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Terry, consulting a map and a compass he pulled from his backpack, proposed a route. “The ship stopped functioning twenty-five kilometers south of Rafha, and the crash, with the speed we were going, must have taken us another five east. If we head north and correct westward, we’ll reach the settlement by dusk.”
However, Khalid’s sudden declaration cut the discussion short. “Too late for plans. They’re coming for us.”
Khalid, with his desert-trained vision, had spotted distant clouds of dust moving toward them, just behind the dunes and the heat’s mirage, distorting the image like water.
“Are we just going to sit here and let them capture us?” Hypatia asked in horror and disbelief, anxiously tapping her electronic bracelet in a desperate attempt to make it work.
As the survivors debated their possible actions, the cloud of dust from the west became clearer—figures on camels were approaching.
Suddenly, strange sounds surrounded them, like stones striking the ground and wreckage. Soon, the distinct buzzing in the air followed, when something traveled faster than the speed of sound. They exchanged looks—everyone knew what this meant. It was something they had seen in old movies, but never imagined they would experience in reality. They were being fired upon by ancient firearms.
“Quick, everyone inside the ship!” Terry shouted in terror. His heart raced, and adrenaline coursed through his veins.
The four of them rushed inside the wreckage, stumbling over debris. But the thin and light hull wasn’t enough to protect them. Bullets whizzed past, one grazing Khalid’s arm—thankfully, only a surface wound. He clutched the wound, panicking as his suit stained red, until he realized it wasn’t serious.
“Khalid, Hypatia, take the far back seats and curl up,” Alexander ordered with an urgent tone. “Terry, place Tariq in the front left, and I’ll put Sophia on the right. Their bodies will shield us.”
After positioning the androids as makeshift shields in front of them, they crouched low in the middle seats, unable to do much else. The bullets tore into the mechanical bodies, exposing wires and mechanisms hidden beneath synthetic skin and clothes. The air filled with the smell of burning circuits and synthetic flesh.
Terry, who had interacted with Sophia for years as though she were a friend, was struck by the sight. Seeing her now, lifeless and used as mere protection, shocked him profoundly.
Hypatia, her face etched with horror and her hands trembling, voiced the question on everyone’s mind: “Why do they want to kill us?”
Khalid, knowing the harsh realities of the desert all too well, answered with brutal honesty. “Life in the desert is extremely hard. They want to loot the wreckage, and they’ll search for food and water. We’re just excess weight.”
“Isn’t it a bit paradoxical that they have QEMP technology and yet resort to such methods?” Alexander mused as the gunfire continued.
“I don’t think they’re Insurgents,” Terry replied, troubled. “I fear things are much worse.”
The chill that ran down their spines in this grim scene grew even more unsettling. The possibility that the attackers were desert marauders made the reality of their survival plan seem worse than their worst fears. They knew all too well: it was better to die than to be taken alive by them.
The pounding of hooves grew closer, and Alexander risked a quick glance outside. “There are about twenty of them, as far as I can tell,” he informed them.
The marauders wore tattered, pale-colored clothing, their heads and faces wrapped in scarves to protect against the unforgiving sun. It was clear that their outfits were stolen—nothing matched, and the worn garments were a mix of old military uniforms and civilian clothes, all ragged and frayed. The camels they rode were equally rough, with thick, dusty hides and a wild, menacing demeanor. Their soft feet thudded into the sand, adding to the tension of the scene.
“Stay low,” Khalid urged. “If we survive this, we might be able to negotiate.”
Sensing his companions’ terror, Terry tried to calm them. “Everything will be alright,” he said, his voice carrying a fragile certainty. “We have supplies to offer them, and they’ll leave. They’re only shooting because they fear we might be armed.”
Terry’s hand instinctively went to his wrist. Beneath the sleeve of his suit, he felt the bracelet Ria had given him for luck. He held it tightly, closing his eyes for a moment, picturing her reassuring smile. The thought of seeing her again, of surviving this ordeal and returning to her, gave him a renewed sense of resolve. “Hold on, Ria,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll make it back to you.”
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