Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 12

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Lotharian Gardino had retained his position as Prime Keeper in the Calimex Confederation of Coastal Governance, because of his ability to lead the combined group as a single, united republic. They were the most advanced of all population enclaves on Planet Earth, and had adapted remarkably well after the collapse of traditional societies on the North American continent. But his vision for the future of Terran people was not universally shared by those in other regions. The mindset of inhabitants on their world had been fractured by history. With a curious and crude sort of independence taking hold. Knowledge and development were no longer considered to be pillars of a higher evolution. The downfall of 20^th Century mankind had left a salty taste in the mouths of children that were born after that cataclysmic event. Now, his greatest challenge seemed to be one rooted in solving a perplexing riddle. How to placate outsiders with overtures of peace, and cooperation, while maintaining a tight rein on his own citizens.

 

While pondering their plan to revive the lunar base at Mare Frigoris, he consulted with Governor Guaca, who was in charge of what had been the peninsula of Baja California. The official was old, withered, and pale. Yet carried himself with such dignity, that every other member of their group praised his tenure as a public servant.

 

Gardino bowed ceremonially, when receiving him at the conference table.

 

“Gordoni, I’ve always cherished your advice and support with the governing council. Your words never stray from hard facts, and supreme logic. But at this moment, I am troubled by our position. We stand at the brink of our greatest achievement as a society. But naysayers are afoot, everywhere. Here in our western home, and abroad, at the regions of Atlantia, and Torontara.”

 

Guaca stroked his thin, white goatee. Then nodded with understanding.

 

“I know that you want to provide an example for everyone, Lothi. You believe that it will inspire a new way of thinking, am I correct? A metamorphosis for all people on this big rock, orbiting the sun...”

 

The Prime Keeper folded his hands, and sighed loudly.

 

“Yes, my esteemed friend, that’s the intention I have. Reviving the Frigoris outpost would send a signal around this globe, that we are capable of doing great things! I believe it would signify our importance as an ally of consequence. A genuine leader of nations! A visionary group among all the far-flung territories.”

 

His mentor and adviser smiled while pondering this assertion. It was one that sounded ambitious, and undeniably political.

 

“Lothi, you view yourself as the head of this future endeavor, is that right? A leader with great power and confidence. One who will control much of this hemisphere, and its surviving pockets of humanity?”

 

Gardino raised his eyebrows, and frowned.

 

“Yes, of course. Of course! Does that cause concern for you, Gordoni?”

 

The coastal governor shrugged and softened his expression.

 

“To be bold is not necessarily a bad thing. Our genetic pool has always relied on those who are strong in themselves, and brave in their outlook. But with that kind of courage also comes great responsibility. A need to seek counsel, and take it with humility. Do you understand?”

 

The Prime Keeper was confused. He wiped sweat from his brow, and leaned forward to listen more intently.

 

“Take counsel with humility? Haven’t I always done that, old friend?”

 

 Guaca restrained himself from answering too quickly. But spoke in a firm tone of honesty.

 

“When you were rebuffed by those to the east, and north, with regard to assimilation under a shared constitution, how did you react?”

 

His former pupil reddened with slight embarrassment.

 

“I was, of course, disappointed. Surely that could not have been a surprise...”

 

The veteran official clasped his hands together.

 

“You were outraged, Lothi. I remember it well! It seemed that you felt slighted by the refusal. Even insulted! But that diplomatic rebuke should have been expected, at the outset. We must all get to know each other better, before joining forces. It is a slow process. Trust has to be earned, over time. But, allow me to make a second query instead of debating these facts. What was your response when Serge Tarka reported about conditions at the abandoned Luna Citadel, after his team visited with the Frigoris Lander? When he observed that conditions at the site would need to be assessed and certified, before any work could proceed on reactivating the base for our mission specialists?”

 

Gardino turned a deeper shade of crimson.

 

“I was unhappy with that opinion, of course. It appeared that he was hesitant to accept the challenge of restarting active operations, day-to-day. I thought it bordered on sedition, to be blunt. His standing orders are always to implement any plans put in place by the governing council, and myself. I thought his reluctance was quite offensive. An act of cowardice, to say it straight out!”

 

The Baja governor averted his eyes. He did not take pleasure in offering correction to someone who had been his advocate for so long.

 

“That’s the fury of someone interested in his own goals over those of the confederation, Lothi. You were given an honest assessment by a trained member of our scientific community. That should not have sounded like sedition, or disobedience. What if you push those men to revisit the Moon, and they suffer losses as a result of our carelessness? Where will that leave your notion of providing a shining example for our people? Or for other enclaves around this continent? Think about your responsibility as a leader. This is not a moment when we should hurry ourselves. It is a point in our history when we should reason together, and show respect for truth. We need to be cautious, when looking to the heavens. Our legacy as travelers to the outer worlds was shattered, long ago. It may be possible to do great things like that again, I hope. But not if we act recklessly, or foolishly! We must be deliberate and smart.”

 

Gardino clenched both fists, and lowered his head. He knew well that the other coastal governors would agree.

 

“So be it, Gordoni. You have offered me a wise and sober opinion. One I cannot refute at this hour. I will accept it for the moment. But be aware that we must move forward while the opportunity presents itself. Otherwise, someone else may snatch away our idea for excellence!”

 

The governor smiled again. He knew that their steward lacked the important quality of patience. Something that would have made him stronger in his position of service.

 

“Your idea, Lotharian. Your career, your notability, your walk of fame. Your quest to be a legend among the people of this republic. Take care that it does not blind you to what is reasonable, and real!”

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 11

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

With Kelly Strafe still sidelined by the hillside incident above Evergreen Estates, her studious partner was in a persistent funk of loneliness. While Judson Baines stayed busy with his work, archiving evidence for future review, he felt distracted. It was impossible to focus on the tasks at hand. Instead, every thought drifted toward the predicament of his companion. He could not escape feeling guilty, for allowing the young woman to explore in the wilderness of their empty township, on her own. That burden weighed heavily on his consciousness. Finally, he was moved to reach out for contact with the Morningstar III. But upon directing the communications array of their Digger shuttle toward outer worlds in the solar system, a greater gloom descended on his mind.

 

There was no immediate response from the silver ship. They were now too distant from each other, for regular communications.

 

Baines sat in his pilot chair by the control console, looking backwards. He spent minutes and hours contemplating the former Space Force officer. Even in slumber, she was plain and pretty. Her breaths were regimented, and regular. Her hair glistened in pale sunlight that shined through a viewport over the dash. Their exodus to the Terran homeworld had been somewhat impulsive, yet driven by necessity. And not a cause for concern from either of them, until now. But with the new responsibility of caring for an injured friend, he suddenly had different priorities. No longer was his scholarship as a scientist and archaeologist a foremost concern.

 

Had he been more spiritually inclined, he might have paused to offer prayer to a cosmic deity. But that sort of remedy was not one he could embrace, without more faith in things unseen.

 

The small craft was able to maintain a comfortable environment, and monitor health signs efficiently. So once again, the professor disembarked to continue his search around the abandoned community of manufactured dwellings. He took a carved, walking stick for support. A crude, handmade implement that was also useful when turning aside tall grasses, or scattering loose stones out of his path. The neighborhood had been overtaken by nature, and was well on its way back to being a swampy tract among the pines. Yet much of the original construction had survived. There were still trailers sited on every street. Utility poles standing erect, electrical cables strung without purpose, and buildings along the perimeter which served to mark the outline of what had once been a thriving oasis of humanity. It was not difficult to imagine how the social order had functioned, on such a limited scale. Only the collapse of their state host, and national government, plundered that paradigm. When pondering the aftermath, he was bearing witness to the shared guilt of a lost generation. One that would, in its death throes, birth a new society on the Red Planet, so far away.

 

Lot 13 had held many clues about what transpired at the rural property. But with his courage growing stronger, Baines began to hike around the communal environs, to seek out other variations on this theme. He discovered a plethora of vehicles sitting in driveways and yards around the neighborhood. Minivans, pickup trucks, economy sedans, and even vintage relics from earlier in the 20^th Century. Motorcycles inexplicably left uncovered and out in the open. Riding mowers and powered tools for lawn care. All of these artifacts had flattened tires, cracked windshields, sagging frames, and rusty bodies. But paid testimony to the vigorous struggle that had once existed. Because of its remote location, park residents were perpetually going somewhere else, for goods and services. Or, to workplaces in more populated areas. When the Great Uprising took over, this isolation helped to protect them from the chaos and madness that persisted in other regions. And it hardened their resolve to endure, by whatever means was deemed necessary.

 

On the porch where Maylene Jefka had lived, a matron of the township with many children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, a plaque by the front door spoke eloquently about her belief in God, and family. Two pillars of existence that had carried her through a long journey, from a metaphorical sunrise, until the twilight of finality.

 

Joshua 24:14-15 - “Now therefore fear the Lord, and serve him in sincerity and in truth: and put away the gods which your fathers served on the other side of the flood, and in Egypt; and serve ye the Lord. And if it seem evil unto you to serve the Lord, choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

 

Judson stood silently before this inscription. He knew that his partner, still recovering on the Digger shuttle, would have her own take on the passage. One very different from his own, yet no less valid.

 

Having circumscribed a complete circle around the ruined development, he returned to the lot where his genetic progenitor had lived. There, he sat in a recliner by the Silvertone radio, and heated a cup of instant coffee, from military rations provided with their transport.

 

Grafton Depot had returned to its daily schedule. The distinctive crackle of a vinyl record echoed over the airwaves. Then, a plucking of acoustic guitar could be heard. Charlie and Ira Louvin crooned out a melody that was hauntingly familiar, yet one he had never heard before.

 

“Got in a little trouble at the county seat

Lord, they put me in the jailhouse for loafing on the street

When the judge heard the verdict I was a guilty man

He said forty-five dollars or thirty days in the can

 

Said that’ll be cash on the barrelhead, son

You can take your choice you’re twenty-one

No money down, no credit plan

No time to chase you cause I’m a busy man

 

Found a telephone number on a laundry slip

I had a good-hearted jailer with a six-gun hip

He let me call long distance, she said number please

And no sooner than I told her, she shouted out at me

 

That’ll be cash on the barrelhead son

Not part not half but the entire sum

No money down, no credit plan

Cause a little bird told me, you’re a travelin’ man

 

Thirty days in the jailhouse, four days on the road

I was feeling mighty hungry my feet a heavy load

Saw a Greyhound coming stuck up my thumb

Just as i was being seated, the driver caught my arm

 

Said that’ll be cash on the barrelhead son

This old gray dog gets paid to run

When the engine stops, Lord, the wheels won’t roll

Give me cash on the barrelhead, I’ll take you down the road!”

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 10

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

The primitive radio broadcast from Grafton Depot reminded Judson Baines of his encounter with citizens of Atlantia, and their own regional programming. Though electricity was a rare commodity in that eastern enclave, the inhabitants had begun to develop small-scale generation through the harnessing of natural sources. Streams and rivers were tapped for their lively flow. Old solar panels were revived, when possible, having been left from the collapse of fallen empires on the planet. Minimalist stations that burned wood and coal added to this mix. While the output was not considerable in numerical terms, it allowed for a limited amount of networking, as families began to relocate into areas outside of the original perimeter. Traditional transmitters with a limited range required little power to operate. And reception could be achieved with a variety of castoff devices. Anything from a vacuum-tube relic, to a transistor receiver, or even a crystal set, could be pressed into service. This crude form of communication gave members of the greater confabulation a sense of unity. It helped to bind all of the individuals together, despite being decidedly independent in their philosophies and habits.

 

During previous visits to their erstwhile homeworld, the university professor had not detected any population centers in what had once been called West Virginia. But now, he realized that there must be isolated pockets of humanity all across the deserted continent. The three major republics were different in their approach to achieving survival and advancement, yet each had similar intentions. They all hoped to flourish and grow, over time. With a free exercise of liberty being paramount. Only the views of their governing bodies seemed to vary on that principle, with Calimex having the most sophisticated and aggressive stance.

 

While Baines had no medical education, he suspected that his partner who had exited the Space Force needed rest more than anything else, after her tumble down the hillside above Evergreen Estates. So, he set monitors onboard the Digger shuttle to alert him if she stirred or regained consciousness. Then, reconnected the wiring harness he had created, and returned to the trailer of his genetic link, at Lot 13. There, the vintage radio they had discovered previously was a perfect conduit for signals still emanating from Grafton. It bore the markings of an item vended by Sears & Roebuck, a retailer that once dominated American markets, and carried a large set of knobs, a huge center dial, and a wooden cabinet.

 

As he busied himself sorting through cardboard boxes stored in the trailer, a new episode of the daily schedule was underway.

 

“Neighbors, were all out here tryin’ ta make a go of things. So with that in mind, I’d like ta read off a list of titles available for yer inspection at the town library. I will provide a condensed version of some volumes right here, on air, when there is enough juice in the batteries. But for right now, let me just give ya some of the highlights. There’s a lot ta learn from our ancestors, they were smarter than ya might think. A whole lot more practical than the crowd who blew up everything on this big hunk of land in between the oceans...”

 

The archivist and scholar paused while digging through a mass of collected magazines and books. He twisted the volume control for a better sound from his borrowed receiver. There was another crackle of static and distortion, before the host continued with his morning report.

 

“From the antiquated Foxfire series, here are some of the lessons contained fer plain livin’ of the kind we’re all doin’ right now... listen close, ya don’t want ta miss anything!”

 

The professional nerd inclined his ear toward the speaker. He was interested in knowing what sort of resources were available in the rural library.

 

“Tools and skills.

Building a log cabin.

Chimney building.

White oak splits.

Making a hamper out of white oak splits.

Making a basket out of white oak splits.

An old chair maker shows how.

Rope, straw, and feathers are to sleep on.

A quilt is something human.

Soap-making.

Cooking on a fireplace, Dutch oven, and wood stove.

Mountain recipes.

Preserving vegetables.

Preserving fruit.

Churning your own butter.

Slaughtering hogs.

Curing and smoking hog.

Recipes for hog.

Dressing and cooking wild animal foods.

Moonshining as a fine art.

Faith healing.

Corn Shuckins, House Raisins, Quilting, Pea Thrashings, Singing, Logrolling, Candy Pullin, Kenny Runion...”

 

Baines raised an eyebrow at the mention of a specific name, among all the tasks that were referenced. He could not help exclaiming to himself while listening.

 

“Kenny Runion? Who was that?”

 

He only had to hold his breath for a moment. The announcer from Grafton Depot finished his thought almost immediately.

 

“Now, in case y’all might not be familiar with Mr. Runion, he was interviewed fer the book series on multiple occasions. It is said that he lived ta the ripe, old age of 90 years. That feller apparently knew a lot about wild spring foods, makin’ furniture, and mendin’ broken bones. I gotta say that he puts me in mind of a Mountain Witch I’ve read about who lived nearby in Philippi. Her name was Veedee, and she claimed to have put a hex on folks that gave her grief. I wouldn’t want ta mess with anybody like that, there’s black magic in these hills, I’ll tell ya! It’s somethin’ that didn’t disappear like all the cowards who hopped a ride ta Mars, a century ago, ta escape the wages of their own sins!”

 

The classroom refugee grinned broadly upon hearing this blunt retort about their lost connection to Terran civilizations, He had not believed that too much information about the mass exit to off-world colonies existed, on this giant ball of mud. But the zeal with which it was expressed could not be mistaken.

 

He and Kelly Strafe were both children of that frantic exodus. They were products of a new society built on cooperation, comity, and shared responsibilities as expressed through benevolent socialsm. Wholly different from the cowboy mindset that once ruled the thoughts of people who lived on Planet Earth. In a sense, they had evolved in an upward arc, to become better and brighter than ever before. Yet there was a fragility to what they had constructed. Inhabitants of the Martian communities feared too much truth, and the wrangling nature of dissent. Through coercion and enforcement, they kept everything on a functional flatline. One without the highs and lows of a thriving, vigorous democracy.

 

He could not be sure which fate was better to inherit. But he knew well that his own lot had been cast here with the reawakening population of their original home.

 

 

 

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 9

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Evergreen Estates had always been prone to episodes of flooding, during its active life as a trailer community. In part because of being located downhill from an old stone quarry, but also due to having been constructed on what was once a reserve of swampland property. The ground was never stable enough for traditional homes, and became a residential space only because it had no other marketable value within the township. It was a bastard asset, even before the Great Uprising exploded every concept of social order on the North American continent.

 

For the university professor, bringing Kelly Strafe back from her fall on the trail above this remote development, proved to be more difficult than first expected. The crude path he took meandered in a zig-zag course up the slope of Sidley’s Hill. There were gaps in the road surface that encroached upon this artificial line. A product of years spent without regular use. Though some evidence of raiders having visited could be seen, here and there, a general sense of abandonment prevailed.

 

After multiple attempts to get the former lieutenant back to their outpost in the pines, Judson Baines finally relented to riding the Digger shuttle, despite storm activity that buffeted the area. He powered up the C-drive propulsion, at its lowest velocity, and circled overhead until locating the ping of his companion’s com-link. Then, settled on a ridge near enough to teeter in place, while bringing the young woman inside through an access hatch.

 

She was still dizzy from her tumble onto the broken tarmac.

 

“Dammit Juddy, I didn’t want to create more issues for us! Maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention. But it’s hard to know where to step when the ground is covered with weeds, brush, and tall grasses...”

 

Her companion from the school shook his head as if to offer comfort.

 

“Nah Kells, don’t blame it on yourself. It could have happened at any time. We’ve had a run of good fortune so far, being in an environment like this one. I knew it couldn’t last forever.”

 

Strafe was groggy and her eyes refused to focus. It appeared that she might have suffered a concussion.

 

“I don’t know how it happened. Everything was fine and then I took a step in the wrong direction...”

 

The Digger was clumsy as it flew southeast, back to the abandoned community of manufactured homes. High winds rocked the tiny craft from side to side. Once they had been able to park on the vacant, concrete slab by Lot 13, pangs of vertigo continued. Debris was scattered around the park, as if giant gamers had been competing on an outdoor field of play.

 

Judson debated with himself over the relative safety of staying in the craft, or disembarking for a short walk to the singlewide abode of his ancestor.

 

“These longboxes are moored by anchor straps, underneath. They are bolted to metal spikes that run deep into the foundation. That should provide some measure of safety. Our shuttle only has its own weight for ballast, but can be maneuvered in an emergency. I don’t know which is safer for us, with the meteorological conditions turning so ugly...”

 

His partner was at the point of an unconscious collapse.

 

“I can’t keep my eyes open, Juddy. Everything looks blurry. I just want to sleep!”

 

The professional scholar supported her head with his right hand.

 

“Stay with me, Kells! I need to be sure you aren’t going to drift into a coma or something weird. Once the cyclical storms have passed, we can get out of this tin can, and have a better look at your wounds. Right now, I just want to keep us sitting with the runner pads down, and our roof on top!”

 

A river of muddy water had begun to cascade from the hillside incline, down into their park. It ran along the street’s edge, with a forceful spew of brown. Yards all around the neighborhood were soaked to their limit. Peals of thunder shook the ground. The sky had an angry look of finality, overhead, as if Mother Nature were about to wreak havoc on her own environment.

 

Both refugees from Mars were tossed around inside their cramped cabin, as the Digger floated sideways off its concrete perch. The tiny vessel shifted several feet before finding a higher spot of ground, where it could rest.

 

Kelly clutched at her stomach. She felt nauseous, almost like being seasick.

 

“Ugg, Juddy, this is making me want to vomit! Everything is spinning in my head!”

 

A crackle of lightning divided the dark sky, with brilliant intensity. It struck one of the empty trailers directly, causing an explosion of breaking glass and shredded, vinyl siding. The resulting flash turned everything a pale shade of white, for an instant. Then, there was a rush of sediment that spilled from what had been the on-site sewage beds. A stench of decomposed, organic matter filled the air. The waterlogged soil could not absorb any further abuse.

 

The shuttle literally began to float. Airtight seals incorporated in its design prevented any damage. But they were set free to bounce along the temporary canal, with abandon.

 

Baines looked over his shoulder, while attempting to stabilize their position by using thruster nozzles in the hull. He saw that his compatriot had finally succumbed to her injuries, and fallen into a silent slumber of oblivion.

 

Storm activity was widespread enough, that they had little chance of escaping the calamity in their craft. So instead, the university nerd chose to simply ride out its effects. He strapped himself into the pilot seat, after securing his passenger with a harness and blankets. The shuttle became coated in a layer of thick mud, which helped it to slide aimlessly around the landscape. Eventually, the small craft reached a point east of the rural development, along the remnants of Pine Trail Road. Felled trees arrested their travel, with a cluster of splintered wood. When the morning arrived, a golden glow of sunrise at last signaled that they had survived.

 

Kelly moaned softly, but did not wake. Her body trembled from some unseen force.

 

From a receiver connected to the control panel, there was a raucous burst of static. Then, a human voice calling out to be heard. The device had been set to scan all available frequencies for any contact, in dire situations.

 

“This Grafton Depot, from Mountaineer country, with a fine selection of hillbilly hootin’ and hollerin’ fer listeners all across the way. Power up those vacuum tubes, ladies and gents. We’re goin’ back to a simpler time here, when the crops would grow, livestock was in the fields, and the water tasted clean. Y’all might not remember it, but I’ll bet yer great-great grandaddy did! Or maybe somebody he knew...”

 

The sound of a stylus dropping on a vinyl artifact could be heard. What followed was the plucking of vintage, acoustic instruments, and a dry-throated vocalist at work. The musical tones were steeped in traditions long lost from any civilization on the planet. A fiddle doubled the melody with vigorous amusement.

 

 

“Old Phoebe Ice was strong as an ox

Quick as a wink and sly as a fox

There was never no trouble at the old Ice place

For she was a ruler of the human race

 

 Old Phoebe Ice, she’s darn dear dead

Rearing and a tearing with a pain in her head

With her toes turned out and her eyes turned in

She’s a darn good gal for the shape she’s in

 

Old Phoebe Ice has laid a plan

That every woman should have a man

So don’t be shy, step right in line

Go get yours, like I got mine

 

Old Phoebe Ice was out too late

She didn’t get home ‘til half past eight

She fiddled all night and the folks all said

Was the best darn dance in the wagon shed.”

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 8

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Being exiled to the remote, trailer community of Evergreen Estates affected Judson Baines and Kelly Strafe in different ways. For the former, this abandoned property in the pines presented challenges that were best handled with careful forethought, and innovation. He was used to thinking out such strategies in a classroom environment, but had rarely been able to test them in real-world situations. Now, the entire park was his laboratory. He could design and improvise, and gain more understanding about how other adventurers might survive in primitive conditions. But for the latter of this duo, there was a different mindset at work. One shaped by years spent serving in the ranks of a regimented group, as a useful component of something far greater and stronger than herself. The former lieutenant immediately went scouting around their adopted home base, to gain clues about how their location could be observed and invaded by outsiders who might be present.

 

Unsurprisingly, it did not take long to confirm that there were no other sentient beings around the cluster of boxcar homes. A more thorough search of the deserted township square, which lay up the hillside, northwest of the park, revealed a tale of similar conditions. Nature had begun to reclaim the geography, with empty buildings sagging on their foundations, and access roads overgrown with wilderness foliage. Other than reaching the area as they had done, from above, trekking across the ruined landscape would be nearly impossible.

 

They had few defensive capabilities of any kind. Yet were unlikely to encounter threats, because of their isolation. More of a worry would be predatory animals which might be foraging for food and water. They needed to be mindful of wildlife in their midst.

 

Baines stayed busy during this interlude by fiddling with accessories onboard the Digger shuttle. He was able to fashion a wiring harness from scrapped material, and hooked up the electrical junction at Lot 13. The manufactured home of his bloodline progenitor was still largely intact, and capable of being inhabited. But he needed to set up some creature comforts, if they were to live there for any length of time. A first surge of power caused the breaker box, hanging on an interior wall, to hum loudly. Then, it quieted as a stable charge was delivered to lights and appliances throughout the singlewide hovel.

 

A crackle of static sputtered from the portable radio they had found. Because of course, there were no stations left to broadcast. But he hoped to eventually tune in some signals from one of the distant enclaves that were still in existence. If nothing else, that sort of one-way contact might ease the persistent feeling that they had fallen out of favor with the entire universe.

 

Sensors on the Digger craft were clear, with nothing to register. But as the university professor calibrated his generator’s output levels, there was a ping on the monitor. Overhead, a tiny vessel was descending from orbit, on a trajectory headed toward the Pacific Ocean. He watched with great interest, as this linked contraption forged through the lower atmosphere, before dipping low in the horizon. It was a crude sort of conveyance, even more basic than the old Larman transports that had taken the first Terran settlers to their new homes on Mars. Yet a sort of graceful arc made it glide smoothly through the friction of reentering atmospheric pressure.

 

Baines swore to himself, while twisting knobs on the dashboard console.

 

“God help them, they’re not much better off than we are!”

 

Up the hillside, Strafe continued to survey acres of deserted farmland that covered much of the area. She plotted squares on a virtual graph, to represent each parcel of dirt. In every direction, there were more empty fields, and rusted implements left behind. Lake Erie was close enough to be a possible destination, should they decide to explore the region on foot. But for the moment, staying close to their landing zone seemed wise.

 

As the former officer made her way back to Evergreen Estates, there was a noticeable change in the weather pattern. The sky darkened ominously, as she navigated a cleared trail down the hillside. Eventually, this shift to shades of gray and deepest blue dampened her mood of curiosity. Winds howled through the trees. Her footing slipped on a broken outcropping of buckled tarmac, and she tumbled into the brush.

 

Cyclical storms still ravaged the planet, after chemical weapons had seeded the air with poison, on behalf of government forces from the previous century. They paid homage to a failed state, and its quest for dominance over a fleeing population. With time, these episodes of meteorological unrest had become less frequent, and intense. But the stain of their sad legacy had not yet been fully erased.

 

With the afternoon developing a threatening character, Judson became concerned about his wandering cohort from the Martian colonies. He unclipped the com-link from his duty belt, and called out for contact.

 

“Kells? Hey, I’ve been twisting wires and turning screws here at the trailer, but all of a sudden I noticed that it’s starting to turn ugly outside. Are you done with your hike, yet? I think it’d be better to huddle here in the Digger, at least until these gales blow through...”

 

His companion was dazed from her fall along the improvised trail. But answered after a brief pause to clear her head.

 

“Dammit Juddy, I tripped on some loose stones up here! My face is burning, and I feel dizzy. I came down on my hands and knees, in a thicket of briars. I’m a hopeless mess at the moment!”

 

The classroom scholar dropped his toolkit, and electrical tape. He reacted immediately.

 

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE, I’LL BE THERE IN A FEW TICKS! DON’T TRY TO MAKE IT BACK HERE ON YOUR OWN, OR YOU’LL TAKE ANOTHER DIVE IN THE DIRT! FOR ONCE, LISTEN TO ME! I’LL BE RIGHT THERE TO HELP!”

 

A rumble of thunder shook the ground. Then, bolts of lightning lit up the rural development. Any attempt to reach his partner would have to be executed quickly.

 

There was a brief burp of electronic noise over the wireless device. Then, a final cry for rescue. One delivered in fading tones of desperation. Mother Nature was about to throw a tantrum.

 

“I can’t see straight, anymore, Juddy. And the rain is on its way!”

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 7

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Arbiter Goland Pick had been overwhelmed with his duties as supervisor and chief engineer, at the Toqua Platte Center in Calimex, ever since their Moon lander had launched. He was duty bound to oversee the mission, and achieve a yield of good results for those in charge of the coastal confederation. A cooperative republic, led by district governors who acted in concert with each other. But their journey to revive an abandoned station on the lunar surface was one rooted more in political ambition than science. Prime Keeper Lotharian Gardino had initiated the plan to unite all of their citizens, in a quest for global importance. He believed that establishing an outpost on the rocky orb would provide indisputable confirmation of their prominence as the largest of all surviving Terran civilizations. Yet while that gamble seemed to be founded on human nature itself, and a persistent desire for achievement, it stretched the limits of their technological capabilities.

 

The Mare Frigoris base was in poor condition, after a century of sitting empty. It needed a great deal more than a simple cleanup, and new coat of paint.

 

Serge Tarka was in charge of the exploration team. As a young and curious officer, he hoped to advance their understanding of the challenges involved with leaping from one stone to another, inside their solar system. Knowledge that had been lost with the Great Uprising. He knew that through a process of study and societal evolution, their enclave had already surpassed those in other regions on the continent. Now, they could attain a greater level of development and understanding, while strengthening their own position on the planet. But the risks involved were great.

 

As he trudged around what remained of the decommissioned facility, its state of disrepair dampened his spirit. He could not imagine beginning active operations at the site, without months of hard labor, and restocking supplies needed to survive.

 

“Toqua Platte, this is the Frigoris Lander. We have reached the shell of Luna Citadel. It’s not a pretty sight to see. There must have been raiders here after the last soldiers disembarked, because things are trashed. It would take some work just to get power for an artificial atmosphere, and livable conditions. I can’t guarantee that these walls won’t leak, if the environment is pressurized. There are loose wires and cables sticking out of panels in every greatroom and corridor. It’s a mess, to be blunt...”

 

Arbiter Pick nodded as if he had expected a sober assessment with little good news included.

 

“We guessed that things would be on that level, thank you for being honest. How much time would you estimate for a retrofit, and startup? “

 

Tarka nearly spit inside of his sealed helmet.

 

“STARTUP? I DON’T HAVE A CLUE, SIR! LET ME LIVESTREAM A VIDEO FEED, AND YOU TELL ME!”

 

The display at Toqua Platte glowed with images of neglect and disuse. There was little left to indicate that human entities had once occupied the station for extended periods of military service.

 

Goland palmed tiles on his control console. He knew that the Prime Keeper would have no desire to hear excuses. His only wish was to see the coastal empire flourish and prosper.

 

“Very well, start making a list of your needs regarding the revival operation. You can bring it to me, and I will have it submitted to the coastal governors. We have already been given priority status as a project of penultimate importance. There won’t be any debate over expending man-hours and rations.”

 

The team leader coughed into his wireless headset.

 

“We’re talking more than sore backs and aching muscles here, sir. This will be a test of our limits. We’ve never done anything on this level as a republic. It isn’t in our history. Just getting here in one piece was a quantum leap. I know you want to impress Lotharian Gardino, but my crew can only push the envelope so far!”

 

 There was an audible gasp from the control nexus at Toqua Platte.

 

“Frigoris Lander, be aware that our communications are monitored! You are in danger of being charged with sedition. Please restrain yourself from expressing any notes of dissent.”

 

Serge felt a chill run over his skin, despite being protected by the armored space suit.

 

“Copy that, sir. Your instructions have been received and understood. I will have a list of requisitions in hand, when we return to Calimex. All glory to the PK, and our coastal federation!”

 

Their crude machinery took longer than expected to generate sufficient thrust for a smooth liftoff from the deserted base. But once the lander had cleared any geographical obstacles around their location, it was able to rendezvous with the crew capsule. A docking maneuver rejoined the halves into one, powerful craft.

 

Below their vessel, Planet Earth was blue and gorgeous against a background of perpetual emptiness.

 

Arbiter Pick locked on to the ship coordinates with their sensor array. At last, he was able to relax enough to slouch in his web chair.

 

“Frigoris Duo, we show you reconnected and heading home. Safe travels, gentlemen. We’ll be waiting for you by the Pacific Ocean.”

 

At Evergreen Estates, Judson Baines was near the spot where his Digger shuttle had been parked. A notification chirp sounded from his com-link. Upon checking the tiny screen, he saw that movement had once again been detected, in the vicinity of their celestial neighbor. A transport of some kind was on its way back from the dusty satellite. Its origin point lay at the spot designated by earlier scans of the lunar surface.

 

“I don’t know how they got up there in the first place. But now, they’re coming home, whoever they are... I hope they make it!”

 

Kelly Strafe was by his side, fiddling with components of a broken radio receiver.

 

“Part of me wishes we were going home, Juddy. Is that a bad thing to admit? I hope it doesn’t piss you off too much!”

 

Baines smiled with empathy. But stayed positive about their mission.

 

“Look around, Kells. This is our home now. Whatever we make of it, will be our future. It’s up to us get it right.”

Return Mission, Third Stage – Chapter 6

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Conditions on the ground at Evergreen Estates were harsh to endure, with the rural community having been effectively reduced to an abandoned junkyard. There were no amenities in place, and no natural sources of hydration, food, or shelter. But for Judson Baines, the cluster of manufactured homes represented a bounty of historical information. Every trailer carried a personal story waiting to be uncovered. Remnants of a lost world were everywhere. And the survival of its crude architecture gave testimony to the fact of humanity at its origin point. Long before the advent of technological advances, and a mass migration to the new world.

 

Kelly Strafe took comfort in being with her chosen companion at this remote venue. But otherwise, was not so keen to explore the ruins.

 

“This place is depressing, Juddy! It’s a damn wasteland in every way. A wasteland!”

 

Her cohort from the university did not agree. Each walk around the property invigorated him with the lure of opportunities that awaited.

 

“C’mon now, think of all the archival materials sitting here! This park has been undisturbed for a century, at least! Everything is as it was, when the final residents departed. They must have had heavy hearts upon deciding to escape. But in that time, there was no better option. The human race was doomed to die here on this ruined ball of mud. But ultimately, it didn’t! We didn’t die, we flourished somewhere else!”

 

The former military officer felt her face turn hot with disbelief.

 

“Look, we’re here to poke around and study, right? I know it’s what you wanted. But when we run out of things to see and record, then what? Where does all this data go after we finish? I’ll answer the question, it goes nowhere...”

 

Baines was slightly offended by her quizzical retort. Yet he understood the sad reality that both of them were likely to perish as the sole residents of their new environment.

 

“I don’t have a purpose in mind, really. I’m a classroom nerd, you know? Sort of an archaeologist, sort of a scientist, and always a student at work. Learning matters to me. I can only hope that somehow, whatever we discover will be useful to others, in the future. Maybe they will find our bones here like we’ve found those of my genetic link...”

 

Kelly folded her arms and stood with her hips jutting sideways.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to throw shade on your project. I get the excitement. So, what is your plan for today? How do we find the park cemetery you mentioned?”

 

Her associate from the school pointed toward their Digger shuttle, which was sitting idle by the maintenance garage.

 

“On our way down, I did a wave scan of the property. Visually, it looked like an overgrown, wilderness tract. I couldn’t see evidence of anything that indicated a memorial remnant being there. But hard stone reflects the analyzer beam differently than organic matter. It allows a remote viewer to peer through the brush, as if it were invisible. I picked up a quadrangle of some kind, bordered by concrete blocks. Guessing from what they had on hand at the time, to work with, I would suppose that they are parking barriers. Probably lined up to mark the perimeter. Whover built the little graveyard must have been in a hurry. They were days or weeks away from boarding the last transport vessels, bound for Mars. This was a farewell gesture. Some of those buried here must have been very old. Too weak and sick for a long journey...”

 

The professor used his com-link to function as a compass. It indicated a meandering course, headed due east, from the former office site. With a scythe found in one of the storage sheds, he started the tedious task of clearing a path through the dense cover of weeds and tall, wild grasses. The chore soon had him soaked in perspiration. But his partner was less patient with the pace of this primitive undertaking. She unclipped a laser torch from her duty belt, and ratcheted the fire level to its maximum output.

 

Vegetation burned quickly, and scattered on both sides of an artificial lane left in her wake.

 

“You’re too slow, Juddy! We’ll be out here forever doing it your way! Stand back and let me kick out the voltage!”

 

Strafe still had the intensity of a military brat in her makeup. She advanced through the brush rapidly, pausing now and again to kick away ashes and debris with her combat boots. In just over a half-hour, they had managed to reach one corner of the burial plot. There was a chiseled tower standing at its edge. A marker meant to signify the meaning of this forgotten memorial.

 

Because of their proximity to the site, Judson finished his labor manually. He was careful not to disturb anything that might carry historical significance.

 

“This is how the story ended for Evergreen Estates. But we’re about to write another chapter!”

 

There were a dozen graves in the small courtyard. Each was topped with a horizontal slab of concrete, instead of a traditional headstone. The jagged profile of each runner indicated that they must have been repurposed from piles of construction waste. Crudely carved into the hard surfaces were family names of the dead. Throckmeyer, Pulanski, Coe, DiCenza, O’Hannon, Bert, Banner, Rudesill, Portrain, Zappe, Byler-Gregg, and finally, Lincoln.

 

Both exiles from the Red Planet stood silently for a moment, stunned by the yield of their short trek. Then, the university scholar dropped to his knees, in the mud. His voice turned hoarse and breathy, while forcing out words of tribute at the level of a whisper.

 

“The first accounts I read of people arriving in our colonies from this sector spoke about him being in his 90s when they departed. He had nearly gone blind, experienced tremors and vertigo, and could barely walk. Neighbors brought him food and drink. He wasn’t popular necessarily, but had been in the development for so long that he was considered to be a fixture of the park. A cranky, contrarian hermit, perpetually irritated, inebriated, and on his front porch. All of his marriages failed. But his DNA was passed along effectively, for future generations that he never knew...”

 

Kelly rested her hands on his shoulders. She could feel his musculature tighten in response.

 

“We did it, friend. We found your connection. That makes all of this worthwhile. Let it sink in, we don’t have a schedule to follow anymore. When you’re ready, we can talk about what comes next. I’ll admit it, that’s the part I am waiting to hear about!”