“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Twenty-Six”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

The research center at Argyre Planitia was purposefully located in a region where active colonies on Mars would not interfere with the work of its academic staff. Scientists and engineers were always busy. The arc of discovery here was steep. Those who first appeared on transport ships from Old Earth found the location to be lonely and isolated. But with the evolution of a social order transplanted from another place, soon there were changes occurring out of necessity. Outdated concepts such as property rights, unlimited self-expression, and violence were jettisoned. The result was a seamless, homogenous blend of cooperation and respect for unanimity. Once this new order had been sired by those on the forefront, their creed quickly took hold all across the Red Planet. Dissent was considered to be detrimental for making progress, as a group. People soon found themselves transformed, through reeducation, or a cerebral process of realignment, when necessary. Those who could not ultimately adapt were banished. Like a virus, they were eliminated for the greater good.

 

The Hidecki Wellness Chair became a cornerstone of this quantum leap to a higher plane of human existence. Yet its reputation on more distant worlds was mixed.

 

Dr. Judson Baines had little formal knowledge about this treatment device, because information regarding its use was tightly held. Mentions of the specific regimen were rare in medical journals, and rarer still in regular media posts. So, when he arrived at the secure facility, a measure of curiosity swelled in his brain.

 

At the Argyre outpost, ReTrainer Fargo Bolden was the chief officer in charge. He had been master of the clinic for more than 20 cycles, an eternity in the truncated history of his species at its new home. During that time, he had been able to amass a stunning amount of data from observing patients. His success rate in producing obedient, useful citizens through the methodology of psycotronic conditioning was impressive. But none of his subjects had been so notable before their entry to the program, as a dislocated university professor. Having someone with such a developed intellect presented an exciting challenge. And perhaps, an opportunity to earn praise from fellow members of the technical community.

 

Baines had needed medical care onboard the Morningstar III for several weeks. During the extended period, his personal grooming had been abandoned. This detour left him with the shaggy appearance of an outworlder, and outcast. But now, with his consciousness restored, he felt ready to revive the pursuit of scholarship. The electrified recliner made him slightly uncomfortable, with its safety restraints and cross-temple harness. Yet as the energy pods lowered around the sides of his skull, he felt a surge of warmth and comfort.

 

Fargo spoke with the gentle voice of a physician making a bedside call. He was dressed in the tan, monotone garb of a lab assistant. But carried a single, stylized stripe and crest on one shoulder, that indicated his position as the chief of operations.

 

“This is a privilege, sir! I thank you for agreeing to visit my clinic...”

 

The professional geek found this greeting to be strangely amusing. He tugged at his reddish beard, while attempting to get comfortable.

 

“Agreeing? When the hell did that happen?”

 

His attending doctor grimaced slightly.

 

“This is a volunteer clinic. Not a jailhouse. A place of higher learning, and if possible, gaining higher function for our patients...”

 

Baines sensed the soft rhythm of a pulse cycle beginning to penetrate his bone mass. This energy beam relaxed him, immediately. His limbs went flaccid. He drooled and whispered, almost falling asleep.

 

“Higher function? How do you measure that quantity?”

 

ReTrainer Fargo twisted an oversized dial on his control console. A virtual whirring of cascading cycles grew louder. This formed a wave pattern on his monitor, which had been set to match a predetermined oscillation curve.

 

“Steady now, sir, Steady! This clinic is my proudest achievement. Though in truth, I owe a debt of gratitude to the Australian immigrant who set things in motion, a century ago. He was exceedingly brilliant. And quite humane, I might add. After the Great Uprising of our original homeworld, many were no so gentle with the needy. Our notions of medical science had become stalled. Here in the colonies, we have found the freedom to learn, and grow...”

 

A righteous pivot of the technician’s wrist sent Baines into a convulsion. Twin, bluish spheres were generated from the u-shaped cap around his head. He postured both hands, and gasped for air. Then, drifted into a deep, dark chasm of negation. His treatment period had been surprisingly brief. A curse dripped from his mouth, in droplets of oozing saliva. He refused to surrender without a mental battle for independence.

 

“You’re a motherfucker, Hidecki! A gawdamm motherfucker! Mother-fucker!”

 

Before the episodic cleansing could be completed, an aroma of sulfur filled the treatment chamber. A gray-white, protoplasmic mist appeared. From this portal, the shocking countenance of a woman emerged. Her sharp fingertips sparked with visual ire. Her long mane glowed around twin eyes that were red like hot coals. Cackling echoed from the depths of eternity.

 

Esmeralda Jonovic had once again slipped the bonds of her eternal punishment, to return and face the judgment of mortality.

 

“Y’ALL GOT SOME STONES, JUDDY! BY GOD, JUST LIKE YER GREAT-GRANDPA! THIS SON-OF-A-BITCH WANTS TO SCRAMBLE YER EGGS! AND DAMMIT, THE DEED IS JUST ABOUT DONE! BUT NOT QUITE, NOT JUST YET. HOLD ON, BOY! BY ALL THE CONFEDERATE GENERALS IN HELL, AND THE STINK OF SATAN, I’LL PULL YER ASS THROUGH! HOLD ON! HOLD ON TIGHT!”

 

Baines experienced a psychic rush that sent his pulse into a raging fit. This turn sent instruments on the medical console into alarm mode.

 

Fargo was confused. He could see nothing but a pale, emaciated individual writhing in the chair. Jonovic’s presence was invisible to him, as an observer.

 

“Steady now, steady! You’ll risk harm from fighting the cure! This clinic has a perfect record of helping those under our care. I don’t want a blemish on that roster. Let me complete my task, and be done!”

 

The dead militia queen hovered over her subject with the careful concern of a mother.

 

“STIFFEN UP THAT BACKBONE, SON! DON’T LET ‘EM TAKE YER BALLS! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT LIKE MY SOLDIERS DID, FOR PATRIOT GLORY! FIGHT FOR THE LOST CAUSE! FIGHT FOR VENGEANCE AND VICTORY! SCREW THOSE GOVERNMENT JACKALS! DON’T TREAD ON ME! DON’T TREAD ON MEEEEEEE!”

 

The Hidecki device began to shudder and smolder, as its work was halted. All of the gauges flatlined, suddenly. Then, the apparition from Hades vanished with the final gesture of a kiss.

 

“BE WELL, JUDSON! I’D LOTS RATHER STAY HERE WITH YOU THAN GO BACK TO THAT BORING OL’ DUDE IN THE PIT! BUT HE’S THE LORD OF SIN AND SHAME. BEELZEBUB RULES! I CAN FEEL HIS CLAWS AROUND MY NECK, RIGHT NOW. DAMN HIM! DAMN HIM BACK TO HELL!”

 

Silence fell upon the clinic with deafening force. All of the circuit connections had burned to a crisp. For the first time, ReTrainer Fargo had failed as a servant of the Martian state. He stood with his palms flat on the control console. His chest heaved with regret and remorse.

 

“By all the stars and planets in our cosmos, I hope the high council will forgive me!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Twenty-Five”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

Despite the vocal protest lodged by Dr. Becka Stoudt, there was no delay in the Morningstar III arriving at their space dock, above Mars. A sentry from one of the planetary colonies hailed the vessel as a courtesy. Yet no drama accompanied the reconnection. After completing a necessary maneuver to position the craft in its holding spot, crew members began to disembark. A team of logistical contractors quickly took over, from the supply depot. They had been assigned to asses stores of provisions, and the condition of Cloitanium energy cells that powered the C-drive engines. Everything would be topped off before the ship took on another mission between the outer worlds.

 

Commander Block bristled slightly, with a feeling of irrelevance. Though technically in charge, his continued presence seemed to serve no purpose.

 

Shortly after this process of rest and relaxation commenced, a medical team appeared, from the university branch at New Cleveland. A team of doctors crowded the sick bay, onboard, pushing orderlies and nurses aside. Their leader was a perky, junior physician from the academy, brimming with ambition. She did not hesitate to give commands to the staff, who immediately rolled gurneys into place, for transporting both Kelly Strafe and Judson Baines off of the craft.

 

Dr. Stoudt was irritated enough by this brash show of force to let her discipline slip. She stomped her foot while blocking access to the ward.

 

“I HAVEN’T GOTTEN ANY ORDERS ABOUT SHIPPING OUT MY PATIENTS! DO YOU PEOPLE CARRY THE PROPER CLEARANCE? I WON’T JUST LET YOU BARGE IN HERE AND START KNOCKING THINGS AROUND!”

 

Health Administrator Jerri Cole was amused by this naked display of resentment. Her white coat was clearly marked with the insignia of a regional, Martian council. Yet she attempted to smooth over the obvious dissent. Her green eyes were piercing and strong.

 

“Who are you? I’m sorry, Admiral Nauga signed off on this evacuation...”

 

The Morningstar doctor was livid, and insulted.

 

“I’M THE PRESIDING HEALER ON THIS SHIP, DAMMIT! YOU’VE DONE MORE THAN STEP ON TOES HERE, MISS! YOU’VE BROKEN OUR PROTOCOLS! I HAVE TO GIVE MY CONSENT TO ANY RELOCATION OF INDIVIDUALS!”

 

Cole wrinkled her pointy nose. She nearly laughed out loud.

 

“You’re the attending doctor? Hmm... I’m sorry to rush this operation. But we’ve been told to move along at a brisk pace. You’re free to contact the chain of supervisors if that is necessary...”

 

An emergency technician forced his way through the entrance, with a gruff snort of indifference.

 

“Pardon me, ma’am. Please clear this access lane!”

 

Stoudt was shoved sideways, until her shoulder rammed the door frame. She wheezed out a violent rush of air before catching her balance.

 

“YOU GAWDAMM IDIOT! IS THIS HOW INDEPENDENT WOMEN GET TREATED BY THE MILITARY?”

 

Administrator Cole smirked a bit, before offering an apology. Her round glasses sparkled with reflected light from instruments flashing in another room.

 

“Please, doctor, there’s no need for theatrics. These aren’t soldiers, our instructions come from the high council. I’m a member of the grand assembly. All of this has been coordinated with Admiral Corel Nauga. Reach out to him if you like...”

 

Commander Block emerged from a crowd in the hallway corridor. He had an expression of befuddlement over being neutered by the takeover crew.

 

“Doctor, please stand down. We’re in a holding pattern now. There’s nothing on our plate at the moment, we haven’t been dispatched for anything other than sitting still...”

 

His medical chief did not like being told to behave herself. She had never been a willing servant for government wonks, or their partners in the Space Force.

 

“HORNELL, YOU KNOW WHAT THEY INTEND TO DO WITH MY PATIENTS! YOU KNOW IT VERY WELL! PUT A STOP TO THIS, RIGHT NOW! USE THE POWER OF YOUR COMMAND!”

 

Her superior slouched at the thought of being overwhelmed by outside invaders.

 

“Have some decorum, will you? Address me formally when others are around. We’ve got traditions to preserve here...”

 

Dr. Stoudt shook her fist as if delivering a threat.

 

“NONSENSE! NONSENSE! NONSENSE! BLAST YOUR TRADITIONS! I’VE GOT A WOMAN AND A MAN UNDER MY CARE THAT ARE BEING KIDNAPPED, FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES! WHATEVER HAPPENS TO THEM WILL BE ON MY CONSCIENCE, AND YOURS! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? WE MIGHT WELL NEVER SEE THEM AGAIN!”

 

Cole fiddled with her spectacles, and smiled innocently.

 

“Doctor, you have no cause for alarm. The university hospital is very skilled at handling difficult issues with their patients. I expect Ms. Strafe to be back on this ship in the future, and able to resume her normal duties. Professor Baines will go back to teaching students. That has always been his first love...”

 

The Morningstar medic stood ramrod straight, with her arms crossed.

 

“NOT THEIR PATIENTS, DAMN YOU! MY PATIENTS!”

 

Block had turned pale. He knew that this emotional exchange of opinions was being monitored, remotely.

 

“Stand down, I say! Please! This has been put in motion by the admiral and his political allies in the ruling class. They’ve all been duly elected, and approved by citizens of the colonies. If you want, tag along with Kelly and Judson. I have no problem with that. Watch and learn about their treatment regimen. Maybe it’ll help your own career, who knows? I’ve got to stay put and oversee our upgrades and resupply efforts...”

 

Stoudt had reached the limit of her endurance. She turned to the health administrator, and bowed her head, deferentially.

 

“I could ride with you, to the planet surface?”

 

Cole sneered gently, but agreed.

 

“Of course. If you’ve got competent assistants here to maintain your operations, then I’d be glad to see you accompany our away team. The program at New Cleveland is really impressive. They’ve made great strides forward in medical science, just in the last five years. You’ll be impressed, I think!”

 

There was a long pause as the ward cleared for their mission to be completed.

 

Lieutenant Strafe was brought out first, by two members of the transport group. She had a dazed look of confusion and detachment that indicated her need for further attention. Slightly behind was Professor Baines, who coughed and groaned from the woes of his crash-landing on the flight deck. His hair and beard were ragged, dirty, and untrimmed.

 

“I saw a woman in my comatose state. Someone that T.C. Lincoln mentioned in his handwritten journals. A dead militia leader. I don’t know what that means, but it seems certain that she’ll be watching over me, no matter what happens. Don’t worry, doctor. Take care of yourself! And take care of our lieutenant!”

“Church Chime”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

My head rattles like a loose string on a Precision bass

Not wound tightly enough

Coiled coyly inside the case

But resonating

Loudly contemplating

What fret is the proper space

That I should occupy

With my digits dancing

Fancifully romancing

Excuse me while I kiss the sky

When I think of my amplifier trio

Buried under wrong-sized shirts and trousers

Hanging low

In the closet

It gives me pause to know

That I’ve waited so long for the opportunity

The chance chase of artistic immunity

That might deliver me from my lack of haste

Tonal touches

Played out in a progression of melodic rushes

They are clear enough to hear

Between my ears

Yet each time that I reach for those electrified strings

I tumble into a mess of things

Tapping keys

On my wordsmithing spree

In a home office, replete

With reams of text punched out, in black ink

Decidedly neat

Channeling what I think

A typewriter ribbon spooled

From a replacement set bought for a buck

A half-hearted rigging

To compensate for not having a catalog, for luck

The letter-blocks were set

I thought my aim was correct

Dark on top, red on the bottom

I had pondered this modification since the first day of autumn

With parts for a Royal KMM made after the war

Function following form

Dozing in my chair

I hear the squawk of an automotive horn

A neighbor out in the street

Seeking favor, willingly wanting to compete

With the audio feed I imagine to be legitimate

Imaginary, yet compelling

Sweetly echoing

As I crouch at the desk

Tempting fate with this silent petition

Which, on the inside is not nimble

Like the cautious push of grandma’s thimble

I can hear every note played

But the damned, notebook page

Is ungratefully blank

I have no one but myself to thank

For this error made

This smear of jelly and marmalade

Sticky down my chin

With butter and crumbs of toast

Should I defer to these symphonic scholars

Or wickedly boast

Of my intent?

I wanted to pluck out a three-chord, cowboy ditty

With lyrics borrowed from the mind of Walter Mitty

But here I sit

Failed and foolish, humming to be sure

That I caught the flash of a lightning bug

In the cork-stoppered confines of a cider jug

While tapping my foot

1-2-3-4

Toes flat on the kitchen floor

I look around wondering what awaits

Behind that hanging slate

With an inscription scribbled in chalk

A quote quipped during my morning walk

“Losers lament a currency unspent!”

To be free of riddles, perplexing and pointed

One must climb boldly over the rocks

To a testy ticking of cackling, cuckoo clocks

That is the method taught

Well described in professorial thought

And the liturgy of a priest on Sunday

While I whistled, low

At the truth he was about to bestow

Hands folded

So as not to be scolded

Meekly meeting with my peers

Wishing that instead of a church chime

I could make my compositions appear

But the moment is stilled

I am weak-willed

So, the shadow is cast

Through panes of stained glass

In another realm of reason, I must believe

That my song has been sung

And goodwill has been done

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Twenty-Four”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

The Morningstar III was a capable asset in the Mars fleet of interplanetary ships. Though surpassed by newer, more powerful transports, it still boasted enough capabilities to serve well as a component for everyday commerce and exploration. The one characteristic that set it apart from those designed by engineers of the Old Earth variety, was that the craft carried no weapons. The modern paradigm of thought throughout Martian colonies, and beyond, was that making war had become an obsolete concept. Members of the high council had long ago voted to embrace a sort of pacifist neutrality. Their desire was never to waste resources of any kind on killing each other, or new species that might be encountered. Free expression with civility was a foundational norm of their existence. To behave otherwise seemed repugnant, and counterproductive.

 

This mindset had been bred into every inhabitant of the outer worlds.

 

So, a mood of confusion and surprise was aroused, when Judson Baines found himself locked into his personal cubicle. When he tried to exit, an error message appeared on his com-link. An attempt to contact supervisory personnel produced similar results.

 

He had been cut off from other members of the crew by order of Commander Block.

 

For Kelly Strafe, the situation was different in nature. The bright, young recruit continued to manifest symptoms of a cranial injury. Something that had Dr. Becka Stoudt visibly concerned. Yet when methods of treatment were discussed, the prescription from other physicians at a clinic on the Red Planet was to have her once again sit in the Hidecki Wellness Chair.

 

Having the sidelined lieutenant forcibly isolated from her peers did not appear to be necessary. But access to the ward was now restricted to top-line members of the team.

 

Finally, Stoudt confronted their chief officer in a conference room located near the main control nexus, where navigation and command functions were handled routinely. Her voice cracked a bit, as she stood in the doorway.

 

“Hornell, I know this probably won’t do any good. But I’ve got to make my contribution.  Hear me out, at least. Let me waste my breath...”

 

The commander gestured for her to enter discretely. He had a look of irritation for the casual way she addressed him, when others in the corridor could hear.

 

“Doctor, use your manners! I’m in charge of this vessel, show some respect for my rank!”

 

His medical steward blinked and nodded.

 

“You know that I don’t answer to a military chain of command. That organizational purge happened after our species settled on the big, red rock. It’s part of keeping healers and soldiers independent from each other. You have your mission, and I have mine...”

 

Block sputtered and squinted, wanting to clear any extraneous emotions.

 

“We’re all part of the same social order. Just with different responsibilities. I would ask you to keep that in mind!”

 

Dr. Stoudt took a seat at the conference table. She could sense that her visit had been a mistake.

 

“You put my sick bay on lockdown. What’s the rationale for that? There are guards stationed at the main entrance. Guards with laser chargers! I’ve never seen anything like that on a Space Force vessel, or at any of our installations! It’s an outrage! Why break protocol, now?”

 

Her superior grinned noticeably. He did not attempt to hide his determination to avoid answering the question.

 

“I expected some kind of flak from you, over our U-turn and change of status. But I won’t debate the details. We’ve been given a new assignment. You might say, as a taxi for dignitaries. Admiral Nauga has decided to take your patients into protective custody. I don’t have the pay grade for arguing those kinds of issues. I hear, and I obey. We will arrive at the dock in about an hour, that’s noon when calculated in universal time...”

 

The professional healer slammed her palms on the cold, synthetic tabletop.

 

“PROTECTIVE CUSTODY? WHAT KIND OF NONSENSE IS THAT, HORNELL? IF YOU WANT TO BE A GOOD SOLDIER, THEN WHY DID YOU MASK MY STREAMING FEED, BEFORE? WHY COVER FOR ME JUST TO DO AN ABOUT FACE, TODAY?”

 

Block scratched the beard stubble on his chin. It had been a long day at the helm of their ship.

 

“If your actions were detected, that would have reflected negatively on my command. I can’t let doubts gather about my ability to operate this craft...”

 

Stoudt unbuttoned her laboratory coat. Her blood pressure was beginning to rise.

 

“So, that’s it? We travel back to our home base, and drop off Kelly and Judson like unloading containers from the cargo hold? You won’t experience a moment of guilt or introspection over their departure?”

 

Her military host raised his eyebrows, and breathed heavily.

 

“My opinions don’t figure into this, Becka. I don’t get paid to give advice. I get paid to accomplish designated tasks. Anything less will put me on the outside. I’ve been there before. It’s not a place that I care to revisit...”

 

Inexplicably, she felt a sudden urge to slap her opponent across the face. Her arm jerked reflexively, and caught him completely unprepared for the strike. It sent him backward in his roller chair. His cheek reddened from the impact.

 

“My goodness, doctor! I haven’t had a whack in the chops like that, since my divorce in colonial court. I hope it made you feel better! Be assured, it didn’t do much for my ex-wife with her suit to gain a legal separation. Though our magistrate was amused by my embarrassment...”

 

Dr. Stoudt slumped forward over the table. Now, she felt spent and exhausted.

 

“Another ride in that damned chair will ruin Kelly Strafe for good! And I can’t guess what will happen to the university geek. He’s got a strong intellect, but those electrode pods will scramble his brain cells. When it happens, there’ll be a burden of guilt waiting for you! I hope it isn’t too heavy for your shoulders, commander!”

 

Block tightened his jowls, and looked directly into her eyes. An expression of emptiness pooled in his gut. His humanity had been surrendered.

 

“You are dismissed, doctor. Thanks for providing your input!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Twenty-Three”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

After waking from his coma, Professor Judson Baines felt somewhat disconnected from the literal timeline of events surrounding his passage on the Morningstar III. He remembered being at Evergreen Estates, and doing a sort of archaeological dig through the ruins of that trailer enclave. And he could still recall attempting to pilot his Digger shuttle away from the isolated outpost. But what followed was a blur of semi-consciousness. Somehow, he had returned to the vessel from which this adventure began.

 

Left alone momentarily, in his bed on the medical ward, he decided to scroll through images on his storage tablet. There were numerous photographs from around the abandoned community of mobile homes he had visited. Additionally, there were scans of lengthy pages full of handwritten text. From a running memoir created by his great-grandfather.

 

To anchor himself mentally, he read through entries that had been scribbled during the conflict later dubbed as ‘The Great Uprising.’ Each word made him chill, and tremble while reading.

 

“At first, maybe I thought the reaction from Washington made good sense, you know? I never liked the MAGA types. They looked at things differently. Their rude manner turned my stomach. I like to live and let live. I don’t run in a pack, I’m a loner. One time, I read a quote that was attributed to a magician, a big dude named Penn Gillette. It said, ‘My take on being Libertarian is that I don’t know what is best for other people.’ That hit the bullseye for me, damn, damn, damn! I don’t run off at the mouth, because that shit can turn into action, and folks don’t necessarily like it when I express my opinions. They think tribally, left side or right side. Everything has to be pegged as one or the other. I say screw that! There’s only one neighborhood here, we’re all packed in like sardines. Nobody is special. Anyway, trying to quiet the blowhards was okay with me, until I realized that people were disappearing. Not just on those Larman boats headed to Mars, but to camps set up across the middle of this continent. The crackdown got worse than listening to those instigators. Like fat-ass Linn Speck, and his mawkish spouse, Haki. More than once, I wanted to swing my cane around, when they came to call. But things turned eerie when members of the old Jonovic militia started going away in handcuffs. Pretty soon, others got busted, rubes that just followed the parade. I don’t think they were guilty of anything but weak-mindedness. There’s always been plenty of that to go around at this junkyard oasis. I started thinking that the deputies might be knocking on my door, next. And when the rabble rousers all jumped on those transports, hitching a ride to the Red Planet, it got me thinking. Maybe they had the right idea. Maybe I was just too old and slow, and crippled, to catch the wave...”

 

Baines rubbed sweat from his eyes, and laid back on the high-sided bunk. His ancestor had received an epiphany, while getting inebriated on Tennessee whiskey. Now, a century later, his own brain was fully in sync.

 

They were headed back to the space dock above his homeworld, and eventually, another population center among the colonies. His fate had already been determined.

 

While he languished in the memories scribbled by his progenitor, Dr. Becka Stoudt appeared, with a compliment of instruments in her medical tote.

 

“Judson! You’ve emerged from the fog, I see. That’s a wonderful development! Kelly Strafe thought that she might have become disoriented, when you opened your eyes. Her reaction to your recovery was an episode of shock. I had to sedate her again, to guard against trauma. Perhaps you can speak with her tomorrow, or the next day...”

 

The university scholar put his wireless device aside. He yawned from fatigue, and stretched both arms until sensors on his monitoring array triggered an alarm.

 

“She said were headed back, on a return course to Mars. Is that right?”

 

Stoudt nodded and fiddled with an analgesic dispenser, at her patient’s bedside.

 

“Mmm hmm. That’s the current plan. Commander Block said that a greeting party will be on hand when we arrive. You and Kelly are to be... handed off to their rehabilitation staff.”

 

Baines stiffened under his blanket.

 

“He agreed to that? He approves?”

 

The managing physician sighed slightly, in response. Her white coat intensified the glare of overhead lights in the ceiling.

 

“He’s a soldier, Judson. They don’t get to argue, unless given permission...”

 

Her wounded cohort shrugged and breathed deeply. This made his ribs ache and throb.

 

“What about you, doc? What’s your opinion? Will they do any better sorting out what happened to us? Did you debate the point with Hornell Block, himself?”

 

His caregiver avoided offering details. Yet confessed her displeasure.

 

“I was advised... by someone I trust... to do just that. But I thought again, before going to see him in person. You know, there’s an intellectual difference between those who follow orders, and others who blaze a trail for themselves. It can be measured with a cranial scope. You see electrical patterns light up, in one brain hemisphere, or the other. I pondered that, this morning. It made me realize I was about to stumble into a black hole...”

 

The professional nerd frowned and clenched his fists.

 

“So, that’s it? You just accept the rules like he does? How is that different, Dr. Becka?”

 

Stoudt stroked her gray curls. She felt uncommonly cold, despite the forced-air ventilation in their ward.

 

“It’s different because I won’t just react on cue. Look, I can’t turn this ship around. And even if I could convince Commander Block that you’d both be better off staying under my care, he has no power to change minds at New Cleveland or Texas City. He’s a cog in the machinery. If there’s a solution, it’ll come from somewhere else. Maybe the egghead calculations of someone like you. Or, if Lieutenant Strafe is right, through an ancient tradition called prayer...”

 

The university instructor snorted and smiled. He was amused by her candor.

 

“PRAYER? ARE YOU JOKING, DOCTOR? DOESN’T THAT CONFLICT WITH YOUR BELIEF IN SCIENCE?”

 

The medical chief took hold of a bed rail, and stooped low enough to whisper.

 

“Judson, I don’t have an answer to this riddle. But I’ll take one, from wherever it appears. On a computer screen in my office, or the viewer of your personal tablet. Even in the reflection pool of our chapel, down the hallway from this treatment ward. Right now, what I believe in is finding a way to keep you out of Tonka Hidecki’s hideous chair! I’ll do anything to make that happen!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Twenty-Two”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

Caring for Kelly Strafe and Judson Baines presented more than medical challenges for Dr. Becka Stoudt. As lead physician of the Morningstar III’s medical ward, she was also struck by ethical conflicts raised from providing care for patients who were now being shipped back to their home terminal, on Mars. A place where judgment and punitive actions were likely to result. Though she was bound to follow instructions from her military hosts on the vessel, her concerns and theirs did not always sync, seamlessly.

 

Using a private channel, she reached out to the healing center at Texas City. There, an associate from past years was the chief officer, and director of operations.

 

Academic Master Lugar Koln had been one of her teachers at the school, many years before. Now, he had the status of an overseer. Someone who helped to guide their institution while avoiding the drama of day-to-day interactions with the chain of authority. He was semi-retired, and yet still respected within the planetary network.

 

The sound of her voice pleading across miles of outer space made him laugh, and tweak his trimmed, gray mustache. He had expected some kind of contact, after hearing that the duo of controversial figures, the lieutenant and professor, had been placed under her watch.

 

“Becka, I am an old man. You could do better for cutting-edge advice. But, tell me what you need to know. I’m glad to still feel useful, at least...”

 

Stoudt smoothed her uniform tunic, and huddled at her work station. She spoke in a hush, as a defensive measure.

 

“Lugar, we’ve been ordered to stand down here, and come back to the Red Planet. What happens after that is above my need-to-know level. But I am guessing that the contraption made by Tonka Hidecki will be involved. I’ve never seen it in use, but the reports are horrendous. Ms. Strafe is suffering from cranial injuries. Her brain function has been affected, almost as if she had a concussion! What do you know about the evolution of that dreadful machine?”

 

Dr. Koln sighed and sat upright in his office chair.

 

“I know that Hidecki committed suicide after his invention was confiscated by our acting government. Shortly after the first colonial assembly was formed...”

 

The Morningstar physician gasped and covered her mouth with one hand.

 

“SUICIDE? THAT ISN’T IN ANY OF OUR TEXTBOOKS!”

 

Her mentor nodded at the viewscreen, and crouched closer to his keyboard.

 

“Of course not. It’s an embarrassing footnote. Officially, he was praised for helping to advance the cause of science. His wellness chair became a primary tool to quietly eliminate dissent among the colonies...”

 

Stoudt felt her eyes burning. She cursed under her breath.

 

“HOW WAS THAT ALLOWED TO HAPPEN?”

 

The aging doctor shrugged and folded his arms while pondering.

 

“It’s more complicated than you might think, Becka. Earth stained our species with some bad habits. They were reborn here shortly after the first travelers arrived. It’s in our DNA, to arouse conflict and make war with each other. Some saw that as a sort of birth defect, a characteristic that needed to be nullified. Hidecki’s marvel made it possible. Those in charge felt that it was more humane than imprisonment. It’s a subject still debated in clinics across the outer worlds...”

 

His erstwhile pupil began to tremble. Her chest tightened with anxiety.

 

“DEBATE? OVER WHAT? IT’S EVIL TO JUSTIFY THOSE TREATMENTS WITH THE DISCIPLINE OF MEDICINE!”

 

Dr. Koln smiled with affection.

 

“There was disagreement among scholars and academics. Some of us, like myself, spoke out in defense of leaving the natural order of things alone. But others thought that perhaps we dissidents should also be mentally realigned by the chair. A frightening prospect...”

 

Stoudt flushed red and swelled with defiance.

 

“REALIGNED? IT TOOK YEARS OF STUDY TO LEARN WHAT WE KNOW!”

 

Her benefactor from the academy nodded again. It was painful to reconsider such old memories.

 

“We let it go, Becka. I let it go. I had a nice career helping people in need. Treating sickness and injury, and the debilitating effects of aging...”

 

His former student could only manage to take short, shallow breaths. Her head felt dizzy.

 

“You acquiesced to making a trade-off. Cooperation substituted for ethical integrity. How does that make you feel now, old friend? Can you look in a mirror?”

 

Koln bowed his head and winced, as if being stabbed in the gut.

 

“I did what was necessary. Just as you will do, very soon...”

 

Dr. Stoudt shrieked and threw her health scanner across the cubicle.

 

“Lugar, that’s where we are from different generations. I won’t just surrender my patients on cue. Somehow, someway, I am going to refuse!”

 

The weathered medical professional laughed out loud at this note of rebellion. He was proud of her courage, but knew that in the end, non-compliance would be impossible.

 

“Your ship has already turned around. It won’t take long to get back to Mars. There are soldiers waiting at the space dock. You don’t have a choice, Becka. Don’t make it hard on yourself...”

 

His counterpart from the Morningstar seethed with unexpressed rage. Yet she stayed focused on her task.

 

“You can help me, old friend. You’ve been through all the corridors of power. Tell me what I need to do when they board this craft. How do I make my stand?”

 

Koln closed both eyes, and reflected on his own journey through the medical curriculum at their original campus outside of New Cleveland. He longed to be younger again, and more active in his work.

 

“I used to be like you, Becka. On fire for the cause, you know? The Hippocratic Oath meant everything to me, to do no harm. But I’m tired now, old and tired...”

 

Dr. Stoudt was insistent. She would not relent.

 

“TELL ME! HOW CAN I RESCUE MY PATIENTS? I WON’T JUST HAND THEM OVER TO ADMIRAL NAUGA AND HIS GOON BRIDAGE!”

 

Her trusted adviser had turned pale. He scratched his chin, and leaned forward, over the data console.

 

“You need an ally, onboard. Commander Block has already shielded your communications stream. He must have a storm brewing in his heart. Guilt can gnaw the soul out of a man! Go to him, and offer your plea. Reason with him. Make that soldier understand what completing his next assignment will mean – spending an eternity laboring under the weight of his own cowardice!”

Nobody Reads This Page – “Leaving Here”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

The victory on Election Day by Donald J. Trump was an event described as both improbable and historic, by pundits across the nation. These terms were first used in 2016 to detail a mood of shock at his upset of Hillary Clinton. But they resonated even more loudly, today. Every accepted norm about political life in America has seemingly been broken by this controversial figure. He was adored by some on the right, though many of the Republican tribe openly expressed their opposition to his candidacy in 2024. Counterparts across the aisle have perhaps never despised anyone so vigorously. Even Goldwater, Nixon, and George W. Bush, who all drowned in waves of negative opinion, are pale by comparison. The Orange Man evokes hateful, descriptive words such as ‘fascist’ or ‘Nazi’ with great ease. Yet like the creature of a distant Star Trek episode, he feeds on those rebukes. Becoming stronger and more persistent with each confrontation.

 

I expected a tsunami of such emotions to flow, upon the announcement by major news networks that he had won out across our nation. Predictably, it did not take long for swastikas and Klan symbols to appear in posts on social media platforms, tagging him as a demon bent on destroying our safe haven of democracy. But many neighbors and members of my family responded in a different fashion, offering notes of applause and celebration. Notifications on my cell phone chirped away, throughout the wee hours. Cheers and jeers multiplied, as we approached the sunrise on Wednesday morning.

 

I did not support Trump on his quest in any way. So, suffering through a multitude of posts about personal grief over his return felt masochistic. I put my wireless device aside, and reached for a strong cup of coffee. Yet a day later, I noticed that some contacts in the cyber realm were offering details of their plans to exit the nation, altogether.

 

Canada, the United Kingdom, Spain, and even Peru were mentioned as potential destinations.

 

“I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS! I’M DONE WITH AMERIKKKA! VOTERS WILL REGRET THEIR MISTAKE, MARK MY WORDS! MARK MY WORDS!”

 

Even when I flipped the plastic wafer onto a couch pillow, while watching shows on my television’s DVR, the squawking continued.

 

“SCREW THE ANGRY CREAMSICLE! I WON’T HEIL THE FAT-FINGERED FÜHRER! HE CAN GO STRAIGHT TO MAGA HELL!”

 

These protestations echoed inside of my skull for hours beyond the actual closing of polls, and tabulation of results. But eventually, they were joined by the musical beat of a Motown classic from the golden era. A song written by Holland, Dozier and Holland. Released by vocalist Eddie, in 1963.

 

This vintage, vinyl artifact hit the bullseye as I visualized so many associates lining up to emigrate before Trump’s second inauguration.

 

“Hey fellas, have you heard the news?

These girls are tired of being misused

I’ve seen it all in a dream last night

Girls leaving this town ‘cause we don’t treat ‘em right

Oh, they’re catching a train (Catching a train)

Flying a plane (Flying a plane)

Leaving here (Leaving here, leaving)

Leaving here (Leaving here, leaving)

(Leaving here, leaving)

(Leaving here, leaving)

 

Lord, you fellas better change your ways

They’ll be leaving this town in a matter of days

The girls say instead of treatin’ them true

You fellas run around with someone new

Oh, they’re getting tired of it (Sick and tired)

Sick and tired (Leaving here)

(Sick and tired)

(Leaving here)

Oh (Sick and tired)

(Leaving here)

 

The love of a woman is a wonderful thing (Oh yeah)

But the way that we treat ‘em is a crying shame (Oh yeah)

One day, one day, and it won’t be long (Oh yeah)

‘Til all these fine girls’ll be gone (Oh yeah)

Oh, they’re catching a train (Catching a train)

Flying planes (Flying a plane)

Leaving here (Leaving here, leaving)

Two-by-two (leaving here, leaving)

They’ll be leaving you (Leaving here, leaving)

Goodbye boys (Leaving here, leaving)

 

And out the door (Leaving here, leaving)

Change your ways, fellas (Leaving here, leaving)

And start treating ‘em right (Leaving here, leaving)

They’ll be leaving this town (Leaving here, leaving)

 

Catching trains, riding planes (Leaving here, leaving)

Catching trains, riding planes (Leaving here, leaving)

Oh yeah (Leaving here, leaving)

Oh yeah (Leaving here, leaving)

 

 

Oh yeah...”

 

In personal terms, it was hard to imagine finding a confluence of so much money, and so many elites and cultural celebrities, all dedicated to stopping a repeat of woes at the ballot box for their Democratic kin. Trump had been excoriated, impeached twice, raided, indicted, convicted, and nearly assassinated. It literally did not seem possible that a candidate dripping with such disgust and derision could rise again as a person of consequence. But as our leaders have observed repeatedly since revolution birthed this rebel land, ‘The people have spoken.’

 

That cry of an eagle is still echoing, for good, or bad.

 

Harder still to process, was the thought that following the unending migration of immigrants across our southern border, the scales of citizenship might now be balanced by an egress of progressive thinkers and their allies. Could logic defend that kind of abdication? Someone with more experience in the paradigm of governance might be willing to debate the subject. Yet for this writer, a quiet meditation seemed better suited to the moment.

 

I decided to sit on my front porch with a casual brew, and ponder in silence.

 

A childhood lesson in civics and civility came from Grandma McCray, after the election of Richard M. Nixon in 1968. She was a lifelong supporter of working-class ethics, and had often enlightened me with stories about Franklin Delano Roosevelt. So, when this seismic shift in our national leadership occurred, I looked to her with innocent eyes, for guidance and wisdom. She did not urge me to look darkly upon his rise to power. Instead, she offered gentle words that abide with me, even now.

 

“I didn’t vote for that man, Rodney. But remember, he will be president for all the people. We only get one at a time. So, I’ll pray for him, and our country. That is the right thing to do...”

 

Cradling a cool bottle of pilsner in my right hand, while enjoying warm temperatures for November, I wondered out loud. Was it likely that those who chose Kamala Harris as their champion might offer such a petition to the Lord? One asking for mercy and grace to be bestowed? It did not appear to be likely.

 

Still, that leap of faith was easier to imagine than driving a U-Haul truck, all the way to Peru.