a string of gruff words. A scream built up in her chest akin to a volcano poised to erupt. Dea jerked the Cypod back and plunged a hand into the backpack on her lap. Her frantic fingers jabbed at the ogi inside. The Merlingo app loaded, and the earpiece beeped when she activated real-time translation.

He spewed out a few more words, and Merlingo translated them in her ear with a minor lag, "What are you doing out here, infant?"

Infant? It's a lesser-known human language, you silly gull! Of course the translation's not always accurate. She kept backing away, inch by inch, while her eyes fixated on the man. Coconut fronds rustled overhead, and muted percussion throbbed like a war drum from the factory building. Her hand closed over the pocket knife. Don't make sudden moves. Slowly...

"Fine chair you got there. Never seen anything like it." He took another step towards her. "Aw, don't run away."

Now! Dea spun around, wheels clattering on asphalt. Her heart hammered a violent beat in her chest, and adrenaline pulsed, flooding her system. She barely gained a meter before another human jumped out of a bush, cutting her off. She shrieked and lashed out with the pocket knife.

When she whirled around and fled, her mind had a nanosecond to register an angry red line on the second man's cheek, accompanied by an equally angry howl. It took her a second more to realize that she was barreling through the open maw of the building—into the dusk within. Human figures let out exclamations and attempted to pursue her.

Stacks of crates and black tarp flew by in a blur. The yells behind her gave way to rhythmic booms of machinery that reverberated off the walls. The sinister aura, aggravated by the heaviness in the air, seeped into her very soul and fueled her panic. Within minutes, the Cypod's momentum sent her hurtling down a corridor, its walls a dirty charcoal grey.

The sonar! Use it to find an exit! That opening can't be the only way in and out of this place. Dea skidded to a halt, avoiding collision with a crate by a hair's breadth. She inhaled noisily and tasted a concoction of molecules in the air. Her brain discerned faint notes that registered as rust. When she recovered a semblance of calm, her eyes sought the ogi, its soft glow barely penetrating the gloom. She used it to fire out ultrasonic clicks. The unmistakable form of an exit showed up on the feed.

Let's go, let's go! She raced towards it, wheels spinning lightning fast. The Cypod's whir echoed in the dank space, and the wetness on the floor gleamed under intermittent lighting. As Dea rounded a corner, her gaze landed on industrial doors that broke the monotony of the wall. This was her escape. Freedom lay beyond. A weight coalesced in her chest, aching for release.

She tamped down the sob, dashed up to the door and unbolted it. The metal oozed iciness into her skin as she yanked at the handles with all of her strength. When the door opened, spilling in blinding light, she experienced elation akin to leveling up in Empire Ocean.

Dea burst out into the open, squinting against the brightness. Then she slowed down to get her bearings.

The place appeared to be a dock, where damp concrete met the chaos of crates, tarp and cargo vehicles. Obstructing the ocean view was a steel hulk of a ship, rigid geometry giving it the appearance of a floating factory. Next to it were its minions—smaller vessels smothered with lines and unsightly metal.

Is this some kind of port then? Dea's eyes darted to the chain-link fence that marked the property's perimeter, beyond which was a line of shrubs forming a second barrier. At the farthest point of the fence, she could just make out a broken edge. She rolled the Cypod into action and whizzed to it. The hole wasn't big enough to squeeze through, but her multi-tool knife made short work of the wire.