Return Mission, Third Stage – Chapter 5

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Before the Morningstar III could attain its typical cruising velocity, Commander Hornell Block sent a priority message to his superiors on the Martian homeworld. He expected a stern response, delivered quickly. One that would order him to immediately investigate the unexplained phenomenon at Mare Frigoris, on the lunar surface. Yet upon issuing his plea for direction, the reply came in a form he had not anticipated. One delivered unofficially, via his personal com-link.

 

The voice in his ear was unmistakably familiar, that of Admiral Corel Nauga. But instead of projecting the usual resonance of a confident leader, he spoke with a note of irritation coloring his words.

 

“Dammit, mister, what is the meaning of your query about a change in mission status? Do you see signs of distress with the away team from Planet Earth? Is there some cause for concern over their safety on the Moon? Is your worry justified by any evidence being collected?”

 

The ship steward was caught without a prepared explanation already in mind. He took a deep breath before composing his thoughts.

 

“Sir, we picked up signs of a nuclear generator in use, at the abandoned base. That facility has been sitting empty for generations. It must mean that someone is attempting to restart operations on-site...”

 

Nauga growled indifferently. He had just finished a breakfast meeting with members of the Space Force chiefs-of-staff.

 

“I say again, is there any quantifiable cause for concern, soldier?”

 

His obedient underling had to admit having no clear reason for alarm.

 

“Sir, they appear to be transmitting data to a center on the west coast of what was the North American continent. Professor Baines said that there was an independent republic there, called Calimex. We suspect that they must have sent out the team to repair and reactivate the lunar facility. Their capabilities are somewhat primitive, however...”

 

The top-level official raised his right fist, and exhaled loudly.

 

“Yes, yes, and your point was what, mister?”

 

Commander Block scratched the back of his head. He felt uneasy and off-balance.

 

“I... umm... guessed that you would direct me to take a closer look, sir.”

 

Admiral Nauga shouted over the com-link with the bark of a chained canine.

 

“HORNELL, I USED THIS CHANNEL TO AVOID STIRRING UP ANY CONTROVERSY WITH THE BRASS HERE ON MARS. THEIR DESIRE WAS TO SEE THE PROFESSOR AND OUR ERSTWHILE LIEUTENANT TAKEN BACK TO EARTH, AND DUMPED ON THE PLANET SURFACE! SINCE YOU HAVE ACHIEVED THAT GOAL, YOUR RESDPONSIBILITIES HAVE BEEN FULFILLED! WHATEVER HAPPENS ON THE MOON IS NONE OF OUR DAMN BUSINESS. LET THEM DO THEIR WORK. TURN THE MORNINGSTAR TOWARD HOME, AND BE ON YOUR WAY! I WON’T WASTE ANY MORE TIME DEBATING THE MISSION YOU JUST COMPLETED!”

 

 There was a brief interlude of silence between them. Then, the junior officer nodded with acceptance.

 

“Aye sir, I will order my ensign to engage the C-drive, immediately. We will report to you when our vessel reaches the station dock, in a matter of days...”

 

A harsh click of electronic relays signaled that their conversation had been terminated, abruptly.

 

As the sleek craft from Mars disappeared into a vast realm of unoccupied space, activity on the planet below was beginning anew. Judson Baines felt a tingle of excitement, when disembarking from the Digger shuttle. But his partner perceived the ruined landscape differently. Her background in the military had instilled a mindset of regimentation and order. To behold the rural community of mobile homes in such a forlorn state of neglect made her shudder.

 

“This property is a mess, Juddy! You actually want to live here and do research? How will that be possible with no water, no power, no communications, and no sense of direction?”

 

The university scholar sighed and rolled his eyes. His red beard had begun to itch.

 

“Kells, we’ve got the shuttle for now. It’ll be our outpost for the time being. I can rig the propulsion system to function as a generator. During my last visit, I stayed at Lot 13, where my ancestor lived. His singlewide longbox is actually in reasonable condition. There is lots of land in this tract, for farming. We can grow a garden that will sustain us when the provisions run out. I did many of these things out of necessity, before. You’ve been too spoiled with living in the colonies. Everything is done for us, staying in sealed domes and breathing a recirculated atmosphere. This is a real environment now, pure and unspoiled by humanity. Everything has reverted to wilderness conditions. But that can be an advantage for us, I’ll show you how it is possible!”

 

The resigned officer tugged her hair into a familiar ponytail. Then, she began to walk the perimeter of their adopted living space.

 

“What were there, around a hundred families renting lots here, at one point? You can see plenty of leftover junk that indicates they left in a hurry. Front doors still standing open, broken windows, toys and yard tools scattered around in the driveways. A disaster for anyone who stayed behind!”

 

Baines gestured with disagreement. He had read many descriptive entries in the diary of his bloodline progenitor, that indicated a happier outcome.

 

“T. C. Lincoln was glad to have his neighbors leave, for the most part. They had a different take on events that led to the Great Uprising. Everything blew apart when the social order became so polarized. And there was an energy crisis, when war raged in what they referred to as the Middle East. Tribalism became the norm. A crackdown from their government ensued, with conflict erupting all across the continent. Terrorist incidents multiplied. Suspicion and mistrust ruled the day. Then, Mother Nature rebelled. She had seen her air, water, and soil contaminated by chemicals and man-made diseases. A foul odor of decay permeated everyone and everything. I read all of this in notebook journals that the old hermit left behind. He remained here long after the park had closed. His body is buried somewhere in the front field, east of their office hub, and maintenance building. We’re going to find that little cemetery, so I can make amends for the sins of our brood. Our DNA sequence was revived on the Red Planet. But for him, there was no rescue. Just the hard reality of madness and collapse, and a shallow grave among the pines...”

 

Strafe could feel tears welling up in her brown eyes.

 

“You tell the story with so much emotion, Juddy. It almost makes me believe that you were there, in person!

Return Mission, Third Stage – Chapter 4

 

 

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Commander Hornell Block left the Morningstar III bridge in a dark mood of detachment, after ordering his crew to resume their voyage back to the colonies on Mars. Yet as he sat alone in his quarters, signals from the lunar surface continued to repeat. They were an encrypted sequence of tonal blips, undoubtedly something a computer would recognize as meaningful. Though not instantly intelligible to the human ear. He could not process the idea that anyone had survived at Mare Frigoris, so long beyond what had transpired on Planet Earth. But equally difficult to accept was the idea that someone had traveled to the Moon from another spot in the solar system. Neither explanation made any rational sense. The noise patterns rattled his consciousness. He wanted them to simply go away, as they traveled out of range.

 

But the rhythmic cadence of data being shared would not relent.

 

Finally, he decided to hail the Digger shuttle as it was approaching a safe spot to land, near the rural community of manufactured homes. He sent the message on an unofficial channel, which would not be monitored by anyone in the military network.

 

“Baines, you sly bastard! Is this a trick of some sort? Answer me please, I need to ask you some questions...”

 

The university professor was totally preoccupied with onboard duties that demanded his attention. He could not immediately respond to this petition for relief. A navigational aid was guiding his tiny craft through the lower atmosphere. Yet for a brief period, the ship’s signal was unavailable. However, as the verdant green of an Ohio landscape came into view, with the blue water of Lake Erie, he thumbed a com button on his console.

 

“Hornell? What could possibly make you call when we’ve already said our goodbyes? Is this a joke? I’m about to get a fix on our intended destination...”

 

 The Space Force officer huffed with irritation. He had not wanted to continue their last conversation.

 

“We’re getting something on our scanners from a decommissioned lunar base, at Mare Frigoris. I thought it had to be an anomaly or a flaw in the sensor array, but it keeps repeating. You said that during previous visits, your research uncovered separate enclaves of human population on the old world. One of those had managed to resurrect some technological capabilities, correct?”

 

Judson chortled and stroked his red beard. He was amused by the query for information.

 

“Yes, at Calimex on the west coast. They were at a level of sophistication, about where our American ancestors stood in the 20^th Century, from what I could ascertain...”

 

Commander Block scratched his buzz cut, and frowned at the monitor he was using.

 

“Do you think the two might be connected? Whoever is sending out data from that lunar base must have come from somewhere nearby. Travel in this region has been shunned for decades. There’s still a stench of history from the Great Uprising, and what followed. So, I doubt that a vessel from the outer planets would be responsible. But perhaps your contacts on the surface might have sent out a team, hunting for clues about their own backstory?”

 

The professional scholar rubbed his eyes while pondering. Concentrating on memories of past visits to the Terran homeworld made him feel fatigued.

 

“It’s possible of course. More likely than a stray craft coming out here to seek adventure and mining opportunities, I suppose. Still, it’s a quantum leap to rehabilitate an abandoned facility on the Moon. They could probably get that far with their primitive rockets, but outfitting a former base would require lots of work. That’s a big chore compared to simply squatting in the dust with a lander, and taking pictures...”

 

His former host groaned audibly. He had hoped to be finished with the chore of conducting visits to their origin point as a species.

 

“I don’t want to share this report with Admiral Nauga. He’ll be likely to have a fit! The fellow has already been skittish about reopening an investigation into Planet Earth and what transpired with our forebears. He might even regret banishing you and the lieutenant from our colonies! I don’t want to witness such a tantrum, or get caught in any crossfire that results!”

 

Baines laughed out loud, until his lungs ached.

 

“Science and history are intertwined in their relevance, Hornell. Both give us a greater understanding of ourselves. But we only get the goods if our minds stay open. Otherwise, it’s a matter of perpetuating delusions, and being ignorant by design...”

 

The lifelong soldier snorted angrily, and vocalized his disdain.

 

“I HAVE NEVER BEEN IGNORANT! BUT WISE MEN HAVE TO KNOW WHEN STAYING SILENT IS BETTER THAN SPOUTING OFF!”

 

The university nerd steered his shuttle carefully, into an attitude of final descent. The horizon above Evergreen Estates had come into focus. He was ready to complete their trip to the trailer oasis.

 

“Commander, you’ve got priorities to keep in mind. And I don’t envy you over those, it can’t be pleasant to function between a perpetual set of guardrails. Where I stand is a better spot, philosophically. I do my research, and publish the findings. Whatever happens afterward is up to the public. I don’t make judgments about value or worth. That is above my pay grade, to use a common metaphor...”

 

Block leaned forward in his weblike, Synthalite chair. It creaked slightly as he shifted his weight off-center.

 

“I don’t have a choice, as you perceive. This news has to be shared with the high council, and my superiors. That means turning around before we get home, and extending this tour of duty. They will want to know more. Specifically, where the data stream is being directed, and who is responsible at Mare Frigoris. If I keep this a secret, my career could be ruined in the future. I might be exposed for breaking with our rules of engagement. But following the protocols will mean more tiresome responsibilities to tackle. No option here brings me any joy! I would rather retire than face these disparate choices. But, I need to summon the courage to act. This is no time for cowardice in the face of a challenge. Were I to give advice to a cadet at the academy, that is what I might say. So, blast this conundrum!  I come out a loser, no matter what happens! My crew will want to mutiny!”

 

Judson shrugged and smiled, while landing his Digger shuttle on a concrete pad by the maintenance garage. The largest building at his target destination.

 

“I look at things differently, Hornell. New opportunities to explore and learn are invigorating for me. I welcome challenges. They give me a reason to embrace the gift of life!”

Return Mission, Third Stage – Chapter 3

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Throughout the trip back to Planet Earth, Commander Hornell Block was somber about leaving his passengers on the surface of their ancestral homeworld. But while seeing the arrogant university professor depart would not present much of a challenge, he felt a sense of loss over the exit of Kelly Strafe. Her service as an officer in the Space Force had been admirable, and worthy of praise. To accept her resignation willingly, caused his cerebral synapses to short-circuit. She was far too talented for a civilian life. Particularly one spent as the companion of an agitator who persisted in challenging norms of the Martian society. At the moment of finality, he expected to be overwhelmed with nausea, and regret. But his orders from the high command had been specific. Ferry the two notable individuals to their remote destination, make certain they were safe and secure at the rural outpost, and leave quietly.

 

He had asked for permission to speak freely on the controversy. And been denied, out of hand.

 

During a previous visit by Judson Baines to the trailer oasis, in old Ohio, a homing beacon had been left behind. Crudely fashioned from remnants of his first Digger shuttle. So, the task of locating Evergreen Estates from their place in orbit was not difficult. Once the Morningstar III slipped into a comfortable rotation around that vast and familiar ball of mud, their scanner array was directed toward its surface.

 

Once a lock had been achieved on the proper coordinates, those numbers were transferred to the control nexus used to program outgoing craft for their abbreviated flights. The shuttle could reach its intended destination solely on the basis of an auto-pilot algorithm. Though he suspected that at some point, manual controls might be implemented, in the interest of taking charge. He thought it likely that training routines still in the mind of his former pupil from the military academy on Mars, would take over.

 

When the time came for his human cargo to be surrendered, however, only one thought held sway. He made a final appeal for sanity, before watching the Digger begin its journey to Terran soil.

 

“Lieutenant, I have to admit that this goodbye is one I will rue for the rest of eternity. Your rightful place is here with us, as a volunteer in the ranks. That egghead provocateur doesn’t need a woman at his side. He is perfectly capable of coming to the wrong conclusions on his own. I dare say that Admiral Nauga himself will feel sick at heart over this folly! It’s a grave error on your part. One I believe you will regret, long after we have journeyed back to Mars...”

 

Kelly made a ruse noise with her tightened lips. She was unimpressed by the show of emotion.

 

“What have I ever been to you, or anyone else in the chain-of-command, Hornell? I’ll spell it out – a servant! I am a tool in your kit. A farm animal, or a beast of burden. An asset to be used when necessary. That gives me little satisfaction as a human being. But to participate in a direct analysis of our origin point as a species, on the other hand, is thrilling to consider. There lies a real challenge worth taking! I won’t claim to understand every detail of how we migrated to the Red Planet, or became who we are today, but once this adventure is complete, I’ll know more and have seen more about that historic event! It gives me a greater sense of purpose than anything I got from being your junior officer!”

 

Block clenched his fists. He could feel a surge of blood pressure in his tissues.

 

“BLAST THAT GAWDAMN UNIVERSITY GOON! HE’S A MENACE TO US, AND TO YOU! I PITY YOUR WEAK-MINDED ACCEPTANCE OF HIS STILTED THINKING. YOU ARE WASTING YOUR OWN BRILLIANCE ON A SELF-IMPORTANT FOOL! AND YOUR WORDS SOUND JUST LIKE HIS! THAT METAMORPHOSIS IS ONE THAT CHILLS ME TO THE BONE!”

 

Baines was already at the controls of their donated shuttle. He could not hear the verbal confrontation as it occurred. But would have been indifferent to the cry of protest. His concern was about their safety onboard the short-range vessel. And effecting a clear path to the abandoned cluster of manufactured homes, below.

 

When preparations had been made, he thumbed the com-button on his dashboard display.

 

“Digger S-7 here, we show ready for a smooth departure. Crew members, take your places. Flight plan laid in, we are ready to commence engagement of the drive...”

 

Strafe narrowed her eyes and scowled at the ship commander.

 

“That’s it, sir. I’ve got to end this little chat. Thank you for the vote of confidence. Godspeed on your return to the colonies! Give my gratitude to the brass back on Mars!”

 

The Space Force officer winced in pain, upon watching a glow of Cloitanium generators stir in their propulsion tubes. He had failed in a last-minute effort to halt the exodus of Lieutenant Strafe, before it could proceed. Now, her fate had been sealed. And he was forever stained as a master of tactics and technology, with not enough backbone for retaining his most promising protégé.

 

The Digger flew away in a blue-white cloud of plasma. They were gone in only a matter of seconds.

 

Once the Morningstar III had broken out of orbit, a silent mood took hold of the ship’s crew. They were bound for the Red Planet yet again, but this time, lighter by two members of their official roster. A palpable lack of joy seethed from the bridge, throughout every compartment of their silver vessel.

 

As the sleek carrier turned away from its temporary host, there was a look of surprise from an ensign on duty. He was young, skinny, and inexperienced, having never before traveled into deep space on behalf of their benefactors.

 

An audible gasp echoed, as the junior pilot gestured wildly over his navigation console.

 

“Commander, I have an electronic signature emanating from the lunar surface. Our instruments show it being in the Mare Frigoris basin. It is on a frequency used by explorers during previous centuries, according to our data archives. I have no rational explanation for this phenomenon, other than settlers being stranded, and calling out for rescue. What is your opinion, sir?”

 

Block was astonished to the point of nearly having a seizure. He sat up in his swivel chair, and pounded at its angular sides.

 

“Mare Frigoris? You said, Mare Frigoris? That name is the stuff of legend, mister! It was the site of a base when the native population began to leave their home world, for a rebirth of our civilization on Mars. It is part of our history, part of how we came to inherit and populate the Red Planet. But for so many years, our scholars have thought that all of those research facilities were abandoned. There can’t be anyone left in those artificial environments. That moment in time has expired. The Moon is dead! Dead, dead, dead!”

 

 

Return Mission, Third Stage – Chapter 2

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

For Commander Hornell Block, being on assignment with the Morningstar III represented a point of pride, regardless of what service he was performing for the Space Force. As the sleek, silver vessel moved toward its rendezvous with the Terran homeworld, he felt strong and useful. Carefully attired in a uniform designed to be comfortable for long periods, and official enough in appearance to signify his military rank. He felt buoyed by a sense of duty and purpose. Yet for the two passengers who were aboard, this mood of confidence was lacking. Instead, they felt somber about the journey. A sense of finality dampened their emotions.

 

This was, for good or bad, and endgame from which neither would return.

 

Judson Baines and Kelly Strafe stayed in their quarters during the voyage. Though because of being linked by an access corridor, each room was easily accessible from the other. While the ship’s crew went about their daily routine, the pair pondered what was about to transpire with vigorous conversation and reflective analysis.

 

The former lieutenant was first to confess uncertainty about the intended scope of their trip.

 

“Juddy, I know this is necessary. We had no standing left at the Mars Colonies. But what do you have in mind once we reach Planet Earth? What will we do with the rest of our lives? Just conduct historical research maybe, cataloging the decay of that old order, or what? Plant a garden? Grow vegetables and flowers? Write poems? Sit around and stare at each other? Or... start a family to revive the population?”

 

Her candor made the university professor blush with a rosy shade of embarrassment.

 

“Restart the birth cycle? Heavens, no! I’ve got no bold intentions like that in mind. Not at all. What is left of that big rock isn’t always hospitable. There are still cyclical storms which linger, an effect of the Great Uprising and global war. What they did to the league of nations, and their own environment, was a tragedy. Though I think that nature has righteously begun to heal from the cataclysmic event. The Digger shuttle carries a limited life span, and only a meager amount of provisions, so we’ll have to figure out how to feed and house ourselves. The civilized districts that I encountered were located far from each other. Calimex, on the west coast of what used to be called North America. Atlantia, on the east. And Torontara, to the north, a part of the former Canadian confederation. Each seemed to know little about the other. They were somewhat paranoid when dealing with outsiders. And suspicious of overtures for peace. But my curiosity is about what else has remained, after the fragile organization of society collapsed. There must be more to learn. We will have an opportunity to document clues that might prove to be useful, for future generations. Sort of like conducting an archaeological dig. Except that descendants of the dead empires may still be alive...”

 

Kelly tugged at her ponytail, and sat cross-legged on the floor.

 

“Okay, so we start at the trailer park where your ancestor lived? And then, go from there?”

 

Her bearded associate nodded and smiled. As a scholar and perpetual student, he had already begun to plan their next project, in earnest.

 

“I found some interesting data in records we brought back from the last visit. T. C. Lincoln never jumped on a Larman transport, bound for Mars. Apparently, he died at the rural community and was buried in a makeshift grave, along with other residents who chose to stay behind. There is a small cemetery somewhere on the property. It was referenced in notes kept by one of the first groups to arrive, when construction of a primary base at the Percival Lowell Institute had begun. I wandered around the front field on that abandoned property, but saw nothing. It had become overgrown with weeds and brush, and wild, indigenous foliage. But I think we could scan the acreage with our shuttle. That might give us a visual map to locate his place of final rest...”

 

Strafe snorted and smacked her hands together.

 

“You’re obsessed, Juddy! I think this is more about a desire to tie up loose ends of your own family tale, than to help mankind!”

 

Judson Baines shrugged and signified agreement with this observation.

 

“You are probably right. I can’t argue the point...”

 

His volunteer companion stretched like a cat, breathed deeply, and stood up to loosen her joints.

 

“So, we start at the point where you landed, near the shore of Lake Erie? We’re going to live in that ruined village of manufactured homes, like refugees from the 21^st Century?”

 

Her egghead counterpart was excited to consider the adventure that would follow their arrival.

 

“On our world, I was really a prisoner. Hidebound to stay silent about the social and political factors that brought everything to a halt. They are terrified of dissent. But said more honestly, what they fear is truth. They fear debate. They fear knowledge and open discussion. The path they have chosen is not much different than the one that eventually destroyed the Terran civilization. I am sorrowful for them. And yet excited for us, as witnesses to the endurance of nature. The cosmos isn’t eternal, perhaps, but it has survived for billions of years. We don’t really know the full story. But as spectators, we can look and listen, and learn. That is a privilege I won’t ever surrender...”

 

Kelly stood over her male equal, who was still seated at a table by his bed.

 

“You almost make me believe in a resurrection story. At least it sounds good, when you describe what can happen in literal terms. But we’ve got to build a new homestead in that wreckage. A hole-in-the-wall where we can hide. A safe space for a second beginning. Are you strong enough, and smart enough, for that task?”

 

 The professional thinker bowed his head, and paused for a moment.

 

“If not, it’s a respectable way to die. I’d rather meet my end with a virtual notebook and stylus, or even a pen and sheet of paper, than a weapon made for combat. The empire couldn’t save itself by killing enemies. And Mars can’t do the same, by killing its history. The story must be told. What comes next is up to travelers like ourselves...”

Mermaid & Walrus Revisited – "Environmental or Simply Born that Way?"

  

c. 2026 Cheryl Keller, Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

Mermaid Says:

 

There is a famous poem written by Dorothy Law Nolte titled “Children Learn What They Live” that I so love.  I have come across it several times throughout my life and it rings true to me in so many ways.  It drives home the belief that children are a product of their environment; people are a product of their environment; that environment in general, impacts our lives as humans to such an enormous degree that it shapes our very being.  It begins with such lines as “If children live with criticism, they learn to condemn.  If children live with hostility, they learn to fight.”  It continues with similar verses but gradually morphs into more positive correlations showing that contradictorily, if the environment in which children are brought up embraces qualities such as praise, honesty, and kindness that they learn more positive behaviors such as appreciation, truthfulness and respect.  Not to mention the one thing that above all else rises to the top - love; love for oneself and love for others.

 

There is also an opinion among some that a person can just be born bad, or to be more dramatic, evil.  As a lover of true crime books, documentaries and the like, I have come across many stories where a criminal’s childhood was shown to be, for lack of a better phrase, perfectly normal.  He/she had a loving, solid core family with values, good schooling and support, ample resources where needs and wants were regularly met, leaving people in their fold clueless without something upon which to lay the blame.  Of course, a strong majority of criminal back stories are quite the opposite; riddled with abuse, neglect, and broken families that people quickly attribute to the root cause.  There are also those who grow up in less fortunate environments, with a lack of positive influences, who go on to do incredible things and are able to elevate themselves into better circumstances.  There are always those exceptions to the rules.  And so opens the question…how much does the environment in which you grow up play a role into who you become as an adult?

 

An infant is such a vulnerable being - an empty vessel just waiting to be filled.  He/she did not ask to be here and whether or not a couple plans for a child or not is irrelevant.  Once that little person arrives, he/she, being so dependent on others and the world around them, absorbs whatever is funneled in their direction; love or hate, compassion or indifference, respectfulness or contempt.  Bringing a child into this world is such a massive responsibility that oftentimes is taken too lightly.  And unfortunately, as that child grows it becomes more and more difficult to redirect negative behaviors which of course then starts that generational recurrence of certain unfavorable mannerisms.  How often you see similar conduct amongst family members - negative, or positive for that matter.  Hence familiar sayings “like father, like son”, or “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”.

 

I don’t want to limit my focus on just criminal or negative behavior, and I do acknowledge that mental illness can, of course, be a factor, but there are also other basic personality traits that can be affected by a child’s environment that can present obstacles or on the flip side, help lead to success and fulfillment later in life.  For example, something I have seen over my many years in the position that I hold at work is a generational difference in work ethic.  There is a temperament at times that I have come across in some of my younger direct reports consisting of a lack of motivation or sense of urgency, as well as a sense of entitlement which leads to difficulty dealing with constructive criticism.  This is something I have not come across when managing my more senior employees.  It presents a challenge for me when coaching or training and I wonder at times what type of household these youngsters grew up in that led to this behavior, or maybe their individual environment wasn’t the factor, maybe it's more societal, or just inherently who they are…?

 

Now, what I can speak to is my own childhood environment.  It included two hardworking parents; and although we did not have a lot of money, I never felt as though I went without, and I felt most times were filled with lots of love, family and friends, at least in the early years.  It was of course a different time then when a lack of technology kept children outside away from the television, playing freeze or TV tag, or red-light green-light in the front yard until the streetlights came on.  I do feel that as technology has advanced and cell phones and the internet have invaded our lives, children have had increasing access to information and images that in my opinion, have robbed them of their youth in a way.  And, here I go again delving into an area that itself can be its own article.  So to redirect, as an adult, I can say that I do feel that I, myself, have a pretty good work ethic.  I worked from a young age, always tried to put forth my best effort, and challenged myself to be better, through schooling and the jobs I have held; and last I checked, I haven’t killed anyone or robbed any banks, so that’s a positive!  Now, how much of that is credit to my parents or my young life in Chardon, Ohio, and how much of that is just mermaid me?  How much did the environment in which you were brought up play a role in making you the person you are today?  Or were you just born to be who you are?

 

Walrus Says:

 

My friend makes valuable points here, and her referencing of the Dorothy Law Nolte poem is insightful. In a sense, she has answered her own question by addressing the importance of environmental factors, while also providing contrast with differing viewpoints on the subject. Without attempting to ride the fence, intellectually, one might rightly observe that both are important.  Family environment and also, personal characteristics and attributes.

 

Our lead supervisor at my last retail store in Geneva used to observe that he did not judge an individual on what happened to them, but instead, by how they reacted. This basic viewpoint fit neatly with my own experiences as a salaried manager in the business. I noted with much interest that some employees who had come from decidedly difficult backgrounds manifested coping skills that were useful in their work for our companies. While others who had been raised with educational and situational benefits in effect, were lazy and lacked motivation. A line of demarcation could not easily be drawn between the two, because age, social status, and income did not prove to be reliable as evidence for one outcome, or the other.

 

My friend speaks effectively for a strong work ethic, and I believe that this single quality is worth possessing, more than any other. While corporate philosophies generally teach that anyone can be trained to accomplish tasks, given enough time and a proper setting in which to learn, I often found that it was more like creating a piece of pottery. When at the wheel, one must begin with a workable mound of clay. Our human resource departments sometimes erred by believing that posting a list of names on a schedule sheet was proof that they had fulfilled their duties. But a lack of detail involved with putting ‘the right people in the right roles’ could be counterproductive. At one location, where price changes were done overnight, we were given a young teenager who had literally just joined the crew. He knew absolutely nothing about the operation, or our procedures. And little at all about shoppers and their habits. On another occasion at the same store, a fellow who was legally blind, for driving purposes, found himself hanging these tags. He could barely read labels on the boxes, jars, and cans. So, the results were disastrous.

 

When I politely observed that these decisions on scheduling were not a result of careful consideration, beforehand, the reaction I received was chilly at best. It took some time to resolve all the customer issues with items marked incorrectly. Though no fault was assessed to those who had been responsible, at the top level.

 

In both instances, the employees had a reasonable amount of desire to earn their paychecks honestly. But lacked the tools. The former had not been given a reasonable opportunity to grow and develop. The latter had an obvious handicap which should have been noted. He was truly someone ‘born that way.’

 

Sometimes, however, facing hardships and challenges may hone the abilities of someone to a fine edge, rather than providing a hindrance. One of my most trusted tutors, while I was rising through the ranks from a union clerk to a front-line manager, had served in Vietnam, and been through dozens of local closures, as our company evolved under a variety of owners. Despite the woes of carrying such experiences on his personal resume, he had an undeniable knack for coaching workers, and developing raw talent. When I asked him how it was possible to survive so many harsh episodes, without losing faith, he replied that staying on an even keel was the secret.

 

“When I got busted down, I would come home and tell my wife, ‘Hey, guess what, I got busted today!’ When I got promoted, I would come home and tell her, ‘Hey, guess what, I got promoted today!’ Nothing had me feeling too high, or low, abut the job. I stayed on course and took care of my family.”

 

Years ago, I offered advice to one of my nephews who was studying for what would become a career in electrical engineering. I referenced ‘The Comeback’ which was a 1993 NFL playoff game, between the Houston Oilers franchise, and the Buffalo Bills, at their home stadium. Despite being down 35-3, the New York club was able to gather fortitude, go forward in the second half, and win in overtime, 41-38.

 

“Life is easier if you make good decisions. That does not mean success is impossible in the aftermath, as perseverance may still win the day. But you can save yourself a lot of grief by engaging in a moment of careful consideration, before taking that first step.”

 

Too often, I had not followed that wise admonition while on my own journey. Yet when viewed with hindsight, it was all part of the learning process. One which my cohort the Mermaid has accomplished, brilliantly.

Return Mission, Third Stage – Chapter 1

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Monday morning at the New Cleveland Safety Center on Mars was frantic with activity. There were government representatives, legal experts, law agents, media observers, and host of spectators present under the sealed dome. A judgment from newly-elected members of the ruling council had been swiftly delivered. With concerns about the population becoming restless over details about their off-world history as a civilization, one step seemed clearly desirable above all the others. Dr. Judson Baines, university professor and historical researcher, needed to be expelled from their closed society.

 

But as this chore was being scheduled, with aid from the sleek, Morningstar III vessel, Admiral Corel Nauga received word that Lieutenant Kelly Strafe, one of his most promising officers, intended to join the away party as a volunteer. An act that would likely have her resigning once again from the military, and exiting as a citizen of the Red Planet.

 

The high-level official frowned and groaned audibly, when being told about his underling’s wishes.

 

“Kelly, let me speak candidly, and off the record. This is madness, young woman! You want to trash an entire career for a ride-share with that blasted geek from the schoolyard? He’s got no allies left here, all his bridges have been burned. Don’t think that your value is worth squandering so easily. You matter to us, and you matter to me!”

 

The junior soldier had her hair pulled straight back in a force-spec ponytail. Her expression was taut and severe.

 

“Sir, we’ve been connected for years. My reputation wouldn’t last, anyway. Admit it, I am just as stained by negative opinions...”

 

Nauga cursed and pounded the table in their conference room.

 

“A falsehood! I’ve done everything possible to rehabilitate you, Lieutenant! You and your damned reputation! Don’t dump this second chance! You’ve been a promising candidate for so long, and I’ve always had you in mind for better things. A promotion is inevitable!”

 

Kelly tightened her lips, and stood at attention.

 

“With respect sir, that’s just a load of horseshit!”

 

The Admiral gasped and slammed his fist until blood oozed freely.

 

“BAINES IS A CRACKPOT! THERE’S ONLY ONE SOLUTION TO HIS PLIGHT, AND IT IS BEING KICKED OUT OF THE MARS COLONY! WE CAN’T TOLERATE DISSENSION HERE, OUR SURVIVAL IS A MATTER OF COOPERATION AND HARMONY. CONFLICT IS INTOLERABLE! THESE WALLS AROUND US ARE DECIDEDLY FRAGILE! THE ARTIFICIAL ATMOSPHERE IS THIN! ONE DIVISION, ONE NOTE OF DISSENT, COULD KILL US ALL. I WON’T ALLOW THAT TO HAPPEN. NO ONE IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE SURVIVAL OF THIS CIVILIZATION!”

 

Strafe folded her arms and nodded with acknowledgement.

 

“Understood, sir. Count me as part of that equation. I am done with the Space Force...”

 

A cry of agony filled the room. Then, her superior bowed his head. He had been defeated without a proper battle. That sensation left him feeling empty.

 

“So be it, Lieutenant. The Morningstar III will depart at 0600 CMT, hours, tomorrow. In a gesture of benevolence, I am gifting the professor with a Digger shuttle, and enough provisions to last three months. That should get him started in his new environment. He has chosen to revisit what used to be called North America, the former State of Ohio, and the abandoned trailer community which was his origin point for study and scholarship. If you join him in isolation, it will be a sentence of death. I don’t believe he will last long among the ruins of that empire. The Great Uprising is still a matter of historical record, we have taught it in our schools for generations. It is not a fact to be disputed or amended. That calamity changed the course of Terran inhabitants, forever. It caused the migration to our current home. And it wrote a new chapter in the adventures of mankind. We are the children of that cataclysmic event. None of us have a right to question it as gospel truth. It is our identity as Martian colonists. Our heritage. Our foundation for being who we are!”

 

Kelly reached for her com-badge, and military insignia. Then, placed both on the conference table.

 

“My resignation is effective immediately. Thank you, sir, for the privilege of serving our planet...”

Admiral Nauga sat stiffly as she departed the conference room. Then, surrendered to a fit of rage. His face dripped sweat and reddened with intensity.

 

“BLAST THIS INFERNAL NONSENSE! BLAST THAT GIRL FOR SACRIFICING HER COMISSION! AND BLAST THE PROFESSOR FOR HIS ARROGANT PROCLOMATIONS ABOUT OUR HISTORY! LET THEM BOTH ROT IN THE HINTERLAND OF OLD AMERICA! GOOD RIDDANCE TO THAT PAIR OF FOOLS! GOOD RIDDANCE, INDEED!”

 

When the erstwhile soldier arrived at their New Cleveland spaceport, a day later, her adopted companion was already present. The scholar had assembled a duffel bag of materials, including scanned books on i-discs, and souvenirs from his school. At a docking port, crew members were powering up the ship. The distinctive whine of its C-drive propulsion could be heard throughout the complex. Then, they were ready for an official launch.

 

Baines was unusually scruffy, yet dressed in a suit made of synthetic fibers that were fashioned out of elements culled from the ruddy, Martian soil. His modernist appearance was appealing, if quirky.

 

“Kells, I want you to think about this... we’ll be off-worlders from here to the last day of forever. It’s something I want to do, but not your fate, necessarily. You can stay here, and thrive. I’m the one being shunned. I am the one being sentenced to a life beyond the scope of Mars...”

 

His willing cohort wrinkled her pointy nose, and scowled.

 

“No dice, Juddy! I am just as dirty in their eyes, believe me. We’re in this mess together. I don’t have the same passion for research, maybe, but my place is at your side. If you fail, this dream of revealing the truth fails. And I don’t want to live in that kind of delusion anymore. I’d rather be stuck on that ball of mud, with you!”

 

Her partner sighed heavily. He suspected that they might both perish in the wilderness of a forgotten globe. Yet the opportunity to finish what he had begun at Evergreen Estates was intriguing.

 

“That’s it then, for better or worse, here we go!”

 

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Office Upgrade”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(4-26)

 

 

Townshend Lincoln had arrived at Evergreen Estates almost a quarter-century ago. Such a long period in terms of the rural, trailer community, that few residents could remember a time when he had not been at Lot 13. His brusque manner and solitary habits meant that social interaction with the reclusive hermit was limited in scope. Neighbors on his crooked street logically assumed that at some point, his body would succumb to a diet of pickled eggs, fried bologna, and whiskey. With the result that he could finally be buried and forgotten. Therefore, little attention was paid to his existence. And yet he did not make a speedy exit from their cluster of manufactured homes. Instead, he seemed to thrive on the exile afforded by their geographical location. A spot far to the east of any population center in their county.

 

Due to the onset of chronic fatigue and disability, the silent figure did not often leave his space for any reason. But on a weekend evening, with monthly rent coming due, he decided to tackle the short distance between his boxcar dwelling, and the manager’s office. Though generally able to walk only with the use of mismatched canes for support, he decided to seek out his neglected, Craftsman mower for transportation. A dirty and dented hunk of machinery that had been in his storage barn since coming to the rustic development, initially. Its battery was low on juice after sitting idle for the winter season. But with a brief stint on his charger, and a bit of fiddling with the carburetor, it defiantly chuffed clouds of oily smoke. And then, rattled noisily to life.

 

Getting seated was not an easy task. He had to leverage himself into place carefully, to avoid toppling to the ground. Then, he discovered that the steering linkage was stiff and uncooperative, because of long periods left sitting outside.

 

On the way to their park office, he thought of the Country performer George Jones. A heroic crooner who had sometimes ridden his own mobile beast to a liquor store in the area, when driving privileges were restricted for the purpose of keeping him safe. The yard boss sputtered and spat a foul-smelling stream of exhaust from its muffler. And made all sorts of ominous sounds along the way. Those on the route were amused to see a shaggy fellow in faded overalls, chugging beer while navigating the course. But no one wanted to engage him in conversation.

 

Every spectator agreed that it would be less risky to simply let him go on his way.

 

Lincoln arrived at the property hub in around five minutes. He had expected the terminal to be abandoned, as it was late on a Saturday. But upon coming to rest by the maintenance garage, and dismounting with both canes at the ready, he found himself facing a flat-screen display on the entrance door.

 

A woman’s face generated by an AI program appeared. She smiled with synthetic charm, and offered a greeting which had captions at the bottom.

 

“WELCOME TO THE WESTERN FINANCIAL HOLDINGS VIRTUAL ASSISTANT! PLEASE SCROLL THROUGH THE KEYPAD MENU, FOR AN OPTION THAT BEST SUITS YOUR CURRENT NEEDS. WE ARE DEDICATED TO SERVING ALL OF OUR CLIENTS WITH EQUITY AND PROFESSIONALISM. YOU MATTER TO US!”

 

He had to squint for a clearer view of the high-tech display, because his reading glasses had been left at home. With some difficulty, he punched at the screen and read the list of choices while grumbling.

 

“Item 1: Make a payment on your rent balance. Item 2: Leave a question for the supervisor. Note: Office hours have been curtailed in the interest of controlling costs. This will be our only form of communication. Item 3: Leave a compliment for someone on the park staff. Item 4: Ask about employment opportunities with WFH at this site, or other properties owned by the company. Item 5: Arrange to leave your keys in the drop box, as a result of an eviction order. Item 6: Repeat all these options...”

 

Dust settled as he pounded on the door with his fists.

 

“What the hell? Screw this bullshit, we don’t even get to see a gawdamn representative anymore? What the frig? When did they give notice about that? The only guy I can catch is that poor sap who shovels gravel in the potholes. Pretty soon, this ol’ dump is gonna sink in the mud and disappear. What a kick in the ass!”

 

After physically and vocally expressing his frustration, the senior contrarian relented and made a second attempt at navigating the electronic menu. He tapped at the monitor until new options appeared.

 

“Item 1: Make a payment. Choice A: Please enter the amount of your deposit. Pay the full balance on your account, or submit an installment amount. Note: You must have bank information on file with the owners. When you are done, please leave your check in the drop box. If you pay your rent online, these steps are not necessary. Have a good day!”

 

Lincoln belched loudly, and hit the door again, out of spite.

 

“A good day’ll be when I can get out of this rathole! But I’m stuck here, like all the other schlubs on my street. We’re all screwed. Nobody gives a damn about us!”

 

He deposited his check begrudgingly, with a snort of irritation. Then mounted the saddle of his mower once again. His bones were creaky and every joint felt sore. But with the wheel in his hands, he snapped at the throttle, and reversed course, for home.

 

On his porch, the bearded sage sat with a jug of Kentucky bourbon, and a tattered copy of their lease. Deep in the fine print, he realized that the shift to virtual moderation had indeed been spelled out in legal terms. A fact he must have overlooked before. Western Financial Holdings was listed as the official ownership group, but details about the coastal concern were few.

 

As Lincoln drank himself into a pleasant fog of inebriation, the rotund maintenance steward rolled by on his golf cart. A bucket of gravel was strapped to the back, with a shovel. He had finished his pointless roster of chores for the day. Now, there was little time for anything else, except watching the sunset bring a merciful shroud of darkness to their distant hideout.

 

A wash of alcoholic oblivion brought peace at last. For both of them, another chapter at Evergreen Estates had been written.