The rigs were small, but loud. The desert wind carried the sound to the alien installation, or “infestation” as the captain called it. They hoped the aliens’ unfamiliarity with Earth would excuse a distant grinding. Not that human activity ever concerned the aliens, their egos assuring them that humanity was no bigger a threat to their operation than the desert snakes. Even after their skirmishes in Los Angeles nothing changed. The humans packed bodies into helicopters and abandoned their stand against the alien bucket brigade. Maybe the aliens noticed one of those bodies wasn’t human, or maybe they didn’t. “You still got your eyes on ‘em, Billy?” another driller asked the captain over the radio. “I see ‘em. Just doing their walkabouts, as usual.” The Special Forces group tried to settle their nerves. They’d heard the radio chatter, rumors the bearantulas had rumbled through an abandoned Fort Irwin on their way to the Goldstone Deep Space Communications Complex, where they melted the support beams of the big radio telescopes.
