Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 22

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Only a day after the first Seagull bot was sighted over Evergreen Estates, their number began to grow exponentially. First there were two, then a half-dozen, and then even more appeared in the sky. This mechanized flock of surveyors acted in concert with each other, but constituted an autonomous threat, without needing to be directly controlled by technicians at Toqua Platte. Their onboard programming was enough to guide each one toward its ultimate destination. But upon identifying the wreckage of their lander and capsule, that purpose shifted to a new task which was certain to be more rewarding for everyone in the Calimex republic.

 

The Digger shuttle represented a prize, waiting to be taken. Having it as a target meant that all of the surveillance drones massed over the abandoned trailer park, and began to document details that would be useful when soldiers from the coastal enclave were able to trek across the North American continent.

 

Serge Tarka reacted immediately to this invasion. But for his counterparts from the Mars colonies, the response was less anxious in character. Neither the former lieutenant, or university professor, seemed to be overly concerned about this outsider presence above the horizon. That disparity caused friction as the trio debated over how to address their watchers from a technological standpoint.

 

Judson Baines was more curious than concerned about the airborne bots.

 

“I understand wanting to know what happened to the Mare Frigoris mission. That makes perfect sense to me, they must need closure on that failed attempt to reach the lunar base. But what’s with the swarm drifting over here to our empty trailer park? There’s nothing interesting to see, except for people like myself who love archaeological digs!”

 

Kelly Strafe had been trained in a military environment, at the Space Force academy. So her mode of thinking was more strategic in nature.

 

“They must want something that we have. Otherwise, there would be no reason to hang around, when the post-mortem on their Moon mission is complete!”

 

Tarka huffed at their inability to see the obvious. There could be no doubt of what motivation existed for canvassing the deserted village of mobile homes.

 

“It’s not a matter of poking around in the weeds here, I can assure you. Your transport must be what changed the plan, it’s a glistening diamond for people like those on the council of governors. Or more specifically, for their self-righteous leader...”

 

Baines raised his eyebrows.

 

“The shuttle? It’s a short-haul craft, not big enough to carry much cargo or many people. Why get so excited about something like that? The Morningstar had a dozen of them on its flight deck.”

 

His counterpart from the western territory smiled at this note of ignorance.

 

“You and Kelly are used to a living in a society that has evolved in its technical skills, apparently. Everything you’ve shown me is a century beyond my own sense of modernity, or more. In our Pacific region, such advancements have not yet been made. We’ve struggled mightily as a group, since the collapse of national order on this continent. Every step forward has been taken slowly and deliberately. We have sacrificed a lot to reach our current level of sophistication...”

 

Strafe nodded and sharpened her focus on the shattered history that had made each of their worlds so different from the other.

 

“I get it now, you mean that the Digger would be a kind of trophy for your people. Not for what it is, necessarily, but for what it can do?”

 

Tarka was reflective in responding to this observation. But he signaled agreement with a gesture of acceptance.

 

“The propulsion system is amazing to me as an engineer. I would love to take a ride on your shuttle, and experience its capabilities, first hand. But more importantly, so would the crew at Toqua Platte. They directed my mission to Luna Citadel, which was supposed to help us gain understanding about traveling between planets and their satellites. In times of antiquity, Alpha-One had given our ancestors a start on traveling beyond the realm of Terran influence. That was how it all began...”

 

Baines looked upward, as the Seagull bots circled their wilderness location. Then, shrugged over the thought that they were being watched by strangers at a distant facility.

 

“It could take weeks to cross the land between us and them, maybe even months. The highway system that existed a century ago is crumbling now. We saw what remained of it when exiting the Morningstar III. War, cyclical storms, and decay have taken a toll on that physical network of roads. Your people couldn’t just drive here, like going on vacation!”

 

Serge Tarka did not disagree, but tried to frame the situation in clearer terms.

 

“For those of us in Calimex, it’s a matter of pride, but also of survival. To sit still and resist evolving would be suicidal. We have a finite amount of resources, and a limited population. That is why the Prime Keeper has pushed for cooperation among the territories, and eventually, full integration. But old prejudices are difficult to overcome. And, the lure of ambition remains strong, even when you have a good intent at the outset...”

 

Strafe narrowed her eyes, and pointed at the Digger vessel.

 

“So what will they do for a chance to steal that thing? Romp all the way across this continent? Or send bigger bots to carry it away?”

 

The Frigoris-Farragut commander paused for a moment, to form his reply.

 

“I just don’t know. A specialized team of explorers would face obstacles getting here, as Judson has already concluded. With that being said, how else they would be able to commandeer the transport is a mystery. But we can be certain that they will try something to get it back to the west coast...”

 

As the three were discussing this predicament, some of the Seagull bots dropped their altitude, and then landed in a ring around the shuttle. Their sensor arrays flashed with warning lights, before settling in on a steady glow of activity. An electronic barrier was now in force around the tiny vessel. Communications between the surveyors, and their controllers in Calimex, resumed.

 

Kelly Strafe swore out loud, and kicked her heels on the exposed concrete.

 

“WHAT CAN WE DO NOW, JUDDY? THOSE BASTARDS HAVE TAKEN OUR CRAFT AS A HOSTAGE!”

 

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 21

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Arbiter Goland Pick was eager to process surveillance video from the Seagull bot, when it arrived in an encoded stream of data. But upon witnessing the state of their Frigoris-Farragut lander and capsule, at its point of impact near Lake Erie, he realized that any chance of the crew having survived would be slim, indeed. The two-stage vessel had been crushed by its rapid descent to the planetary surface, despite using impeller lift-jets to cushion that strike. Their airborne device circled overhead, mapping out an entire quadrant of land. But no sign of active life was detected. Only a surrounding perimeter of wilderness conditions framed this desolate spot.

 

The automated surveyor flew in a wide loop while searching, eventually moving down the hillside, pointed east. It diverted randomly toward a forested area, which was thick with rustic, evergreen trees that reached toward the sky. Then, took a visual cue from a formation not common in nature. Its onboard processors recognized this configuration as man-made, and therefore, a possible clue to what past inhabitants might have left behind. More live recordings showed an expansive property, arranged in rows of manufactured homes that were sitting empty. With several outbuildings and a main terminal which appeared to have been used for park maintenance.

 

None of these moving images held the attention of anyone at Toqua Platte for long. But when the squarish outline of a modernist transport came into view, that lazy mood shifted to a disciplined snap of attentive curiosity.

 

The Digger shuttle was clearly visible, sitting on a paved street in the midst of this vacant community.

 

Assistant Eugene Pataki nearly fell off his seat at the forward console.

 

“SIR! LOOK AT THAT CRAFT, IT CAN’T BE SOMETHING LEFT BEHIND FROM A CENTURY AGO! BUT IT ISN’T SOMETHING WE WOULD HAVE BUILT, EITHER!”

 

Arbiter Pick leaned forward over his own panel, for a better view. He paused the broadcast stream, and then reviewed closeup shots of the strange machine, while pondering its origin.

 

“You are correct in that assumption, Mister Technician! It’s certainly not anything we could’ve designed. And not likely to have come from Atlantia or Torontara, as both of those territories are somewhat primitive in their abilities. Do you recall that in the recent past, we detected C-drive emissions over that part of our continent? The whistle of such engines is very distinctive. But those sounds have been silent for many months, perhaps more than a year. This however makes me think that maybe, whoever visited our world before, may have returned for an unknown purpose.”

 

Pataki trembled visibly, while executing gestures over his control tiles.

 

“The Prime Keeper will want to be informed, sir! He’s been determined to capture one of those tiny transports, and reverse-engineer the drive system for our own use!”

 

The Toqua Platte supervisor sighed heavily, while nodding.

 

“Yes he will, once again you are correct with your thinking. His quest for knowledge has been insatiable. It is the reason all of us work feverishly at this facility...”

 

Pick gestured over a colored tile that activated a com-line to the governance chambers at their coastal nexus. He had to clear his throat before speaking. A tone of resignation weighed on every word he uttered.

 

“Attention, attention! This is a priority message regarding our Seagull surveillance. We have news about the Mare Frigoris lunar mission, and also, possible evidence of visitors returning from distant colonies on Mars...”

 

Lotharian Gardino did not bother answering this direct call for contact. Instead, he ran down a corridor that linked his own office in the complex, to a travel tube in standby mode. His trip to the Toqua Platte facility was brief and exhilarating.

 

Upon arriving, he literally burst through the sliding doors.

 

“GOLAND! WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT DID OUR BOTS FIND IN THE OLD HEARTLAND? WHAT HAVE YOU UNCOVERED WITH YOUR FLYING TOYS? WHAT CAN YOU GIVE ME TO REPORT TO THE CALIMEX COUNCIL?”

 

The chief engineer attempted to answer this query in a calm and deliberate manner.

 

“First, only one of our surveyors has reached the crash site. But it has been able to send a wealth of evidence about what transpired. Second, we believe that our three-man crew is dead, as a result of what the Seagull bot transmitted. And third, while mapping out the surrounding region, that sophisticated apparatus was able to document images of an off-world vessel which is something beyond our own capabilities, or those of our neighbors to the east and north.”

 

Keeper Gardino exhaled loudly, and pumped his fists in unison.

 

“ANOTHER SHUTTLE? YOU BELIEVE THIS IS ANOTHER SHUTTLE FROM MARS? I’VE GOT TO HAVE IT, MR. ARBITER! WE’VE GOT TO HAVE IT! OUR PREVIOUS FAILURES CAN BE ERASED IF WE CAN HUNT DOWN ANOTHER EXAMPLE OF THE C-DRIVE TECHNOLOGY! THAT’S WHAT WE NEED TO SHINE LIKE THE SUN ITSELF! IT WILL GIVE US A FOUNDATION FOR GLORY AMONG ALL THE CIVILIZED ENCLAVES! THE COSMIC CREATOR HAS OFFERED US A GIFT I WILL CHERISH, FOREVER!”

 

Technician Pataki crouched low over his control board. But mumbled a polite note of dissent about the jubilation of his governing leader.

 

“Prime Keeper, we can’t be sure who brought that craft here to Planet Earth. What if it didn’t come from Mars? What if it came from another galaxy, light years away?”

 

The elected official burst into laughter. He was amused by the young conscript, and his shyness to embrace bold possibilities.

 

“Young man, you need to develop more of a spine, I think! We require brave individuals at the helm of this station. Not nervous nabobs who wring their hands and worry! Perhaps I cannot identify who might have brought that strange vessel to our continent, but it does bear a striking resemblance to those we have seen before. If it is from the Martian colonies, then anything incorporated into its design would be useful for us to study. We are on the threshold of many advancements here, all it would take to allow a breakthrough is one chance at peering into the future. This might be a golden opportunity, gentlemen! We can’t risk being left behind!”

 

Arbiter Pick fell back into his console chair. He knew what directions were about to be given.

 

“Very well, Prime Keeper. It will be your decision over what course we choose, going forward. Will you request a military team to be sent, over land? Or attempt a mass migration of Seagull bots, to that part of what used to be called Ohio? It is your responsibility to choose. But I counsel you to be cautious. Whatever path we follow will be full of pitfalls and unexpected consequences. Of that, we can be sure!”

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 20

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Kelly Strafe was still somewhat disoriented after her coma had finally passed. But glad to have survived that ordeal, mentally intact. She languished in a lazy mood throughout the morning and afternoon. But as evening arrived, she decided to sit outside in the remnants of what had once been a fire pit on the vacant, concrete slab next door to Lot 13. A place reserved for neighborhood celebrations during distant days before the outside world had collapsed, and environmental harm brought on the cyclical woes of violent, meteorological events.

 

Her companion was somewhat amused by this impulsive choice. Yet after joining her in the semi-circle around a repurposed trash barrel, he was inspired to gather loose boards from around the overgrown space. And then stack them crisscrossed, as fuel for a blazing centerpiece. He used a laser torch to start the pile burning. Then, sat back with the orange-yellow glow reflected in his thick, corrective glasses.

 

“My great-grandfather wrote about nights like this, when he was still mobile enough to get around. Residents of the park were generally blue-collar folk. They worked jobs that involved positions of manual labor, and had to find minimalist forms of entertainment. On nights when the temperatures remained hospitable, they would drink and converse into the wee hours of morning...”

 

His partner sipped bottled water from rations in the Digger shuttle. She was grateful to have escaped her dream-state marathon.

 

“Juddy, it wasn’t restful being unconscious for so long. I couldn’t get away from demons, goblins, and ghosts. They were everywhere, pursuing me through the fog!”

 

Judson Baines leaned forward in his vintage lawn chair, to listen.

 

“I watched you for days and weeks. The monitors were set to alert me if anything changed, but you were unreachable. I had no clues about treatments that might have been effective. Nothing helped until the wave generator from our friend with the crashed ship.”

 

Serge Tarka joined the duo, after retrieving more instruments and supplies from his Frigoris-Farragut craft. He took a seat on piled cinder blocks that had been left unused, around the perimeter.

 

“We do things like this in my enclave, sometimes. It can get cold at night by the ocean. We build a fire and tell stories. There are legends still circulating about how life existed before the mass migration to your planet. For us, they are almost like fairytales...”

 

The former lieutenant cradled her synthetic flask in one hand. She was parched after being asleep for such an extended period.

 

“That’s how it is for us in the Mars colonies, really! You said it perfectly, those stories do sound like tales of fantasy. I can’t imagine living out in the open. No walls, no travel tubes, no linked communities, no domed concourses, no artificial atmosphere!”

 

The university professor thumbed through a notebook from his archived collection.

 

“T. C. Lincoln wrote about months and years of poverty at this site, before the bitterness and rancor of a new Civil War. The inhabitants were resourceful in surviving hardship. I think it may have gone better for those in this trailer village, than in other, more metropolitan areas. Urban people were used to services and convenience, in an organized setting. Here at Evergreen Estates, the paradigm had already been shattered. This was already something of an outpost in the wilderness...”

 

 Tarka huddled closer to the flames, for warmth.

 

“We have order in my republic. But sometimes I think it is a burden for us, we all cooperate for the better good, but have no privacy as a result. We are cogs in the machinery, not individuals in a collective. That would be sedition to confess at home, of course. But here in this abandoned development, I have a taste of freedom. At least for a moment...”

 

Kelly Strafe tugged at her long ponytail. She patted the Calimex engineer on his shoulder.

 

“I have the same thoughts sometimes, believe me. So, don’t feel bad!”

 

Baines put aside the notebook, and gazed deep into the bright embers.

 

“On our world, we had to do create something similar, out of necessity. A socialized kind of cooperative governance. War would be chaotic when we all depend on the shelter of a sealed environment. Fighting amongst ourselves would kill everyone. It is unthinkable to act recklessly with those kinds of guardrails in place. But the downside is thought control. We aren’t allowed to stray from the official line on truth, and history. Facts are relevant only when approved by our masters for public dissemination. Any expression of dissent or debate becomes a challenge to order. That is the cycle in effect, from one end of the spectrum to another, and back around again.”

 

Strafe nodded and drank from her composite container.

 

“And that is how we ended up here, on his big ball of mud!”

 

The coastal commander scratched his head, and smiled.

 

“It seems that all of us have inherited a similar predicament. I find that ironic, if nothing else. At least in Calimex, our people are on an evolutionary path back to where our ancestors stood. We have some advancements that the other territories can’t manage to achieve. Which is better, I do not know. They are more like savages, like animals of a sort. We are educated and refined, but maybe, no longer completely human. It is strange not to wake up in the morning and know that I am being watched!”

 

As they continued the lively and introspective conversation, a glimmer of light streaked across the black void, above. A Seagull bot had reached the skyline, completing its journey from Toqua Platte to the shore of Lake Erie. It signaled back across the distance, with surveillance data recorded in real time. This electronic chirping registered simultaneously on a communications device brought from the Frigoris-Farragut vessel.

 

Serge Tarka stiffened in response, then jumped to his feet. The momentary sense of being liberated from service to Lotharian Gardino had vanished.

 

“The Prime Keeper is here! He found my lander up on the hill! I am stunned and saddened, but certainly not surprised, my friends. This is the climax I expected. Soon, I will be going home...”

 

Professor Baines stomped his work boots in the dirt.

 

“You’re not going anywhere unless it’s a free choice! This is our park now, our own safe space. For better or worse, it is where we will live, and ultimately, join the cosmic continuum in eternity!”

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 19

 

 

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Arbiter Goland Pick was used to being in charge at the Toqua Platte complex, with all of the different responsibilities that entailed. His background in science, engineering, and managing people made this daily chore a pleasure to execute for the coastal governors. Yet when Lotharian Gardino came to call, that confidence was tested. He knew well that the elected leader of their western enclave was ambitious, and driven to achieve goals that other figures might have found to be overwhelming in scope. The pressure he inherited to achieve excellence, when under the watchful gaze of this national steward, was intense.

 

Predictably, the Prime Keeper immediately wanted information about what had transpired with their mission to Alpha-One, which later became the civilian, Luna Citadel base. But he had no direct answers to provide, only questions that dogged all of his servants at the technology center.

 

A dark mood of futility settled on everyone, as they were berated for incompetence, and failure.

 

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR CAPSULE AND LANDER? I ASK YOU ALL, HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? THE CRAFT AND ITS THREE OCCUPANTS WERE YOURS FROM THE VERY BEGINNING! WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAVE GONE WRONG WITH THEIR FALL BACK TO EARTH?”

 

Pick felt nauseous, and clutched his stomach while answering.

 

“Keeper, we did not receive a homing signal from the distress beacon onboard. That is puzzling, as its activation is automatic in the event of a crash...”

 

Gardino began to flail his arms, wildly. His sense of outrage could be heard in every chamber of the building.

 

“NO SIGNAL? YOU ARE RECEIVING NO SIGNAL? IS THAT AN INDICATION THAT THE CREW PERISHED UPON IMPACT?”

 

His servant and adviser cringed while gesturing over the main control panel.

 

“Possibly, we must consider it to be one of several outcomes that may have occurred. Or perhaps the beacon itself was disabled. The Frigoris-Farragut ship would have made landfall at a great distance from our sensor network. We can’t be certain that their signals could be detected immediately...”

 

The Calimex leader literally spat mucous while shouting abuse.

 

“YOU CAN’T BE SURE? ALL YOU MEN AND WOMEN OF KNOWLEDGE CAN’T BE SURE? WHAT KIND OF EXCUSE IS THAT, MR. ARBITER? I WOULD EXPECT MORE FROM A PERSON OF YOUR HIGH STANDING IN THE SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY! THIS IS A DISAPPOINTMENT I CANNOT ACCEPT!”

 

Goland Pick bowed deferentially, while continuing his work.

 

“Keeper, you speak with great authority. I have no explanation for the disappearance of our vessel. It does not follow what we have experienced during past flights to the lunar orb...”

 

As the technical team was being chastised, a notification blip appeared on their main display. A combined sensor array had finally detected the faint tones of a code sequence, sent in response to persistent hails of the capsule-lander duo.

 

Eugene Pataki, who had the slender profile of a plucked chicken, with the personality to match, exclaimed loudly over this unexpected change in status.

 

“Arbiter, look at that! We’ve got a lock on the Mare Frigoris craft! It’s a miracle after so many days of silence! A genuine miracle!”

 

Gardino slammed his right palm against the control console.

 

“FINALLY, YOU ARE GETTING SOME RESULTS HERE! GOOD WORK, I SAY! THIS WILL MAKE MY REPORT TO THE GOVERNING COUNCIL A HAPPIER EXPERIENCE!”

 

Technician Gene brightened with this change in disposition. He had been fearful of banishment throughout the morning.

 

“The code we’re getting is a distress signal, sir. It indicates severe trauma to the twin vessels. They must have landed hard, still moving at a speed too fast for a safe reentry!”

 

Pick waved his hands over the control tiles, and they flashed different colors in response.

 

“The battery output is very weak, Prime Keeper. There can’t be much left of the capsule and lander. With just a handheld com, I doubt the men could contact us, it takes too much energy to cross such a great distance. They would need the ship’s power sources for backup, which are now likely to be unavailable...”

 

Their titular head-of-state glanced around the room with a defiant expression of superiority.

 

“How can we find out for certain? What will it take? Land drones? The Seagull survey bots? A military platoon sent across this continent? Let it be done, whatever that might entail!”

 

The Toqua Platte chief grimaced with each of these options being tallied. None of them was practical or guaranteed to succeed.

 

“Keeper, there are difficulties with what you suggest. Our land drones are inhibited by wilderness conditions in the heartland areas. The ground-level conditions are quite inhospitable. The amount of time it would take to assemble a group of soldiers for such a long excursion might be considerable. And it would certainly be a hindrance to our efforts. We have no idea how they would fare in that kind of primitive environment, without a supply chain and logistical support. The Seagull bots can fly for extended periods, and probably represent our best option. But maintaining control through the interference generated by cyclical storms would be challenging. We’ve never worked with those kinds of parameters in effect. There might be a loss of communications, which could invite chaos. With each of those choices, we would be expending vital resources and manpower. Those are finite quantities for us, we only have so much at our disposal as a republic...”

 

Lotharian Gardino raised both fists, and became vocal in protesting this assessment.

 

“NONSENSE! OUR PEOPLE ARE OUT THERE, SOMEWHERE! WE CAN’T ALLOW THEM TO FALL PREY TO AN UNSEEN ENEMY! WE ARE A MIGHTY POWER ON THIS PLANET! OUR PLACE IS AT THE HEAD OF THIS GLOBAL TABLE, NOT COWERING IN A CORNER! IF WE CAN’T PROTECT OUR OWN EXPLORERS, WE CERTAINLY CAN’T SET AN EXAMPLE FOR THE OTHER ENCLAVES AND THEIR CITIZENS!”

 

Every member of the technical staff had their head down. There were gasps and groans around the facility.

 

Goland Pick stood with his arms crossed. He had finished the chore of locating their Frigoris-Farragut vessel.

 

“Prime Keeper, our capsule and lander are at the northeastern edge of what was formerly called Ohio. They put down near a body of water that separates the region from Torontara, one of the other independent republics. A flock of Seagull surveyors could reach that spot in a matter of days, much faster than land drones or a platoon of conscripts. The decision is yours to make of course, but that is my take on the possibilities we possess.”

 

The elected official was considered to be first among equals. In charge of the ruling council, but subject to the consent of all other coastal governors in their federation.

 

“Very well, Mr. Arbiter! Prepare the surveyor fleet! I will gather my fellow representatives for an executive meeting. There can be no doubt that they will agree on this bold plan of action. We cannot fail to solve the riddle of what happened to our mission commander and his crew! It must and will be done, without delay!”

 

Mermaid & Walrus Revisited - To Help, or Not to Help…

  

 

c. 2026 Cheryl Keller/Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Mermaid Says:

 

Sitting in our living room last week watching CNN and feeling miserable with the current state of affairs, my husband and I started hearing something out of the ordinary coming from outside.  At first, we weren’t sure if what we were hearing was music or just neighbors having a good time outside as the weather was pretty nice.  But after turning the volume down on the TV and listening a bit harder, we definitely heard something that did not sound quite right.  Distressed calling out, a “help”, and other screams.  Instinct hit, we both jumped up and headed outside.  Something was definitely happening in our neighbor’s yard and it didn’t sound good.  Without hesitation, my husband sprinted toward the gate around their yard while we both called out to see if we could get some direction from them as to what the problem was and whether or not the police should be called.  Long story short, their new dog they just brought into the home was fighting with their older dog and they were trying to separate the two before too much damage was done.  Happy to say that everything settled down and the damage was manageable to both animals and people.

 

As most of us do, we analyze situations after the fact and hindsight kicks in.  What if this was a different scenario that my husband walked into…domestic violence say, with a weapon…?  It could have been a very different outcome for everyone.  I don’t think that would have changed his reaction, as that is just who he is, but it does open the question, what would you do if a call for help came?  It reminded me of a show that used to be on television called exactly that, “What Would You Do?”.  The host John Quiñones would put everyday people in situations using actors without their knowledge and film their responses and reactions.  One episode I remember was filmed at a bar and a “couple” was on a date; the young lady got up to go to the restroom and the young man put something in her drink.  When she returned, they waited to see if the other patrons seated at the bar who noticed this act would say anything to the young lady or simply not get involved.  Luckily, several of the patrons chimed in to tell her not to drink her drink and outed the young man.  But again, it does beg the question, what would you do?

 

Now, I think most people would like to think they would do the perceived “right” thing and help their fellow man or woman, but the world we live in today is quite dangerous.  Scams and preying on good Samaritans is prevalent. How many times have we heard of the good Samaritan who jumps in to help and then turns around and gets sued for intervening, or worse, false cries for help are answered that lead to crimes being perpetrated on the one who answers the call.  It definitely is a sad state of affairs knowing that you have to question yourself before you lend a hand or step in to help another human in need.  The world today now forces people to question at times their inner human nature.  Compassion and empathy for others seems rare these days and it is often exploited negatively creating a greater divide between us which goes against the very core definition of human.  People need connection, feeling, emotion; it is fundamental to our growth and wellbeing.

 

To help or not to help, that is the question.  For this mermaid, I’d like to think that I would help.  My soul tells me that if I were the one calling out and needing someone, I would want someone to answer that door, come running, make the call, so why would I not do the same in return?  Yes, it does come with inherent concern, but the thought of not answering that call and finding out that I could have helped, and chose not to…is a devastating thought; one that I do not think I could live with.  It goes without saying that you don’t know how you would react until thrust into a particular situation.  It is easy to sit here and say I would do this or that, but until it happens to you, it is an unknown.  So, answer the call, don’t answer the call; get involved, don’t get involved; help, or not…what would you do?

 

Walrus Replies:

 

As always, my friend the Mermaid touches on interesting and relevant points in her writing projects. For myself, this question about responding to a perceived emergency of some sort brought back memories of being a salaried, retail business manager, and having to address situations such as these in a timely and direct manner. Usually, without any benefit of being forewarned or informed about the potential outcome.

 

On one occasion, I was called to the front end of store #696 regarding a fight in our side parking lot, which involved multiple young individuals. Patrons were frightened by this public spectacle, and chose to seek out those on our service counter, instead of calling for law enforcement. Something that when pondered with hindsight, seemed strange, as nearly everyone in our modern age carries some sort of cellular device. But upon being asked to handle the chaotic scuffle personally, I reacted with no hesitation. Not drawing upon any sense of heroism or strength, but simply because it was something I considered to be correct. As a professional steward for the store, a primary responsibility I had during every work shift was to guarantee the safety of all customers. Any threat, regardless of its nature, was a challenge to the free exercise of commerce, and ultimately, to my employer.

 

I could not tolerate such an affront to the owner and crew, and our shoppers.

 

I ran down our front sidewalk, and literally jumped off the high curb, right into the midst of this teeming mass. If there had been time to consider my move, perhaps I might have judged this choice more carefully. But in personal terms, I had been taught that meeting difficulties head-on was always better than allowing them to spiral out of control. Thus, I stood in the midst of a dozen or more angry young fellows, and made an appeal for calm.

 

“Whatever you are trying to settle here isn’t my concern. But the safe operation of this market definitely is, so, end your confrontation, and go home! Whoever loses today will be recruiting allies, and coming back for the rest of you, tomorrow. Keep that in mind, boys. Violence only breeds more of the same!”

 

My approach must have surprised the gang, who could have easily knocked me to the ground, and extracted a measure of revenge. But instead of lashing out, there were gasps of disbelief, and drooping heads. One by one, the gaggle of miscreant youth disappeared. Afterward, other members of our supervisory team thought that I must have lost my mind.

 

On another occasion, a drunken individual accosted our female Personnel Manager on the front end of location #6383, regarding check cashing privileges. He was so belligerent that one of the clerks surreptitiously called my cordless phone, a device I carried every day on a belt clip. She whispered a plea for help, into the handset at her station.

 

When I arrived, the offender was loud and unruly. He had backed my undersized cohort up against the countertop, and was waving a checkbook excitedly, as if to prove his own financial worth with visual evidence. I came in charging, with a stern appeal to his senses.

 

“Sir, we are here to serve your needs, but not to take abuse. You’ve got two choices right now, to leave quietly, or be dragged out in handcuffs. There is zero tolerance on the premises for anything else. Think carefully before making your decision!”

 

When the boozer attempted to argue, I reached for my network phone, immediately.

 

“I have the local police on speed dial. Do you want to take a ride in their cruiser?”

 

All the color drained out of his cheeks. He left without uttering another word.

 

At store #617, during my last assignment as a top-level manager, I was summoned by our Head Cashier, who had taken refuge in the office. A senior citizen with a poor disposition had become so agitated with one of the register clerks, that she literally broke down in tears. Following that, he walked to the Produce Department, and unleashed a torrent of insults at an employee about our Clementine oranges. When I stopped him for a chat regarding this unruly behavior, he attempted to intimidate me with complaints about our service protocols, and bad habits as a purveyor of edible goods. Once he had finished ranting, however, I pointed toward the sliding doors at our lobby entrance.

 

“This is like being on recess in school, do you understand? All the kids have to play nicely with each other. It’s mandatory for everybody. But I can see that you haven’t learned that lesson, just yet. So, here’s what it means, you have to leave the building immediately. Get out of here until you learn manners and courtesy from someone. Then you’ll be welcome to visit again!”

 

The shaggy, gray-haired individual could have easily been my grandfather. He was so astounded by my official judgment, that he started to sputter and curse. Words of contempt continued to echo, as he left in a huff. But the episode had ended.

 

In more recent times, as a retired member of my rural community, I heard a shriek of frustration from across the street. One of my neighbors, who appeared to be pregnant, had become distraught with her husband over an issue of family scheduling. He was, for whatever reason, on his way to some undisclosed destination. This jaunt seemed to have irritated his spouse, and she squawked out her opinions loudly enough that everyone on our avenue could hear.

 

Her male partner spoke in a tone that barely surpassed a whisper. I sat outside on my porch, sipping brew while remaining attentive. This rowdy diatribe resounded for several minutes, without changing in character. Eventually, the husband simply departed instead of escalating his marital dispute. An hour later, he was back in the driveway, and once again part of the household. No further signs of woe were evident.

 

I guessed that it was a moment of conflict that had passed without escalating. Still, my presence as an observer seemed useful, in case some form of rescue had been needed.

 

The Mermaid asks reasonably, “What would you do?” My answer is one offered in two parts. First, to assess the situation in real time, and with good judgement. And second, to play the role of a peacemaker and protector, as needed.

Return Mission, Stage Three: Chapter 18

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-26)

 

 

Judson Baines had been stymied by the injury to his partner, and her sudden lapse into what appeared to be a coma. So, although accepting assistance from someone who was a stranger from an unfamiliar territory rattled his confidence, it seemed wise. He decided to allow an examination, and carefully observe as some sort of treatment was prescribed. In truth, he had no idea what to expect. Had they remained on the Morningstar III, expert medical advice would have been readily available. He trusted all of the Space Force physicians, implicitly. But in the abandoned trailer community of Evergreen Estates, that sort of resource could not be tapped. He was very much alone, and handicapped by a lack of personal knowledge.

 

Trust was something difficult to summon in a situation predicated on unknown factors. But he chose to gamble, because there was no other option readily available.

 

When Serge Tarka returned from the wreckage of his lander, he carried a simple diagnostic pack, about the size of a briefcase. Inside, there was an assortment of drugs, electronic gauges, and bandages, but nothing to indicate having a special capability for providing relief. Yet when the mission commander had finished performing a quick overview of his unconscious subject, he reacted with certainty about what should be done.

 

“We’ve only begun to understand brain issues in my home republic. Our theory is that head trauma may produce obvious injury, but can also scramble the natural connections in cerebral tissues. There are minute impulses that fire in order, so that we are able to think and act properly. But if those organic sparks are out of sync, then everything shuts down. What I carry in my kit is a derivative of the wave generator designed at our primary hospital complex. It’s on the order of a transistor radio, but sends signals instead of receiving them. I can use a headband crown to transfer those patterns to your friend, through her skull. With enough time, there will be an adjustment in her gray matter, to mimic the standard form. That realignment should stabilize her core consciousness, and allow her to wake.”

 

The university professor was stunned into silence. What his guest had just described was the principle upon which Hidecki’s infamous Wellness Chair operated. But he remembered that the device had first been invented as an aid for those suffering from afflictions that were untreatable by conventional methods.

 

He watched attentively, as the metallic headband was put into place.

 

“I must say that I am impressed, Serge. We didn’t think anything that sophisticated could be present in the post-apocalyptic environment on Planet Earth...”

 

Tarka connected the junction cable to his tiny transmitter. Then, powered up the instrument, and dialed it in, to produce a maximum output.

 

“Our people are still in the dark, really. We’ve been working through what remained of the library at Toqua Platte. Anything inland of the coastline was destroyed, a century ago. It has taken generations to rebuild our society. But we’ve fared better than the other enclaves, I believe. That is a blessing and curse, because it puts us at odds with the backward people in other regions on this continent.”

 

Baines scratched his shaggy chin. He was fascinated by the simplicity of his new contact’s device.

 

“So, you’re basically teaching the brain to relearn its natural rhythm? That is brilliant, I have to say. I would never have guessed on a treatment that was completely non-invasive...”

 

The Calimex engineer smiled at this expression of approval.

 

“The therapy seemed to work in clinical trials, but our doctors don’t quite understand it just yet. I’m glad that the wave generator was included in my emergency kit, though. For this specific use, there’s no better way to put things right.”

 

As the standard cerebral pattern was communicated, electronically, Kelly Strafe uttered gasps and groans that indicated her awareness was returning. She began to toss on the bed-board, and posture her hands with catlike gestures. Finally, her breathing grew more intense.

 

“JUDDY! WHERE IS JUDDY? WHERE THE FRIG IS JUDDY?”

 

The university scholar sputtered with amazement. He had not expected such a rapid response to the unconventional treatment.

 

“Kells, I’m right here! I’ve been here all along!”

 

Dramatically, the former lieutenant sat up, and threw aside her synthetic blanket.

 

“DAMMIT JUDDY, I’VE BEEN CHASING DREAM-GHOSTS AROUND THE UNIVERSE! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO ME?”

 

Tarka switched off his medical device. The healing routine appeared to have been a success.

 

“Miss, you’ve been in a comatose state for several days, apparently. I believe that condition has been rectified. How do you feel?”

 

The young woman shook her head, as if to dispel mental cobwebs that lingered after the period of negation.

 

“I’m, umm, exhausted, to be honest. Maybe a bit dizzy still, but much better than when I fell down the hillside. How long have I been off the grid? And who the blazes are you?”

 

Baines caressed her forehead with gentle concern.

 

“More than a week, Kells. This fellow is a guest you might say, he came here from the Pacific coast. Someone on an adventure, like us, but not so lucky in the end...”

 

The Frigoris-Farragut pilot reddened a bit, from regret. But agreed with the description that had been offered.

 

“Not so lucky, indeed. I was on my way to the Luna Citadel base, with two crewmates. We had a mishap and went off course. I fell on the same hillside you referenced, but a bit further up the slope. My men did not survive, unfortunately.”

 

The erstwhile Space Force officer was horrified by this report of fatalities. She rubbed her eyes, while attempting to stand.

 

“Two men dead? From the crash, you mean? What about you?”

 

Tarka closed his eyes, while reflecting on the tragedy.

 

“I was spared somehow. It still makes no literal sense. Our lander and capsule impacted the ground at a speed too great for the hull’s integrity. I was surrounded by cargo containers, that must have helped to insulate my seat and harness from damage. It doesn’t clear my soul of guilt though, those explorers deserved better. I should’ve done more to protect them, and control our rate of descent. It was my responsibility!”

 

Baines frowned and pointed his right, index finger at the coastal refugee.

 

“Look, I can’t give you a rationale for what happened, but I’m glad to have had you here when my friend was in need. She owes you a debt of gratitude now, and believe me, I do as well!”

Return Mission, Third Stage: Chapter 17

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Judson Baines had been busy throughout the morning, sorting notebooks and artifacts in the trailer home of his great-grandfather, T. C. Lincoln. This ongoing task had kept him distracted from worry over the condition of his partner, who still languished in a coma. And it also prevented him from paying too much attention, when an apparent meteorite strike boomed from the hilltop field, above Evergreen Estates. Such natural incidents were rare enough that in a different time, he might have been motivated to investigate, and catalog details, or hunt for fragments. But with a new life-path taking him far away from Mars, and deep into the history of his own family, it did not register as being important enough to analyze.

 

The handwritten records stored at Lot 13 were numerous. His progenitor had been prolific in updating a personal journal, which he kept from the point of his arrival, until just before passing away after the Great Uprising had wrecked their society. Though it seemed doubtful that he would ever write a dissertation on this treasure trove of documents, it still seemed useful to archive every tidbit of truth, in case that store of information might someday be discovered by another traveler, hopping from planet to planet within their solar system.

 

With fatigue setting in, and a welcome visitation of sunshine lighting up the outdoors environment, he decided to take a momentary break. A short respite from reading and organizing his files. His intention was to walk around the neighborhood for a breath of fresh air, and mental relaxation. But as he slid down a long access ramp by the singlewide abode, and reached street level, there was a flash of movement by the Digger shuttle. He reacted impulsively, scanning yards left and right, for any sign of wandering animals or collapsing structures. Then, heard a noise echoing that mimicked the sound of footsteps falling lightly, on the pavement. He stood still while listening intently, for this odd coincidence to repeat itself. And finally, came face to face with a stranger dressed in the garb of some unfamiliar military discipline.

 

Serge Tarka appeared from behind the shuttle, bearing no weapons. His uniform tunic was styled in pale colors that reflected the golden warmth of days in his coastal republic. Unlike the red-bearded professor, he cut a figure that was functional and minimalist, in serving the cause of science. But both men shared an unspoken allegiance to exploration, and gaining knowledge about things as yet unseen. They were uniquely curious and persistent about pursuing the fine art of learning. Though raised in vastly different venues, where that process was able to occur.

 

The professional scholar was first to speak. He still carried some loose, notebook pages, folded under one arm.

 

“Hello, sir! Have you been living here, undercover? I must say that it felt like this property had been abandoned for years. I can’t imagine surviving with no amenities, or a reliable source of food. But maybe you keep a garden growing?”

 

The Calimex engineer gestured with a non-verbal greeting. His eyes were wide open.

 

“I had formed the same opinion. But what about you? Is this abandoned development your home? Or did you come here in that sleek vessel, sitting out on the street?”

 

Baines smiled and nodded, while extending his hand for a fist bump.

 

“You might say that this is a vacation jaunt. Though I have no plans to go anywhere else at the moment. I like to rummage around in dumpsters and archaeological digs, for fun...”

 

Tarka folded his arms, and exhaled loudly. Then pointed west, toward the hilltop.

 

“That craft is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Certainly, much more advanced than my own vessel, which is crumpled and stuck in the mud over there at the crest. I was part of a three-man team, headed to our lunar companion, in orbit. Sadly, our uncontrolled descent claimed their lives. Both of them appeared to have died on impact. Perhaps I was spared in a cosmic act of mercy? That is a fortunate reality I will never comprehend.”

 

The university researcher stroked his facial hair, reflectively.

 

“I offer you condolences then, so sorry to hear of your tragedy, neighbor. My situation is less complicated, but still challenging. I have a partner in the small ship you discovered. She had some sort of slip-and-fall accident when exploring our wilderness environment. I haven’t been able to wake her from a sort of comatose state. She’s been on a bed-board in the shuttle for a week or more. I have some useful skills from my time at the Percival Lowell Institute. But medicine isn’t one of my specialties...”

 

Tarka was intrigued by the mention of that famous astronomer.

 

“Lowell? The notable fellow who once thought there were canals on Mars?”

 

Judson Baines was amused by his excitement over the historical reference.

 

“Umm, right. I taught at a school named in his honor...”

 

The mission commander scoffed at this claim, as if it were a fabrication of imaginary excess.

 

“A school? Right, I get it! On Mars?”

 

His studious counterpart shrugged and shook his head as if to affirm the declaration.

 

“Yes, that’s right. There are branches in New Cleveland, and Texas City. The institution was founded a century ago, by teachers who had migrated from the old world...”

 

The Frigoris lead turned pale with shock, and began feel a tremor in his hands.

 

“I’ve heard stories about such things, as a child, and in grade school. But never as part of a first-person account! This is unbelievable, like something out of a fairy tale. So, you came here in that thing, from the Red Planet? How could it be possible, that red rock is an incredible distance from here!”

 

Baines sighed heavily, and pondered for a moment.

 

“The story is more complex than that. What you found in the road is a shuttle, intended for short-distance jaunts from a larger craft. We were allowed to hop down to the surface, for work at this site. I usually study ancient cultures of all kinds, in a variety of settings. But this has a special connection to me, as someone in my bloodline lived here, during the previous century...”

 

Tarka was puzzled by this explanation, yet accepted it as genuine, for the moment.

 

“Okay, you’ve made my head spin with that report. But what about your friend in a coma? Have you tried any therapies to revive her? There are treatments for restoring consciousness in a patient with that kind of issue. All of us on the Frigoris-Farragut team received training in providing emergency aid. It’s a necessary part of leaving the friendly confines of this big stone, for exploring outer space.”

 

The archival steward was embarrassed to admit his failing as an amateur physician.

 

“No, as I said, it isn’t my area of expertise. I don’t have a clue about concussions or cranial injuries, or whatever must have happened to her. I’ve just been waiting it out, so to speak...”

 

The Calimex engineer snorted defiantly. His old routines kicked into gear automatically, with the discipline of a non-combatant soldier.

 

“I don’t have anything so sophisticated as your people must possess, to be honest. But there’s a medic kit in my lander. Let me retrieve it, and I’ll do my best to help!”