“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Twenty”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

Arbiter Goland Pick had been observing the Morningstar III carefully, from his console at the Toqua Platte Center, in Calimex. The foreign vessel had orbited Planet Earth for several days. A period long enough to make him believe that some sort of mission had been planned. This second appearance of the craft had him anxious about the possibility that superior forces from Mars might invade his coastal territory. Though the commander onboard had always described their colonies as being dedicated to non-violence, he did not believe such rhetoric. It was deeply imbedded in human DNA to seek dominance, and conquest, whenever possible. Any notion that a species of high-functioning apes could will themselves to be peaceful and content, seemed ridiculous. So, when the ship suddenly slipped out of its orbital circle, and turned back toward the Martian homeworld, there was a measure of disbelief hanging in its wake.

 

A cheer went up from the team on duty. But for the seasoned technician, there was only a sense that more questions had been aroused. Riddles that neither he, nor his officers, could answer.

 

As the sleek, silver transport faded from view, he turned toward his lead engineer, and called for a magnification of their search parameters.

 

“Increase our sensor range! Let’s follow that intruder until his drive signature has completely disappeared!”

 

Jordan N’Falah nodded in response, and tapped at his control panel. He had just begun his shift, after working twelve hours during the previous day.

 

“Aye sir, we can track them for maybe another 30 minutes. The C-drive gives them a capability to achieve stunning velocities. We don’t have anything so quick in our own fleet...”

 

Pick nearly roared at this comment. He flushed red, with irritation.

 

“OF COURSE WE DON’T! ESPECIALLY WITH OUR FAILURE TO CAPTURE THAT SHUTTLE VISITING THE RUINS OF OHIO!”

 

The assistant cringed slightly, and averted his eyes.

 

“I didn’t mean to rehash a bad memory, sir. It was simply a statement of fact.”

 

His superior at the center shook in his seat. Droplets of sweat trickled from his bald skull.

 

“The facts say that they came back here for some reason. Was it just to retrieve their wounded mule? I doubt it, but maybe. It seems like a huge effort just to rescue a lost pilot. We wouldn’t stoop to that level! Sacrifices have to be made! Yet I am just speculating. You don’t know, and I don’t know...”

 

N’Falah still felt groggy from having worked so many days in succession. His youthful constitution made it possible to survive such an ordeal. But his eyes struggled to focus.

 

“Their radio chatter is encoded, sir. I couldn’t pick up anything intelligible. They were in contact with a Mars base of some kind. Not a surprise, as that is their origin point. Still, I’d like to know what was said between here and there!”

 

Arbiter Pick groaned and clenched his right fist.

 

“OF COURSE YOU WOULD! I’LL BE QUIZZED BY LOTHARIAN GARDINO ABOUT THIS, UNDOUBTEDLY. HE WILL WANT ANSWERS, AND WE HAVE NOTHING TO GIVE. NOTHING, NOTHING, NOTHING!”

 

The junior engineer ducked his head as if avoiding shrapnel.

 

“Their course is steady now, sir. A short trip to the Red Planet, at cruising speed. It would take us a year to get that far.”

 

His top-ranked technician sputtered and spit saliva, as if he were having a seizure.

 

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I KNOW DAMNED WELL HOW LONG IT WOULD TAKE US! WE’RE STUCK LIVING LIKE CAVE CREATURES HERE! CAPTURING A C-DRIVE UNIT WOULD HAVE GIVEN US A CHANCE TO MAKE A QUANTUM LEAP OVER EVERYBODY ELSE ON THIS BIG PIECE OF ROCK!”

 

N’Falah nearly laid flat on his duty panel. He trembled while fiddling with the instruments.

 

“Aye sir! Aye, aye!”

 

Shortly after their verbal spat, the Morningstar III vanished from surveillance protocols. It had traveled far enough to turn invisible to the Pacific sensor array. Silence descended on the hub at Toqua Platte. Then, a rocket blaze curled over the horizon.

 

Goland Pick teetered forward in his swivel chair. A white-hot streak of energy crossed the viewscreen as he stiffened with uncertainty.

 

“Mr. N’Falah, what the hell was that? Did the Martian craft eject something on their way out of orbit?”

 

His technical subordinate battled a momentary rush of confusion.

 

“Our tracking devices show it came from the southern hemisphere, sir. A probe of some kind, sent from the region of... from the region of... Australia.”

 

The arbiter-in-command gasped and swooned in place.

 

“From where? C’mon now, you’ve got to have a better read on the situation! Recheck your displays! We haven’t seen or heard anything from that quadrant for decades. There can’t be much left down under, except for a few lizards, kangaroos, and stray Aboriginals...”

 

The junior technician shrugged and rubbed his eyes.

 

“It looks like a test firing of some sort, sir. Aimed toward the lunar disc. Our moon is at a convenient spot for study at this moment. Maybe they are curious, like us?”

 

Pick waved his palm across the control surface. A series of lighted tiles blinked in succession.

 

“We’ve been blind here for so long, how could they just appear out of the fog? We thought that isolated continent was dead...”

 

N’Falah brushed the dark skin on his forearms, while pondering. Then turned the sensor array to pick up any transmissions from the Australian land mass.

 

“I’m going to guess that this has no correlation to the Morningstar being in orbit, sir. It’s an odd coincidence, though. Things have been different since we realized that the Mars colonies survived and prospered, after the calamity of a century ago.”

 

The arbiter slouched in his seat, and huffed over this predicament.

 

“Prime Keeper Gardino won’t take any of this as happening by chance. He’s a suspicious wonk, always scheming for an advantage over his opponents. I doubt that he has any genuine friends, or allies. It’s a game of darts to that hard-nosed fellow. A matter of hitting targets and reaping the rewards...”

 

Sparkles of spent fuel trailed from the unmanned probe, as it streaked into the vacuum of outer space. No more activity registered on the Calimex monitors. Yet enough damage had been done to their confidence to last for weeks and months to come.

 

Jordan N’Falah began to fall asleep as the crew continued its work. He had pushed hard against his own limits of endurance. Now, it was time to surrender.

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Nineteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

After her unexpected confrontation with Admiral Corel Nauga, Dr. Becka Stoudt had more questions remaining than answers. The surprising candor of her military opponent was informative, and helped to explain why those in the hierarchy on Mars were insistent upon keeping Professor Baines sidelined. Yet she was still puzzled about how he knew so much of what the university scholar had discovered at Evergreen Estates.

 

For clues, she began to research the origin of Tonka Hidecki’s most infamous creation.

 

Library entries that were accessible through a remote connection had been blacked out, officially. There was no explanation of this action, anywhere. But since the Morningstar III was still in orbit around Planet Earth, she decided to pursue a different and more secretive strategy. One that required using security overrides that were only available to a handful of personnel on the vessel.

 

As they circled the giant, blue orb from above, she began to send lines of code to a central hub used for communication between the Martian colonies, at Hellas Basin. Specifically, she referenced data stores with a connection to the isolated, Terran continent of Australia. This land mass had been virtually invisible during conflicts that erupted after the Great Uprising, a century before. Civilized groups still dotted the landscape, in remnant form, from Perth to Brisbane. Yet they held no interest in being paired with any fractured nation-state on the globe. Their distance from other populated areas had been an asset. One which they declined to surrender, in the modern world.

 

With a bit of computer trickery, Stoudt was able to make a connection through the main access point. She mimicked the username of a DNA match, someone mentioned in historical files submitted by patients at a clinic on the Red Planet. Then employed a fishing strategy to gain entry. Finally, background records began to appear on her monitor in the sick bay nexus. She scrolled through family reports about Hidecki’s bloodline, including the arrival of his grandparents from Japan on the northern coast of Aussie territory. After many pages, she found a description of his treatment device in a journal published by doctors that were part of the national health system. There, was the golden nugget she had been seeking. A sidebar column about the chair, its effects, and capabilities.

 

“Dr. Hidecki learned through months and years of clinical trials that his device could not only offer relief for those suffering from brain maladies, but also, retrieve memories through a backwards process of scanning brain matter and creating a map profile. Certain electronic signals were found to be associated with various reactive episodes in the cranium. Much like tapping a knee to measure the reflex, he was able coax patients into retelling embarrassing, childhood memories, as an example of extrasensory suggestion. Once this capability had been documented, however, he grew anxious about how the technology might be used outside of his laboratory. There was much interest among government agencies throughout the allied nations, about adapting it for their own purposes. His program of research ended at that point...”

 

Stoudt held her breath while reading through the last paragraph. Each word was a struggle to digest, intellectually.

 

“Physicians in Europe had been busy attempting to reproduce Hidecki’s experiments. Their peers in the United States experienced better luck working with what he had already created. But the timeline was interrupted by global war. Rumors of a prototype chair being taken to colonies on Mars persisted for the past 100 years, but remain unconfirmed. After the blockade of Australia, and an eventual depletion of inhabitants across the world, this story was left to languish in obscurity. The doctor’s fantastic creation is now a footnote for those who rummage through the legacy of lost civilizations...”

 

A rebellious mood welled up in her chest. She howled vocally, for no one to hear.

 

“YOU STOLE HIS MACHINE! YOU BASTARDS STOLE HIS MACHINE AND TURNED IT FROM A SCALPEL INTO A SCIMITAR!”

 

Her skin had turned pale and cold. But before she could exit her medical department, Hornell Block appeared in the doorway. His gruff demeanor indicated that some sort of update had been issued about their plans, from authorities in the continuum.

 

Dramatically, he covered the golden military badge on his chest.

 

“Becka, I’m here in a private, unofficial capacity. I hope you will respect that I came to you as a comrade from the crew, not a ranked superior...”

 

The doctor lifted her right eyebrow in an arc of puzzlement.

 

“Unofficial? I don’t get it. What’s disturbed your calm about following the chain-of-command?”

 

The top-level officer had to exhale forcefully, before offering an explanation.

 

“I received a surveillance report from my security agent, earlier this morning. It documents unusual, backchannel activity on the streaming network, from this vessel. That is something our benefactors at home might easily notice, should they be paying attention...”

 

Stoudt pursed her lips, and whistled innocently.

 

“Yes, so, did you locate an origin point?”

 

Her military counterpart lowered his eyes and nodded.

 

“Becka, you’re smarter than this! No one on this craft has clearance to poke around in classified material. Not even a lead physician like yourself. We all operate under guidelines set by the high council and its servants...”

 

The doctor laughed and gestured as if submitting to an arrest.

 

“So, what’s the punishment? You want to lock me up in our brig? That’d go over well with all the patients on this ward. Not to mention my own supervisors in the care network. But, do whatever you think is right!”

 

Commander Block tightened his muscles, and growled like a Martian dust storm.

 

“Gawdamm it, take me seriously, will you? I had the feed masked, that makes me an accomplice! Not to mention implicating our surveillance head. I wanted time to find out what you were doing. This morning, Admiral Nauga formally ordered the Morningstar to stand down from our primary mission, and jet back to the dock for a transfer of Kelly Strafe and Judson Baines to his custody. If his peers saw your clandestine research being conducted, there might be armed officers waiting when we arrive. Think of that if you don’t care about anything else. I can’t drag my feet, the orders have been given!”

 

Stoudt was emotionally rattled, yet stood firm on her conviction to do no harm.

 

“I can’t hand them over. They’re not well, neither of them are fit for incarceration or a trial, or whatever the hell they are planning! It’s my career to heal the sick. If I give that up, then my position here has no value. And I will have no soul! So, you’ve got two options, friend. Lock me up, or let me get back to work!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Eighteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(11-24)

 

 

Dr. Becka Stoudt stayed busy throughout her week of duty shifts, as lead physician on the Morningstar III. But once this supervisory routine had been completed, she was grateful to enjoy a day off in between blocks on the calendar. While lounging with a glass of Venusian extract, a crude wine made by explorers who first circled the inner planets in vessels powered by versions of the Gibidan impeller. She had focused on her two most notable patients to the point of feeling exhausted. Now, at least for a brief moment, she could relax and recharge. But before the potent beverage was half ingested, a notification chirp sounded from her com-link. The color indicated was bright red, which signified a priority call. Something that made her sit up straight and press the device firmly to her ear.

 

Admiral Corel Nauga was on the other end of this virtual connection.

 

“Doctor! I’m pleased to hear that you’ve got Judson Baines in your care. I expect that he will be fit for travel, very soon.”

 

Stoudt frowned at the rough tone of his voice. But she maintained a sense of decorum. Her casual dress betrayed being momentarily out-of-the-loop.

 

“He’s dehydrated and bruised. The landing on our flight deck was not exactly a textbook exercise. The Digger shuttle had reached its limit of endurance, I was told...”

 

The top-level officer snorted at her candid assessment.

 

“We’ll take good care of him here at the space dock. You need not worry about that. I’ve assigned our best emergency team to be ready for his arrival...”

 

The medical pro tugged at her synthetic-wool sweatshirt collar.

 

“I am not ready to release him to your custody, sir. He needs a few days to recover from being exposed to extreme weather, and the bumpy ride back to our home base...”

 

Nauga brought his right fist down on the primal console at Texas City.

 

“NONSENSE! YOU’LL RELEASE HIM IMMEDIATELY, PER MY ORDERS! ANYTHING HE NEEDS CAN BE TAKEN CARE OF HERE ON MARS!”

 

Dr. Stoudt put aside the half-glass of alcohol. Suddenly, her taste for refreshment had vanished.

 

“Admiral, I make the decisions about patients on this ward. That’s written into your procedures. Look it up if you doubt my opinion. I’m not a soldier, and I don’t answer to anyone in the chain of command, regardless of their rank...”

 

Her superior was fuming, and nearly cross-eyed with rage.

 

“IS THAT HOW YOU WANT TO DO THIS, BECKA? SHOULD I GO TO THE HIGH COUNCIL? IT’S AN OPTION I WOULD PREFER TO AVOID!”

 

The professional healer sighed loudly. She had grown tired of such petty battles over metaphorical acres of turf.

 

“Corel, we’ve both been in the service for many years. You’ve earned your stripes and stars, and I’ve earned respect from my peers. We know our responsibilities. I have to protect every individual that enters the sick bay, here. It’s my creed, my oath, and also, the charge given to me by our governing bodies. Anything less would sacrifice my ethics. And scuttle my career...”

 

Admiral Nauga laughed nervously. He smoothed the fabric of his minimalist uniform.

 

“I’d never question your faith, doctor. I know how seriously you take your role. But I need you to allow Kelly Strafe and Judson Baines to be transported home. We will see that they receive the attention that they urgently need. There will be no excuses!”

 

Stoudt reached for her glass once again. She needed a sip of wine before concluding her thoughts.

 

“The Hidecki Wellness Chair, that’s it, right? You’ll give them both a run-through and hope for the best...”

 

Her philosophical opponent nodded and whispered while smiling.

 

“Duty makes it easy, or difficult. The choice is yours. Either way, those two will come back to us, and be restored. The plan has already been set in motion. Heads that tower above mine made the call. For you and me, it’s simply a matter of following our directives.”

 

His medical contact nearly hissed through her teeth.

 

“You’ve already damaged the lieutenant, intellectually. I’ve prescribed sedatives to ease the confusion in her brain. She will need rest and therapy, things that will take weeks or months. As for the university scholar, there is nothing wrong with his mind. But a session of shock treatments will tip the scales. Is that what you want?”

 

Nauga was frustrated and out of patience. So, he decided to speak plainly.

 

“Becka, when our forebears came to the Red Planet, it was on a mission to escape the wreckage mankind had made. Our species knew how to travel between worlds in the solar system, and gaze into the heavens. But we couldn’t outgrow our lust for power and conquest. The Great Uprising was an act of suicide. Those who got out before that calamity came to fruition provided the seeds for a new civilization. Our civilization! They made it possible for future generations to do better. Our stability, our continuity, our discipline, all come from that sacrifice. Your wounded seeker-of-truth doesn’t understand how fragile our ecosystem is, even today. If he comes here to preach his gospel of absolutes, to raise questions about who and what and where things occurred as we rose from the ashes, then it might put all of this into peril. We don’t need people to ask questions. We need them to accept the answers already given...”

 

Dr. Stoudt crossed her legs, and cradled the wine glass in one hand.

 

“Admiral, you’ve lost me with your cryptic word-salad. What is it that you’re trying so hard not to say?”

 

The military officer closed his eyes and bowed gracefully, over the control panel.

 

“Baines wanted to be an archaeologist for long enough to dig up the bones of his great-grandfather. But he managed to uncover much more than just the skeleton of an old drunk. Those journals provide a handwritten account of our darkest hour as human beings. A time when the MAGA defense set our world on fire. Their rebellion unleased a kind of evil we’d not faced in generations. The response from national leaders was quick, and decisive. And maybe, inexcusably brutal. Even overblown and unnecessary. Those facts could be debated for centuries to come...”

 

The veteran doctor stroked her cheek while pondering. She had reddened with surprise.

 

“Inexcusably brutal? Overblown and unnecessary? What the hell, man! What did he dredge up in those notebooks from the trailer park in old Ohio?”

 

Nauga leaned forward until his face filled the viewscreen completely. He spoke as if trying not to be heard by anyone outside of their cramped cubicles.

 

“Those who cooperated took Larman transports to our Martian colonies. They built what we have today. Those who didn’t accept the plan went to detention camps throughout the middle of North America. They disappeared, visually and politically. And in terms of history. If you open their tombs, and let their ghosts wail for a redress of grievances, then you might finally bring down everything that our ancestors built. Think of that cost, Becka! Is it worth being right, in the end? Is it worth telling truths that were better left buried and dead with forgotten sins of antiquity? Is it worth knowing that you just lit the fuse of a political powder-keg?”

 

For the first time, both participants in the long-distance conversation fell silent. There was nothing more to say.

 

Guilt and consequence had proved to be eternal.

“Return Mission, Second Assignment, Part Seventeen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

Chief Medical Officer Becka Stoudt now had two priority cases in her sick bay aboard the Morningstar III. A sidelined officer, Lieutenant Kelly Strafe, and Dr. Judson Baines, who had been pulled from the wreckage of his Digger shuttle on their flight deck. Both were special for opposite reasons. The professional soldier had been mentally realigned, with technology used by the Space Force to revive her career as an obedient defender. Something that was controversial, and yet undeniably effective. The university professor was a civilian, and scholar. Someone that did not fall under the authority of military procedures. But his importance as a researcher and archivist had the high council on Mars oddly concerned. Continuity and cooperation were twin pillars of life in the planetary colonies. Anything or anyone that might threaten the regular order of their society was considered to be suspect.

 

The managing physician felt bound by her creed to protect both of these patients from the consequences of political decisions. As she monitored their life signs, words from the original Greek text of the Hippocratic Oath echoed inside of her head.

 

“I swear by Apollo Healer, by Asciepius, by Hygieia, by Panacea, and by all the gods and goddesses, making them my witnesses, that I will carry out, according to my ability and judgment, this oath and this indenture. To hold my teacher in this art equal to my own parents; to make him partner in my livelihood; when he is in need of money to share mine with him; to consider his family as my own brothers, and to teach them this art, if they want to learn it, without fee or indenture; to impart precept, oral instruction, and all other instruction to my own sons, the sons of my teacher, and to indentured pupils who have taken the Healer’s oath, but to nobody else. I will use those dietary regimens which will benefit my patients according to my greatest ability and judgment, and will do no harm or injustice to them...”

 

Commander Hornell Block entered the primary cubicle of their care-ward without making any attempt to excuse the brusque manner of his appearance. He wore a standard uniform for duty, made of synthetic fibers dyed in a minimalist pattern of stripes that signified his rank. He did not seem patient. Yet his facial expression remained calm.

 

“Doctor, I had a call from Admiral Nauga this morning. He asked me to do two things, neither of which should present any difficulty. The first is to see that Ms. Strafe returns to her position as second-in-command of this ship. She is a valued component in our system. I need her at my side. The command structure needs her participating and at the ready for any challenge.”

 

Dr. Stoudt snorted at his insistent tone.

 

“When she is ready, sir. Not a moment before...”

 

Her superior on the vessel paused for a moment, and then continued his declaration.

 

“Added to that responsibility is my order to transport our guest from the graduate school back to New Cleveland, immediately. There is a team of specialists waiting to assess his condition, and offer treatment, as needed.”

 

Stoudt hardened her gaze, and stood with the stiffness of a sentry on watch.

 

“Let me guess, they’ve got one of Mr. Hidecki’s high-voltage marvels waiting to spin his brain cells into a compliant mush?”

 

Commander Block gasped at being addressed so directly. Beads of sweat broke out across his forehead.

 

“Becka, I know you’re not a conscript. So, I’ll allow you to speak freely. But keep in mind that the other people on Mars are just like you. They function according to the same standards. They hold the same sort of ethical beliefs.”

 

The physician shook her head like a child refusing an unpalatable vegetable.

 

“You’re a bad bullshitter, Hornell! They’ll strap him into a wellness chair, and rearrange his cerebral matter. That’s the plan, correct? Another misuse of our technology?”

 

The Morningstar chief clenched his fists.

 

“Take care with your accusations, friend. What we say here is monitored remotely. If necessary, it might be used in a future proceeding...”

 

Dr. Stoudt laughed out loud. She was not intimidated by this quiet threat.

 

“I’m beholden to the Space Force with regard to health issues, Hornell. That’s my purpose in being a member of the crew. I make judgments about the fitness of your officers every day. Whether they are able to complete their routines, or not. That’s my charge, handed down from the same individuals that tell you where to go and what to do on their behalf. So, don’t bother with the puffery of thumping your chest. It doesn’t impress me a bit. I made a promise to heal those in need, when I first donned this white coat. And another promise to the leadership of our planet, when I took the assignment on this craft. Do you need to hear it again? Stay in your lane! And I’ll stay in mine!”

 

Block felt his hands trembling. His mind was seething with rage, yet he did not betray this mood with any outward indications.

 

“I’ll say it again, Admiral Nauga wants Strafe back on duty, and Baines returned to our homeworld. Those are not requests, they are orders from the planetary brass! Your job, and mine, is to make those things happen. I’ll let you run your diagnostic tests, and take measurements, or whatever is necessary. But the end result has already been determined. Don’t doubt that there will be severe consequences if we fail. Both of our careers rest on getting these things done!”

 

Stoudt brushed strands of graying hair out of her eyes. Suddenly, she was very fatigued.

 

“I’ll keep you up to date, Hornell. My medical log has all the details, read it if you like...”

 

Her colleague nodded and turned toward the entry port. Once he had slipped outside, into the hallway, he slammed his right fist into the mylar wall.

 

“GAWDAMM THAT WOMAN! GAWDAMM THE ADMIRAL! GAWDAMM THE HIGH COUNCIL! AND GAWDAMM THAT CLASSROOM GEEK, HE’S STIRRED UP MORE SHIT THAN HE’LL EVER KNOW!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment - Part Sixteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

After the eruption of unrest and war during Planet Earth’s calamitous period known as the Great Uprising, things were changed forever. The North American continent was nearly emptied of its population. Political alliances were shattered. Technological advancement was stalled. Social evolution turned backwards. And, the environment suffered damage that a century of recovery could not erase.

 

Cyclical storms became commonplace in this new paradigm of human existence.

 

As climate woes were manifested, it became normal for the entire region to suffer bouts of extreme weather, on a monthly basis. These regular rhythms were augmented by the natural progression of seasons. Life for those who survived was difficult. Their homes and communities were constantly threatened by moments of uncertainty. Yet as during eons of planetary history, living creatures prospered despite such hardships.

 

Dr. Judson Baines was new to this reality. But like those who had gone before, he had the sort of human ingenuity that made outlasting these challenges possible.

 

After being washed offshore, the Digger shuttle was tossed upon the waves like a buoy, lost in the raging waters. Alarms sounded from the instruments. Great crashes of debris made the outer hull ring with each strike. There was little visibility through the forward windscreen, or viewports. Sensors indicated that the craft was spinning wildly.

 

Having been battered and bruised, the university professor hung in his safety web, while manning the controls. Then, it occurred to him that the C-drive had been disabled by land drones sent from Calimex. With that threat eliminated, suddenly, he had another option to rescue himself, and the transport. After keying in an access code, he tapped at the dash with nimble fingers.

 

A high-pitched whine resonated through the vessel. He could feel the crystal generators coming online, as intended. With a forceful blast, the tiny ship shot upward. Cresting the turbulent, lake surface with ease. Daylight returned as it burst out of the spray. Finally, with its untrained navigator at the helm, the high-tech mule gained altitude. With every pulse of the Cloitanium reserves, it gained velocity and purpose.

 

Baines veered toward the sky, while running a diagnostic check. There were creaks and cracks resounding as he throttled up, toward the speed necessary for escape. Soon, vibrations shook the craft with ominous frequency. Yet he knew that lingering in the mayhem of winter would only increase his risk of perishing, alone. His once chance of breaking free, from gravity, and the woes of environmental chaos, would come with a bold, brave leap into outer space. He cursed as his battered vessel pierced the clouds overhead, and aimed itself toward oblivion, in a life-or-death gamble with everything on the table.

 

In orbit, the Morningstar III had been performing perfunctory chores, like re-mapping areas of the surface, and cataloging conditions in real time. The crew was somewhat bored. Even Commander Hornell Block battled a sense of ennui, while planning steps to be taken, once they had settled in as temporary residents of the global neighborhood. But when the errant, Digger shuttle appeared from a swath of gray and white, his attention sharpened immediately.

 

“Lieutenant Reale! Hail that craft on all channels! Is it one of ours? Specifically, the one we left behind on our last mission?”

 

His second-in-command nodded excitedly.

 

“The homing signal matches what you’ve got in our database, sir. It looks to have been through some sort of impact trauma!”

 

Block pounded his right fist on the communications arm.

 

“Digger! This is the Morningstar! Are you in distress? We have stabilized our position, and the flight deck is ready to receive cargo. Lock in on our coordinates, and prepare to be accepted...”

 

Static filled the air. There was no confirmation that their appeal had been heard.

 

Reale sat smartly in her seat at the navigation board. She repeated the plea while programming a recovery sequence that would alert their crash team in the event of a failed landing attempt.

 

“Digger shuttle! This is the Morningstar! We have observed damage to the outer skin of your ship. There is no time to link up for a traditional entry at the flight deck. Pilot your transporter by manual controls. We will do our best to align with your intended vector. Do you understand? Please reply!”

 

The C-drive emissions had turned to a whisper. With much chagrin, Block realized that the lifeboat was coasting on inertia. For whatever reason, it had run out of reactive fuel.

 

“Lieutenant, I don’t think he can answer us, his engines have gone dead. Maybe his battery backup, as well. We’ve got to tractor him into the reception bay. Open the flight deck, and let it rip!”

 

His junior aide was wide-eyed with disbelief.

 

“You want him to bounce into our tail sector, sir? That’ll be a messy situation! What if his shuttle doesn’t survive?”

 

Block cursed and gestured defiantly.

 

“GAWDAMM IT, HE’S COME THIS FAR! SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG, MAYBE THE STORMS WERE TOO WILD, OR HE KNEW THE SHIP WASN’T GOING TO LAST IT OUT. WHATEVER THE CASE, WE’VE GOT TO MATCH HIS INTENSITY. THAT EGGHEAD SON-OF-A-BITCH IS PLAYING ROULETTE, SO WE’LL JOIN HIS GAME, AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS! OPEN THE HATCHES, AND LET HIM INSIDE! IF HE’S WILLING TO TAKE THIS CHANCE, THEN SO AM I!”

 

Baines was in the dark, both metaphorically, and literally. He had exhausted the energy reserves of his metallic beast. There was no response from the helm. As a last breath of oxygen ebbed through his lips, he remembered a prayer sometimes recited by his estranged friend, Kelly Strafe. Swooning at the dashboard, he repeated it while slipping into unconsciousness.

 

“Eternal Father, strong to save

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave

Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep

Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee

For those in peril on the sea!

God, Who dost still the restless foam

Protect the ones we love at home

Provide that they should always be

By thine own grace both safe and free

O Father, hear us when we pray

For those we love so far away.”

 

Reale watched her monitor as the Digger slammed into a web of synthetic restraints that had been stretched across the flight deck. Sparks and smoke filled the cargo bay as it was sealed off, automatically. Then, silence followed the uncontrolled re-entry. The wandering ship had been blistered and scarred from its reckless journey. Now, it had come to rest on one side. With the nose cone compressed against an interior wall.

 

Commander Block covered his face and groaned. The onboard instruments had all flatlined. Every sensor registered a quantity of zero. His responsibility to lead a welcome party, or conduct a funeral, was now at hand.

 

 

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Fifteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

Matron Margo reached the threshold of Tremblay Lodge just as the next cyclical storm had begun to blow across their northern district. Snow piled quickly, though she was already dressed for inclement weather. A fur overcoat, gloves, and knee-high boots kept her protected. A traditional tuque capped her flowing, gray locks. In Torontara, she was known well as both a willing adviser, and someone who often saw visions that were suspect in authenticity. So, when she burst through the doorway and began to proclaim that a visitor from the Red Planet had reached the crest of their lakeshore boundary, few took her seriously.

 

“I’ve told you all for years about my Nana sharing her memories, eh? Well now, there’s proof on the waterfront. Follow me if you wish! It’s wicked nasty outside, but what you see will justify the trek! If not, then I can’t call myself an heir to the House of Jasper-Thorne!”

 

Guelph Brampton sat on an overstuffed Chesterfield, near the fireplace. He was one of a small group that used the community center to keep order in their district. After hearing the emotional appeal, he shrugged slightly, and cradled his whiskey glass while pausing to think. Hot coals were refracted through the crystal, into diamond shapes of orange and yellow.

 

“Mama Mar, you must’ve been dipping into your crock of swill, at that cottage by Lake Erie. You’ve played the role of a tribal queen and a sorceress. And now you’re trying to sound like royalty here in the woods. What’s the point, woman? What’s the point?”

 

The weathered sage was offended by his brush-off.

 

“You still laugh at me, eh? Sure, I like to tease the children with wise tales. But at this moment, I’ve never been more serious. The aboriginals and ancients talked about machines flying to other worlds. It’s part of our lore. Except that today, I’ve seen one of those travelers in the flesh! He’s come back here, to stand where his ancestors stood! Come and see! Come and see!”

 

Preston Kitchener was younger and less patient with the senior figure. His burly arms were covered with scars from logging camps that kept the network of lodges supplied with firewood.

 

“Mama, please! I trust you on things like baking biscuits, or finding the right mix for a meal of poutine and lager beer. But these fantasies about leaping into the sky, they make you sound like a crazed old hag! A big-headed biddy, drunk on her own mash!”

 

The octogenarian female cursed in a native dialect that no one understood. Then stroked a long necklace of bear teeth and claws that hung over her ample chest.

 

“An it harm none, do what ye will! That’s the wisdom of ages. So be it, close your eyes to this gift from the heavens. You must’ve learned as I did, about the exodus that came a century ago. It changed us, all of us, forever. In the before, there were great roads across this continent. Cables stretched from one coast to the other. There were speedy modes of getting places. Stores of knowledge saved from antiquity. A blessed heap of everything on our plates! But being so smart made that generation deaf, and dumb. They couldn’t hear Mother Earth crying out her warnings. She tried to speak and no one listened. Just like you lot, looking away from me, as I stand here by the fire...”

 

Laughter echoed in the great room, fashioned from woodland timbers. Then, Brampton finished his strong drink.

 

“Aye, if she did speak in those days, it would’ve been to say that war and famine were a blight on her garden! Maybe she expelled that horde to purify her lands! I don’t rightly know. Neither do you, Mama Maniwaki! Neither do you!”

 

The social relic was somewhat shocked to hear her indigenous name said aloud.

 

“Bastard! When you chirp with that sentiment, do it carefully! Don’t tread on my heritage like a piker slogging through the mud! Show respect for an elder in this commonwealth!”

 

Kitchener flexed his muscles as a sign of superiority.

 

“I’ll put it out in the open, Mama. Nobody here cares a damn about seeing your alien friend, stuck in a sand bar. He’ll freeze out there right now, the seasons have turned. What bluster we get’ll be frost and muck. I hope he’s got a clear chimney in that ship from space!”

 

More amusement resounded within the lodge. Finally, their grandmother-by-proxy had reached her limit of endurance. She stomped her right foot with defiance.

 

“That’s it, eh? Just brush me off with your serviette, like bread crumbs at the dinner table! Who needs to listen to a wild-eyed crone? Very well then, out the door I go! Out the door, into the windy, winter white! Au revoir, mes amis!”

 

When the disgraced matron left Tremblay Lodge, sounds of sarcasm and celebration trailed in her wake. Bottles of distilled spirits clinked together. Glasses were raised. And with each step, she felt heavier and darker, inside.

 

At the lakeshore, there was already a thick cover of precipitation on the sand. Meteorological mayhem was taking hold. She shuddered and shivered while searching for the vessel of her contact. Yet in the swirling mass of opaque crystals, she could see very little. Sunset was not far away. Stumbling along the water, she peered from under her icy brows with one hand shielding the view. A dim outline of jutting rocks and abandoned piers was still evident. But as she scanned the coast, it became apparent that the man from Mars had been washed away. He and the shuttle were no more. Her newfound evidence, and reason for professing faith in the gossip of old, had been obliterated.

 

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her skin chapped from the force of a gale that stirred the lake waters. Finally, she shouted into the din with all the energy that her tired lungs could muster.

 

“I STILL BELIEVE! DO YOU HEAR ME? I STILL BELIEVE! I’LL ALWAYS BELIEVE! ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS!”

“Return Mission, Second Assignment – Part Fourteen”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-24)

 

 

Dr. Judson Baines had been unconscious for several hours. Then, the persistent beat of a wooden staff on the outer hull of his Digger shuttle began to emerge from a mass of cranial fog in his head. He unstrapped himself from the pilot seat, and lazily rolled sideways, tumbling on the deck. Grogginess made it difficult to stand. But with a bit of effort, he was able to leverage his sore physique upward, finally leaning across the control dash.

 

Through the front viewport, he could see sand and a long stretch of empty beach. Beyond was a forest, overgrown from many years of neglect. There were no signs of any human inhabitants. But as he swooned and grasped the ledge of control dials and screens, once again, the pounding resumed. With a staccato rhythm that accelerated and declined, as if fatigue toyed with whoever wanted to attract his attention.

 

He slid open an emergency hatch located beside the main pod, and came face to face with a gnarled, gray matron in a long, handmade dress. She wielded a knobby stick that appeared to have been carved from a tree limb. Her eyes were strong and bright, which indicated an intellect more lively than her mortal coil. She must have been very old, indeed. Yet her prowess with the natural rod testified to an unflagging amount of endurance.

 

When she realized that first contact had been made, a gasp ebbed from her leathery lips.

 

“You survived that crash, eh? It sounded right horrible...”

 

The stranded professor squinted for a better view before answering. His face was bruised.

 

“Since I’m not drowning at the moment, that must mean I made it across the lake?”

 

The seasoned marm laughed and tapped her tree branch on the ground, twice.

 

“I saw you falling from the sky. My cabin is up the road, not long if you walk briskly. I spied your air-boat through the trees. You know, not many people here believe in men dropping from the blue. It’s thought to be a giddy-goose tale, eh? Something you’d tell kids for fun. But I’ve always known it must be true. My fam has retold stories for generations about life before the wicked kerfuffle...”

 

Baines tried to shake off a lack of focus, and an inability to concentrate. His eyes were watering.

 

“Family? Like how many? Just yours, or others as well?”

 

The wizened female smiled with a playful curl of her mouth.

 

“We’ve all got lodges, eh? Here’n there under the greenery. Probably a dozen along the shore. A lot more going inland. But you won’t find ‘em easily, we like it that way. Nobody wants to be out in the open, it’s a habit since people down south biffed it with their damned uprising...”

 

The university nerd sat on a corner of his control console. He still felt somewhat dizzy.

 

“My name is Judson. I’ve been poking around in what the old-timers called Ohio. On the other side of this body of water. Someone in my bloodline lived there during the past century. Before the human race bugged out to Mars...”

 

Suddenly, a look of awe made his unexpected contact glow with comprehension. She danced on her spot with the wooden stick providing support.

 

“MARS, EH? IT’S MARS! MARS! MARS! JESUS MURPHY! ALL THE JUNIORS WOULD BE TICKLED TO HEAR THAT NAME SAID IN CONVERSATION. YOU’RE A SEED THAT DROPPED FROM THE SKY! SPRINKLED LIKE FAIRY DUST ON A WIND CARRIED FROM THE RED PLANET!”

 

Baines cleared his throat, and leaned forward to fully open the emergency hatch.

 

“Not quite that dramatic, but yes. I teach at a graduate school in one of the colonies...”

 

The pale grandmother began to cackle and swing her staff, excitedly.

 

“The old stories are out of favor now. I’ve been told to stay quiet when repeating them, eh? But yeah, no! I’m no keener! You’re proof that I’m not so crazy as they think. I might be touched a bit, in the noggin. That comes with living so long. But I’m still in my right mind! I’m still right!”

 

She switched hands with the walking implement, and reached forward to grab his arm, just above the wrist. This made him stiffen and narrow his gaze.

 

“Yes, you are definitely right...”

 

The feral femme pulled him closer, and whispered gently in his left ear.

 

“I’m Margo Jasper-Thorne, and if you go out for a rip around here, my grandchildren and great grandchildren will chirp at you about their Granny Mar losing her marbles!”

 

The professional scholar was intrigued by her mention of apocryphal narratives about those who had emigrated to other planets. He sensed that in the realm of Torontara, the evolutionary curve had reversed itself, out of necessity.

 

“So, people here aren’t familiar with the historical timeline that reshaped this continent?”

 

Jasper-Thorne tapped her pole on the ground for emphasis. Her eyes lit up with a fiery intensity.

 

“Don’t know, don’t care, eh? It’s safer that way, maybe. I’ve been hushed and scorned, but my brain is still sharp! I know what the nannies told me as a child. My home was one of the biggest lodges, there were dozens of us, aunts and uncles and cousins, and neighbors! Now there’s just me, just an old crone with a wandering mind. Mainly, I keep to myself!”

 

Dr. Baines was betrayed by his sense of curiosity. He wanted to know more about the isolated, northern enclave.

 

“What about your descendants? Would they share their own stories? I’d be interested in knowing more about your social order. How you self-govern, how you raise your young...”

 

His accidental host turned cold at this suggestion. She withdrew her hand, and stood back as if contemplating a potential liability.

 

“Yeah, no. I think not. Did you hear me before? The others in this woodland don’t believe as I do. They don’t read the ancient tomes. They don’t listen to the ramblings of old woman. Be sure, they wouldn’t listen to you! Hah! It’s better that I keep you as my secret, eh? You wouldn’t be welcome at any of the lodges. We all help each other, but otherwise, keep our distance. Talk from someone like me is nothing. Just noise to make the young’uns giggle!”

 

The Digger transport had been wounded beyond repair. Soon enough, it would be washed away with the next cyclical storm, and lapping waves from Lake Erie. So as the gray-headed witness departed, Baines pondered his meager options.

 

Without modern mobility or communications, what should be do next?